had on my father's strong and susceptible character. From the moment
of my mother's death untill his departure she never heard him utter a
single word: buried in the deepest melancholy he took no notice of any
one; often for hours his eyes streamed tears or a more fearful gloom
overpowered him. All outward things seemed to have lost their
existence relatively to him and only one circumstance could in any
degree recall him from his motionless and mute despair: he would never
see me. He seemed insensible to the presence of any one else, but if,
as a trial to awaken his sensibility, my aunt brought me into the room
he would instantly rush out with every symptom of fury and
distraction. At the end of a month he suddenly quitted his house and,
unatteneded [_sic_] by any servant, departed from that part of the
country without by word or writing informing any one of his
intentions. My aunt was only relieved of her anxiety concerning his
fate by a letter from him dated Hamburgh.

How often have I wept over that letter which untill I was sixteen was
the only relick I had to remind me of my parents. "Pardon me," it
said, "for the uneasiness I have unavoidably given you: but while in
that unhappy island, where every thing breathes _her_ spirit whom I
have lost for ever, a spell held me. It is broken: I have quitted
England for many years, perhaps for ever. But to convince you that
selfish feeling does not entirely engross me I shall remain in this
town untill you have made by letter every arrangement that you judge
necessary. When I leave this place do not expect to hear from me: I
must break all ties that at present exist. I shall become a wanderer,
a miserable outcast--alone! alone!"--In another part of the letter he
mentioned me--"As for that unhappy little being whom I could not see,
and hardly dare mention, I leave her under your protection. Take care
of her and cherish her: one day I may claim her at your hands; but