liberty of suggesting that France, which may in a manner be called their native country, must to them undoubtedly prove a more eligible, as well as a more agreeable residence than England is ever likely to become. A hint must convince them that where the stain of their father's faults is unknown they certainly enjoy a better chance of being respected, than where remembrance must ever subject them to the impertinence of curiosity, and perhaps, however unjustly, to unmerited contempt.
I approve highly of the modesty and prudence they have testified in not assuming a name, the renunciation of which was the consequence of family dishonor; and I make no doubt they will equally

support their claim to those virtues in future, by carefully concealing their title to it. Any attempt to the contrary would but produce the disagreeable effect of renewing the recollection of a fate which must discredit it, and never can be of service to them in the world's opinion, and which, from the great length of time that has elapsed since those circumstances engaged in so great a degree the public attention, is now wholly sunk into oblivion.
I should be happy. Sir, to learn, if you would for once favor me with a line for that purpose, what the determination of your wards is likely to be; tho' after this communication I am unwillingly constrained to ask no farther, compassion compels me to be anxiously solicitous in regard to the fate of two young persons, whom, in spite of the restrictions which

paternal authority imposes, I shall ever consider as nearly allied to my family.
I remain, with esteem. Sir,
your most obedient servant, CAROLINE LINROSE.
Well, Sophia, what do you think of this letter? All our absurd and romantic hopes, hitherto supported by the chimeras of a sanguine and delusive imagination, are at one blow finally crushed. No redress you find. A solemn resolution deprives us even of a flattering possibility that Lord Belmont, (alas! I dare not give him the tender appellation of grandfather,) may allow nature and compassion to plead for us in his bosom. He forbids our claims, denies our title to his protection, and breaks with us for ever. Oh! my Sophia, my dear and only friend! our hearts are deeply wounded

by this stroke. Fanny and I have been weeping the loss of our last parent in each other's arms; and on this occasion I have been faithfully acting up to the encomium once bestowed on me, of instilling consolation at a moment when I could not myself imbibe comfort from my own arguments.
We were