Your errors, dear Sir James, said he, are not remember'd.--Look back on the reception you gave your son and daughter. He made no reply; but shedding a flood of tears, went to his afflicted family. Mr. Watson, it seems, whilst I had been out, acquainted him with the contents of your letter;--judging it the most seasonable time, as their grief could not then admit of increase. Sir James was scarce withdrawn, when Lady Powis sent her woman to request the sight of it.--As I rose to give it into her hand, I saw Mr. Morgan pass by the door, conducting an elderly woman, whom I knew afterward to be Mrs. Jenkings.--She had a handkerchief to her eyes, one hand lifted up;--and I heard her say, Good God! Sir, what shall I do?--how can I see the dear Ladies?--Oh Miss Powis!--the amiable Miss Powis! Mr. Morgan join'd us immediately, with whom and Mr. Watson I spent the remainder of this melancholy evening: at twelve we retir'd. So here I sit, like one just return'd from the funeral of his best friend;--alone, brooding over every misery I can call together.--The light of the moon, which shines with uncommon splendor, casts not one ray on my dark reflections:--nor do the objects which present themselves from the windows offer one pleasing idea;--rather an aggravation to my heart-felt anguish.--Miserable family!--miserable those who are interested in its sad disaster!-- I go to my bed, but not to my repose. Nine o'clock in the morning. How sad, how gloomy, has been the approach of morning!--About six, for I had not clos'd my eyes,--somebody enter'd my chamber. I suppos'd it Mr. Morgan, and drew aside my curtain.--It was not Mr. Morgan;--it _was_ the poor disconsolate father of Miss Powis, more agitated, if possible, than the preceding night.--He flung himself on my bed with agony not to be express'd:-- Dear Risby, said he, _do_ rise:--_do_ come to my apartment.--Alas! my Fanny-- What new misfortune, my friend? ask'd I, starting up.--My wife! return'd! he!--she is in fits;--she has been in fits the whole night.--Oh Risby! if I should lose _her_, if I should lose my _wife!_--My parents _too_, I shall lose them!-- Words could not lessen his affliction. I was silent, making what haste I could to huddle on my clothes;--and at his repeated intreaties follow'd him to his wife,--She was sitting near the fire drowned; in tears, supported by her woman. I was pleas'd to see them drop so plentifully.--She lifted up her head a little, as I enter'd.--How alter'd!--how torn to pieces with grief!--Her complexion once so lovely,--how changed in a few hours.