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Excerpt from Clara Vaughan, Vol. 1 of 3: A Novel
The day when I was ten years old began my serious life. It was the 3oth of December, 1842; and proud was the kiss my loving father gave me for spelling, writing, and pronouncing the date in English, French, and Italian No very wonderful feat, it is true, for a clever child well-tangit; but I was by no means a clever child; and no one except my father could teach me a single letter. When, after several years of wed lock, my parents found new joy in me, their bliss was soon overhung with care. They feared, but durst not own the fear, lest the wilful, passionate, loving creature.
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