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nected with the court—of the insult and inhuman- ity she met with from some—the compassion she experienced from others—the interest they took in his fate, and the hopes and promises which they held out. Upon those hopes and promises she fondly dwelt. She looked into his eyes to perceive, the hope they kindled there, and as joy beamed from them, she half forgot that his life hung upon the word of a man.
But his parents came to visit him ; her’s fol- lowed her, and they joined their efforts to hers, and anxiously, daily, almost hourly, they exerted their energies to obtain his pardon. His father possessed an influence in electioneering matters in Lancashire, and hers could exercise the same in an adjoining county. That influence was urged—the members they supported were importuned. They promised to employ their best exertions. Whatever the feelings or principles of the elder Dawson might be, he had never avowed disaffection openly—he had never evinced a leaning to the family of Stuart—he had supported the government of the day; and the father of Fanny was an upholder of the house of Hanover. The influence of their relatives, and all their friends were brought into action; peers and commoners were supplicated, and they pledged their intercession. Men high in office took an interest in the fate of James Dawson, or professed to take it; promises, half official, were held out, and when and his youth, the short time that he had engaged in the rebellion, and the situation he held in the army of the Adventurer were considered, no one doubted but that his pardon was certain—that he would not be brought to trial. Even his parents felt assured—but the word of the King was not passed.
They began to look forward to the day of his deliverance with impatience, but still with cer- tainty. There was but one heart that feared, and
