LETTER LXVI. (_Enclosed in Mr. Paget’s._) _To Mr. Flamall._ Shouldest thou start, Flamall, at the sight of these well known characters, for my hand, like my heart, has but _one_ for my purposes. Should thy knees tremble, and the blood recede in terror from thy cheek, bless Heaven! Hail these indications of its mercy! Thou hast not yet outlived humanity, thou art not yet abandoned to everlasting destruction. Be it so! Oh God, infinite in goodness, almighty in power! Were I certain, Flamall, that with the form of man there were yet one single spark left unextinguished of _the spirit of a man_, I would invite thee to my dying couch, for it is near thee. I would bid thee compare it with thy nightly bed of prosperous villany. And here settle those accounts of the guardianship and _gains_. Though for years in bondage, I have been free from guilt. No parent will demand from me a ruined oppressed son; no confederate in vice and cruelty and treachery will point _to me_ as the betrayer of his soul! But thou wilt recall to memory the issue of thy crimes; and the names of thy agents in mischief. I die in peace. My wife knows my innocence and my wrongs. If it be needful for thy repentance, apply to her; and with the tale of thy brotherly care, of an innocent, and virtuous orphan-sister, thou mayest have the relation of the woes thou hast inflicted on thy _ward Charles_. Detain not the messenger: I wait his return to breathe my last sigh on his faithful bosom. Thou hast been defeated, Flamall! The tear of affection will fall on my remains; and I shall be remembered as one who has not lived to be the fell destroyer of my fellow-man, nor as one abandoned by his Maker. LETTER LXVII. _From Mr. Flamall to Mr. Philip Flint._ (_Enclosed in Mr. Paget’s._) Horror! unutterable horror! anguish, despair! Twist not thus my brain! he is dead! and died with his hopes! expecting to be welcomed in a new existence, by assembled angels, hailed by spirits like his own, and received by a God of mercy who will recompense his long sufferings and faith.—Delusions all! The tales of the nursery made up for children! I reject them. When these atoms which compose this palpitating frame are disunited I shall be at peace: for I shall be _nothing_. But wherefore do I pause? What is to me the world to which I now cleave? Why does my heart turn to thee, Philip? I know thou _also_ abhorrest me, yet I would not have thee curse me, for of all men, I have a claim to thy pity. I love thee still. I would bless thee, but I dare not. For if there be a God, whose awful indignation takes cognizance of sin; my blessing would be converted into a malediction on thy head. Blot me from thy memory; acknowledge not the name of Flamall, nor permit thy children to know, that I was once thy guide, thy friend——Nay——Distraction! Why do I hesitate——