190 THERE IS NO HURRY.

have earned but twelve shillings; my pupils
are out of town. Do, for a moment remember
what I was, and think how humbled I must be
to frame this supplication; but it is a child that
petitions for a parent, and I know I have never
forfeited youresteem. In a few weeks, perhaps
in a few days, my brother and my mother will
meet my poor father face to face. Oh! that I
could be assured that reproach and bitterness
for the past do not pass the portals of the grave.
Forgive me this, as you have already forgiven
me much. Alas! I know too well that our mis-
fortunes drew misfortunes upon others. I was
the unhappy but innocent cause of much sor-
row at the Grange ; but, oh! do not refuse the
last request that I will ever make.” The letter
was blotted by tears.

Charles Adams was from home when it ar-
rived, and his wife, knowing the handwriting,
and having made a resolution never to open a
letter “from that branch of the family,” did
not send it after her husband “lest it might
tease him.’”’ Ten days elapsed before he re-
ceived it; and when he did, he could not be
content with writing, but lost not a moment in
hastening to the address. Irritated and disap-
pointed that what he really had done should
have been so little appreciated, when every hour
of his life he was smarting in one way or other
from his exertions—broken-hearted at his daugh-
ter’s blighted health aud happiness—angered