“Mine frau!” he cried, “mine frau dat was in heaven!”

We stared very much, as we did not comprehend him; but he then came up to me and said, “I beg your pardon, mynheer, but what is dat young woman?”

“She is my wife,” replied I.

“I was going to say dat she was my wife, but dat is impossible.  Look you here, sar.”

The old man pulled a miniature out of his breast, and certainly the resemblance to Bessy was most remarkable.

“Now, sar, dat was my wife.  Where did you get dis young woman?”

I requested him to walk into the cottage, and then told him the history of Bessy.

“Sar, my wife was coming home with her child in a brig, and the brig was never heard of.  It was supposed that she did perish, and every one else too.  Sar, this lady must be my daughter.”

“I’m sorry that we have no proofs to offer you,” replied I; “she had only bedclothes on when she was taken into the boat, and there is nothing to establish her identity.”

“I am content, sar; she must be my daughter.  She was in a brig with her mother, and she was saved the very same year that her mother come home.  There, sar, look at this picture; it is the same person.  I want no more proof—­she is my daughter.”

Although this was what might be called only collateral proof, I did agree with the old gentleman that it was very strong; at all events, it was sufficient for him, and he claimed Bessy as his child.  Had he claimed her to take her away, I might have disputed it; but as he loaded her with presents, and when he died, which he did three years afterward, and left twenty thousand rix dollars, of course I was perfectly satisfied with his relationship.

So much for what has occurred since the time I married; and now, as the reader may, perhaps, wish to know something about the present condition of myself and family, I must inform him that my father and Bramble are still alive, and flourishing under their gray hairs.  My sister has four children, and her husband is now a dean:  they do say that, from the interest of his patron, he will in all probability be a bishop, a distinction not to be envied in these days, and therefore I do not wish him success.  My mother is, however, of the contrary opinion, having been told that her daughter as a bishop’s lady will take precedence and be led out before Lady Hercules.  Sir James and Lady O’Connor are still well, and as happy as they well can be.  Bessy has blessed me with three boys and three girls, now all grown up; but the boys came first.  The eldest is a lieutenant in his Majesty’s service, the second is a captain of an Indiaman, and the third commands a free trader.  They are all well to do, and independent of their father.  My girls, who are much younger, have been well educated, and people say that they are very handsome; at all events, they are modest and good-tempered.  I have not attempted to conceal what I once was, yet Time has called away most of those