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 innocent young girl, to whom love seems as natural as fragrance to the rose, as song to the nightingale. But though so deeply in love, she is none the less a very wise and clever little girl. She can sew and knit and embroider. She knows several languages and is rich in knowledge. She is even a good cook.

Therefore, you see, dear proper men and matrons, to call Marie a pattern of a well-bred young lady is but to do her justice. Neither must you believe that when we were together we had nothing to think of but kisses and caresses. Indeed betweenwhiles we would often discuss the deepest and most serious matters.

Amongst others we one day discussed the reason why most women are so irritating.

On this my wise Marie said:—

'In my opinion it is because women, as a rule, think too much of themselves, just because they are women. Thanks to you silly men, with your servile adoration of women, merely because they are female, they have really come to think that they are the special favourites of nature, miraculously endowed with beauty, wit, and charm. They are nearly bursting with conceit. Take for example my cousin Amalia. She is ugly as a toad, sour as a crab-apple, ignorant as an old shoe. Yet as a representation of "the sex beautiful" she considers herself far more important than the nicest and most charming man. On account of this supposed beauty of her sex she exacts the adoration and, on