Keble.

From eighteen to twenty-four—­a long step; and it covers the ground that is generally the brightest and gayest in a woman’s life, and the most decisive.  With me it was, in a certain sense, bright and gay; but the deciding events of my life seemed to have been crowded into the year, the story of which has just been told.  Of the six years that came after, there is not much to tell.  My character went on forming itself, no doubt, and interiorly I was growing in one direction or the other; but in external matters, there is not much of interest.

I had “no end of money,” so it seemed to me, and to a good many other people, I should think, from the way that they paid me court.  I don’t see why it did not turn my head, except that I was what they call religious, and dreadfully afraid of doing wrong.  I was not my own mistress exactly, either, for I had some one to direct my conscience, though that was the only direction that I ever had.  I had not the smallest restriction as to money from Richard (to whom the estate was left in trust); and it had been found much to exceed his expectations, or those of anybody else.

I had the whole world before me, where to go and what to choose; not very much stability of character, and the greatest ignorance; a considerable share of good looks, and the love of pleasure inseparable from youth and health; absolutely no authority, and any amount of flattery and temptation.  I think it must be agreed, it was a happy thing for me that I was brought under the influence of Sister Madeline, and that through her I was made to feel most afraid of sin, and of myself; and that the life within, the growth in grace, and the keeping clear my conscience, was made to appear of more consequence than the life without, that was so full of pleasures and of snares.

I often think now of the obedience with which I would give up a party, stay at home alone, and read a good book, because I had been advised to do it, or because it was a certain day; of the simplicity with which I would pat away a novel, when its interest was at the height, because it was the hour for me to read something different, or because it was Friday, or because I was to learn to give up doing what I wanted to.

These things, trivial in themselves, and never bound upon my conscience, only offered as advice, had the effect of breaking up the constant influence of the world, giving me a little time for thought, and opportunity for self-denial.  I cannot help thinking such things are very useful for young persons, and particularly those who have only ordinary force and resolution.  At least, I think they were made a means of security to me.  I was so in earnest to do right, that I often thought, in terror for myself, in the midst of alluring pleasures and delights, it was a pity they had not let me be a Sister when I wanted to at first.  (I really think I had more vocation than they thought:  I could have given up, to