favour that one of you would visit him, for he suspects that the gentleman stands in need of religious consolation."

"As it is a wet evening, sir," said Mr. Deacon," and I know you are not particularly well, you must permit me to go to this sick

He accompanied the waiter to the inn, where he found the medical gentleman who was in attendance on the patient.

6

"Sir," said the surgeon, "I fear my skill is unavailing: I cannot administer to a mind diseased.' There is more need of your assistance than mine: but I fear that both will be to little purpose." So saying, he led the way.

The room was imperfectly lighted; and the curtains of the bed were drawn, so that the invalid was in a great measure hidden from view. A deep groan announced intense suffering; and a convulsive start which caused the bed to shake, indicated to Mr. Deacon that some one was there who was no ordinary sufferer: this impression was confirmed when a hollow frantic voice wildly broke forth in these incoherent words:

"Off! off! I cannot bear to look upon you: father! mother! Whip me not, ye furies! See, see, there they sit ! - Don't you see them grinning, and shaking their hellish goads? Oh, this is, indeed, agony! The furies are tormenting me! Oh, hide me! hide me !”

Here he covered himself with the bed-clothes, and for a few minutes remained quiet, as if afraid to move: then suddenly throwing his

covering aside, and starting upright on the bed, with eyes distended and wildly rolling, and with a velocity that marked the madman, he continued:

"Ha; they are gone. No, I did not murder them: tax me not with that: - they died at home, and I-where was I? Is that Captain Martin?-Ha! ha! ha! I shot him! Seven's the main - a thousand pounds — lost, undone : fool! madman ! — Ruin ! ruin ! Father, mother!-hush! they are asleep; tread lightly on the grass-I will not awake them

they are dead! dead!

"Alas! I cannot; dead! I am following them—following? Yes, to the grave, but not-no, no! Oh, I feel! I feel!" straining his clenched hand with

convulsive vehemence to his heart; "I feel it

Nature again sank beneath the struggle, and the patient lay a lump of repulsive humanity. By this time Mr. Deacon had recognized his former friend Henry Farnworth; but, oh! how changed! there was no longer visible in his features the playfulness of youth, that indescribable appearance which marks immunity from care. In its place were depicted the haggardness of remorse, the indented marks of dissipation, and the crooked lines of guilt.

Alas! thought he, what a havock is here! How is he who was formed to be the delight of society, and the comfort of a domestic circle, rendered obnoxious to strangers, and an alien from his friends! Talents abused, blessings prostituted, and advantages misapplied, have brought on a dreadful consequence. Instead of the comfort of virtue, behold the poignancy of vice. Instead of the corrupted nature of man ennobled by the atoning grace of Heaven, behold that nature more corrupted by the impurity of wicked deeds and voluntary debasement !

The wretched man at length revived, and in

a lucid interval of comparative composure said:

"Is there any one who will do a friendly deed to a stranger to happiness, and an outcast from society?"

Mr. Deacon here came close to his bedside, and sitting down by him, took one of his hands, and in accents of mildness softened by compassion, said:

"Farnworth, in the name of Heaven, what is the matter? Why are you here?"

Startled to hear himself accosted by a name he had so debased, and in a place where he believed himself totally unknown, he looked intently on the Curate, and enquired:

Surely I

"Who's that says Farnworth? once knew you. That voice sounds like memory of former days. I have some faint recollection, too, of that face (scrutinizing him with an ar dent glance). Are you - (and he passed the back of his hands across his eyes and forehead, as if to remove the film that prevented recognition) Deacon ?" Here the Curate are you motioned assent, and Henry Farnworth thus

continued: "I sicken at the name, for it brings

before me the memory of things I dare not dwell on. It reminds me of those happy days, the happiest I ever knew, when we were lads together - Oh, how have I sinned and suffered since. I have scoffed at God, and now I feel his power, and it is just that I should. I have done every thing to abet vice and to offend Heaven. Religion I have scorned, and hence have I indulged in blasphemy. I joyed in infidelity, and hence have I lost all principles of virtue. I am a murderer! the worst of murderers, a parricide. My victims were my parents, (and here he shuddered,) a young officer, and my own reputation and peace of mind. And, now, to complete the enormity of my guilt, I am a SUICIDE." Then rising in height and vehemency of voice—"Oh! look not so mildly and compassionately upon me! I am a wretch of the basest, blackest, worst description. There is no sin that can disgrace a man, which I have not been guilty of. I can bear reproaches, for I deserve them, but those pitying looks, so unmerited and unexpected, -oh! they kill Tell me - for you cannot harrow up my soul with more terrifying feelings than I have long experienced-tell me, did you see the

me.