On the morning after the new Mill Company was established, the post brought me a letter from my father. My son had arrived at Bonnytown;—but I will here copy the letter, as containing a better account of all about him, than it is possible for me to write.

“Dear Lawrie,

“I indite these few lines with all haste, to relieve your anxieties. Last night, towards the gloaming, just as we were preparing to begin the worship, a young lad came to the door, enquiring for me. He said he was your son Robert; and, upon asking him several questions, I have no doubt by his answers he is. We took him in; but he had not been many minutes at the fire-side, when he began to weep bitterly; and then he told us he had run away from New York, having killed one of his companions in a duel. My heart was broken to hear this. May the God of power and compassion support you, my son, under this heavy affliction! I need not assure you that we will take good care of the lad; and I would fain hope the thing is not so bad as he says, for his adversary was not actually dead when he left him. It is in the power of the Lord to cause him to recover; and while there is life, there is hope. Oh, Lawrie, this is a dreadful drawback on the great accounts we hear of your prosperity. Alas! what availeth all the riches of this world, or the honours thereof, if with them there are such taxes on the heart? I pray to Heaven that your affliction may be softened, and that I may be comforted with a sight of you before I quit this earthly tabernacle.

“We had a letter not long ago from your brother: he was then well, and content; though he says he has not been so lucky as you. How much reason have you to be thankful; for in what, before God, are ye better than your brother? The fly on the wall is an agent of Providence, and may have been created for greater ends than you both.