Mrs. B. has written a letter, with this superscription:  “To the ever-honoured and ever-dear Mr. B., with prayers for his health, honour, and prosperity in this world, and everlasting felicity in that to come.  P.B.”  It is sealed with black wax, and she gave it me this moment, on her being taken ill, to give to Mr. B. if she dies.  But God, of his mercy, avert that! and preserve the dear lady, for the honour of her sex, and the happiness of all who know her, and particularly for that of your Polly Darnford; for I cannot have a greater loss, I am sure, while my honoured papa and mamma are living:  and may that be for many, very many, happy years!

I will not close this letter till all is over:  happily, as I hope!—­ Mrs. B. is better again, and has, occasionally, made some fine reflections, directing herself to me, but designed for the benefit of her Polly, on the subject of the inconsideration of some of our sex, with regard to the circumstances she is in.

I knew what her design was, and said, “Aye, Polly, let you and I, and every single young body, bear these reflections in mind, pronounced by so excellent a lady, in a moment so arduous as these!”

The girl wept, and very movingly fell down by the door, on her knees, praying to God to preserve her dear lady, and she should be happy for ever!

Mrs. B. is exceedingly pleased with my new relation Mrs. Harris, as we call her, who behaves with so much prudence, that she suspects nothing, and told Mrs. Jervis, she wished nobody else was to come near her.  And as she goes out (being a person of eminence in her way) two or three times a day, and last night staid out late, Mrs. B. said, she hoped she would not be abroad, when she should wish her to be at home—­

I have the very great pleasure, my dear papa and mamma, to acquaint you, and I know you will rejoice with me upon it, that just half an hour ago, my dear Mrs. B. was brought to-bed of a fine boy.

We are all out of our wits for joy almost.  I ran down to Mr. B. myself, who received me with trembling impatience.  “A boy! a fine boy! dear Mr. B.,” said I:  “a son and heir, indeed!”

“But how does my Pamela?  Is she safe?  Is she like to do well?”—­“We hope so,” said I:  “or I had not come down to you, I’ll assure you.”  He folded me in his arms, in a joyful rapture:  “How happy you make me, dearest Miss Darnford!  If my Pamela is safe, the boy is welcome, welcome, indeed!—­But when may I go up to thank my jewel?”

Mrs. Andrews is so overjoyed, and so thankful, that there is no getting her from her knees.

A man and horse is dispatched already to Lady Davers, and another ordered to Kent, to the good old man.