always diſconcerted her; the horſes went to faſt, or too ſlow; the dinner was ill-dreſſed, or, ſome of the company contradicted her.
She was, when a child, very beautiful; but anger ſoon diſtorted her regular features, and gave a forbidding fierceneſs to her eyes. But if for a moment ſhe looked pleaſed, ſhe ſtill reſembled a heap of combuſtible matter, to which an accidental ſpark might ſet fire; of courſe quiet people were afraid to converſe with her. And if ſhe ever did a good, or a humane action, her ridiculous anger ſoon rendered it an intolerable burden, if it did not entirely cancel it.
At laſt ſhe broke her mother's heart, or haſtened her death, by her want of duty, and her many other faults: all proceeding from violent, unreſtrained anger.
The death of her mother, which affected her very much, left her without a friend. She would ſometimes ſay, Ah! my poor mother, if you were now alive, I would not teaze you—I would give the world to
