nnot but pity him, tho' he is such a Formalist.

I wish _Anne_ were a little more demonstrative; Father would then be as
assured of her Affection as of mine, and treat her with equal Tenderness.
But, no, she cannot be; she will sitt and look piteously on his blind
Face, but, alas! he cannot see that; and when he pours forth the full
Tide of Melody on his Organ, and hymns mellifluous Praise, the Tears rush
to her eyes, and she is oft obliged to quit the Chamber; but, alas! he
knows not that. So he goes on, deeming her, I fear me, stupid as well as
silent, indifferent as well as infirm.

I am not avised of her ever having let him feel her Sympathy, save when
he was inditing to me his third Book, while she sate at her Sewing.
'Twas at these lines:--

"Thus with the Year,
Seasons return; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet Approach of Even or Morn,
Or Sight of vernal Bloom or Summer's Rose,
Or Flocks or Herds, or human Face divine,
But Clouds instead, and over-during Dark
Surrounds me; from the cheerful Ways of Men
Cut off: and for the Book of Knowledge fair,
Presented with an universal Blank."

His Brow was a little contracted, but his Face was quite composed; while
she, on t'other Hand, with her Work dropped from her Lap, and her Eyes
streaming, sate gazing on him, the Image of Woe. At length, timidly
stole to his Side, and, after hesitating awhile, kissed both his Eyelids.
He caught her to him, quite taken by Surprise, and, for a Moment, both
wept bitterly. This was soon put a Stop to, by Mother's coming in, with
her Head full of stale Fish; howbeit Father treated _Anne_ with uncommon
Tenderness all that Evening, calling her his sweet _Nan_; while she,
shrinking back again into her Shell, was shyer than ever. But his
Spiritts were soothed rather than dashed by this little Outbreak; and at
Bedtime, he said, even cheerfully, "Now, good-night, Girls: . . . may it,
indeed, be as good to you as to me. You know, Night brings back my
Day--_I am not blind in my Dreams_."

I wish I knew the Distinction between Temperament and Genius: how far
Father's even Frame is attributable to one or t'other. If to the former,
why, we might hope to attain it as well as he;--yet, no; this is equallie
the Gift of God's Grace. Our Humours we may controwl, but our
Temperament is born with us; and if one should say, "Why are you a Vessel
of glorious things, while I am a Vessel of Things weak and vile?"-