Thy Providence my life sustain’d And all my wants redrest; When in the silent womb I lay, Or hung upon the breast. LETTER II. “For in thee the fatherless findeth mercy.” TO THE SAME. WITH pleasure I renew the pleasing task of calling my infantine days to your notice. I have already observed, I can know but very little of that subject, and can only go by mere conjecture. I mean the cause of being left an orphan. I know it not, but I must confess, I really believe it was contrary to the wish of my parent, that I should be separated from her. I sometimes think she never knew where I was, or what became of me. It has been reported that I was found in a church, perhaps St. John’s, Clerkenwell, or some other church of the name, which is the reason of my being thus named; as it has often occurred that orphans have been named from the place where they were found. While an infant, thus exposed, it is very evident that I was admitted into that best of institutions, the Foundling Hospital; from thence I was sent to a village called Hadlow, near Tunbridge, in Kent: here I was carefully nursed, by a very kind woman; where I continued till I was five or six years of age. I do not recollect any person coming to see me at that period, to shew me any particular favours. I was again brought back to the Foundling, though not without many tears, which the nurse shed at parting with me; she would fain have kept me as her own, but she was obliged, though with much reluctance, to give me up. I continued at the hospital till I was ten years and a half old, but was never visited by any one. Yet, notwithstanding this seeming neglect, I could not divest mind of the idea that my mother was then alive, and often experienced an aching heart, and the most anxious solicitude for me. Perhaps this was not the case; but I still think that she did intend, at some future period, to search for, and own me. This I gather, only from the trivial circumstance of the marks found on me, which perhaps she put, when she was apprehensive I should be taken from her. I cannot pass by one little circumstance, which I must relate: we well know that the relation of it will be turned into mere ridicule; I have no objection to that, nor do I wish to impose upon the weak and credulous. I will only relate a matter of fact, which occurred to me some years ago. I had been to a late lecture, one Monday night, in the month of February, 1807. After supper, Mrs. C. being very busy at the time, and not being tired, I sat down to write to a most intimate friend, who is now in glory. Mrs. C. ever anxious for my comfort, reminded me I had to rise early in the morning, and advised me to go to rest; I was very cheerful, and we were both lively and chatty. I mention this that you might not suppose I was dreaming. I obeyed her, and sat at the side of the bed, and began to undress myself. She had