old friend so warmly expressed, though they were so opposite to the gratitude usually bestowed even on _contingent_ donations; and having informed Mr. Cowley of this event, and its consequences, he left him to determine at his leisure, on the fitness of Mrs. Dawson’s arrangements for his daughter’s benefit and security. During this period of time, the unhappy Mr. Cowley was giving the most unequivocal and melancholy proofs to those about him, of the affection he cherished for his amiable and lost Marian. A long and dangerous illness had succeeded to her death, the consequence of his attendance, fatigue, and grief; and when rescued from the grave by the vigour of his constitution, his friends found his mind sunk into the deepest gloom. From this deplorable condition, he was gradually roused by the sight of his infant daughter. Happily the child was healthy, and had for its preservation an attendant well qualified to supply a mother’s cares. Mrs. Cowley, on quitting England, had fortunately secured in the female attendant who accompanied her, more than the talents and fidelity of a domestic. Mrs. Allen was a widow; she had been well instructed in her youth, and matured in wisdom and knowledge by a natural good sense, and the discipline of adversity. The _femme de chambre_ was forgotten in the usual friend and companion of the voyage, and Mrs. Cowley introduced Mrs. Allen to her new circle in a manner suitable to her merits. To this excellent woman she in some sort bequeathed her infant, engaging her, in the most affecting terms, to watch over the child till it was safe with Mrs. Hardcastle, who had promised her to be its parent when in England. This request was enforced by Mr. Cowley also; and Mrs. Allen forgot not her obligations in the performance of her duty. From the time of her lady’s death, as she always called Mrs. Cowley, she regularly corresponded with Mrs. Hardcastle; and from her letters to this lady, I have learned to judge both of Mr. Cowley’s attachment to his wife and child, and of Mrs. Allen’s good sense. I shall transcribe a part of one of the letters she wrote to Mrs. Hardcastle, when the child was something more than three years old: it delineates the condition of a father seeking refuge from sorrow in the indulgence of fondness, the fruits of which are too often found in bitter repentance. After an account of Mr. Cowley’s improved health, and incessant demands on her little charge for the cheerfulness he still needed, she thus proceeds: “Judge, my dear Madam, what must be the result of this excessive fondness! what must be the condition of a being, liable to contradiction and disappointment from the very tenure on which she holds her being, who must never be controuled in her will, whose tears put Mr. Cowley into a fever, and whose infant caprices are laws which no one dare to disobey. Nature, my dear Madam, has formed her for a better purpose, than subduing her father’s judgment by her attractive person and