she lavished upon
it all the sweetness and tenderness, the enthusiasm and devotion of her
nature, which make her seem to us lovable above all women. And now this
friend, the best gift life had so far given her, was to be taken from
her. She saw Fanny grow weaker and weaker day by day, and knew that she
was powerless to avert the coming calamity. Yet whatever could be done,
she did. There never has been, and there never can be, a more faithful,
gentle nurse. The following letter gives a graphic description of her
journey, of the sad welcome which awaited her at its termination, and
the still sadder duties she fulfilled in Lisbon:--

LISBON, Nov. or Dec. 1785.

MY DEAR GIRLS,--I am beginning to awake out of a terrifying dream,
for in that light do the transactions of these two or three last
days appear. Before I say more, let me tell you that, when I
arrived here, Fanny was in labor, and that four hours after she was
delivered of a boy. The child is alive and well, and considering
the _very, very_ low state to which Fanny was reduced she is better
than could be expected. I am now watching her and the child. My
active spirits have not been much at rest ever since I left
England. I could not write to you on shipboard, the sea was so
rough; and we had such hard gales of wind, the captain was afraid
we should be dismasted. I cannot write to-night or collect my
scattered thoughts, my mind is so unsettled. Fanny is so worn out,
her recovery would be almost a resurrection, and my reason will
scarce allow me to think it possible. I labor to be resigned, and
by the time I am a little so, some faint hope sets my thoughts
again afloat, and for a moment I look forward to days that will,
alas! never come.

I will try to-morrow to give you some little regular account of my
journey, though I am almost afraid to look beyond the present
moment. Was not my arrival providential? I can scarce be persuaded
that I am here, and that so many things have happened in so short a
time. My head grows light with thinking on it.

_Friday morning._--Fanny has been so alarmingly ill since I wrote
the above, I entirely gave her up, and yet I could not write and
tell you so: it seemed like signing her death-warrant. Yesterday
afternoon some of the most alarming symptoms a little abated, and
she had a comfortable