resplendent physiognomy, together with the superior energy of his expressions, absorbed me in listening awe and deep attention, till roused by the entrance of a young female, as touching and interesting as her revered parent. Upon seeing him engaged in conversation with me, she would have retired, had not her father urged her stay. She seemed scarcely to have attained her seventeenth year; her form was slight, but exquisitely beautiful; it was perfect symmetry: she was also clad in the sober livery of grief; a profusion of dark hair encompassed her head, and partly reclined upon a bosom as white, and we may suppose as pure, as the modest snowdrop. The pallidness of her cheek was for a moment tinged by a faint blush; excess of suffering seemed to have chased from their seat the roses glowing hue. Dejection and melancholy invaded the lovely mourner; she having but lately lost the best and most indulgent friend, her mother. Resignation, however, seemed just beginning to diffuse its balm, which, to the elasticity of the youthful mind, might soon dispel that grief which had no doubt been fast consuming her delicate frame. Her features, though not regular, were the more interesting and engaging; her large eyes, when raised to her father, apparently dimmed of their lustre, displayed
