the paper with the poison in it was not burnt.  One of the maids having immediately flung some fresh coals upon the fire, Miss Blandy went well satisfied out of the room.  Upon her going out, Susan Gunnell said to her fellow-servants, “I saw Miss Blandy throw some papers in the fire, let us see whether we can discover what they were.”  They removed the coals, and found a paper with white powder in it, wrote upon, in Mr. Cranstoun’s hands, “Powder to clean the pebbles."[3] This powder they preserved, and the doctor will tell you that it was white arsenic, the same which had been found in the pan of gruel.

Having now (as she imagined) concealed her own being concerned, you will find her the next day endeavouring to prevent her lover from being discovered.  Mr. Blandy of Kingston having come the night before to see her father, on Sunday morning she sent Mr. Littleton with him to church; while they were there she sat down and wrote this letter to her beloved Cranstoun—­

Dear Willy,—­My father is so bad, that I have only time to tell you, that if you do not hear from me soon again, don’t be frightened.  I am better myself.  Lest any accident should happen to your letters, take care what you write.  My sincere compliments.  I am ever yours.

“My father is so bad.”  Who had made him so?  Yet does she say she was sorry for it?  No; she knew her father was then dying by that powder that he had sent her, yet could acquaint him she was herself better.  Under those circumstances could caution him to take care what he wrote, lest his letters should be discovered!  What can speak more strongly their mutual guilt?  This letter she sealed with no less than five wafers.  When Mr. Littleton came from church she privately gave it to him, desiring it might be directed as usual, and put into the post.  Mr. Littleton was at that time too well apprised of this black transaction to obey her commands.  He opened the letter, took a copy of it.  Upon further recollection, carried the original to the father, who bid him open and read it.  He did so.  What do you think, gentlemen, was all the poor old man said upon this discovery?  He only again dropped these words, “Poor love-sick girl!  What will not a woman do for the man she loves?”

Upon the Monday morning, after having been kept for two days without seeing her father, by the order of the physicians, her conscience, or rather fear, began to trouble her; she told the maid she should go distracted if she did not see her father, and sent a message to beg to see him.  Accordingly she was admitted.  The conversation between them was this—­“Papa, how do you do?” “My dear, I am very ill.”  She immediately fell upon her knees and said, “Dear sir, banish me where you will; do with me what you please, so you do but pardon and forgive me.  And as to Mr. Cranstoun, I never will see, write, or speak to him again.”  He answered, “I do forgive you, but you should, my dear, have considered