river in the vessel, not having reason to hasten on shore, she saw
vulgarity, dirt, and vice--her soul sickened; this was the first time
such complicated misery obtruded itself on her sight.--Forgetting her
own griefs, she gave the world a much indebted tear; mourned for a world
in ruins. She then perceived, that great part of her comfort must arise
from viewing the smiling face of nature, and be reflected from the view
of innocent enjoyments: she was fond of seeing animals play, and could
not bear to see her own species sink below them.

In a little dwelling in one of the villages near London, lived the
mother of Ann; two of her children still remained with her; but they did
not resemble Ann. To her house Mary directed the coach, and told the
unfortunate mother of her loss. The poor woman, oppressed by it, and her
many other cares, after an inundation of tears, began to enumerate all
her past misfortunes, and present cares. The heavy tale lasted until
midnight, and the impression it made on Mary's mind was so strong, that
it banished sleep till towards morning; when tired nature sought
forgetfulness, and the soul ceased to ruminate about many things.

She sent for the poor woman they took up at sea, provided her a lodging,
and relieved her present necessities. A few days were spent in a kind of
listless way; then the mother of Ann began to enquire when she thought
of returning home. She had hitherto treated her with the greatest
respect, and concealed her wonder at Mary's choosing a remote room in
the house near the garden, and ordering some alterations to be made, as
if she intended living in it.

Mary did not choose to explain herself; had Ann lived, it is probable
she would never have loved Henry so fondly; but if she had, she could
not have talked of her passion to any human creature. She deliberated,