a youth, brought up as I had been, to exchange a college for a counting-house. Pardon me if I speak hastily; but a man's mother—such a mother as this miniature has shewn you—can never be forgotten, or even coldly remembered."
"Dear Mr. Glentworth; surely you know how much I must feel with you, and for you, in all that respects that sweet lady to whom I could have been the fondest, tenderest, daughter that ever lived. But I know more than you of this melancholy case, and I wish you would read what I have read, before you say more."
Moved by the earnestness of her manner, and certainly experiencing much painful curiosity, he took the sheets she had laid down, with a condescending air not a little repellant to poor Isabella's feelings, though she could fully account for it when she remembered the accumulated wrongs of his mother, continued, as they had been, to the unoffending and promising son of a father, who ought to have strained every nerve to serve him. She well remembered the many luxuries of Mrs. Cranstoun's elegant cottage at Brighton, and could not forbear contrasting them with the situation of dear "uncle Frank," when he lived in the city. She returned to the perusal of the sad detail before her with a sense of pity as divided as it was ameliorated. She was at least assured that
