My Dear Friend,—I know not what were your sentiments, in reading my simple tale; which, by the bye, you have only to thank yourself for your trouble, as it is by your’s, and the desires of many, that I thus make public my origin, as far as I can trace it. Your care for me, and anxiety, long manifested for my best interest, I hope I shall never lose sight of: although I am a stranger to the affection of a mother, I know not what affection she had for me. I have heard of some, who have sought after, and dealt motherly with some of my deserted little fellows; I knew one of them, who is now living, who had been taken from his mother for reasons unknown to me; but, I have been informed, she kept her eye upon him, while an infant at nurse, and during his abode at the hospital; and when he was apprenticed, she frequently came of errands to the shop, and dealt with him for years, but did not make herself known to him. (I judge how you would have acted; I do not think _you_ would have kept that secret so long.) His time was expired, and he was to seek a lodging: strange to tell, he sought, and found one at the very house his mother lived in. After some time she invited a few friends, by the consent of her husband, to sup with her, and she, of course, invited her son. After the supper was over, she related a very affecting story to the company, concerning her former husband, and the reasons why she was obliged to part with her child; when, to the astonishment of the young man, she made herself known to him; and, no doubt she exclaimed to him, calling him by his name, “I am your mother.” Judge the feelings of all present. This is the story, as related to me. I remember the young man, when a boy with me. This is a privilege I never had; but, blessed be God, my heavenly father has owned me, and the Church of God has also received me: she is called the mother, for, “who so doeth the will of my father, the same is my mother, my sister, and my brother.”