"I was almost a constant visitor at the Parsonage, but she who attracted me thither did not gratify me with her presence as often as I wished. The reflection pained me extremely. She no longer addressed me with her usual ingenuousness; her manners became reserved; it appeared as if she studiously avoided me. If she entered the room where I happened to be, it had the effect of accident, and she as quickly left it. In proportion as I gained upon the approbation of the father, I seemed to recede with the daughter, and which naturally caused me much uneasiness. I redoubled my attentions towards her; I resolved not to yield my point without a due perseverance; and, if I failed to excite a return of those sentiments with which she had inspired me, I would at least endeavour to merit her friendship. The resolution with which I ended my last letter I was persuaded nothing could shake—I had determined to keep it inviolable.
"Angelina, it is true, received my efforts to please her with complacency, and not without a smile that might have rewarded me for my sufferings, had I not conceived I had seen her smile more graciously, and her fine eyes sparkle with more brilliancy upon another, a young man in the neighbourhood, the son of a wealthy farmer. He sometimes came to the Parsonage; he was of a re-
