f genius, when found in sad combination with a woman's
lot.

There was little marked or unusual in Theresa's outward life; her
visible griefs were such as come to all, but the history of her inner
being--the true and unseen life--was one of extremes. It was her fate
to feel every thing vividly; and her joys and troubles were fully
realized by the impassioned depth of her nature; and if, in my loving
remembrances, I dwell somewhat bitterly on the portion society gave
one who richly deserved its homage, and singularly needed its
indulgences; if I portray too warmly the censure and neglect that made
her path so full of trial, let me not be misunderstood. I would give
no sanction to the hasty disregard of appearances which is the
besetting sin of exalted and independent intellect. Under all
circumstances it is an unwise experiment to transgress established
rules; and in a woman, however rarely she may be gifted, it is a rash
and hazardous thing to defy public opinion. Wearying and frivolous as
many of society's conventionalities are, there is much wisdom in them;
they are indispensible links in the chain binding together "all sorts
of people," and she who breaks them knowingly, sins against one of her
greatest safeguards.

Theresa's father, a man of good birth and great acquirements, but
ruined fortunes, had come to reside in our village about five years
before the commencement of this story. She was then his only child,
his elder treasures having been laid, one after another, in distant
graves. Her mother was a tranquil, quiet woman, and still retained the
traces of a beauty which must once have been remarkable. She was a
person of placid temper and mediocre mind, but wavering in judgment,
and not in the least calculated to control the impetuosity, or guide
the enthusiasm of her ardent and reckless child. This Mr. Germaine
seemed acutely to feel; and I could read his fears in the fixed gaze
of prophetic anxiety which he would often rivet on the varying
countenance of his happy and unconscious daughter. His health was
already gradually declining, and he evidently dreaded the future, when
his favorite should be left in many respects guardianless amid the
world's temptations. In my capacity as pastor, I was a frequent
visiter at the little cottage, where, in subdued resignation he was
patiently wearing out his life; and we at length acquired that mental
intimacy which men are apt to feel when they have spoken together of
l