“Write to me at once yourself--this is no occasion to employ a deputy--and forgive me, dearest uncle, for I know not what faults of presumption I may have here committed. My head is confused; the crash of misfortunes has addled me, and each succeed so rapidly on each other, that remedies are scarcely employed than they have to be abandoned. When, however, I can tell the people that it is their own old friend and master that sends them help, and bids them to be of good cheer,--when I can show them that, although separated by distance, your heart never ceases to live amongst them,--I know well the magic working of such a spell upon them, and how, with a bravery that the boldest soldier never surpassed, they will rise up against the stern foes of sickness and famine, and do battle with hard fortune manfully. “You have often smiled at what you deemed my exaggerated opinion of these poor people,--my over-confidence in their capacity for good. Oh--take my word for it--I never gave them credit for one half the excellence of their natures. They are on their trial now, and nobly do they sustain it! “I have no heart to answer all your kind questions about myself,--enough that I am well; as little can I ask you about all your doings in Paris. I 'm afraid I should but lose temper if I heard that they were pleasant ones; and yet, with my whole soul, I wish you to be happy; and with this, “Believe me your affectionate “Mr. Repton has written me the kindest of letters, full of good advice and good sense; he has also enclosed me a check for £100, with an offer of more if wanted. I was low and depressed when his note reached me, but it gave me fresh energy and hope. He proposed to come down here if I wished; but how could I ask such a sacrifice,--how entreat him to face the peril?” “Tell Captain Martin I wish to speak to him,” said Martin, as he finished the perusal of this letter. And in a few minutes after, that gallant personage appeared, not a little surprised at the summons. “I have got a letter from Mary here,” said Martin, vainly endeavoring to conceal his agitation as he spoke, “which I want to show you. Matters are in a sad plight in the West. She never exaggerates a gloomy story, and her account is very afflicting. Read it.” The Captain lounged towards the window, and, leaning listlessly against the wall, opened the epistle. “You have not written to her lately, then?” asked he, as he perused the opening sentence. “I am ashamed to say I have not; every day I made a resolution; but somehow--” “Is all this anything strange or new?” broke in the Captain. “I 'm certain I have forty letters from my mother with exactly the same story. In fact, before I ever broke the seal, I 'd have wagered an equal fifty that the potatoes had failed, the bogs were flooded, the roads impassable, and the people dying in thousands; and yet, when spring came round, by some happy miracle they were all alive and merry again!”