"In proportion as your father approached his grave," continued my brother, "my wife became wretched, and my spirits were in continual agitation lest in the concessions which she prompted me to make, I should be censured, as being governed by self-interest. At length we heard of his death, and in due form were summoned by an attorney, a Durham man, to the hall, in order to be present at the opening of Mr. Flint's will. You know its purport. When the lawyer had finished reading, I rose, and taking my nearly sinking Mary's cold hand, I fixed my eyes on the heiress's face. 'This is at least Howard's,' said I, 'and in his affection at least your sister is _rich_. Neither malice nor envy dare invade these rights. The Being whom we adore is able to provide for us, and the bread he bestows, will be that of peace and a good conscience.' Miss Flint made no reply. Mrs. Flint, who had during this time covered her face from observation, now rose with emotion, and stopping me as I was advancing to the door with my precious burden, she said, 'As Mr. Flint's wife I was dumb; but as his widow I _will_ speak. If Mrs. Howard wishes to follow her father's remains, have the goodness, Sir, to let me hear from you.' She hastily left the room before me. The next day my wife received from her a parcel of mourning stuffs; but my heart revolted at favours given to _beggary_. I sent them back with a card, 'Mrs. Howard is provided with _mourning_.' A fever of some danger prevented my Mary's thinking of the funeral. It was magnificent, and your mother's remains were disinterred and brought hither to rest with her husband's. Poor Mary has been one of Greenwood's hearers ever since; and even my nerves were for a time shaken by their monument, which is in the chancel." CHAP. VI. _Memoirs of the Flint Family continued._ "My health had not been spared in these vexations, and its interruptions made a coward of me. I experimentally felt the truth of our favourite Terence's observation, 'I am a man, and have the feelings of a man.' Whilst counting my throbbing pulse, my widowed Mary and helpless child smote on my heart, and weakened still more the springs of life. My little fund of about five hundred pounds had insensibly diminished; you were remote and might _never return_; and I yielded to despondency. But my God has graciously heard my sighs; you are with me and I am comforted; for you will never forsake my wife and child."--I must pause, Miss Cowley. I saw with sanguine hopes the renewal of my brother's health and cheerfulness. I received orders to join my regiment, and our embarkation for America soon followed. Once more, oceans divided me from my dear friends! Waving as useless the detail of my military life, I will hasten to a conclusion. My brother's letters were for a time such as I wished; but the arrow had been aimed too well. He died when I was remote; leaving his daughter in her fifth year. My return to England followed in a few months after this event.