Maria had often thought, when disciplining her wayward heart, "that to charm, was to be virtuous." "They who make me wish to appear the most amiable and good in their eyes, must possess in a degree," she would exclaim, "the graces and virtues they call into action." She took up a book on the powers of the human mind; but, her attention strayed from cold arguments on the nature of what she felt, while she was feeling, and she snapt the chain of the theory to read Dryden's Guiscard and Sigismunda.
Maria, in the course of the ensuing day, returned some of the books, with the hope of getting others--and more marginal notes.

Thus shut out from human intercourse, and compelled to view nothing but the prison of vexed spirits, to meet a wretch in the same situation, was more surely to find a friend, than to imagine a countryman one, in a strange land, where the human voice conveys no information to the eager ear.
"Did you ever see the unfortunate being to whom these books belong ?" asked Maria, when Jemima brought her slipper.

"Yes.

He sometimes walks out, between five and six, before the family is stirring, in the morning, with two keepers; but even then his hands are confined." "What! is he so unruly ?" enquired Maria, with an accent of disappointment.
"No, not that I perceive," replied Jemima; "but he has an untamed look, a vehemence of eye, that excites apprehension.

Were his hands free, he looks as if he could soon manage both his guards: yet he appears tranquil." "If he be so strong, he must be young," observed Maria.
"Three or four and thirty, I suppose; but there is no judging of a person in his situation." "Are you sure that he is mad ?" interrupted Maria with eagerness.