THE next morning I took my daughter behind me, and set out on my return home. As we travelled along, I strove by every
persuasion to calm her sorrows and fears, and to arm her with resolution to bear the presence of her offended mother. I took
every opportunity, from the prospect of a fine country, through which we passed, to observe how much kinder Heaven was to
us, than we to each other, and that the misfortunes of nature's making were very few. I assured her that she should never
perceive any change in my affections, and that during my life, which yet might be long, she might depend upon a guardian and
an instructor. I armed her against the censures of the world; showed her that books were sweet, unreproaching companions to
the miserable, and that if they could not bring us to enjoy life, they would at least teach us to endure it.

   The hired horse that we rode was to be put up that night at an inn by the way, within about five

miles from my house; and as I was willing to prepare my family for my daughter's reception, I determined to leave her that night
at the inn, and I to return for her, accompanied by my daughter Sophia, early the next morning. It was night before we reached
our appointed stage; however, after seeing her provided with a decent apartment, and having ordered the hostess to prepare
proper refreshments, I kissed her, and proceeded towards home. And now my heart caught new sensations of pleasure the
nearer I approached that peaceful mansion. As a bird that had been frightened f rom its nest, my affections outwent my haste,
and hovered round my little fireside with all the rapture of expectation. I called up the many fond things I had to say, and
anticipated the welcome I was to receive. I already felt my wife's tender embrace, and smiled at the joy of my little ones. As I
walked but slowly, the night waned apace. The laborers of the day were all retired to rest; the lights were out in every cottage;
no sounds were heard but of the shrilling cock, and the deep-mouthed watch-dog at hollow distance. I approached my little
abode of pleasure, and before I was within a furlong of the place, our honest mastiff came running to welcome me.

   It was now near midnight that I came to knock at my door; all was still and silent; my heart dilated with unutterable happiness;
when, to my amazement, I saw the house bursting out in a blaze of fire, and every

aperture red with conflagration! I gave a loud convulsive outcry, and fell upon the pavement insensible. This alarmed my son,
who had till this been asleep, and he perceiving the flames instantly waked my wife and daughter, and all running out naked and
wild with apprehension, recalled me to life with their anguish. But it was only to objects of new terror; for the flames had by this
time caught the roof of our dwelling, part after part continuing to fall in, while the family stood with silent agony looking on as if
they enjoyed the blaze. I gazed upon them and upon it by turns, and then looked round me for my two little ones; but they were
not to be seen. 0 misery! "Where," cried I, "where are my little ones?"-"They are burnt to death in the flames," says my wife,
calmly, "and I will die with them." That moment I heard the cry of the babes within, who were just awaked by the fire, and
nothing could have stopped me. "Where, where are my children?" cried I, rushing through the flames, and bursting the door of
the chamber in which they were confined. "Where are my little ones?"-"Here, dear papa, here we are," cried they, together,
while the flames were just catching the bed where they lay. I caught them both in my arms. and snatching them ran through the
fire as fast as possible, while just as I was got out, the roof sunk in. "-Now," cried I, holding up my children, "now let the flames
burn on, and all my possessions perish. Here they are; I have saved my treasure.

Image missing
Illustration absent.
Here, my dearest, here are our treasures, and we shall yet be happy." We kissed our little darlings a thousand times, they
clasped us round the neck, and seemed to share our transports, while their mother laughed and wept by turns.

   I now stood a calm spectator of the flames, and after some time began to perceive that my arm to the shoulder was scorched
in a terrible manner. It was, therefore, out of my power to give my son any assistance, either in attempting to save our goods, or
preventing the flames spreading to our corn. By this time the neighbors were alarmed, and came running to our assistance; but
all they could do was to stand, like us, spectators of the calamity. My goods, among which were the notes I had reserved for
my daughters' fortunes, were entirely consumed, except a box with some papers that stood in the kitchen, and two or three
things more of little consequence, which my son brought away in the beginning. The neighbors contributed, however, what they
could to lighten our distress. They brought us clothes, and furnished one of our outhouses with kitchen utensils; so that by
daylight we had another, though a wretched dwelling, to retire to. My honest next neighbor and his children were not the least
assiduous in providing us with everything necessary, and offering whatever consolation untutored benevolence could suggest.

   When the fears of my family had subsided, curiosity to know the cause of my long stay began to take place; having, therefore,
informed them of every particular, I proceeded to prepare them for the reception of our lost one, and though we had nothing
but wretchedness now to impart, I was willing to procure her a welcome

to what we had. This task would have been more difficult but for our recent calamity, which had humbled my wife's pride and
blunted it by more poignant afflictions. Being unable to go for my poor child myself, as my arm grew very painful, I sent my son
and daughter, who soon returned, supporting the wretched delinquent, who had not the courage to look up at her mother,
whom no instructions of mine could persuade to a perfect reconciliation; for women have a much stronger sense of female error
than men. "Ah, madam," cried her mother, "this is but a poor place you have come to after so much finery. My daughter Sophy
and I can afford but little entertainment to persons who have kept company only with people of distinction. Yes, Miss Livy,
your poor father and I have suffered very much of late; but I hope Heaven will forgive you." During this reception the unhappy
victim stood pale and trembling, unable to weep or to reply; but I could not continue a silent spectator of her distress;
wherefore assuming a degree of severity in my voice and manner, which was ever followed with instant submission: "I entreat,
woman, that my words may be now marked once for all; I have here brought you back a poor deluded wanderer: her return to
duty demands the revival of our tenderness. The real hardships of life are now coming fast upon us; let us not, therefore,
increase them by dissension among each other. If we live harmoniously together, we may yet

be contented, as there are enough of us to shut out the censuring world and keep each other in countenance. The kindness of
Heaven is promised to the penitent, and let ours be directed by the example. Heaven, we are assured, is much more pleased to
view a repentant sinner, than ninety-nine persons who have supported a course of undeviating rectitude. And this is right; for
that single effort by which we stop short in the downhill path to perdition, is itself a greater exertion of virtue than a hundred acts
of justice."