Emerging out of a dreary chamber, all nature looked cheerful; when she had last walked out, snow covered the ground, and bleak winds pierced her through and through:  now the hedges were green, the blossoms adorned the trees, and the birds sung.  She reached the dwelling, without being much exhausted and while she rested there, observed the children sporting on the grass, with improved complexions.  The mother with tears thanked her deliverer, and pointed out her comforts.  Mary’s tears flowed not only from sympathy, but a complication of feelings and recollections the affections which bound her to her fellow creatures began again to play, and reanimated nature.  She observed the change in herself, tried to account for it, and wrote with her pencil a rhapsody on sensibility.

“Sensibility is the most exquisite feeling of which the human soul is susceptible:  when it pervades us, we feel happy; and could it last unmixed, we might form some conjecture of the bliss of those paradisiacal days, when the obedient passions were under the dominion of reason, and the impulses of the heart did not need correction.

“It is this quickness, this delicacy of feeling, which enables us to relish the sublime touches of the poet, and the painter; it is this, which expands the soul, gives an enthusiastic greatness, mixed with tenderness, when we view the magnificent objects of nature; or hear of a good action.  The same effect we experience in the spring, when we hail the returning sun, and the consequent renovation of nature; when the flowers unfold themselves, and exhale their sweets, and the voice of music is heard in the land.  Softened by tenderness; the soul is disposed to be virtuous.  Is any sensual gratification to be compared to that of feelings the eves moistened after having comforted the unfortunate?

“Sensibility is indeed the foundation of all our happiness; but these raptures are unknown to the depraved sensualist, who is only moved by what strikes his gross senses; the delicate embellishments of nature escape his notice; as do the gentle and interesting affections.—­But it is only to be felt; it escapes discussion.”

She then returned home, and partook of the family meal, which was rendered more cheerful by the presence of a man, past the meridian of life, of polished manners, and dazzling wit.  He endeavoured to draw Mary out, and succeeded; she entered into conversation, and some of her artless flights of genius struck him with surprise; he found she had a capacious mind, and that her reason was as profound as her imagination was lively.  She glanced from earth to heaven, and caught the light of truth.  Her expressive countenance shewed what passed in her mind, and her tongue was ever the faithful interpreter of her heart; duplicity never threw a shade over her words or actions.  Mary found him a man of learning; and the exercise of her understanding would frequently make her forget her griefs, when nothing else could, except benevolence.