the Top of her Bent,--she takes French Leave of
him, departs to her own Kindred, and makes Affection for her Childhood's
Home the Pretext for defying the Laws of God and Man. Let her Father
cherish her, pity her, bear with her, and shelter her from even the
Knowledge of the Evils of the World without,--her Ingratitude will keep
Pace with her Ignorance, and she will forsake him for the Sweetheart of a
Week. You think Marriage the supreme Bliss: a good many don't find it
so. Lively Passions soon burn out; and then come disappointed
Expectancies, vain Repinings, fretful Complainings, wrathful Rejoinings.
You fly from Collision with jarring Minds: what Security have you for
more Forbearance among your new Connexions? Alas! you will carry your
Temper with you--you will carry your bodily Infirmities with you;--your
little Stock of Experience, Reason, and Patience will be exhausted before
the Year is out, and at the End, perhaps, you will--die--"

"As well die," cries _Anne_, bursting into Tears, "as live to hear such a
Rebuke as this." And so, passionately wringing her Hands, runs out of
the Room.

"Follow after her, _Deb_," cries Father; "she is beside herself. Unhappy
me! tried every Way! An _Oedipus_ with no _Antigone_!"

And, rising from his Seat, he began to pace up and down, while I ran up
to _Nan_. But scarce had I reached the Stair-head, when we both heard a
heavy Fall in the Chamber below. We cried, "Sure, that is Father!" and
ran down quicker than we had run up. He was just rising as we entered,
his Foot having caught in a long Coil of Gold Lace, which _Anne_, in her
disorderly Exit, had unwittingly dragged after her. I saw at a Glance he
was annoyed rather than hurt; but _Nan_, without a Moment's Pause, darts
into his Arms, in a Passion of Pity and Repentance, crying, "Oh, Father,
Father, forgive me! oh, Father!"

"Tis all of a Piece, _Nan_," he replies; "alternate hot and cold; every
Thing for Passion, nothing for Reason. Now all for me; a Minute ago, I
might go to the Wall for _John Herring_."

"No, never, Father!" cries _Anne_; "never, dear Father--"

"Dark are the Ways of God," continues he, unheeding her; "not only
annulling his first best Gift of Light to me, and leaving me a Prey to
daily Contempt, Abuse, and Wrong, but mangling my tenderest, most
apprehensive Feelings--"

_Anne_ again breaks in with, "Oh! Father, Father!"

"Dark, dark, for ever dark!" he went on; "but just are the Ways