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 88 with visible impatience at the smooth and easy manner in which Miss Edgeworth persists in grinding the mills of the gods, and distributing poetical justice to each and every comer. It may be very nice to see the generous Laura, who gave away her half sovereign, extolled to the skies by a whole room full of company, "disturbed for the purpose," while "poor dear little Rosamond"—he too has a weakness for this small blunderer—is left in the lurch, without either shoes or jar; but it is not real generosity that needs so much commendation, and it is not real life that can be depended on for giving it. Yet Ruskin admits that Harry and Lucy were his earliest friends, to the extent even of inspiring him with an ambitious desire to continue their history; and he cannot say too much in praise of an authoress "whose every page is so full and so delightful. I can read her over and over again, without ever tiring. No one brings you into the company of pleasanter or wiser people; no one tells you more truly how to do right."

He might have added that no one ever was more moderate in her exactions. The little