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knows I have been sitting there, without once giving herself the trouble to turn her head to nod to me;is not this a little strange, so intimate as we are ?" Certainly, it is," says our mutual friend.

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"Well, and then she makes an excuse of being so vastly busy for my part I've no notion of being too busy to speak to a friend, have you?"

"Well, one can never step in there but one seems to be interrupting them: and it is quite a favour to get her to bring her work, and sit an hour with one in the morning: in short, I have done asking her. I don't deny that she is willing to come in and do one a kindness, when it is needed; but I like a friend to be a friend at all times; and in my opinion there's nothing so charming as a sociable disposition; for my own part this is so much my temper, that, as I often say, I feel these slights the more: and certainly at times I cannot help feeling a little hurt."

In this style, as I have been repeatedly informed, she makes out a case against me. But as I never take any other notice of such charges than by doing all in my power to show her real friendship, we might go on tolerably, if it were not that sometimes owing to some unforeseen occurrence, or mistake, which it is impossible always to guard against, my friend takes more serious offence :-so much so, at times, that during many weeks she has refused to speak to me. I should be ashamed to call the attention of your readers to the detail of affairs so trifling, if it were not for the sake of illustrating my

meaning with this view I will mention an instance or two of the kind.

The last time that she appeared so much offended, it was in consequence of my having omitted to send her a formal invitation to spend the evening with me. Wishing to see several of my young friends, I had previously consulted with her about the day, and, having fully agreed together when it should be, I sat down to write the notes to my other friends, without its even occurring to me that she would expect any further notice. However, to my great surprise, she did not join our party; and when I sent in to inquire the reason, she returned me only a cold and formal excuse. It was in vain that I endeavoured to recollect any thing that I had done or left undone that could have vexed her; and it was not till weeks afterwards that she condescended to explain the cause of her displeasure. Now really, if I had thought of writing her a note of invitation, I should have been in equal danger of giving offence; for then, it is probable she would have accused me of being too ceremonious with her.

I should be more ready to suspect that the blame was on my part, if it were not that others of her acquaintance make the same complaints. We are both of us teachers in our Sunday School; and there is no situation, as you may be aware, in which a quarrelsome or peevish disposition is more likely to show itself. You will not be surprised, therefore, when I say that my poor neighbour is continually taking umbrage with some of her fellow-teachers: when any fresh arrangement is made in the

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classes, she seldom fails to complain that all the most stupid children are selected for her. Her attendance at the school is not the most regular; yet no one can offer her the kindest remonstrance on this subject, or suggest the smallest improvement in her method of teaching, without the certainty of her being highly offended. If any new plans are projected without consulting her, that is sure to be considered as a personal affront; and if, on the other hand, she is consulted, we are equally sure of her objecting to what is proposed. She is always complaining that she has so little to do with the management of the school; and indeed she is so constantly dissatisfied, that her services are much less acceptable than they would otherwise be; for there is, you know, trouble and difficulty and fatigue enough in a Sunday School, without having our embarrassments increased by disagreements among the teachers.

Having been so long used to the peculiarity of my friend's temper, I was really scarcely aware of the degree of bondage and restraint which it imposed upon me, until lately when she was absent from home on a visit of some months. I cannot adequately describe to you how much I felt at liberty as soon as she was gone. I could now walk in the garden without looking fifty ways to see if she was within sight. I could go out or come in, read or write, or take a walk with any other friend, and all with a degree of freedom and comfort unknown heretofore. And the glow of sincere pleasure with which I should otherwise have wel

comed her return, was (I do not deny it) damped exceedingly by the recollection of the trouble it would inevitably bring upon me.

Now surely that must be a serious fault in a person's character, which, in spite of many good qualities, renders her company burdensome, and her absence a deliverance: and if any thing could be suggested that might successfully represent the weakness and unreasonableness of such a disposition, it would at once do a real service to all such troublesome friends, and inspire with the warmest gratitude all their troubled acquaintance.

I am, Sir, your obedient Servant,
PENELOPE.

XXXVIII.

A LETTER TO WHOMSOEVER IT MAY CONCERN.

DEAR READER,

HAPPENING to glance my eye upon the title of a paper in the last number of the Youth's Magazine, I was induced to put on my spectacles, and give it a reading and although many of those who contribute to its pages are doubtless better prepared, in most respects, than myself, to reply to it, yet on one account I feel peculiarly qualified to accept the challenge there given it is that I myself, for a considerable portion of my life, was one of the society of troublesome friends.

I can assign more reasons than one for my having

long withdrawn from that society; but must frankly acknowledge that the primary cause was my having few friends left to be troublesome to. This circumstance at once afforded me leisure for reflection, and roused me to it: for observing that my society was shunned, first by one, and then by another of my associates, I began to employ many solitary hours in endeavouring to discover the cause; and after various unsuccessful attempts to trace it to the misconduct of others, I was at last compelled to suspect that, after all, the fault might be in myself.

Without troubling you with the long course of experiment and observation by which I was led to this unpleasant conclusion, I shall content myself with stating it to be my settled conviction that, an excessive sensibility to injury-a readiness to take offence on small occasions-a disposition to jealousy, proceed from nothing so much as a tendency to overrate our own worth and consequence. Hence it is that we entertain unreasonable expectations of the attentions due to us from others; and the inevitable disappointment which ensues, mortifies our vanity and self-love, and produces that fretful, complaining, or resentful temper which gives so much trouble to our neighbours, and tenfold more uneasiness to ourselves.

Persons whose misfortune it is to magnify their own consequence, instead of making a liberal allowance for similar infirmities in their neighbours, expect that every body should regard them in the same disproportionate view, and are first astonished, and then hurt, when they discover how far this is