She would gaze on the moon, and ramble through the
gloomy path, observing the various shapes the clouds assumed, and listen
to the sea that was not far distant. The wandering spirits, which she
imagined inhabited every part of nature, were her constant friends and
confidants. She began to consider the Great First Cause, formed just
notions of his attributes, and, in particular, dwelt on his wisdom and
goodness. Could she have loved her father or mother, had they returned
her affection, she would not so soon, perhaps, have sought out a new
world.
Her sensibility prompted her to search for an object to love; on earth
it was not to be found: her mother had often disappointed her, and the
apparent partiality she shewed to her brother gave her exquisite
pain--produced a kind of habitual melancholy, led her into a fondness
for reading tales of woe, and made her almost realize the fictitious
distress.
She had not any notion of death till a little chicken expired at her
feet; and her father had a dog hung in a passion.
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