his own part, he had no will, judgment, or faculties; but that he submitted in all things to the superior clergy." At the very time young Henry had received the proposal from Mr. Rymer of his immediate union with his daughter, and the dean had made no objection, Henry waved the happiness for the time present, and had given a reason why he wished it postponed. The reason he then gave had its weight, but he had another concealed, of yet more import.—Much as he loved, and looked forward with rapture to that time when every morning, every evening, and all the day, he should have the delight of Rebecca's society; still there was one other wish nearer his heart than this—one desire which for years had been foremost in his thoughts, and which not even love could cradicate. He longed, he pined to know what fate had befallen his father. Provided he were living, he could conceive no joy so extreme as that of seeing him! If he were dead, he was anxious to pay the tribute of filial piety he owed, by satisfying his affectionate curiosity in every circumstance of the sad event. While a boy, he had frequently expressed these sentiments to both his uncle and his cousin: sometimes they apprised him of the total improbability of accomplishing his wishes: at other times, when they saw the disappointment weigh heavy on his mind, they bade him—"wait till he was a man, before he could hope to put his designs in execution." He did wait. But on the very day he arrived at the age of twenty-one, he made a vow—"that to gain intelligence of his father should be the first act of his free will." Previously to this time he had made all the enquiries possible, whether any new adventure to that part of Africa in which he was bred, was likely to be undertaken. Of this there appeared to be no prospect, till the intended expedition to Sierra Leone was announced, which favoured his hope of being able to procure a passage, among those adventures, so near to the island on which his father was (or had been prisoner) as to obtain an opportunity of visiting it by stealth. Fearing contention, or the being dissuaded from his plans if he communicated them, he formed them in private, kept them secretly; and his imagination filled with the kindness, the tenderness, the excess of fondness he had experienced from his father, beyond any other person in the world, he had thought with delight on the separation from all his other kindred