“There can be but one honourable question,” replied I; “and that is seldom asked, but when the affair is brought near a conclusion, and there is a probability of its being granted; and which a single lady, while she has parents or guardians, should never think of permitting to be put to herself, much less of approving, nor, perhaps, as the case may be of denying.  But I make no doubt that you meant honourable questions.  A young lady of Miss Sutton’s good sense, and worthy character, could not mean otherwise.  And I have said, perhaps, more than I need upon the subject, because we all know how ready the presuming of the other sex are, right or wrong to construe the most innocent meetings in favour of their own views.”

“Very true,” said she; but appeared to be under an agreeable confusion, every lady, by her eye, seeming to think she had met with a deserved rebuke; and which not seeming to expect, it abated her liveliness all the time after.

Mrs. Towers seasonably relieved us both from a subject too applicable, if I may so express it, saying—­“But, dear Mrs. B., will you favour us with the result of your meditation, if committed to writing, on the unhappy case you mentioned?”

“I was rather.  Madam, exercising my fancy than my judgment, such as it is, upon the occasion.  I was aiming at a kind of allegorical or metaphorical style, I know not which to call it; and it is not fit to be read before such judges, I doubt.”

“O pray, dear Madam,” said Miss Stapylton, “favour us with it to choose; for I am a great admirer of that style.”

“I have a great curiosity,” said Lady Arthur, “both from the subject and the style, to hear what you have written:  and I beg you will oblige us all.”

“It is short and unfinished.  It was written for the sake of a friend, who is fond of such a style; and what I shall add to it, will be principally some slight observations upon this way of writing.  But, let it be ever so censurable, I should be more so, if I made any difficulties after such an unanimous request.”  So, taking it out of my letter-case, I read as follows: 

“While the banks of discretion keep the proud water of passion within their natural channel, all calm and serene glides along the silver current, enlivening the adjacent meadows, as it passes, with a brighter and more flowery verdure.  But if the torrents of sensual love are permitted to descend from the hills of credulous hope, they may so swell the gentle stream, as to make it difficult, if not impossible, to be retained betwixt its usual bounds.  What then will be the consequence?—­Why, the trees of resolution, and the shrubs of cautious fear, which grew upon the frail mound, and whose intertwining roots had contributed to support it, being loosened from their hold, they, and all that would swim of the bank itself, will be seen floating on the surface of the triumphant waters.