morning, when I woke without that cheering hope that had been my secret comfort and support so long, and all this day, when I have wandered about restless and objectless, shunning my husband, shrinking even from my child—knowing that I am unfit to be his teacher or companion, hoping nothing for his future life, and fervently wishing he had never been born—I felt the full extent of my calamity—and I feel it now. I know that day after day such feelings will return upon me: I am a slave a prisoner—but that is nothing; if it were myself alone, I would not complain, but I am forbidden to rescue my son from ruin, and what was once my only consolation, is become the crowning source of my despair.
Have I no faith in God? I try to look to him and raise my heart to Heaven, but it will cleave to the dust: I can only say—"He hath hedged me about, that I cannot get out: he hath made my chain heavy. He hath filled me with bitterness, he hath made me drunken with
