This unexpected and agreeable decision was accompanied
by an invitation to supper, at which we were treated
by our host with much affability and kindness. Finding me
the author of Williams' good fortune, as well as Mrs. Maurice's,
and being assured by the former of his entire conviction
of the rectitude of my conduct, he laid aside all reserve
and distance with regard to me. He inquired into my prospects
and wishes, and professed his willingness to serve
me.

I dealt with equal unreserve and frankness. I am poor,
said I. Money for my very expenses hither, I have borrowed
from a friend, to whom I am, in other respects, much
indebted, and whom I expect to compensate only by gratitude
and future services.

In coming hither, I expected only an increase of my

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debts; to sink still deeper into poverty; but happily the issue
has made me rich. This hour has given me competence,
at least.

What! call you a thousand dollars competence?

More than competence. I call it an abundance. My
own ingenuity, while I enjoy health, will enable me to live.
This I regard as a fund, first to pay my debts, and next to
supply deficiencies occasioned by untoward accidents or ill
health, during the ensuing three or four years, at least.

We parted with this new acquaintance at a late hour, and
I accepted Williams' invitation to pass the time I should
spend at Baltimore, under his sister's roof. There were
several motives for prolonging this stay. What I had heard
of Miss Fanny Maurice, excited strong wishes to be personally
acquainted with her. This young lady was affectionately
attached to Mrs. Watson, by whose means my wishes
were easily accomplished.

I never was in habits of reserve, even with those whom I
had no reason to esteem. With those who claimed my admiration
and affection, it was impossible to be incommunicative.
Before the end of my second interview, both these
women were mistresses of every momentous incident of my
life, and of the whole chain of my feelings and opinions, in
relation to every subject, and particularly in relation to
themselves. Every topic disconnected with these, is comparatively
lifeless and inert.

I found it easy to win their attention, and to render them
communicative in their turn. As full disclosures as I had
made without condition or request, my inquiries and example
easily obtained from Mrs. Watson and Miss Maurice.
The former related every event of her youth, and the circumstances
leading to her marriage. She depicted the
character of her husband, and the whole train of suspenses
and inquietudes occasioned by his disappearance. The
latter did not hide from me her opinions upon any important
subject, and made me thoroughly acquainted with her actual
situation.

This intercourse was strangely fascinating. My heart
was buoyed up by a kind of intoxication. I now found myself
exalted to my genial element, and began to taste the
delights of existence. In the intercourse of ingenuous and

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sympathetic minds, I found a pleasure which I had not previously
conceived.

The time flew swiftly away, and a fortnight passed almost
before I was aware that a day had gone by. I did
not forget the friends whom I had left behind, but maintained
a punctual correspondence with Stevens, to whom I
imparted all occurrences.

The recovery of my friend's kinsman, allowed him in a
few days to return home. His first object was the consolation
and relief of Carlton, whom, with much difficulty, he
persuaded to take advantage of the laws in favor of insolvent
debtors. Carlton's only debt was owing to his uncle, and
by rendering up every species of property, except his clothes,
and the implements of his trade, he obtained a full discharge.
In conjunction with his sister, he once more assumed the
pen, and being no longer burthened with debts he was unable
to discharge, he resumed, together with his pen, his
cheerfulness. Their mutual industry was sufficient for their
decent and moderate subsistence.

The chief reason for my hasty return, was my anxiety
respecting Clemenza Lodi. This reason was removed by
the activity and benevolence of my friend. He paid this
unfortunate stranger a visit at Mrs. Villars's. Access was
easily obtained, and he found her sunk into the deepest melancholy.
The recent loss of her child, the death of Welbeck,
of which she was soon apprized, her total dependence
upon those with whom she was placed, who, however, had
always treated her without barbarity or indecorum, were
the calamities that weighed down her spirits.

My friend easily engaged her confidence and gratitude,
and prevailed upon her to take refuge under his own roof.
Mrs. Wentworth's scruples, as well as those of Mrs. Fielding,
were removed by his arguments and entreaties, and
they consented to take upon themselves, and divide between
them, the care of her subsistence and happiness. They
condescended to express much curiosity respecting me, and
some interest in my welfare, and promised to receive me on
my return, on the footing of a friend.

With some reluctance, I at length bade my new friends
farewell, and returned to Philadelphia. Nothing remained,

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before I should enter on my projected scheme of study and
employment, under the guidance of Stephens, but to examine
the situation of Eliza Hadwin with my own eyes, and if
possible to extricate my father from his unfortunate situation.

My father's state had given me the deepest concern. I
figured to myself his condition, besotted by brutal appetites,
reduced to beggary, shut up in a noisome prison, and
condemned to that society which must foster all his depraved
propensities. I revolved various schemes for his relief. A
few hundreds would take him from prison, but how should
he be afterwards disposed of? How should he be cured of
his indolent habits? How should he be screened from the
contagion of vicious society? By what means, consistently
with my own wants, and the claims of others, should I secure
to him an acceptable subsistence?

Exhortation and example were vain. Nothing but restraint
would keep him at a distance from the haunts of
brawling and debauchery. The want of money would be
no obstacle to prodigality and waste. Credit would be
resorted to as long as it would answer his demand. When
that failed, he would once more be thrown into a prison; the
same means to extricate him would have to be repeated, and
money be thus put into the pockets of the most worthless of
mankind, the agents of drunkenness and blasphemy, without
any permanent advantage to my father, the principal object
of my charity.

Though unable to fix on any plausible mode of proceeding,
I determined, at least, to discover his present condition.
Perhaps something might suggest itself, upon the spot, suited
to my purpose. Without delay I proceeded to the village of
Newtown, and alighting at the door of the prison, inquired
for my father.

Sawny Mervyn you want, I suppose, said the keeper.
Poor fellow! He came into limbo in a crazy condition, and
has been a burthen on my hands ever since. After lingering
along for some time, he was at last kind enough to give
us the slip. It is just a week since he drank his last pint—
and died.

I was greatly shocked at this intelligence. It was some
time before my reason came to my aid, and shewed me

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that this was an event, on the whole, and on a disinterested
and dispassionate view, not unfortunate. The keeper knew
not my relation to the deceased, and readily recounted the
behavior of the prisoner and the circumstances of his last
hours.

I shall not repeat the narrative. It is useless to keep
alive the sad remembrance. He was now beyond the reach
of my charity or pity; and since reflection could answer no
beneficial end to him, it was my duty to divert my thoughts
into different channels, and live henceforth for my own happiness
and that of those who were within the sphere of my
influence.

I was now alone in the world, so far as the total want of
kindred creates solitude. Not one of my blood, nor even
of my name, were to be found in this quarter of the world.
Of my mother's kindred I knew nothing. So far as friendship
or service might he claimed from them, to me they had
no existence. I was destitute of all those benefits which
flow from kindred, in relation to protection, advice or property.
My inheritance was nothing. Not a single relic
or trinket in my possession constituted a memorial of my
family. The scenes of my childish and juvenile days were
dreary and desolate. The fields which I was wont to traverse,
the room in which I was born, retained no traces of the past.
They were the property and residence of strangers, who
knew nothing of the former tenants, and who, as I was now
told, had hastened to new model and transform every thing
within and without the habitation.

These images filled me with melancholy, which, however,
disappeared in proportion as I approached the abode of my
beloved girl. Absence had endeared the image of my
Bess—I loved to call her so—to my soul. I could not think
of her without a melting softness at my heart, and tears in
which pain and pleasure were unaccountably mingled. As
I approached Curling's house, I strained my sight, in hopes
of distinguishing her form through the evening dusk.

I had told her of my purpose, by letter. She expected
my approach at this hour, and was stationed, with a heart
throbbing with impatience, at the road side, near the gate.
As soon as I alighted, she rushed into my arms.

I found my sweet friend less blithesome and contented than

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I wished. Her situation, in spite of the parental and sisterly
regards which she received from the Curlings, was mournful
and dreary to her imagination. Rural business was irksome,
and insufficient to fill up her time. Her life was tiresome,
and uniform, and heavy.

I ventured to blame her discontent, and pointed out the
advantages of her situation. Whence, said I, can these dissatisfactions
and repinings arise?

I cannot tell, said she; I don't know how it is with me.
I am always sorrowful and thoughtful. Perhaps I think too
much of my poor father and of Susan, and yet that can't be
it neither, for I think of them but seldom; not half as much
as I ought, perhaps. I think of nobody almost but you.
Instead of minding my business, or chatting and laughing
with Peggy Curling, I love to get by myself—to read, over
and over, your letters, or to think how you are employed
just then, and how happy I should be if I were in Fanny
Maurice's place.

But it is all over now; this visit rewards me for every
thing. I wonder how I could ever be sullen or mopeful. I
will behave better, indeed I will, and be always, as now, a
most happy girl.

The greater part of three days was spent in the society
of my friend, in listening to her relation of all that had happened
during my absence, and in communicating, in my
turn, every incident which had befallen myself. After this
I once more returned to the city.