she was the daughter of one
whose name was Louisa Conway, who arrived among us at such a time, who
sedulously concealed her parentage, and the motives of her flight, whose
incurable griefs had finally destroyed her, and who had left this child
under the protection of her friends. Having heard the tale, he melted
into tears, eagerly clasped the young lady in his arms, and called
himself her father. When the tumults excited in his breast by this
unlooked-for meeting were somewhat subsided, he gratified our curiosity
by relating the following incidents.

"Miss Conway was the only daughter of a banker in London, who discharged
towards her every duty of an affectionate father. He had chanced to fall
into her company, had been subdued by her attractions, had tendered her
his hand, and been joyfully accepted both by parent and child. His wife
had given him every proof of the fondest attachment. Her father, who
possessed immense wealth, treated him with distinguished respect,
liberally supplied his wants, and had made one condition of his consent
to their union, a resolution to take up their abode with him.

"They had passed three years of conjugal felicity, which had been
augmented by the birth of this child; when his professional duty called
him into Germany. It was not without an arduous struggle, that she was
persuaded to relinquish the design of accompanying him through all the
toils and perils of war. No parting was ever more distressful. They
strove to alleviate, by frequent letters, the evils of their lot. Those
of his wife, breathed nothing but anxiety for his safety, and impatience
of his absence. At length, a new arrangement was made, and he was
obliged to repair from Westphalia to Canada. One advantage attended this
change. It afforded him an opportunity of meeting his family. His
wife anticipated this interview, with no less rapture than himself. He
hurried to London, and the moment he alighted from the stage-coach, ran
with all speed to Mr. Conway's house.

"It was an house of mourning. His father was overwhelmed with grief, and
incapable of answering his inquiries. The servants, sorrowful and mute,
were equally refractory. He explored the house, and called on the names
of his wife and daughter, but his summons was fruitless. At length,
this new disaster was explained. Two days before his arrival, his wife's
chamber was found empty. No search, however diligent and anxious, could
trace her steps. No cause could b