She is as much grieved on this occasion, as I was, in dread of the resentment of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen. Let me give you some account of what passed between Emily and me: you will be charmed with her beautiful simplicity.

When we were in the chariot, she told me, that the last time she saw her mother, it was at Mrs. Lane’s. The bad woman made a pretence of private business with her daughter, and withdrew with her into another room, and then insisted that she should go oflP with her, unknown to any body. And because I desired to be excused, said she, my mother laid her hands upon me, and said she would trample me under her foot. It is true (unhappy woman!) she was

[Then the dear girl whispered me, though nobody was near us sweet modest creature, loth to reveal this part of her mother’s shame even to me aloud, and blushed as she spoke ] she was in her cups. My mamma is as naughty as some men in that re-spect: and I believe she would have been as good as her word; but on my screaming (for I was very much frighted) Mrs. Lane, who had an eye upon us, ran in with two servants, and one of her daughters, and rescued me. She had torn my cap Yet it was a sad thing, you know, madam, to see one’s mother put out of the house against her will. And then she raised the neighbourhood. Lord bless me, I thawght I should have died. I did fail into tits. Then was Mrs. Lane forced to tell every one what a sad woman my mother was! It was such a disgrace to me I It was a month before I could go to church, or look any body in the face. But Mrs. Lane’s character was of her side; and my guardian’s goodness was a help Shall I say a help against my mother? Poor woman! we heard afterwards, she was dead; but my guardian would not believe it. If it would please God to take me, I should rejoice. Many a tear does my poor mother, and the trouble I give to the best of men, cost me, when nobody sees me; and many a time do 1 cry myself to sleep, when I think it impossible I should get such a kind relief.

I was moved at the dear girl’s melancholy tale. I clasped my arms about her, and wept on her gentle bosom. Her calamity, which was the greatest that could happen to a good child, I told her, had endeared her to me: I would love her as my sister.

And so I will: dear child, I will for ever love her. And I am ready to hate myself for some passages in my last letter, O how deceitful is the heart! 1 could not have thought it possible that mine could have been so narrow.