said, and done, to save my family from shame and ruin, and me from destruction and death.
There is the greater reason to hope, because Mrs. Clarke says that he has

been what is called well educated, his station in life considered: and indeed of this I imagine she herself had taken care.
Peggy came in, and by her excess of gratitude, and which is better of admiration for her hero, she drove the over delicate Frank away. This is one of his defects, for which we must endeavour to find a remedy. Men are not exposed to the fulsome praise which we unmarried females are calmly obliged to hear, or be continually at war; or Frank would be more patient. Indeed he ought to be; because, in this instance, the praises he receives are the effusions of persons who had never before seen virtue exert herself with so much ardour.
Though the nephew be not an old or

hardened offender, he has committed some depredations of the consequences of which, were they proved upon him, he himself is ignorant. His accomplice has discovered his retreat; another more private lodging has therefore been taken for him, to which he is to remove with all possible caution. And when he is sufficiently recovered, which Mrs. Clarke tells me will be soon, he is then to depart for the continent and work at his trade, which is that of a cabinet-maker. English workmen are in high esteem abroad, and he will easily find employment. He is more than reconciled to labour, he is eager to begin; and, as it appears, does not want activity of mind; of which the dangerous expedients to which he resorted are some proof.

So much for the history of a highwayman; which I think is at least as deserving of remembrance as that of many other depredators.
I have been making some efforts to decide the question, not of love, but, of duty. Love must not be permitted, till duty shall be known. I have not satisfied myself so well as I could wish, yet my former reasons seem invincible. Ought my father and my family to be offended? Ought I to set an example that might be pernicious? Is it most probable that by opposing I should correct or increase the world's mistakes? The path before me is direct and plain; ought I to deviate?
In vain I fear should I plead his extraordinary

merit. Would the plea remove the load of affliction with which I should overwhelm those who love me best? At present they think well, nay highly of me