ber Floor, a greasy steeple-crowned Hat ! Threw it forthe from the Window with

a Pair of Tongs.

Mother goes about the House weeping. Father sits in his broken Arm-chair, the Picture of Disconsolateness. I see the Agnews, true Friends! riding hither; and with them a Third, who, methinks, is Rose's Brother Ralph.

| |

London.

St. Martin's le Grand. REMBLING, weeping, hopefulle, dismaied, here I sit in mine Uncle's hired House, alone in a Crowd, scared at mine owne Precipitation, readie to wish

myselfe back, unable to resolve, to reflect,

to pray.

Twelve at Night.

LLE is silent; even in the latelie busie Streets. Why art thou cast down, my Heart? why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou stille in the Lord, for he is the Joy and Light of thy Countenance. Thou hast beene long of learning him to be such. Oh, forget not thy Lesson now! Thy best Friend hath sanctioned, nay, counselled this Step, and overcome alle Obstacles, and provided the Means of this Journey; and to-morrow at Noone, if Events prove not cross, I shall have Speech of him whom my Soul loveth. To-night, let me watch, fast, and pray.

IND

Friday; at Night.

OW awfulle it is to beholde

a Man weepe! mine owne Tears, when I think thereon, well forthe.

Rose was a true Friend

when she sayd "our prompt

"Affections are oft our wise Counsellors." Soe, she suggested and advised alle; wrung forthe my Father's Consent, and sett me on my Way, even putting Money in my Purse. Well for me, had she beene at my Journey's End as well as its Beginning.

'Stead of which, here was onlie mine Aunt; a slow, timid, uncertayn Soule, who proved but a broken Reed to lean

upon.

Soe, alle I woulde have done arighte went crosse, the Letter never delivered, the Message delayed till he had left Home, soe that methought I shoulde goe crazie.

While the Boy, stammering in his lame

Excuses,

Excuses, bore my chafed Reproaches the more humblie because he saw he had done me some grievous Hurt, though he knew not what, a Voice in the adjacent Chamber in Alternation with mine Uncle's, drove the Blood of a Suddain from mine Heart, and then sent it back with impetuous Rush, for I knew the Accents right well.

Enters mine Aunt, alle flurried, and hushing her Voice. "Oh, Niece, he whom you wot of is here, but knoweth not you are at Hand, nor in London. Shall "I tell him?"

But I gasped, and held her back by her Skirts; then, with a suddain secret Prayer, or Cry, or maybe, Wish, as 'twere, darted up unto Heaven for Assistance, I took noe Thought what I shoulde speak when confronted with him, but opening the Door between us, he then standing with his Back towards it, rushed forth and to his Feet-there sank, in a Gush of Tears; for not one Word coulde I proffer, nor soe much as look up.

A