Our worthy chaplain having just stepped into the ward, discovered it in my countenance, and in the most pathetic, and feeling manner, cautioned me from too frequently calling past transactions to mind, unless with a view to draw a comparison of my distressfully unhappy situation at that time, and the calm composure of my present state, with every hopeful prospect of being received into the world again, a worthy member of society; and with that true philanthropy, which you Madam, have ever noted marked his countenance, told me he had made you a promise of writing out the particulars of the history of a sister penitent of whom you used to take such singular notice, and said that as he had also promised a copy of it to Lady ––, he would wish me to transcribe it in my letter as I acquainted him I was writing to you: I therefore beg leave  to break of at present, from the thread of my own narrative, more particularly as it will be some relief to myself in my present state of mind, and begin the particulars of this young lady's life.

            She was the favourite daughter of her father, a person of a decent and respectable character in life, who though he had several children, regarded this with eyes of peculiar tenderness and affection. Pleasing and delicate in her person, she had always hitherto shown an equally amiable mind, and returned her father's regard with becoming attention. But alas! an insidious seducer soon found the way to her heart; and under the delusive pretensions of courtship and marriage, in an unguarded hour, ruined and withdrew her from her father's house. He, in all the frantic rage of distress, sought the child of his tenderest affection. He found, forgave, and brought her home. But, whether through an infatuation for her seducer, (which however strange, is found but too often the case,) whether through the admonitions of her afflicted parent too repeatedly urged, or through restraint, not known before! once more, in an evil hour, she left her father's house, and soon, abandoned by her seducer, plunged into total licentiousness and debauchery.

            Her father, who felt such anguish as none but the parental heart can in any degree conceive, now gave up his child as irretrievably lost. Happening, however some time after, to pass along the street, he saw a young creature, highly dressed, throw herself into a chair, which waited at the door of one of those many infamous houses in this city, to convey her to her lodgings, after the debaucheries of the place. Let the parent guess what he must have felt, when he perceived this gay victim of licentiousness to be–his child! his favourite child,–his daughter! He stood struck with horror and amazement, whilst she, pierced no doubt to the heart, yet unwilling to humble herself, and confess her guilt, turned from him, and by her immediate order, was carried off, leaving the parent who had passed so many solicitous hours for her, almost petrified with grief, and unable to move!

            There is great reason to believe that this occasional but affecting interview touched her to the quick, and was the foundation of that resolve which she soon after found put in practice. For, the fury of unbridled passion beginning to abate, and the distresses of her detested course of life daily increasing; the early impressions of parental tenderness naturally coincided with these to awaken reflection, and to show her herself.

            Alarmed at the view, she wished, she determined to return, and try what repentance could do. For which purpose she applied to the Magdalen House, and found a ready admission. For how could admission be refused to one so young, labouring under such a burden of misery, and with such probable expectations of sincere amendment?

            Those expectations were not disappointed: she continued three years in the houses during the whole of which her behaviour was decent, consistent, and commendable. But, though reconciled to God, though conscious of the sincerity of her heart, she could find no solid satisfaction, till reconciled to the father whom she had so much injured, and to whose soul she had given such unspeakable anguish. The father, however, was now deaf to all her solicitations. In vain she wrote, in vain she pleaded: every effort proved ineffectual to procure her pardon, without which her heart can never know peace.

            A person who deeply interests himself in favour of the objects of the charity, wrote to her father. The following was the answer he received.

            "Sir, I had the honour of yours, and with it a renwal of my sorrow of heart; which proceeded, not from your relation of an amendment of life in a long lost and abandoned child, but from the remembrance of her unhappy fall. Did you but know, Sir, with what care and industry an affectionate father and mother (possessed of but little, perhaps worthy of more,) have discharged their duty, there is nothing but your great goodness of heart could induce you to be so generous an advocate for one, that has forfeited so much. But what can I say on this afflicting subject, with any degree of propriety, to keep clear of offending the fathers of an unhappy many; while my indignation for the conduct of one, causes such perturbation of body and mind, as renders me defenceless both in words and actions.

            "Un-neglected by precept and example, unprovoked by want or ill usage, she sacrificed all that was binding, to a lawless unruly passion, and plunged herself into that long scene of misery, which must have been longer still, were she not rescued by the humane hands of this noble charity. Happy is it for her, that you, Sir, have condescended to say, she has approved herself worthy of it; and happier still will she be, if she continues to deserve, from those bountiful hands which protect, and have led her back to those paths of virtue from whence she strayed.

            "Pardon me, Sir, that I detain you so long on a melancholy subject, persuaded as I am, that your tenderness of heart has suffered by many such doleful tales; and I hope you will forgive me when I say, that I am not sufficiently prepared for the sorrowful interview you desire, with my once most tenderly beloved daughter. But as your kind and fatherly letter has conveyed some consolation to a long disturbed and afflicted heart, by telling me that her repentance has begot compassion in you, and the rest of the worthy governors of that blessed charity; I will not appear so obdurate and unrelenting to say, that I will never see her; but, in time, on her persevering in good works, and finishing her reformation, agreeable to the time instituted by that excellent charity; I may not only see her, but also have pity, and restore her to that care and protection, which never departed from me, until she departed from them.

            "Thus far, and no farther, am I capable, overflowed with sorrow, to deter mine at present; and as virtue is its own reward, I know you expect no more than the thanks and prayers of a grateful heart, which shall publicly and privately be paid by me, for the prosperity and advancement of that best and most humane of charities; for the preservation of all its members; and particularly for you,: Sir, to whom I have the honour to be, &c."

            Those who are acquainted with the human heart, will not be surprised to hear that the heart which dictated this letter was afterwards reconciled to a daughter once so much beloved, and returning, like the prodigal, with true contrition, both to her earthly and her heavenly parent. This happy event soon after taking place, the daughter wrote with joy to the same gentleman to whom the father's letter was directed: and we subjoin a part of her letter, as it demonstrates the goodness of her mind.

            "Sir,
            "The enclosed will show that the happy reconciliation with my dear father, is, to my unspeakable joy, at last effected: and as you, Sir, have been the kind instrument of bringing it about, I should be guilty of the greatest ingratitude, were I to omit the first opportunity of returning you the thanks that such an important service merits: and believe me, Sir, that in whatever station it shall please the almighty hereafter to place me, I shall retain the deepest sense of the many mercies I have had vouchsafed me, while life remains, &c."

            She did not forfeit these promises. Her heart was sincere, and her reformation real. Received home with joy, she

e proved by her whole behaviour the truth of her repentance, and conducted herself in every manner suitable to her circumstances, and agreeble to her parent. Solicitous for her welfare he soon after gained her an establishment in a family of worth and distinction, where getting an unfortunate scratch upon the leg, and through attention to her duty neglecting it, bad consequences ensued; a mortification speedily came on, and an amputation of her leg was found unavoidable.

            She bore the dreadful tidings with great composure and resignation; sent to the chapel of the Magdalen Hospital, earnestly requesting the prayers of all her sister penitents for her, and underwent the cruel operation with a patience and resolution which surprised those who performed it.

            It is easy to conceive, from a habit of body so wretched as that which rendered the amputation necessary, what must have been the consequences of such an expedient: a total mortification came on: and in a few days after she expired; expired with blessings on the charity, as the great means of her salvation: expired with all that serenity of soul, with all that humility, yet confidence of hope, which nothing but true Christian principles can inspire; but which those principles will always inspire into the breast of the real penitent. The worthy doctor's reflections on this recital is truly pathetic.

            Upon this narrative, says he, which is in every particular conformable to truth, I would only beg leave to make one or two observations. The first and most natural one is the great utility of the Magdalen Institution, without which, this young creature, thus preserved, and now we trust, amongst the blessed, in all probability would have been lost; lost in early youth, before she had seen her twentieth year; lost in the extremity of suffering here, and lost to all the rewards and comforts of futurity: and not only herself thus deplorably undone, but her wretched father would have been left to mourn with bitterest sorrow the temporal, and the everlasting misery of his beloved child. Who can be insensible to the value, the importance of an institution, which thus prevents the direst woe; which not only in the present case, but in a variety of others, we have all possible reason to believe, has saved, and will continue to save, many souls from eternal loss!

            Let a second observation from this mournful narrative, be carried home to the hearts of those daughters, who are blessed with worthy and affectionate parents. Let them learn from hence, what horrid consequences–consequences, in a great degree, irremediable in this life, however their ill effects may be totally cancelled in the next,–attend a deviation from filial duty. Let them settle it in their hearts, that no love can be equal to the parental; and that whatever the siren voice of seduction woos them to forsake a tender father's roof, however sweet the sound, however alluring the promises, destruction awaits the fatal step, and ruin stands ready to close her gloomy doors upon them!

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