tears and make me ductile to her will. If
sorrow for her loss be an atonement for the offences which I committed
during her life, ample atonement has been made.

My father is a man of slender capacity, but of a temper easy and
flexible. He was sober and industrious by habit. He was content to be
guided by the superior intelligence of his wife. Under this guidance he
prospered; but, when that was withdrawn, his affairs soon began to
betray marks of unskilfulness and negligence. My understanding, perhaps,
qualified me to counsel and assist my father, but I was wholly
unaccustomed to the task of superintendence. Besides, gentleness and
fortitude did not descend to me from my mother, and these were
indispensable attributes in a boy who desires to dictate to his
gray-headed parent. Time, perhaps, might have conferred dexterity on me,
or prudence on him, had not a most unexpected event given a different
direction to my views.

Betty Lawrence was a wild girl from the pine-forests of New Jersey. At
the age of ten years she became a bound servant in this city, and, after
the expiration of her time, came into my father's neighbourhood in
search of employment. She was hired in our family as milkmaid and
market-woman. Her features were coarse, her frame robust, her mind
totally unlettered, and her morals defective in that point in which
female excellence is supposed chiefly to consist. She possessed
super-abundant health and good-humour, and was quite a supportable
companion in the hay-field or the barnyard.

On the death of my mother, she was exalted to a somewhat higher station.
The same tasks fell to her lot; but the time and manner of performing
them were, in some degree, submitted to her own choice. The cows and the
dairy were still her province; but in this no one interfered with her or
pretended to prescribe her measures. For this province she seemed not
unqualified, and, as long as my father was pleased with her management,
I had nothing to object.

This state of things continued, without material variation, for several
months. There were appearances in my father's deportment to Betty, which
excited my reflections, but not my fears. The deference which was
occasionally paid to the advice or the claims of this girl was accounted
for by that feebleness of mind which degraded my father, in whatever
scene he should be placed, to be the tool of others. I had no conception
that her claims extended beyond a temporary or superf