ks, and frequent sobs of sorrow, break through each pious
ejaculation.

Close by her mother's side, one hand supporting her head, the other
wiping from her face the cold dew of death, behold Lady Elmwood's
daughter--Lord Elmwood's daughter too--yet he far away, negligent of what
either suffers. Lady Elmwood turns to her often and attempts an embrace,
but her feeble arms forbid, and they fall motionless. The daughter
perceiving these ineffectual efforts, has her whole face convulsed with
grief: kisses her mother; holds her to her bosom; and hangs upon her
neck, as if she wished to cling there, not to be parted even by the
grave.

On the other side of the bed sits Sandford--his hair grown white--his face
wrinkled with age--his heart the same as ever.--The reprover, the enemy of
the vain, the idle, and the wicked; but the friend and comforter of the
forlorn and miserable.

Upon those features where sarcasm, reproach, and anger dwelt, to
threaten and alarm the sinner; mildness, tenderness, and pity beamed, to
support and console the penitent. Compassion changed his language, and
softened all those harsh tones that used to denounce perdition.

"In the name of God," said he to Lady Elmwood, "of that God, who
suffered for you, and, suffering, knew and pitied all our weaknesses--By
him, who has given his word to _take compassion on the sinner's tears_,
I bid you hope for mercy. By that innocence in which you once lived, be
comforted--By the sorrows you have known since your degradation, hope,
that in some measure, you have atoned----By the sincerity that shone upon
your youthful face when I joined your hands, and those thousand virtues
you have since given proofs of, trust, that you were not born to die
_the death of the wicked._"

As he spoke these words of consolation, her trembling hand clasped
his--her dying eyes darted a ray of brightness--but her failing voice
endeavoured in vain, to articulate. At length, fixing her looks upon her
daughter as their last dear object, she was just understood to utter the
word "Father."

"I understand you," replied Sandford, "and by all that influence I ever
had over him, by my prayers, my tears," (and they flowed as he spoke) "I
will implore him to own his child."

She could now only smile in thanks.

"And if I should fail," continued he, "yet while I live, she shall not
want a friend or protector--all an old man, like me can answer for"----here
his tears interrupted him.

Lady