 a long letter addressed to me, which I was not however permitted to peruse till within these few days. He begins by lamenting, in

the most feeling manner, the severe stroke we have met with, and receives, he says, the trust bequeathed him as the most valuable legacy my father could have bestowed.
I have had the inexpressible misfortune, says he, to bury within these few months an amiable and beloved wife, with whom I might have lived in a state of the most perfect felicity that this world can offer, had I not allowed an ungrateful anxiety for one denied blessing to disturb my peace and cloud all my other enjoyments. Heaven had left me but one wish ungranted—the want of family: and I was so blind and impious, as to allow an unreasonable chagrin on this account to four my relish for the many pleasures which remained. At length I beheld myself on the eve of having my anxious desire gratified: my wife brought into the world a son; but expired in giving birth to her infant, who survived her but a

few days; and I am taught the duty of contentment at the severe price of finding myself bereaved of all earthly felicity.
I receive, he adds, the children of my friend, as sent to console me for my misfortunes. I intend to adopt them for my own, and I hope, while I religiously fulfill my part of their father's will, they will not be negligent in the performance of the duties that belong to them; but will regard me in the soothing light of a parent, in which my late friend has introduced me to their acquaintance.
Hasten then to England, my dear children, concludes he. I hope you will have no objection to join the family of an infirm old man, who, though depressed by grief, and racked by the ailments and infirmities incident to a feeble constitution and declining years, preserves the utmost tenderness and indulgence for youth. I trust your friend, Mr. Howard, will transact all the necessary business

that ought to have employed your guardian, had he been able to have ventured on so long a journey; an exertion which bad health and debilitude totally prevent him from attempting; perhaps, if Mr. Howard means not to remain abroad for any length of time, he may even contrive to accompany you to your native country, and deliver up in safety his charge to the old friend who impatiently expects their arrival.
Is not this indeed acting the part of a parent, my dear Sophy? what an amiable and engaging old man Mr. Benseley must be. I long
