For six months preceding her sickness, or thereabouts, being the interval between her last departure from London and the time her indisposition seized her, my mother never saw Mr. Cranstoun; tho’ I constantly, and even almost every post, corresponded with him.  It must here be observed, that Lady Cranstoun had wrote to my mother some time before, to return her thanks for the civilities her son had received from her.  It must also be remembered, that a little before my mother went last to town, I and my father both received letters from Miss Murray, signed “N.  Cranstoun,” to inform us, that she was his lawful wife.  The decree of the Court of Scotland in her favour was sent with these letters.  When I received them, I carried them to my father.  After he had read them, I asked him “what I was to do.”  His answer was, “I do not trouble my head about it.”  On which I went to my mother, and consulted with her about what was to be done; and, by her advice, wrote to Mr. Cranstoun, begging him, as he was a man of honour, to let me know the truth.  At the same time, I sent him the letters that came from Scotland, and occasioned this epistle.  In answer to this, he said, “It was certainly her hand; but that she never was his wife, nor has any right to the name”:  And, in order to gain credit to his assertion, he made the strongest protestations.  Before my mother wrote last to him, and that a considerable time, he had sent me a solemn Contract of Marriage, wherein he declared he never had been married before, and stiled me therein “Mrs. Cranstoun.”  But to put an end to this digression, and proceed to what happened after my mother’s death.

On the day following her decease, which was Sunday, Mr. Stevens of Fawley was desired to write Mr. Cranstoun word of this sorrowful event; which he did, I being incapable of either knowing or doing any thing.  Mrs. Stevens, the Rev. Mr. Stevens’s wife, staid with me from Saturday night, when my mother died, till the Sunday night following.  Then Mrs. Mounteney, a friend of my late mother’s, came to me, and staid with me some time.  My mother, on her deathbed, had begged me not to oppose the match between my father and this Mrs. Mounteney, if, after her death, he discovered an inclination to marry her; as she was a woman of honour, and would use me well for her sake.  On the Tuesday following my mother’s death Mr. Cranstoun sent his footman express to Henley, with letters to me and my father.  When my father opened his letter and read it, the tears ran down his checks, and he cried out, “How tenderly does he write!” Then he gave Mrs. Mounteney the letter to read, who, after having read it, said it was as pretty a letter as could have been wrote on such an occasion; “He has lost a friend indeed,” said she, “but I don’t doubt,” speaking to my father, “but you will make up her loss to them both.”  Then, my father said to me, “Pray read your letter to us.”  This I did, and the letter contained an earnest desire, that if I could not write