ABSTRACT
Mr Macneil was a man of the warmest philanthropy, and by degrees I reposed in him a confidence, to which I had seldom felt excited toward any other man. After a time, I hired apartments in the house of a substantial farmer in his neighbourhood, that I might the more freely enjoy his conversation and acquaintance, without being an interruption to the domestic economy of his family. I laid before him the secret grief that preyed upon my heart. I described the sickly sensibility of my temper, the early disgust I had taken at the world, and the miserable sense of desolation which preyed upon my life, in my detached and unconnected situation.
