And Jemima gave her a new subject for contemplation, by describing the person of a lovely maniac, just brought into an adjoining chamber.

She was singing the pathetic ballad of old Rob* with the most heart-melting falls and pauses.

Jemima had half-opened the door, when she distinguished her voice, and Maria stood close to it, scarcely daring to respire, lest a modulation should escape her, so exquisitely sweet, so passionately wild.

She began with sympathy to pourtray to herself another victim, when the lovely warbler flew, as it were, from the spray, and a torrent of unconnected exclamations and questions burst from her, interrupted by fits of laughter, so horrid, that Maria shut the door, and, turning her eyes up to heaven, exclaimed--"Gracious God!" * A blank space about ten characters in length occurs here in the original edition [Publisher's note].
Several minutes elapsed before Maria could enquire respecting the rumour of the house (for this poor wretch was obviously not confined without a cause); and then Jemima could only tell her, that it was said, "she had been married, against her inclination, to a rich old man, extremely jealous (no wonder, for she was a charming creature); and that, in consequence of his treatment, or something which hung on her mind, she had, during her first lying-in, lost her senses." What a subject of meditation--even to the very confines of madness.
"Woman, fragile flower! why were you suffered to adorn a world exposed to the inroad of such stormy elements ?" thought Maria, while the poor maniac's strain was still breathing on her ear, and sinking into her very soul.
Towards the evening, Jemima brought her Rousseau's Heloise; and she sat reading with eyes and heart, till the return of her guard to extinguish the light.

One instance of her kindness was, the permitting Maria to have one, till her own hour of retiring to rest.