The impression left by such a work as "Eugene Aram," would long remain on her mind:
"Since I have been here, I have been reading 'Eugene Aram' through again. Daniel Clarke was a tenant of my aunt's great-grandfather, and they have still a silver tankard which he borrowed. I am even more delighted with it than at first. It is wonderful how the interest is sustained. Perfectly aware of the end, you hope an impossibility—against hope. And then the dialogues are of such perfect beauty. Madeline's letter is the most lovely thing of its kind, in fiction or in fact."
The following refers to some of her own writings, and replies to a friendly comment.
"As to our old point at issue, I am not yet converted. Would not you be the last to say that the likeness of life, like any other likeness (of me, for instance!) ought to be flattered to please? 'Betty, give this cheek a little red,' is the common cry of all death-struck Narcissas. In what do I differ from the actual experience of the past—the future has to teach us its lessons yet—when I paint ambition as a vain delusion, love as a still vainer, and genius as making its own misery? Moreover, who shall deny that wherever Nature has been most prodigal in her gifts, there Fortune has been almost sure to thwart with adverse circumstances? Who are the most contented people you know? The mentally indolent: the money-getting: those whose ideal of happiness is 'being comfortable.' The inherent horror of death is the greatest hold that life has upon us. Let any one look their own past experience steadily in the face, and what a dark and discouraging aspect will it not present? How many enjoyments have passed away for ever! how much warmth and kindness of feeling! how many
