Three times a day she studied a little book，which I found，on inspection，was a mon prayer Book. I asked her once what was the great attraction of that volume，and she said，"the Rubric." Three hours she gave to stitching，with gold thread，the border of a square crimson cloth，almost large enough for a carpet. In answer to my inquiries after the use of this article，she informed me it was a covering for the altar of a new church lately erected near Gateshead. Two hours she devoted to her diary; two to working by herself in the kitchen-garden; and one to the regulation of her accounts. She seemed to want no pany; no conversation. I believe she was happy in her way: this routine sufficed for her; and nothing annoyed her so much as the occurrence of any incident which forced her to vary its clockwork regularity.

She told me one evening，when more disposed to be municative than usual，that John"s conduct，and the threatened ruin of the family，had been a source of profound affliction to her: but she had now，she said，settled her mind，and formed her resolution. Her own fortune she had taken care to secure; and when her mother died- and it was wholly improbable，she tranquilly remarked，that she should either recover or linger long- she would execute a long-cherished project: seek a retirement where punctual habits would be permanently secured from disturbance，and place safe barriers between herself and a frivolous world. I asked if Georgiana would acpany her.

"Of course not. Georgiana and she had nothing in mon: they never had had. She would not be burdened with her society for any consideration. Georgiana should take her own course; and she，Eliza，would take hers."