exertion. If Mrs. Priestley and his son are determined to stay, he yields certainly to what appears best for them; and he is so humble-minded, that he will think the work he loves best, making converts to the divine Unity, will be done by other instruments."

In the year 1795, Maria Logan, the granddaughter of my honored preceptress, and of whose talents and early history, I have already so often spoken, terminated her short, but eventful life. After my mother and I came to fix at York, Mrs. L. and her daughter once more removed to live near us, and took a small house without one of the gates of this city. Maria had long been in a very bad state of health, and was at length so enfeebled, that for the last seven years she was wholy confined to her bed. Her mental faculties, however, were not at all impaired; and till within the last fortnight of her life, she continued, as she had ever been, a very agreeable and interesting companion. My daughters contributed much to sooth the couch of languor and suffering, by visiting her, one at a time, almost every day; and by supplying her with books from their father's library, as well as by administering every other alleviation in their power. She had a turn for poetry, which often beguiled the tedious hours, when even opium could not procure repose. We prevailed upon her, a year or two before her death, to select a few of these pieces, and print them by subscription, to disperse among her own, and our particular friends.

In June 1797, our youngest son graduated at

Edinburgh, after having studied there three years, with the greatest credit. He was elected one of the Presidents of the Medical Society, in his second year, a very unusual compliment; and which was rendered still more striking, by his being re-chosen to fill that station a second time, in his last year, without any solicitation on his part; a distinction which I believe, has very rarely occurred. He passed the following autumn and winter in London, where he practised physic on an extensive scale, as an assistant to Dr. Willan, in a very large Dispensary; and in the February of 1798, came to fix at York. We had long looked forward to this event with great anxiety; for if our hopes were enlivened by what we heard of his fame in Edinburgh and London, added to what we knew ourselves of his talents and disposition, our fears were not less excited by the repeated accounts which we also received, of his very delicate and alarming state of health; and how exceedingly did these apprehensions preponderate, when we saw his altered countenance, on his first entering the room, after an absence of half a year! He was himself conscious of the change, and avoided standing in a full light, lest his father also should perceive it. "I shall be better," he said to me, in a low voice, "in a little time;" and his prediction was eventually verified: for the disease under which his constitution then laboured, proved the measles, which made their appearance soon after, and from which he happily

recovered in the course of a few weeks.

In the April of that year, a singular incident

happened; and as it clearly demonstrates the extreme injustice and cruelty of those attempts to ensnare unwary innocence to its ruin, which are ranked in the fashionable world under the head of mere feats of gallantry, and are daily practised by young men, who we are told, in the same phraseology, have the best hearts in the world! I shall here detail the particulars of it, at some length, giving the real names of the persons concerned; for wherefore should conduct so atrocious be concealed?

CHAPTER 34.

The Author patronizes a deserted young Irishwoman.... Outline of her history.

I was told one evening, that a person desired to speak to me; and on entering the room into which she had been shewn, I found a genteel looking young woman, on whose countenance was depicted the deepest melancholy. She rose as I entered. "It was Mr. Cappe, madam, I wished to speak to."-" I am very sorry you cannot see him, but his state of health does not admit of his receiving strangers.-Do you want any thing that I can tell him?"-" I do not know -I had hoped for his counsel and advice. I am the wife of Captain Sorrell of the 31st regiment, now quartered in this city, and came

hither last night." Here she paused-she did not weep, but her sorrow seemed too big for utterance. "And he does not acknowledge you," I rejoined. -"O you have guessed the truth, he does not acknowledge me.-I am come from Ireland to meet him, and he will not receive me"-and she then appeared ready to faint.-I endeavoured to sooth and console her, promising all the assistance in my power, if the account she had stated, should prove to be the fact. She then took from her pocket-book, the certificate of their marriage -also a paper written by a lady, in the place where she had lived, testifying the respectability of her character. I promised to communicate these circumstances to my husband; enquired if she were in pecuniary distress, to which she returned a negative; and she then went away, saying that she would call again the following morning.

The whole of her address and manner was so simple, and her grief so evidently heartfelt, that I had little doubt of the truth of her story; yet, when the following day passed without my hearing any thing of her, I began to suspect that I had been deceived. The next morning, however, another young person made her appearance, who although apparently of very different character, seemed hardly less interesting than the former. She had a fine, animated countenance, bespeaking at once great sensibility, extreme indignation, and much warmth of affection. On entering the room, she burst into tears.-"Ah, madam! my sister is ill, very ill indeed; I do not think she is quite sensible,

and I am afraid she will die; the cold behaviour, and the unfeeling cruelty of this man, will kill her-indeed I believe she will die."-"Who is your sister?"-"I thought you had known Mrs. Sorrell; was not she here? Did not she tell you about him?"—" A young person of that name, was here the day before yesterday, and promised to come again, but I did not know she had a sister with her."-"To be sure she has. O, I could not let her come alone, and so we are both here; poor Jane is in a high fever, and we have not a friend at all, at all; who could have thought it would have come to this? she has been delirious all night-and so she is in bed, and could not come. Will you go and see her, madam ?" "Undoubtedly I will;" and I accompanied her accordingly, to a small lodging near the inn, where I found the dejected mourner supported by pillows, with a countenance pale and languid, and at the same time, expressive of unutterable anguish. On one side of the bed were scattered a number of her husband's letters, which she had been reading. "Here they are," she said; "he used to love me, but was it kind to bid me return directly to Liverpool? He might have seen I could not go now; and then was it kind, not even to shake hands with me, after such a long, long separation? He would send me a hundred pounds, he said, to Liverpool, if I would go back --but what is his money to me, if I have lost his heart? I did not speak-but when he looked at me, and stood with the door in his hand, and saw me very faint-he did weep-but he would