opinion of him or mine is nearest the truth; for if mine is altogether wrong, it is not he that I love; it is a creature of my own imagination. But I think it is not wrong—no, no—there is a secret something—an inward instinct that assures me I am right. There is essential goodness in him;—and what delight to unfold it! If he has wandered, what bliss to recall him! If he is now exposed to the baneful influence of corrupting and wicked companions, what glory to deliver him from them!—Oh! if I could but believe that Heaven has designed me for this!
*****
To-day is the first of September; but my uncle has ordered the gamekeeper to spare the partridges till the gentlemen come. "What gentlemen?" I asked when I heard it—a small party he had invited to shoot. His friend Mr. Wilmot was one, and my aunt's friend Mr. Boarham another. This struck me as terrible news, at the moment, but all regret and apprehension vanished like a dream when I heard
