My mother, why did you leave your hapless babe?
Oh! why?
my mother! I was left much to myself, and followed unrestrained my own inclinations.

You know my fondness for books; that fondness was imbibed in girlhood, as I wandered in my own sunny home--my lost home.
My father taught me to conceal my emotions--to keep down the rising sob, to force back the glittering tear; and when I smiled over some childish grief, applauded my stoicism.

I became unnatural, cold, haughty, but not unfeeling.

I remember well how your pale face and mourning dress touched my heart, and waked my sympathies.

From that hour I lavished my love on my father and yourself.