 piety, need ever urge despair!
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I had hung with mute attention on her story, my tears had flowed with her's, and while she spoke, her griefs suspended mine; admiration of her virtue now succeeded, and kept me silent still, but there, alas! our sympathy must end, she might rejoice in her afflictions past, whilst I must mourn for ever!
I passed six days with this uncanonized saint, this living Patience, of whom

Shakespear's image was but a prototype*. She knew me not, all the while, and I could not reveal myself, nor had the particulars of my sad story yet reached her incurious ears, to have given her the least cause of suspecting who I was.
By various methods, and slow degrees, I pursued my journey towards Flintshire. As I drew nearer to my mother's peaceful cottage, I anticipated the misery and horror she would feel, when she should know my situation, and considered myself as a wretch who was going to communicate an incurable disease, to the fond bosom that had nursed and cherished it—Prophetic were my thoughts!

The first emotions she felt on seeing me, were those of love and joy; she strained me to her honest breast, with true maternal tenderness, and exclaimed,
"Mr. W— has at last relented, and blessed me with a sight of my Maria!"
Whilst I, o'erwhelmed with her unmerited kindness, sunk speechless to the earth—Tears were the sole return that I could make to her caresses and inquiries.

My mother was alarmed;
"Sorrow, she said, my child, we both have known, but sure that should not seal your lips to those who wish to share and soothe your griefs, or render you insensible to love like mine."

I grasped her honoured hand, pressed it to my heart, and vainly strove to articulate a sound—For several hours I remained

in this situation—At length my speech returned, and throwing myself on my knees before her, I could not be prevailed on to forsake that posture, till I had recounted to her the whole of that horrid tale, which you have just now read.
I will not wound your heart, my brother, with attempting to describe the agonies she suffered, during the sad recital of my story, yet this truly virtuous, this scarce erring woman, pitied the crimes which she herself detested, and spoke of peace and pardon to my afflicted soul! even to the latest moment
