second marriage, who died at an advanced age, leaving his young widow pregnant. The young man’s name is Philip, and his age nearly that of poor Oliver’s eldest son, who was also christened Philip. On this slight conformity the good old man erected his hopes of supplying to himself an heir and a consolation. The appearance of this young man, who is accompanied by his maternal uncle Mr. Flamall, has renovated poor Oliver. He is, indeed, a most promising and handsome young man, and my friend already fancies he resembles his son: no one contests this point with him; nor is there any one who does not think the young man worthy of his brother’s protection. He is well educated, and his manners are pleasing and polite, though rather too reserved and circumspect for some amongst us. These strangers have made a rake of me for some time; but I have refused to dine with the _heir apparent_, in order to write to you more at my leisure. Since your picture has graced my saloon, your old friend Oliver can talk of nothing but getting a wife for his idol; and this morning Mr. Flamall explicitly began a negotiation for my girl, stating his nephew’s great expectations from his sister, an old maiden lady, whose name is Lucretia Flint. This, with Mr. Flint’s fortune, is a _bait_, but not one for your father, my child. I have not forgotten your dear mother: to her undivided affection, not _her money_, was I indebted for my happiness; and, instead of years passed in contention and wretchedness, I had the satisfaction of knowing that my wife preferred her husband to his rival, although that rival was _her mother_. I do not believe you have been instructed to despise a man, simply because he stands well in your father’s opinion; nor will that father, my dear child, bargain away your happiness, in order to add acre to acre. I told Mr. Flamall, with more jocularity than seriousness, that I meant to see my girl before I gave her away, and to know the value of my merchandise before I _sold it_. Be not, however, surprised should you see your old friend Mr. Flint; for, coward as he is, I verily believe he would cross the Atlantic in a boat to plead with you for his darling Philip.” Kind as this letter was, it alarmed Miss Cowley. She once more renewed her entreaties on the subject of her father’s leaving Jamaica; and in the most unequivocal terms declared her repugnance to any matrimonial overtures. “Let me conjure you, my dear Sir,” urged the apprehensive pleader, “to return to England, and to renew with me those endearing ties of an undivided duty and the purest gratitude. I seek to emulate my mother, but it shall be in first shewing that I am your child, and not as a wife. Oh, let me for a time be your own Rachel Cowley!”