upon the past with deep regret. The most fearful visions
haunted my brain, and fears of future punishment filled
my mind. How could I hope to escape it, when they were
so very strict, and able to read my most secret thoughts?
What would I not have given could I have been again
restored to my father? True he was intemperate, but at
that time I thought not of this; I only knew that he was
always kind to me, that he never refused what I asked of
him. I sometimes think, even now, that if he had not so
cruelly thrust me from him, I might have been able to
win him from his cups and evil course of life. But this
was not to be. Having given himself up to the demon of
intemperance, it is not surprising that he should have
given away his only child; that he should have placed
her in the hands of those who proved utterly unworthy of
the trust. But however indignant I may at times have felt
towards him, for the one great wrong he committed against
me, still I do not believe he would ever have done it
but for the influence of ardent spirits. Moreover, I do
not suppose that he had the least idea what kind of a
place it was. He wished, doubtless, that his child might
be well educated; that she might be shielded from the
many trials and temptations that cluster around the
footsteps of the young and inexperienced, in the midst
of a cold and heartless world. From these evils the
nunnery, he thought, would be a secure retreat, for there
science, religion, and philanthropy, PROFESSEDLY, go hand
in hand. Like many other deluded parents, he thought that
"Holiness to the Lord" was inscribed upon those walls,
and that nothing which could pervert or defile the youthful