n and his sister, Mrs. Wentworth, and Achsa Fielding, were my most
valuable associates beyond my own family. With all these my
correspondence was frequent and unreserved, but chiefly with the latter.
This lady had dignity and independence, a generous and enlightened
spirit, beyond what her education had taught me to expect. She was
circumspect and cautious in her deportment, and was not prompt to make
advances, or accept them. She withheld her esteem and confidence until
she had full proof of their being deserved.

I am not sure that her treatment of me was fully conformable to her
rules. My manners, indeed, as she once told me, she had never met with
in another. Ordinary rules were so totally overlooked in my behaviour,
that it seemed impossible for any one who knew me to adhere to them. No
option was left but to admit my claims to friendship and confidence
instantly, or to reject them altogether.

I was not conscious of this singularity. The internal and undiscovered
character of another weighed nothing with me in the question whether
they should be treated with frankness or reserve. I felt no scruple on
any occasion to disclose every feeling and every event. Any one who
could listen found me willing to talk. Every talker found me willing to
listen. Every one had my sympathy and kindness, _without_ claiming it;
but I _claimed_ the kindness and sympathy of every one.

Achsa Fielding's countenance bespoke, I thought, a mind worthy to be
known and to be loved. The first moment I engaged her attention, I told
her so. I related the little story of my family, spread out before her
all my reasonings and determinations, my notions of right and wrong, my
fears and wishes. All this was done with sincerity and fervour, with
gestures, actions, and looks, in which I felt as if my whole soul was
visible. Her superior age, sedateness, and prudence, gave my deportment
a filial freedom and affection, and I was fond of calling her "_mamma_."

I particularly dwelt upon the history of my dear country-girl; painted
her form and countenance; recounted our dialogues, and related all my
schemes for making her wise, and good, and happy. On these occasions my
friend would listen to me with the mutest attention. I showed her the
letters I received, and offered her for her perusal those which I wrote
in answer, before they were sealed and sent.

On these occasions she would look by turns on my face and away from me.
A varying hue would play