Jan. 1784.

I have nothing to tell you, my dear girl, that will give you
pleasure. Yesterday was a dismal day, long and dreary. Bishop was
very ill, etc., etc. He is much better to-day, but misery haunts
this house in one shape or other. How sincerely do I join with you
in saying that if a person has common sense, they cannot make one
completely unhappy. But to attempt to lead or govern a weak mind is
impossible; it will ever press forward to what it wishes,
regardless of impediments, and, with a selfish eagerness, believe
what it desires practicable though the contrary is as clear as the
noon-day. My spirits are hurried with listening to pros and cons;
and my head is so confused, that I sometimes say no, when I ought
to say yes. My heart is almost broken with listening to B. while he
reasons the case. I cannot insult him with advice, which he would
never have wanted, if he was capable of attending to it. May my
habitation never be fixed among the tribe that can't look beyond
the present gratification, that draw fixed conclusions from general
rules, that attend to the literal meaning only, and, because a
thing ought to be, expect that it will come to pass. B. has made a
confidant of Skeys; and as I can never speak to him in private, I
suppose his pity may cloud his judgment. If it does, I should not
either wonder at it, or blame him. For I that know, and am fixed in
my opinion, cannot unwaveringly adhere to it; and when I reason, I
am afraid of being unfeeling. Miracles don't occur now, and only a
miracle can alter the minds of some people. They grow old, and we
can only discover by their countenances that they are so. To the
end of their chapter will their misery last. I expect Fanny next
Thursday, and she will stay with us but a few days. Bess desires
her love; she grows better and of course more sad.

Though Mary's heart was breaking and her brain reeling, her closer
acquaintance with Bishop convinced her that Eliza must not continue with
him. She determined at all hazards to free her sister from a man who was
slowly but surely killing her, and she knew she was right in her
determination. "Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist," Emerson
says. Mary, because she was a true woman, was ruled in her conduct not by
conventionalities or public opinion, but by her sense of righteo