But her London--her great apocryphal
city--was the "town" of a century before, to which giddy daughters
dragged unwilling papas, or went with injudicious friends, to the
detriment of all their better qualities, and sometimes to the ruin of
their fortunes; it was the Vanity Fair of the "Pilgrim's Progress" to
her.
But see the just and admirable sense with which she can treat a subject
of which she is able to overlook all the bearings.
"Haworth, July 4th, 1834.
"In your last, you request me to tell you of your faults. Now,
really, how can you be so foolish! I _won't_ tell you of your faults,
because I don't know them. What a creature would that be, who, after
receiving an affectionate and kind letter from a beloved friend,
should sit down and write a catalogue of defects by way of answer!
Imagine me doing so, and then consider what epithets you would bestow
on me. Conceited, dogmatical, hypocritical, little humbug, I should
think, would be the mildest. Why, child! I've neither time nor
inclination to reflect on your _faults_ when you are so far from me,
and when, besides, kind letters and presents, and so forth, are
continually bringing forth your goodness in the most prominent light.
Then, too, there are judicious relations always round you, who can
much better discharge that unpleasant office.
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