did me this inhuman wrong out of her own infinite baseness; but as soon as I had rid myself of her infamous society, she took to slandering me with the coarse, vile colouring of the blackest malice— thinking, by so doing, my testimony of her shame would not be believed. I alone had knowledge of her evil doing-the fear which guilt produces continually haunted her and she strove to save her reputation by destroying mine. She gave out I had sought to use her dishonestly, so she would have none of me; and accused me of such horrible behaving as none but the degraded, debased thing she had made herself, could have conceived. Here, then, was I, by my abundant love of virtue, and prodigal generousness, in seeking to make others happy, stripped hopeless-and then daubed with the pitch of infamy! I have said nought of this matter hitherto, believing I might escape the outstretched finger, and the reviling eye, of the unjust world, by a strict secrecy. My pride would not allow of my offering one word in my own defence, convinced that men's minds have such an inclination for villainy, they will readily entertain it, let it come in any shape. No where will there be found any sympathy for abused confidence, for the man that is deceived is looked upon as a poor weak fool, that should have had more wit than to have suffered such cozening.

"I felt convinced that every one around me were

striving to get to a knowledge of my secret, that they might enjoy the pleasure of thinking ill of me, so I was beforehand with them-abused all, and kept all from the slightest approach to that familiarity which they desired should lead to contempt. But what a life is this I am living! and when I behold thy fresh young nature pursuing the same course which mine hath gone, have I not reason to fear it will come to a like dreadful ending? Boy! look at me, and pause in thy career. I have been as thou art now-a worshipper of fair appearances. I loved the goodly garnishing of the bright world, and would have rushed against a thousand levelled spears in defence of its integrity. Thou seest me here, decrepid in my prime, inwardly affected with a moral leprosy, that eateth my heart to the coreoutwardly, one entire sore, that causeth me to shrink from the world as from a scorching fire. I am at strife with my fellows-I am at war with myself the day bringeth no peace for me-the night no repose. Merciful God!" exclaimed the unhappy usurer, in his deep frenzy, clasping his hands together, with a wild look of agony and supplication. "Is there no peace for the guiltless?— Is there nought but perpetual torture for the doer of good? Tear not my heart strings with so rude a grasp! I have wronged none. I have loved all. I have worshipped fervently each excellent evidence of thy perfect handiwork. Let not mine enemy

prevail against me. He hath done me most intolerable injury. Pity for my undeserved sufferings! Justice against the villainy that produced them! Mercy! help! vengeance!"

Shouting these last words in the most piercing tones, John a Combe tottered forward a few steps, and, before his young companion could reach the place where he was, fell exhausted upon the floor.

CHAPTER XI.

Is this your manly service?

A devil scorns to do it.

MASSINGER.

O sacred innocence! that sweetly sleeps

On turtles' feathers, whilst a guilty conscience

Is a black register, wherein is writ

All our good deeds and bad-a perspective
That shews us hell.

WEBSTER.

Drink to-day, and drown all sorrow,
You shall, perhaps, not do it to-morrow.
Best while you have it use your breath;
There is no drinking after death.

BEN JONSON.

Now, whether it were providence, or luck,
Whether the keeper's or the stealer's buck,
There we had venison.

BISHOP CORBET.

"SEE that this plot of thine have a more profitable issue than thy preceding ones."

"It cannot fail, my lord, it is so cunningly devised."

"So thou saidst of the others, yet I reaped no advantage of them."

"That was owing to no fault of mine, believe me, but to circumstances which, as it was clean

impossible they could be foreseen of the piercingest wit, it is plain they could not have been prevented."

Thus spoke two of whom the reader hath already some acquaintance-to wit, the licentious noble and his villainous assistant; and they were sitting together in a small mean chamber of an obscure inn in the neighbourhood of Charlcote-the former, as usual, so closely wrapped up, as if he feared being recognized; and the other in finer feather than he had ever been in before, as though he was intent in playing some exceeding gallant part.

"I marvel, my lord, you should waste so much labour on so poor an object," observed the meaner villain. "Methinks you might have won a nobler prize at half the pains. Indeed, I have been credibly informed this Mabel is nothing better than a very mean person—a mere foundling-mayhap the chance offspring of vulgar parents-that hath now become a sort of humble servant to the good dame by whom she was discovered."

"Dost tell me this story, fellow!" exclaimed his companion, rising from his seat with most haughty indignant glances. "Why, where hath flown thy wits, that thou couldst credit so shallow a tale?— Foundling! o' my life, I would gladly give a thousand crowns to pick up such a foundling but once or twice in my life. Vulgar parentage! By this hand, I have seen her wear so regal an air with her, as Elizabeth, in her proudest mood, never came up