remove the happy couple from Ashtown-house. The carriage stood at the
hall-door, and my poor sister kissed me again, and again, telling me
that I should see her soon. The carriage drove away, and I gazed
after it until my eyes filled with tears, and, returning slowly to my
chamber, I wept more bitterly, and so, to speak more desolately, than
ever I had done before. My father had never seemed to love, or to
take an interest in me. He had desired a son, and I think he never
thoroughly forgave me my unfortunate sex. My having come into the
world at all as his child, he regarded as a kind of fraudulent
intrusion, and, as his antipathy to me had its origin in an
imperfection of mine, too radical for removal, I never even hoped to
stand high in his good graces. My mother was, I dare say, as fond of
me as she was of any one; but she was a woman of a masculine and
a worldly cast of mind. She had no tenderness or sympathy for the
weaknesses, or even for the affections of woman's nature, and her
demeanour towards me was peremptory, and often even harsh. It is not
to be supposed, then, that I found in the society of my parents much
to supply the loss of my sister. About a year after her marriage, we
received letters from Mr. Carew, containing accounts of my sister's
health, which, though not actually alarming, were calculated to
make us seriously uneasy. The symptoms most dwelt upon, were loss of
appetite and cough. The letters concluded by intimating that he would
avail himself of my father and mother's repeated invitation to spend
some time at Ashtown, particularly as the physician who had been
consulted as to my sister's health had strongly advised a removal
to her native air. There were added repeated assurances that nothing
serious was apprehended, as it was supposed that a deranged state of
the liver was the only source of the symptoms which seemed to intimate
consumption. In accordance with this announcement, my sister and Mr.
Carew arrived in Dublin, where one of my father's carriages awaited