Keith’s wife, either from hatred of her sister, or the spirit of contradiction common to her, thought it a good opportunity of acting like an honest woman; she was careful of you during your delirium; and also attentive to your poor mother. Your generosity when you left her house for Mr. Flamall’s, confirmed her good dispositions towards you. I had not been without my suspicions, that the cautions which kept me in _the back ground_ all this time, were not used without solid reasons; Flamall, however, in the executive trust, which had thus devolved on him; brought home with him on the night of the funeral, some papers which belonged to the deceased Mrs. Duncan, in order for their better security as he said, and he then mentioned you and your condition, adding, that he did not think you could survive your mother; and that he had no clue to any of your connexions. He spoke of your little property in the funds; and the suspicion he entertained, that Mrs. Duncan was not your real mother.” “Why do you not examine her letters?” asked I. “I have,” answered he; “but they are written in Spanish; and I do not wish to have this young man’s story published unnecessarily; if he live, he may be able to give an account of himself, and if he die they must be translated.” “I am able to do that,” replied I; “and it may be prudent to know the ground you tread.” Flamall understood the tone with which this observation was made, and he gave me three or four letters from a pocket book, which he said, the defunct had in her trunk, and which constituted all the papers, that could lead to an explanation of a secret, which she had too long deferred to communicate. “I shall only notice to you,” continued Simons, “those passages which struck me the most. Two or three of the letters contained little more than most tender expressions of maternal affection; and the most pathetic description of the writer’s hopes and fears, as these related to you. One of a later date informed Mrs. Duncan that Jachimo de Castros had been summoned by the Duke to ——, his agency being more important there, than in England; that his services were supplied by the orders he had left with a _tried friend_, Joseph Jago, a merchant in the Minories, to whom she was to apply in every exigency, and who would forward her letters. Another, of a later and recent date, was still more important, but it was like the oracles of old to me. Joy dictated the broken sentences. Much was said of a picture which heaven in its mercy had placed in Mrs. Duncan’s hands. Joseph Jago would supply her with a thousand pounds.” “Her _Henrico_” was to be cautiously introduced to a knowledge of a mother, whose miseries were forgotten, in the hopes of clasping her son, her long lost blessing, to her bosom. “Spare no expence for the masters he may yet need,” adds the writer, “it must be yet some months before all is ready for his appearance here; when, with an exultation, the thoughts