Agitated already by the terrors of my dangerous expedition, I felt additional horror on finding myself in a dismal cell, lighted with a lantern; where, at a small table, sat a woman suffering under a corpulency unparalleled in the memoirs of human monsters. She was clad in sackcloth, her head was swathed in linen, and had grey locks on it, like horses' tails. Hundreds of frogs were leaping about the floor; a piece of mouldy bread, a mug of water, and a manuscript, lay on the table; some straw, strewn with dead snakes and skulls, occupied one corner, and the farther side of the cell was concealed behind a black curtain. I stood at the door, doubtful, and afraid to advance; while the prodigious prisoner sat examining me from head to foot. At last I summoned courage to say, 'I fear, Madam, I am an intruder here. I have certainly been shewn into the wrong room.' 'It is, it is my own, my only daughter, my Cherubina!' cried she, with a tremendous voice. 'Come to my maternal arms, thou living picture of the departed Theodore!' 'Why, Ma'am,' said I, 'I would with great pleasure, but I am afraid that---- Oh, Madam, indeed, indeed, I am quite sure you cannot be my mother!' 'For shame!' cried she. 'Why not?' 'Why, Madam,' answered I, 'my mother was of a thin habit; as her picture proves.' 'And so was I once,' said she. 'This deplorable plumpness is owing to want of exercise. You see, however, that I retain all my former paleness.' 'Pardon me,' said I, 'for I must say that your face is a rich scarlet.' 'And is this our tender meeting?' cried she. 'After ten years' imprisonment, to be disowned by my daughter, and taunted with sarcastic insinuations against my face? Here is a pretty joke! Tell me, girl, will you embrace me, or will you not?' 'Indeed, Madam,' answered I, 'I will embrace you presently.' 'Presently!' cried she. 'Yes,' said I, 'depend upon it I will. Only let me get over the first shock.' 'Shock!' vociferated she. Dreading her violence, and feeling myself bound to do the duties of a daughter, I kneeled at her feet, and said: 'Ever excellent, ever exalted author of my being, I beg thy maternal blessing!' My mother raised me from the ground, and hugged me to her heart, with such cruel vigour, that almost crushed, I cried out stoutly, and struggled for release. 'And now,' said she, relaxing her grasp, 'let us talk over our wrongs. This manuscript is a faithful narrative of my life, previous to my marriage. It was written by my female confidant, to divert her grief, during the long and alarming illness of her Dutch pug. Take it to your chamber, and blot it with your tears, my love.' I put the scroll in my bosom.