l Mrs. Hervey could say.

I have done but half my duty to the dearest and most meritorious of
children, resumed the sorrowing mother!--Nay, not half!--How have we
hardened our hearts against her!----Again her tears denied passage to her
words.

My dearest, dearest Sister!--again was all Mrs. Hervey could say.

Would to Heaven, proceeded, exclaiming, the poor mother, I had but once
seen her! Then, turning to my cousin James, and his sister--O my son!
O my Arabella! if WE were to receive as little mercy--And there again she
stopt, her tears interrupting her farther speech; every one, all the
time, remaining silent; their countenances showing a grief in their
hearts too big for expression.

Now you see, Mr. Belford, that my dearest cousin could be allowed all her
merit!--What a dreadful thing is after-reflection upon a conduct so
perverse and unnatural?

O this cursed friend of your's, Mr. Belford! This detested Lovelace!--To
him, to him is owing--

Pardon me, Sir. I will lay down my pen till I have recovered my temper.

ONE IN THE MORNING.

In vain, Sir, have I endeavoured to compose myself to rest. You wished
me to be very particular, and I cannot help it. This melancholy subject
fills my whole mind. I will proceed, though it be midnight.

About six o'clock the hearse came to the outward gate--the parish church
is at some distance; but the wind setting fair, the afflicted family were
struck, just before it came, into a fresh fit of grief, on hearing the
funeral bell tolled in a very solemn manner. A respect, as it proved,
and as they all guessed, paid to the memory of the dear deceased, out of
officious love, as the hearse passed near the church.

Judge, when their grief was so great in expectation of it, what it must
be when it arrived.

A servant came in to acquaint us with what its lumbering heavy noise up
the paved inner court-yard apprized us of before. He spoke not. He
could not speak. He looked, bowed, and withdrew.

I stept out. No one else could then stir. Her brother, however, soon
followed me. When I came to the door, I beheld a sight very affecting.

You have heard, Sir, how universally my dear cousin was beloved. By the
poor and middling sort especially, no young lady was ever so much
beloved. And with reason: she was the common patroness of all the honest
poor in her neighbourhood.

It is natural for us, in every deep and sincere grief, to interest all we
know in what is so