“Of all the modes taken by a man of sensibility to prove his affection for the woman he loves, there is none that so perfectly convinces her of it, as his attention and kindness to those dear to her. I feel the truth of this when I see the thousand different little marks of assiduity to add to her comforts, and gratify her tastes, which my husband shows to our dear mother. There is a respectful tenderness in his attention to her, that fills me with satisfaction, and greatly touches her feelings. I should be miserable if my husband betrayed indifference to my mother, or only treated her with mere politeness. Why is it, that in the midst of so many causes for happiness, I am often low-spirited? or rather, I should say, why do I frequently detect symptoms of gloom in him on whom my happiness depends? I tremble for his health, for I observe in him a certain susceptibility of nerves, so unusual even in women, as to justify my fears that he is far from well. – He admitted the other day that he had been attacked by spasms of the heart, and the dread of a return of them has haunted me ever since. I was greatly vexed with myself lately, when overcome by my foolish, / but uncontrollable terror of mice, I saw one run along the room, and, like a silly child, I screamed aloud and rushed away. He echoed my cry, and turning pale as marble, seemed ready to faint, and it was some time before he recovered the shock. What watchful tenderness, what doting love! But I must be on my guard not to startle or alarm him henceforth.”