I think a life of retirement is apt to
render us selfish, and too positive in the wisdom and purity of our own
notions, too prejudiced against the faults of our fellows. Society is a
mirror, where we can see human character reflected in a variety of
shades, and thereby, if our minds be so inclined, we may attain a better
knowledge of ourselves. If, before we condemned others, we looked into
our own hearts, we are likely to become more charitable and more humble
at the same moment, and our own conduct necessarily becomes more
guarded. But with your mother, my Emmeline, and your open
heart--unsophisticated as it may be--you will never go far wrong. Mamma
is looking anxiously at me, as if she feared I am exerting myself too
much. I feel my cheeks are painfully flushed, and therefore I will obey
her gentle hint. Farewell, my Emmeline; may you long be spared the
sorrows that have lately wrung the heart of your attached and constant
friend,

MARY GREVILLE.

_From Mrs. Hamilton to Miss Greville_.

London, March 20th.

Your letter to Emmeline, my dear young friend, I have read with feelings
both of pain and pleasure, and willingly, most willingly, do I comply
with your request, that I would write to you, however briefly. Your
despondency is natural, and yet it is with delight I perceive through
its gloom those feelings of faith and duty, which your sense of religion
has made so peculiarly your own. I sympathise, believe me, from my
heart, in those trials which your very delicate health renders you so
little able to bear. I will not endeavour by words of consolation to
alleviate their severity, for I know it would be in vain. In your
earliest youth I endeavoured to impress upon your mind that we are not
commanded to check every natural feeling. We are but told to pour before
God our trouble, to lean on His mercy, to trust in His providence, to
restrain our lips from murmuring, and if we do so, though our tears may
fall, and our heart feel breaking, yet our prayers will be heard and
accepted on high. It is not with you, my poor girl, the weak indulgence
of sorrow that ever prostrates you on a couch of suffering, it is the
struggle of resignation and concealment that is too fierce for the
delicacy of your constitution; and do you not think that strife is
marked by Him, who, as a father, pitieth His children? Painful as it is
to you, my dear Mary, your sufferings may be in a degree a source of
mercy to your mother. Agonizing