now consoled her by briefly mentioning Mary's precise situation with you; said I would read to her a part of Miss Howard's last letter to me, and I immediately read to her Mary's account of Lucy Hardcastle's mode of treatment. "May the Almighty shower his blessings on her and hers for generations to come!" exclaimed the good woman in an extasy. "May the orphan she shelters be to her a blessing! and may her cruel aunt live to see Howard's child in no want of her protection!"--"Miss Flint has suffered much, I fear," observed I, "from the violence of her temper, and also from the misrepresentations of her conduct to you as well as to others. She is truly blamable on some points, but I am persuaded she never meant to place her niece in a situation of danger to her innocence. I think she has feeling; I am certain she is sorry for the late instance of her want of self-command."--"Ah, my dear young lady!" replied Mrs. Crofts, shaking her head, "you judge by the goodness of your nature; I have heard of Miss Cowley. My children are not the only objects of her benevolence! But I cannot think charitably of Miss Flint. The friend who left me this estate knew her better than you do. Poor soul! she suffered enough by knowing her! and I have had many a heart-ach in hearing Miss Flint's degeneracy from the angel, her mother! If I thought it would not tire you, I would tell you by what means I have gained a knowledge of the family, and a competency so far beyond my expectations; for when the first Mrs. Flint saw me, I was poor and wretched. It was the day or two after I had seen my husband a corpse, that she came to succour me. Susan was then at my breast, and I had a boy and a girl besides her to support. My poor husband," continued she, brushing away a tear, "was well known at Chelsea; he was a boatman, and always called 'honest Frank' by the gentry; for he was sober, diligent, and civil. He lost his precious life in endeavouring to save a man from drowning who was intoxicated, and could do nothing for himself. A subscription was raised for my relief. But it was _Mrs. Flint_ who poured the oil into my wounds. She it was who raised my eyes to God, and bade me trust to the never-failing friend of the widow and the fatherless. She found I was expert at needle-work, and she furnished me with plenty of it, besides assisting me with money, for my rent and coals. I got on with comfort like this. When my daughter Jenny was fourteen, she fixed her with an old lady, a widow, with whom she went to live at Newcastle. Jane was a clever, active girl, and could read and write well. Her lady became so fond of her that she made her, as one may say, her favoured child, and when she died left her all her clothes and linen with three hundred pounds. She was too well trained to forget her mother in her prosperity; and on her marrying a farmer, to whom she had been sometime engaged, I removed, and settled at Newcastle, Jane being fixed near that town. Thus I lost sight of Mrs.