 into my bed-chamber, and then Benson gave me a letter in French, which I send you inclosed.


No words can adequately express my sense of your goodness to me; but my gratitude shall, while I have life, be poured forth in fervent prayers for your happiness—This, alas! is the sole return that I can make to Heaven, or to you, whose blessed instrument I am sure you are, to speak peace and comfort to a dying

wretch, and smooth her passage from this vale of misery!
Ah, Madam! may you never know the transports I received from reading your dear letter! they can only be felt by one equally unhappy with me, if such another wretch there be on earth, who, long denied the blessings of society, debarred even the power of speaking to be understood, should have an angel come and utter, words of comfort and compassion.
Forgive me, Madam, but I cannot help considering you as a superior being, sent to the relief of misery like mine! O, may you think so too, and ease my last sad moments of their sharped pangs! It is not for myself I plead, but for my innocent, my unoffending child! Receive a

more than orphan to your care, and my last sigh shall waft my thanks to heaven!
Even the short story of my misfortunes, is much too long for my weak hand to write; but if you will permit me, Madam, to throw myself at your feet, when all the family are retired to rest, and condescend to lend an ear to my sad tale, I will relate it with the same truth and frankness, as I would to my confessor; you shall supply that solace long denied me, and from your gracious lips I hope for absolution.
I have now no terms to keep with Colonel Walter; the hour approaches that must dissolve all the engagements that ever were between us: how he has fulfilled his part of them, Heaven and his

own heart can tell! but even in my death, I would not wish to offend him; and were there not a much dearer concern than my own life at stake, I would conceal his unkindness to the last moment of my existence, would suffer my wrongs to be buried with me, and sleep for ever in the silent grave.—But my Olivia! my lovely little babe! pulls at my heart-strings! and can I then decline the offer of your kindness, and not strive to interest your compassion, for her future fate? impossible! circumstanced as I am, the mother must
