"Thus did my brother write, in the exultation of his heart. And every succeeding letter contained similar intelligence of Louisa's happiness; of the high-minded patriotism of her husband; of the honour in which he was held by the States; and of the anxious joy which agitated them all, in the prospect of an heir to this treasure of felicity. Think then, my dear Marquis, what were the feelings with which I read a long-expected letter from the Hague! I had impatiently awaited what seemed so strangely withheld. It was to tell me of the birth of the anticipated blessing. The letter came, sealed with black.--An heir had been born, according to hope, but the mother was no more.--Louisa's delicate frame had perished in the trial of that dreadful period. She lingered three weeks after the morning of her child's birth, and then died in the arms of her husband and of her father. Next day the afflicted parent wrote to me. How differently did this letter conclude from the one in which he announced her marriage!" Again the Pastor leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes; but he also pressed them down with his hand, as he proceeded to quote his brother's words.-- "_I come to you, Richard, with all that remains to me of my too precious Louisa.--So young, so beautiful, so beloved!--Ripperda has resigned her infant to my care. When he consented to my earnest supplication, he pressed the poor unconscious babe to his weeping face, and then putting him into my arms:--Take him, Sir Hedworth! (cried he) What compensation is too dear to the father of my lost Louisa? He then rushed from the room, and I have not seen him since. I thank my God, her mother is spared this last blow, which has laid my grey hairs in the dust._" As Mr. Athelstone closed these remembrances, with a silent address to the Being in whose peace now rested the parent with his child; the Marquis wiped the starting tears from his eyes,--a pause of a few minutes ensued; and then the good man, turning with a serene aspect to his auditor, resumed.--