mother's luke-warm manner of performing her religious duties, filled her
with anguish; and when she observed her father's vices, the unbidden
tears would flow. She was miserable when beggars were driven from the
gate without being relieved; if she could do it unperceived, she would
give them her own breakfast, and feel gratified, when, in consequence of
it, she was pinched by hunger.

She had once, or twice, told her little secrets to her mother; they were
laughed at, and she determined never to do it again. In this manner was
she left to reflect on her own feelings; and so strengthened were they
by being meditated on, that her character early became singular and
permanent. Her understanding was strong and clear, when not clouded by
her feelings; but she was too much the creature of impulse, and the
slave of compassion.




CHAP. III.


Near her father's house lived a poor widow, who had been brought up in
affluence, but reduced to great distress by the extravagance of her
husband; he had destroyed his constitution while he spent his fortune;
and dying, left his wife, and five small children, to live on a very
scanty pittance. The eldest daughter was for some years educated by a
distant relation, a Clergyman. While she was with him a young gentleman,
son to a man of property in the neighbourhood, took particular notice of
her. It is true, he never talked of love; but then they played and sung
in concert; drew landscapes together, and while she worked he read to