occasion to go to the cupboard for medicine for one of the children, which was indisposed. She suddenly turned round, and exclaimed to me, “my dear, look! who is that?” I turned to the wall to which she pointed, and, to my astonishment, saw the figure of a woman against the wall; but not being so much alarmed as you might suppose, and though chilled at the sight, I was willing to prevent Mrs. C. from being too much alarmed, and endeavoured to persuade her it was only the shadow of something which lay on the table, by the looking glass, which, if removed, it would disappear. We removed them, but the figure remained. We also carried the candle from one end of the room to the other. All shadows occasioned by the candle, would of course remove also, but this appearance still continued. Mrs. C. felt extremely agitated, but I bore it with uncommon fortitude, though I have no native courage. We both sat down to see the issue. I proposed to speak to it, but Mrs. C. begged I would not; I sat with my head upon my hand, and, in that position, smiling at it. In a minute or two after we had sat down, to watch it, it began to disappear: I observed to Mrs. C. it is going away, it is gone: as soon as I said this it appeared as visible as ever, just like a candle sinking in the socket, apparently out, when it blazes up again, till it expires; it then gradually died away: this was about half-past eleven at night. The appearance was the shadow of a woman, about the common height, longish vissage, and apparently genteel, though in a night dress. This was not worked up by conversation about visions; our converse was very different, nor was it the effect of disordered nerves, as we were both uncommonly cheerful. I did not hear of the death of any acquaintance after this, as I expected I should; so that I was led to conjecture (and it was but conjecture) that perhaps my dear mother, at that period, breathed her last, and the Lord might have indulged her with a sight of her long lost son. Permit me just to observe, this sight of the appearance was not a passing shadow, but actually continued for nearly ten minutes. Judge my feelings afterwards, if you can. {17} Here I close my remarks on my mother.—_Who_ she was, and _why_ we were separated, _the day will declare it_—when every dark and mysterious providence will be unfolded, and mortality swallowed up of life. With respect to my treatment at the Foundling Hospital—I speak it to the honour of the Governors of that excellent place,—the treatment of the children is admirable, the food is good, the master, mistresses, and nurses, are kind—and were I dying, and leaving orphan children behind me, with the promise they should be nursed there, I should die happy on that subject. I will give you a particular account of the place in as few words as I can comprise it in the compass of my next letter. Many mothers are indeed the objects of pity. Perhaps