"Oh! reason, thou boasted guide, why desert me, like the world, when I
most need thy assistance! Canst thou not calm this internal tumult, and
drive away the death-like sadness which presses so sorely on me,--a
sadness surely very nearly allied to despair. I am now the prey of
apathy--I could wish for the former storms! a ray of hope sometimes
illumined my path; I had a pursuit; but now _it visits not my haunts
forlorn_. Too well have I loved my fellow creatures! I have been wounded
by ingratitude; from every one it has something of the serpent's tooth.

"When overwhelmed by sorrow, I have met unkindness; I looked for some
one to have pity on me; but found none!--The healing balm of sympathy is
denied; I weep, a solitary wretch, and the hot tears scald my cheeks. I
have not the medicine of life, the dear chimera I have so often chased,
a friend. Shade of my loved Ann! dost thou ever visit thy poor Mary?
Refined spirit, thou wouldst weep, could angels weep, to see her
struggling with passions she cannot subdue; and feelings which corrode
her small portion of comfort!"

She could not write any more; she wished herself far distant from all
human society; a thick gloom spread itself over her mind: but did not
make her forget the very beings she wished to fly from. She sent for the
poor woman she found in the garret; gave her money to clothe herself
and children, and buy some furniture for a little hut, in a large
garden, the master of which agreed to employ her husband, who had been
bred a gardener. Mary promised to visit the family, and see their new
abode when she was able to go out.