I HAD now been confined more than a fortnight, but had not, since my arrival, been visited by my dear Olivia, and I greatly
longed to see her. Having communicated my wishes to my wife, the next morning, the poor girl entered my apartment, leaning
on her sister's arm. The change which I saw in her countenance struck me. The numberless graces that once resided there were
now fled, and the hand of death seemed to have moulded every feature to alarm me. Her temples were sunk, her forehead was
tense, and a fatal paleness sat upon her cheek.

   "I am glad to see thee, my dear," cried I, "but why this dejection, Livy? I hope, my love, you have too great a regard for me
to permit disappointment thus to undermine a life which I prize as my own. Be cheerful, child, and we may yet see happier
days."

   "You have ever, sir," replied she, "been kind to me, and it adds to my pain that I shall never have an opportunity

of sharing that happiness you promise. Happiness, I fear, is no longer reserved for me here, and I long to be rid of a place
where I have only found distress. Indeed, sir, I wish you would make a proper submission to Mr. Thornhill; it may, in some
measure, induce him to pity you, and it will give me relief in dying."

   "Never, child," replied I, "never will I be brought to acknowledge my daughter a prostitute; for though the world may look
upon your offence with scorn, let it be mine to regard it as a mark of credulity, not of guilt. My dear, I am no way miserable in
this place, however dismal it may seem; and be assured that while you continue to bless me by living, he shall never have my
consent to make you more wretched by marrying another,"

   After the departure of my daughter, my fellowprisoner, who was by at this interview, sensibly enough expostulated upon my
obstinacy, in refusing a submission which promised to give me freedom. He observed that the rest of my family was not to be
sacrificed to the peace of one child alone, and she the only one who had offended me. "Besides," added he, "I don't know if it
be just thus to obstruct the union of man and wife, which you do at present, by refusing to consent to a match you cannot
hinder, but may render unhappy."

   "Sir," replied I, "you are unacquainted with the

man that oppresses us. I am very sensible that no submission I can make could procure me liberty even for an hour. I am told
that even in this very room a debtor of his, no later than last year, died for want. But though my submission and approbation
could transfer me from hence to the most beautiful apartment he is possessed of, yet I would grant neither; as something
whispers me that it would be giving a sanction to adultery. While my daughter lives, no other marriage of his shall ever be legal
in my eye. Were she removed, indeed, I should be the basest of men, from any resentment of my own, to attempt putting
asunder those who wish for a union. No, villain as he is, I should then wish him married, to prevent the consequences of his
future debaucheries. But now should I not be the most cruel of all fathers to sign an instrument which must send my child to the
grave, merely to avoid a prison myself: and thus, to escape one pang, break my child's heart with a thousand?"

   He acquiesced in the justice of this answer, but could not avoid observing that he feared my daughter's life was already too
much wasted to keep me long a prisoner. "However," continued he, "though you refuse to submit to the nephew, I hope you
have no objections to laying your case before the uncle, who has the first character in the kingdom for every thing that is just
and good. I would advise you to send him a letter by the post, intimating all his nephew's ill-usage,

and my life for it, in three days you shall have an answer." I thanked him for the hint, and instantly set about complying; but I
wanted paper, and unluckily all our money had been laid out that morning in provisions; however, he supplied me.

   For the three ensuing days I was in a state of anxiety to know what reception my letter might meet with; but in the meantime
was frequently solicited by my wife to submit to any conditions rather than remain here, and every hour received repeated
accounts of the decline of my daughter's health. The third day and the fourth arrived, but I received no answer to my letter-the
complaints of a stranger against a favorite nephew were no way likely to succeed; so that these hopes soon vanished like all my
former. My mind, however, still supported itself, though confinement and bad air began to make a visible alteration in my health,
and my arm that had suffered in the fire grew worse. My children, however, sat by me, and while I was stretched on my straw
read to me by turns, or listened and wept at my instructions. But my daughter's health declined faster than mine. Every message
from her contributed to increase my apprehensions and pain. The fifth morning after I had written the letter which was sent to
Sir William Thornhill, I was alarmed with an account that she was speechless. Now it was that confinement was truly painful to
me. My soul was bursting from its prison to be near the pillow of my

child to comfort, to strengthen her, to receive her last wishes, and teach her soul the way to Heaven! Another account came.
She was expiring, and yet I was
Image missing
Illustration absent.
debarred the small comfort of weeping by her. My fellow-prisoner some time after came with the last account. He bade me be
patient. She was dead!-The next morning he returned, and found me with my two

little ones, now my only companions, who were using all their innocent efforts to comfort me. They entreated to read to me, and
bade me not cry, for I was now too old to weep. "And is not my sister an angel now, papa?" cried the eldest, "and why, then,
are you sorry for her? I wish I were an angel out of this frightful place, if my papa were with me."-"Yes," added my youngest
darling, "Heaven, where my sister is, is a finer place than this, and there are none but good people there, and the people here
are very bad."

   Mr. Jenkinson interrupted their harmless prattle by observing that, now my daughter was no more, I should seriously think of
the rest of my family, and attempt to save my own life, which was every day declining for want of necessaries and wholesome
air. He added that it was not incumbent on me to sacrifice any pride or resentment of my own to the welfare of those who
depended on me for support; and that I was now, both by reason and justice, obliged to try to reconcile my landlord.

   "Heaven be praised," replied I, "there is no pride left me now. I should detest my own heart, if I saw either pride or
resentment lurking there. On the contrary, as my oppressor has been once my parishioner, I hope one day to present him up an
unpolluted soul at the eternal tribunal. No, sir, I have no resentment now, and though he has taken from me what I held dearer
than all his treasures, though he has wrung my heart,

for I am sick almost to fainting, very sick, my fellowprisoner, yet that shall never inspire me with vengeance. I am now willing to
approve his marriage, and if this submission can do him any pleasure, let him know that if I have done him any injury I am sorry
for it."

   Mr. Jenkinson took pen and ink, and wrote down my submission nearly as I have expressed it, to which I signed my name.
My son was employed to carry the letter to Mr. Thornhill, who was then at his seat in the country. He went, and in about six
hours returned with a verbal answer. He had some difficulty, he said, to get a sight of his landlord, as the servants were insolent
and suspicious; but he accidentally saw him as he was going out upon business, preparing for his marriage, which was to be in
three days. He continued to inform us, that he stepped up in the humblest manner and delivered the letter, which, when Mr.
Thornhill had read, he said that all submission was now too late and unnecessary; that he had heard of our application to his
uncle, which met with the contempt it deserved; and as for the rest, that all future applications should be directed to his
attorney, not to him. He observed, however, that as he had a very good opinion of the discretion of the two young ladies, they
might have been the most agreeable intercessors.

   "Well, sir," said I to my fellow-prisoner, "you now discover the temper of the man that oppresses me. He can at once be
facetious and cruel; but let him use

me as he will, I shall soon be free, in spite of all his bolts to restrain me. I am now drawing towards an abode that looks brighter
as I approach it; this expectation cheers my afflictions, and though I leave a helpless family of orphans behind me, yet they will
not be utterly forsaken; some friends, perhaps, will be found to assist them for the sake of their poor father, and some may
charitably relieve them for the sake of their Heavenly Father."

   just as I spoke, my wife, whom I had not seen that day before, appeared with looks of terror, and making efforts, but unable
to speak. "Why, my love," cried I, it why will you thus increase my afflictions by your own! What though no submission can turn
our severe master, though he has doomed me to die in this place of wretchedness, and though we have lost a darling child, yet
still you will find comfort in your other children when I shall be no more."-"We have, indeed, lost," returned she, "a darling child.
My Sophia, my dearest, is gone, snatched from us, carried off by ruffians!"

   "How, madam!" cried my fellow-prisoner, "Miss Sophia carried off by villains! Sure it cannot be!"

   She could only answer with a fixed look and a flood of tears. But one of the prisoners' wives, who was present and came in
with her, gave us a more distinct account. She informed us that as my wife, my daughter, and herself, were taking a walk
together on the

great road a little way out of the village, a post-chaise and pair drove up to them and instantly stopped. Upon which, a
well-dressed man, but not Mr. Thornhill, stepping out, clasped my daughter round the waist, and forcing her in, bid the postilion
drive on, so that they were out of sight in a moment.

   "Now," cried I, "the sum of my miseries is made up; nor is it in the power of any thing on earth to give me another pang.
What! not one left! not to leave me one! the monster! the child that was next my heart! she had the beauty of an angel, and
almost the wisdom of an angel! But support that woman, nor let her fall. Not to leave me one!"

   "Alas! my husband," said my wife, "you seem to want comfort even more than I. Our distresses are great; but I could bear
this and more, if I saw you but easy. They may take away my children, and all the world, if they leave me but you."

   My son, who was present, endeavored to moderate our grief; he bade us take comfort, for he hoped that we might still have
reason to be thankful.-"My child," cried I, "look round the world, and see if there be any happiness left me now. Is not every
ray of comfort shut out; while all our bright prospects only lie beyond the grave?-"My dear father," returned he, "I hope there is
still something that will give you an interval of satisfaction; for I have a letter from my brother George."-"What of him, child?"
interrupted I. "Does

he know of our misery? I hope my boy is exempt from any part of what his wretched family suffers!"

   "Yes, sir," returned he, "he is perfectly gay, cheerful and happy. His letter brings nothing but good news; he is the favorite of
his colonel, who promises to procure him the very next lieutenancy that becomes vacant!"

   "And are you sure of all this?" cried my wife; "are you sure that nothing ill has befallen my boy?""Nothing, indeed, madam,"
returned my son; "you shall see the letter, which will give you the highest pleasure; and if any thing can procure you comfort, I
am sure that will."-"But are you sure," still repeated she, "that the letter is from himself, and that he is really so happy?"-"Yes,
madam," replied he, "it is certainly his, and he will one day be the credit and support of our family!"-"Then I thank Providence,"
cried she, "that my last letter to him has miscarried. Yes, my dear," continued she, turning to me, "I will now confess that,
though the hand of Heaven is sore upon us in other instances, it has been favorable here. By the last letter I wrote my son,
which was in the bitterest of anger, I desired him, upon his mother's blessing, and if he had the heart of a man, to see justice
done to his father and sister, and avenge our cause. But thanks be to Him that directs all things, it has miscarried, and I am at
rest!"-"Woman," cried I, "thou hast done very ill, and at another time my

reproaches might have been more severe. Oh! what a tremendous gulf hast thou escaped, that would have buried both thee and
him in endless ruin. Providence, indeed, has here been kinder to us than we to ourselves! It has reserved that son to be the
father and protector of my children when I shall be away. How unjustly did I complain of being stripped of every comfort,
when still I hear that he is happy, and insensible of our afflictions; still kept in reserve to support his widowed mother, and to
protect his brothers and sisters! But what sisters has he left? He has no sisters now, they are all gone, robbed from me, and I
am undone!"-"Father," interrupted my son, "I beg you will give me leave to read his letter; I know it will please you." Upon
which, with my permission, he read as follows:

   "HONORED SIR:-I have called off my imagination a few moments from the pleasures that surround me, to fix it upon
objects that are still more pleasing, the dear little fireside at home. My fancy draws that harmless group as listening to every line
of this with great composure. I view those faces with delight which never felt the deforming hand of ambition or distress! But
whatever your happiness may be at home, I am sure it will be some addition to it to hear that I am perfectly pleased with my
situation, and every way happy here.

   "Our regiment is countermanded, and is not to leave

the kingdom; the colonel, who professes himself my friend, takes me with him to all companies where he is acquainted, and
after my first visit I generally find myself received with increased respect upon repeating it. I danced last night with Lady G-,
and could I forget you know whom, I might be, perhaps, successful. But it is my fate still to remember others, while I am myself
forgotten by most of my absent friends, and in this number I fear, sir, that I must consider you; for I have long expected the
pleasure of a letter from home to no purpose. Olivia and Sophia, too, promised to write, but seem to have forgotten me. Tell
them they are two arrant little baggages, and that I am this moment in a most violent passion with them; yet still, I know not
how, though I want to bluster a little, my heart is respondent only to softer emotions. Then, tell them, sir, that, after all, I love
them affectionately, and be assured of my ever remaining

   "Your dutiful son."

   "In all our miseries," cried I, "what thanks have we not to return that one at least of our family is exempted from what we
suffer! Heaven be his guard and keep my boy thus happy to be the supporter of his widowed mother, and the father of these
two babes, which is all the patrimony I can now bequeath him. May he keep their innocence from the temptations of want, and
be their conductor in the paths of honor!" I had

scarcely said these words when a noise like that of tumult seemed to proceed from the prison below; it died away soon after;
and a clanking of fetters was heard along the passage that led to my apartment. The keeper of the prison entered, holding a
man all bloody, wounded, and fettered with the heaviest irons. I looked with compassion on the wretch as he approached me,
but with horror when I found it was my own son. "My George! my George! and do I behold thee thus? Wounded! fettered! Is
this thy happiness? Is this the manner you return to me? Oh that this sight could break my heart at once, and let me die!"

   "Where, sir, is your fortitude?" returned my son, with intrepid voice. "I must suffer; my life is forfeited, and let them take it."

   I tried to restrain my passions for a few minutes in silence, but I thought I should have died with the effort. "Oh, my boy, my
heart weeps to behold thee thus, and I cannot, cannot help it! In the moment that I thought thee blessed, and prayed for thy
safety, to behold thee thus again!-chained, wounded! And yet the death of the youthful is happy. But I am old, a very old man,
and have lived to see this day. To see my children all untimely falling about me, while I continue a wretched survivor in the midst
of ruin! May all the curses that ever sunk a soul fall heavy upon the murderer of my children! May he live, like me, to see-"

   "Hold, sir!" replied my son, "or I shall blush for thee. How, sir! forgetful of your age, your holy calling, thus to arrogate the
justice of Heaven, and fling those curses upward that must soon descend to crush thy own grey head with destruction! No, sir,
let it be your care now to fit me for that vile death I must shortly suffer, to arm me with hope and resolution, to give me courage
to drink of that bitterness which must shortly be my portion!"

   "My child, you must not die! I am sure no offence of thine can deserve so vile a punishment. My George could never be guilty
of a crime to make his ancestors ashamed of him."

   "Mine, sir," returned my son, "is, I fear, an unpardonable one. When I received my mother's letter from home, I immediately
came down, determined to punish the betrayer of our honor, and sent him an order to meet me, which he answered not in
person, but by dispatching four of his domestics to seize me. I wounded one who first assaulted me, and I fear desperately; but
the rest made me their prisoner. The coward is determined to put the law in execution against me; the proofs are undeniable; I
have sent a challenge; and as I am the first transgressor upon the statute, I see no hopes of pardon. But you have often charmed
me with your lessons of fortitude; let me now, sir, find them in your example."

   "And, my son, you shall find them. I am now

raised above this world and all the pleasures it can produce. From this moment I break from my heart all the ties that held it
down to earth, and will prepare to fit us both for eternity. Yes, my son, I will point out the way, and my soul shall guide yours in
the ascent, for we will take our flight together. I now see and am convinced you can expect no pardon here, and I can only
exhort you to seek it at that greatest tribunal where we both shall shortly answer. But let us not be niggardly in our exhortation,
but let all our fellow-prisoners have a share. Good gaoler, let them be permitted to stand here while I attempt to improve them."
Thus saying, I made an effort to rise from my straw, but wanted strength, and was able only to recline against the wall. The
prisoners assembled themselves according to my directions, for they loved to hear my counsel; my son and his mother
supported me on either side; I looked and saw that none were wanting, and then addressed them with the following
exhortation.