him collected and resigned, but his bodily feelings much worn. He had been exceedingly agitated by an inquest that had been held on his dead son, though, as there was no positive evidence either of the duel or the cause of quarrel, many of the distressing particulars were avoided: there was no manner of doubt that the death was occasioned by Lord Albany's hand; yet, as Mr. Hastings was most scrupulous in refusing to prosecute, and even in withholding all information which he could keep back, the verdict was general, namely, death by a pistol shot, but by whom fired did not appear.

This being over, there remained the question of the funeral, which Granville had exerted his utmost to persuade Mr. Hastings to leave to him, and himself to retire to Foljambe. But the father asserted himself, and refused to be spared the melancholy task. He held it a duty, he said, which he owed to the God who had only properly struck him, to shew his resignation to His will, by bowing over the grave of the son who had been taken from him.

He had desired Granville to attend him in this last office; and it was to ask me, as one who had shewn such attachment to the lost Foljambe (spite of ill usage) to join him in the same attention, that he had sent for me. "It will be a consolation to me," said the afflicted old man, "to shew how little I thought you deserved the unjust treatment you received; and if such a supposition may be indulged, I please myself in thinking, that the unhappy boy himself may know and approve it."

I was greatly affected, and felt that what Granville had represented to me of the real piety of his uncle, was no more than true. It may be supposed that my return to Oxford was postponed.

I will not re-open the affliction I underwent at the ceremony, by touching upon its details further than to say, that the firmness and resignation, mingled with deep sorrow, shewn by this wounded father, commanded the admiration of all. His bearing, naturally so lofty, seemed indeed bowed to the earth, but in a manner still comparatively dignified, and evidently evincing, that he succumbed to a being who he felt, if He afflicted him, had done so in mercy. In short, he was an example of the resigned confidence of the Psalmist "It is good for me to have been in trouble, that I may learn thy statutes.”

Nevertheless his misery was abundant, and at last alarming; for, on his return to the hotel, he remained long on his couch, in a fixed stupor, without uttering a word, though we all tried to obtain his notice, in order to divert him from himself.

Sandford watched for tears, and endeavoured to excite them, as the best chance of restoring him, by talking of his son, but in vain; his state continued unaltered, and Sandford began to be seriously uneasy. "If we can produce no vent for his grief," said he, "I will not answer for the consequences. It is a pity his daughter is not here, if indeed he could know her."

Granville caught at this, and asked, "Would you advise sending for her ?"

“I would,” said Sandford, "though whom to send

to break the necessity for her presence, without oversetting her too, I know not. Has she no female relation with her ?"

"None," returned Granville.

"Could you not undertake the mission yourself?" "Willingly, if you will instruct me how and what to report."

"Then lose no time," concluded Sandford: "for this is a case of mind, and beyond my art.”

In fine, horses were ordered, and, as it was but five miles, we hoped to see him in an hour, with the lovely being whose presence and attentions gave the only hope of recovering her father from the alarming syncope that seemed to have bound him in a chain of iron.

During the interval between Granville's departure and return, we were so much engaged in watching Mr. Hastings that I could hardly attend to my own feelings, occasioned by the expectation of the impending arrival. All I know was, that, between the thought of father and daughter, I was in a tremor of excitement.

Sandford had bled his patient, which seemed to have some effect, for he opened his eyes and breathed somewhat more freely, but still with scarce a sign of restored sense; and we earnestly watched the roll of every carriage we heard, in the hope of what alone, in the surgeon's opinion, would rouse his patient from his present dangerous state.

When the chaise did arrive, and Granville led in his interesting charge, my own senses seemed to stand in need of support. Never shall I forget, never cease

to admire, the demeanour of this perfect young

woman.

Having been fully instructed by Granville as to the case, and the necessity of exciting, if possible, the sensibilities of her father, in order to produce the return of his mind, she perfectly comprehended what was expected from her, and that her own self-possession must not give way. Distressed, therefore, but not overwhelmed, struggling with the uneasy feeling that she was acting under the observation of others, yet overcoming it for the sake of the person most dear to her, and to whom she owed all reverence, the energy as well as filial piety of this excellent creature shone out in a manner to fill us all with admiration.

She trembled as she advanced to the couch where her parent lay, but instantly assumed the presence of mind of a nurse, applying all the stimulants given her for the purpose, with perfect collectedness, only interrupting the process at intervals with tender appeals to his notice, if he could hear them; murmuring in tender accents, while her lips touched his cheek, “Do you not know me, father? I am your own Bertha. Will you not wake for her sake?" and then would tears fall fast, bedewing his face as well as her own.

These, together with the whisperings of her name into his ears, had an effect (a feeble one), but such as the remedies used had failed in producing. By slow (very slow) degrees, the fixed look of his eyes relaxed, and he began to sigh. The sigh affected Bertha, and she looked fearfully distressed; nor is there perhaps a more heart-breaking thing to a devoted daughter than the sigh of deep-seated grief from the breast of a

beloved parent. She began to be overcome by it, till Sandford assured her that it was the very best symptom that could be shewn of returning sense. This immediately cheered her, and she renewed her attentions, again whispering her name, and entreating her father to speak to her. Nor was the effort at last in vain; it was indeed blessed; for his deadened eye began to shew lustre as he fixed it upon her, and in a tremulous voice he asked, "Where am I? I know not this room, or who is talking. Yet I should say it was Bertha, if Bertha were here."

Bertha replied, with sobs of joy, "I am—I am,”— and fell upon his cheek.

It had its effect, for he asked, "Is it really my child?" and by his fond caress he shewed that he knew her, and that his mind had returned.

Sandford now came forward in his directorial capacity; he had prepared a stimulating cordial for his patient, which he gave to be administered by Bertha's hand; observing, however, that she herself had been, and still was, a better cordial than all the art of medicine could supply, and that the very best thing he could now do was to leave her and her father together, if only for a few minutes. "The pulse," said he, "is still low, but will soon be higher with such a nurse. It is quiet now that is most wanted. I will myself retire, but only into the next room, so that I shall be at hand."

With this he left the room, and took Granville and me along with him.