to WORTH, whither I was going in order to stay awhile, and gave him all the rest.  Now, is it not a shame, is it not a sin of all sins, that people like these should, by acts of the government, be reduced to such misery as to be induced to abandon their homes and their country, to seek, in a foreign land, the means of preventing themselves and their children from starving?  And this has been, and now is, actually the case with many such families in this same county of Sussex!

100.  An ardent-minded young man (who, by-the-by, will, as I am afraid, have been wearied by this rambling digression) may fear, that this great sobriety of conduct in a young woman, for which I have been so strenuously contending, argues a want of that warmth, which he naturally so much desires; and, if my observation and experience warranted the entertaining of this fear, I should say, had I to live my life over again, give me the warmth, and I will stand my chance as to the rest.  But, this observation and this experience tell me the contrary; they tell me that levity is, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the companion of a want of ardent feeling.  Prostitutes never love, and, for the far greater part, never did.  Their passion, which is more mere animal than any thing else, is easily gratified; they, like rakes, change not only without pain, but with pleasure; that is to say, pleasure as great as they can enjoy.  Women of light minds have seldom any ardent passion; love is a mere name, unless confined to one object; and young women, in whom levity of conduct is observable, will not be thus restricted.  I do not, however, recommend a young man to be too severe in judging, where the conduct does not go beyond mere levity, and is not bordering on loose conduct; for something depends here upon constitution and animal spirits, and something also upon the manners of the country.  That levity, which, in a French girl, I should not have thought a great deal of, would have frightened me away from an English or an American girl.  When I was in France, just after I was married, there happened to be amongst our acquaintance a gay, sprightly girl, of about seventeen.  I was remonstrating with her, one day, on the facility with which she seemed to shift her smiles from object to object; and she, stretching one arm out in an upward direction, the other in a downward direction, raising herself upon one foot, leaning her body on one side, and thus throwing herself into flying attitude, answered my grave lecture by singing, in a very sweet voice (significantly bowing her head and smiling at the same time), the following lines from the vaudeville, in the play of Figaro: 

  Si l’amour a des ailles;
  N’est ce pas pour voltiger?