are a cup too low,” observed he, “come, I will share a pot with you; you are an honest man by your looks; but you must not remain here.” I complied, and he led the way to a public house which was open. I shared with him the porter he called for; and he returned to his duty, exacting from me a promise, that I would wait for day light. It came, Harriet, and I determined to live, and to take ample vengeance on my destroyer’s head. The state of my mind was such, as to admit of no impediments in my projects of revenge. I informed Captain Nelson that I was going into the country, in the hope of meeting with a person whom it was necessary for me to see. Again he pressed me to continue with him; but finding me determined, he contented himself with again supplying my purse with five guineas, and recommending me in the strongest terms, to the owner of the wharf he used, and who happened to be present. This man engaged to employ me, in case my necessities should oblige me to labour for my bread; and giving me his address, he bade me come to him should my journey not turn out to my expectation. I had no chains to impede my feet; but measuring the distance by land, and my strength, I preferred working down my passage to Newcastle; having learned from the porter at Lincoln’s Inn, that Mr. Flamall was at his brother’s, Sir Murdoch Maclairn’s seat near Durham. Aware of the impression which sorrow has given to my toil-worn countenance, I have personated here a shipwrecked, and sick mariner; and pity gave me shelter. Here ends my eventful tale, and here terminates the decree of Heaven, which pronounced that Charles Duncan should have no friend, no comforter, but that Being in whose approbation he should find peace and repose. I have seen you, I have heard your voice! I listened to your accents of melting tenderness and sympathy when you talked of your husband. “He is a man,” said you, “of whom it may with truth be said that he has been steeped in affliction, yet, my Malcolm, like his Divine Master, he bows resigned to his cross; he murmurs not—but in his sufferings teaches us patience.” And to whom was this said? to your son, to Maclairn’s child! No frenzy followed this scene of anguish, but tears, my Harriet, which, like the dew of heaven on the parched earth, allayed the fever of my disturbed brain, and solaced my burning bosom. I forgot myself, I saw only in my Harriet, Maclairn’s wife and his son’s mother, dignified and matured, by that virtue which had attracted my adoration.