blessing of our heavenly Father, have thus preserved me.  Naturally, my temper, my passions were like his, in nothing was I his superior; but it was your hand, your prayers, my mother, planted the seeds of virtue, your gentle firmness eradicated those faults which, had they been fostered by indulgence, might have rendered my life like Cecil Grahame’s, and exposed me in the end to a death like his.  What would have availed my father’s judicious guidance, my brother’s mild example, had not the soil been prepared by a mother’s hand and watered by a mother’s prayers? blessings, a thousand blessings on your head, my mother!  Oh, may my children learn to bless theirs even as I do mine; they cannot know a purer joy on earth.

* * * * *

“We have arrived at Rouen in safety.  I am truly thankful to feel my beloved wife is far from the scene of confusion and danger to which she has been so unavoidably exposed.  I am not deceived in her strength of nerve, my dear mother; I did not think, when I boasted of it as one of her truly valuable acquirements, I should so soon have seen it put to the proof; to her letter to Caroline I refer you for all entertaining matter.

* * * * *

“I have been interrupted by an interview as unexpected as it promises to be gratifying.  One dear to us all may, at length, rejoice there is hope; but I dare not say too much, for the health of this unhappy young man is so shattered, he may never yet embrace his mother.  But to be more explicit, I was engaged in writing, unconsciously with the door of my apartment half open, when I was roused by the voice of the waiter, exclaiming, ‘Not that room, sir, if you please, yours is yonder.’  I looked up and met the glance of a young man, whom, notwithstanding the long lapse of years, spite of faded form and attenuated features, I recognised on the instant.  It was Alfred Greville.  I was far more surprised and inconceivably more shocked than when Cecil Grahame crossed my path; I had marked no change in the features or the expression of the latter, but both in Alfred Greville were so totally altered, that he stood before me the living image of his sister, a likeness I had never perceived before.  I was too much astonished to address him, and before I could frame words, he had sprung forward, with a burning flush on his cheek, and grasping my hand, wildly exclaimed, ’Do not shun me, Hamilton, I am not yet an utter reprobate.  Tell me of my mother; does she live?”

“‘She does,’ I replied; instantly a burst of thanksgiving broke from his lips, at least so I imagined, from the expression of his features, for there were no articulate sounds, and a swoon resembling death immediately followed.  Medical assistance was instantly procured, but though actual insensibility was not of long continuance, he is pronounced to be in such an utterly exhausted state, that we dare not encourage hopes for his final recovery; yet still I