Last Sunday I took up my Bible in a gloomy
state of mind: I began to read--a feeling stole over me such as I have
not known for many long years--a sweet, placid sensation, like those,
I remember, which used to visit me when I was a little child, and, on
Sunday evenings in summer, stood by the open window reading the life
of a certain French nobleman, who attained a purer and higher degree
of sanctity than has been known since the days of the early martyrs."
"E.'s" residence was equally within a walk from Dewsbury Moor as it had
been from Roe Head; and on Saturday afternoons both "Mary" and she used
to call upon Charlotte, and often endeavoured to persuade her to return
with them, and be the guest of one of them till Monday morning; but this
was comparatively seldom. Mary says:--"She visited us twice or thrice
when she was at Miss W---'s. We used to dispute about politics and
religion. She, a Tory and clergyman's daughter, was always in a minority
of one in our house of violent Dissent and Radicalism. She used to hear
over again, delivered _with authority_, all the lectures I had been used
to give her at school on despotic aristocracy, mercenary priesthood, &c.
She had not energy to defend herself; sometimes she owned to a _little_
truth in it, but generally said nothing.
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