yself as to make
our parents more than ever proud of their children. Was my quarrel with
my mother irreparable? Let me go to Jamaica. There was plenty there for
all, and employment which his Excellency as Governor would immediately
procure for me. "Come to us!" writes Hetty. "Come to us!" writes Aunt
Lambert. "Have my children been suffering poverty, and we rolling in
our Excellency's coach, with guards to turn out whenever we pass? Has
Charley been home to you for ever so many holidays, from the Chartreux,
and had ever so many of my poor George's half-crowns in his pocket,
I dare say?" (this was indeed the truth, for where was he to go for
holidays but to his sister? and was there any use in telling the child
how scarce half-crowns were with us?). "And you always treating him with
such goodness, as his letters tell me, which are brimful of love for
George and little Miles! Oh, how we long to see Miles!" wrote Hetty and
her mother; "and as for his godfather" (writes Het), "who has been good
to my dearest and her child, I promise him a kiss whenever I see him!"

Our young benefactor was never to hear of our family's love and
gratitude to him. That glimpse of his bright face over the railings
before our house at Lambeth, as he rode away on his little horse, was
the last we ever were to have of him. At Christmas a basket comes to us,
containing a great turkey, and three brace of partridges, with a
card, and "shot by M. W." wrote on one of them. And on receipt of this
present, we wrote to thank the child and gave him our sister's message.

To this letter, there came a reply from Lady Warrington, who said she
was bound to inform me, that in visiting me her child had been guilty
of disobedience, and that she learned his visit to me now for the
first time. Knowing my views regarding duty to my parents (which I had
exemplified in my marriage), she could not wish her son to adopt them.
And fervently hoping that I might be brought to see the errors of
my present course, she took leave of this most unpleasant subject,
subscribing herself, etc. etc. And we got this pretty missive as sauce
for poor Miles's turkey, which was our family feast for New Year's Day.
My Lady Warrington's letter choked our meal, though Sampson and Charley
rejoiced over it.

Ah me! Ere the month was over, our little friend was gone from amongst
us. Going out shooting, and dragging his gun through a hedge after him,
the trigger caught in a bush, and the poo