him the inhumanity of his proceedings, but he is inexorable."

The worthy doctor's opinion had been concisely and clearly expressed. The miserable woman was now dying, not, properly speaking, of disease, but of poverty and worry. Yet this woman Mowbray had solemnly sworn to love and to cherish; and having squandered her money, the only way in which he could redeem his solemn engagement, or save her from perishing, was by getting more. It was a crime to neglect her, and, consequently, it was criminal not to obtain money; but his efforts for that purpose had been utterly in vain, and the only method that offered the possibility of relief was by fraud and deception. Which, then, was the worst (or, as Lord Brougham would logically say, the worser) crime, to acquiesce in the fraudulent rapacity of a Jew, at the same time to deceive that Jew, or to leave the unfortunate Jiuletta perishing and unaided? If conduct through life has been regulated by principle, instead of impulse, moral strength will of course remain indestructible. Deception will not merely be held in contempt and abhorrence, but cannot even occur as a possible means of extrication. Such notion would not obtrude itself even into the most feverish dream. But to the "broken mind" of our hero, the dilemma appeared inevitable. He had the pleasant alternatives abovementioned, but could devise no other.

He made no direct answer to the doctor. He did not say whether he could or could not act on the advice then given. But whilst he reflected, the servant brought a message to say that Mrs. Mowbray felt surprised he should have been so long in the house without seeing her. Mowbray looked at the doctor.

"Of course, you must go," said O'Neale; "but, remember, no long faces, no despondency."

A few weeks of constant anxiety and privation will sometimes make a fearful change in the frame and aspect of the sufferer. The once gay and blooming Jiuletta was worn into a spectre; and when Mowbray appeared, she raised and held out her shadowy hand in silence, then said, in a voice hardly articulate," You were long in coming; I thought sometimes we should never meet again."

"I came yesterday," said h

a forced smile, "but had a narrow escape from the bailiffs."

"Alas!" responded Jiuletta, "I know how much you have suffered, and am deeply grieved for it: I am so sorry and ashamed, too, that I should have added to your anxieties by this tedious illness. Be assured I could not help it, and have not been myself lately. But it will all be over soon. I feel greatly better this moning."

The words conveyed an unconscious prophecy. Mowbray did indeed perceive that it would "all be over soon," and that, if he must act on the suggestions of the friendly doctor, not a moment was to be lost. Even now he almost determined on completing the letter of guarantee for the Jew. Besides, he had but one day to act in, for the purpose of setting his house in order, preparatory to an auction and final break-up. En passant, and for a moment only, he looked into that apartment which had been his study. The books were all taken from the shelves, and made into bales with cordage. His escrutoire and drawers had been broken open, and ransacked in hopes of discovering articles of value, and the contents were strewed about the floor. Recoiling from the sight, he abandoned his intention of looking for some papers which might have been of service in his negotiations; and wended his way to St. John's Wood, where, in a pleasant villa, lived one of his oldest friends, who, under the Whig administration, had become a lord of the Treasury.

This prosperous gentleman paraded immediately, entering from his private study, into the reception-room with a cold abstracted air, and papers in his hand, as if immensely occupied. Betwixt friends so intimate, the explanation of our hero's object in calling was very soon effected.

"All this," observed the oracular lord of the Treasury, "was naturally to be anticipated, and you have yourself only to blame for the result. According to the vulgar adage, you cannot have your cake and eat your cake. Reputation and fortune were the cake. You have annihilated both, and must take the consequences."

"You have uttered a very wise dictum," said Mowbray; "but any old Jew clothesman in Monmouth Street might have told me this quite as well." me into the room resolved to

keep my temper," said Mr. Hartlocke Strutton," and no objurgation or contumely on your part shall be allowed to upset it."

"I intended no contumely," said our hero," and have uttered none."

"It has not as yet gone any further than telling me that I spoke like an old Jew clothesman of Monmouth Street." "That was not my observation," said Mowbray; "I meant only

"Pshaw - nonsense!" cried the Treasury lord, impatiently; "never mind what you meant ;-it is of no consequence."

"I could have no design to offend you, or wound your feelings," said Mowbray, calmly; "I came here with very different motives."

"Yes, I know," interposed his friend, "and it is better to end this matter at once. There, take my purse!" And he flung it to him.

Our hero had an inclination to fling it into the fire; however, he did just nothing at all. He took no notice of the purse, and made no immediate reply to his lordship; for the scene just before witnessed at his own house had made too deep an impression to be easily effaced by new emotions.

"If you imagine that I have more in my power,” added Mr. Strutton, “you are egregiously mistaken. My account at Coutts' is actually overdrawn, and I cannot pay my own debts, far less other people's."

"Never mind," answered Mowbray, feeling that his quondam friend deserved only his contempt or pity, and considering whither he should go next.

"And, besides," resumed Mr. Strutton, in a tone somewhat apologetical, "I am thoroughly convinced that assistance would be but temporary. It is like stopping one hole in a sieve."

"All assistance is temporary," said Mowbray "life does not last for ever."

:

"And why wish to lengthen a life of suffering and disgrace? If ever any mortal did with open eyes work his own destruction, you have done so! Not contented with having, in the first place, flung away a fair fortune, you every where proclaim yourself an illused man; which, of course, is the most effectual method of insuring ill usage for the future, and cutting off the possibility of retrieval: and not

Rely on it,

for not lending more. such a career has its limits, and must come to an abrupt end."

Mowbray did indeed feel that it must come to an end, or, rather, that he had already reached the goal. In the vast population of London, where he formerly had friends by hundreds, there was not one in whom, at this juncture of extreme domestic distress, he could place reliance; and yet there was but one day to act in, and, according to his own conclusions, it too plainly appeared that there was but one mode of acting. He might rack his brains, and writhe, and turn himself to all points of the compass, but from every point there glared upon him only the same immitigable evils. Once more I repeat it, the dilemma seemed inevitable: he might allow his unfortunate wife to perish, or employ a despicable and criminal deception to save her. It was not till late in the evening, and after he had tried every other expedient in vain, that he resolved on adopting the latter. With perfect firmness and composure, he at last affixed the signature of Grigsbaye Cutlar to the guarantee, but without any attempt to imitate his kinsman's hand; on the contrary, writing in his usual unconstrained manner. Thereafter he betook himself to the house of his precious acquaintance, the Jew; not forgetting, however, to leave notice where he was to be found, in case of a visit from the poor but benevolent artist.

The Jew received him as if the visit, though late, had been fully expected, and exhibiting a peculiar grin on his visage, from which Mowbray augured no good. In a room filled with the smoke of bad tobacco, two other persons were present, one with a pipe in his mouth, the other busily engaged in perusing a three weeks' old Morning Chronicle. It appeared that the tobacco-smoking gentleman was to be the money-lender, for he directly laid aside his pipe when our hero entered and seemed prepared to give his whole mind to business.

"Mister Pyke," said the Jew," this here gen'l'man, as I vas a telling you on, vants the loan of a few pounds werry bad, and as you have got plenty of blunt, it is for you to judge whether he can offer you satisfactory security." "Plenty of blunt, indeedÏ” answered

«NI do recollect the

with some truth, but I never expects to see the like again. Well, what have you got? Hand me over the bill for examination; I shall not steal it."

Mowbray laid before him the bond and the letter of guarantee, both of which he attentively considered.

"Tell you what I can do, in a moment," said Mr. Pyke; "I will give you ten pounds cash, and forty more in wine. At present I could make no better offer, not for the best personal security in the land."

"The offer would not suit me," replied Mowbray, "and I must decline it."

“What would you wish or expect, then?" said Mr. Pyke.

"I came here in the expectation of receiving the full amount as specified in the bond, deducting, of course, a reasonable sum for interest."

"Note that down, Sturgeon," said Mr. Pyke to the silent gentleman, who, apparently, continued to study his Morning Chronicle.

"And I appeal to Mr. Isaacs," resumed our hero, "whether this was not the understanding betwixt us?”

He turned round, and discovered that Mr. Isaacs had left the room; and, in place of that worthy, Mowbray, with no little amazement, beheld his friend, Schönfeldt, whose eyes glistened with pleasure, and whose pale face wore a smile of infinite satisfaction.

"I come with good news," said the artist," and would wish to speak with you for a few moments in private."

Our hero moved towards the door, but his progress was intercepted by Messrs. Pyke and Sturgeon, who rose suddenly.

"Excuse me," said the former, "but at present, you may as well not attempt to leave the room. It will be of no use, you know, for we shall follow, and it would only make a row for no purpose."

Schönfeldt stared.

"There is no necessity for leaving the room," said he; and, in a whisper to our hero, he added, "I have one hundred pounds ready, and at your service. Pray make an end of your negotiations here, for Mrs. Mowbray is exceedingly ill."

At this moment, the Jew re-entered the room, followed by a police constable; on seeing whom, Mr. Pyke folded up the papers, and grasping them tightly, pointed to Mowbray.

"I give that man in charge," said he, "for forgery, with intent to defraud, and shall be at the office by ten o'clock to-morrow morning to substantiate my accusation!"

Hereupon our hero was about to speak in a tone of the most violent rage, but Schönfeldt contrived to stop him.

"What proof or evidence has there appeared of forgery in this case?" inquired the artist.

"I have proofs amply sufficient," replied Mr. Pyke, " as your acquaintance, who hears me, well knows. Meanwhile, I tell him in your presence, as you seem to be a friend of his'n, that his own relation, Mr. Grigsbaye Cutlar, may be considered the real prosecutor on this occasion, for it is only by his advice and instructions that I act as I have done."

"Pray how comes Mr. Cutlar to be interested here?" said the artist. "Is he within hearing?"

“Mr. Grigsbaye Cutlar happens to be my counsel in an important chancery suit," answered Mr. Pyke. "It was but yesterday that I paid him a large fee; and this afternoon, in consequence of a communication made to me in the morning, and in order to save time, I called to inquire whether he had given, or would give, any guarantee in favour of his precious relative, who stands there. His answer will not easily go out of my recollection: and I now repeat, that I act by his explicit instructions. The world has, indeed, come to a pretty pass; and, among gentry nowadays, honour and honesty are but empty names !"

"If I understand the matter right, you have lost nothing on this occasion;" said Mr. Schönfeldt; " pray how much do you expect to gain by the prosecution ?"

"Not a fraction!" answered Mr. Pyke. Besides, for my own part, I would rather gain by giving it up, if any friend chooses to come forward with the blunt; because why-I don't much like the trouble of attending them police-offices and criminal courts, where one gets no pay."

"Then, in order to meet your views and save you trouble,” said the artist, "also to save my own time, I will give you five pounds for the papers which you now hold in your hand; Your but observe, not a penny more. refusal is to me a matter of indifference,

as I am quite prepared to give security for my friend's appearance at the magistrate's office, and am also convinced that Mr. Grigsbaye Cutlar will never appear publicly in the matter."

"Well," said Mr. Pyke, "let me see; a stitch in time saves nine; tomorrow at ten o'clock, I had appointed to be with Sir John Kitely, and at eleven with Lord Lackaker. By attending at the d-d police-office, I should lose both. I am a man of business, sir; make your offer seven guineas, and you shall have the papers."

A bargain was at length struck, and the meeting broke up; after which, the kind-hearted artist and his ci-devant patron (both observing a profound silence) drove rapidly to Street, where they found Dr. O'Neale in attendance, but apparently very much chagrined and irritated.

"I had hoped," said he," that the symptoms were favourable. Towards evening I endeavoured to soothe my patient by assuring her that I knew she would be removed from this house; that I would have a coach ready for her by ten o'clock to-morrow, and you would meet her at Streatham, Croydon, or some other station, as should be afterwards agreed upon, and she did seem revived and tranquillised; but, during my absence for about an hour, when summoned to attend an urgent case, it appears that a written communication was brought by a clerk of Mr. Grigsbaye Cutlar, of Lincoln's Inn, which he insisted on delivering into her own hands. This arrived most unfortunately, just as Mrs. Mowbray was composing herself to rest, and ever since the fever has increased, and she has been in such an excited state, that I fear the worst.'

Mr.

And the worst did occur. Grigsbaye Cutlar, with the coarseness which belongs to a hardened old lawyer, had sent Mrs. Mowbray a small sum of money as a charitable

gift, with a note containing some harsh allusions to the anticipated delinquency and disgrace of her unfortunate husband. The application worked; it was that last stress upon the already broken heart which it could not sustain; sleep refused to come, but delirium did come; and, fortunately, in her ravings, she constantly reverted to the pleasant prospects which had been held out to her by the doctor.

"Anne, Sophia, Bernard!" cried she, naming her children; " where are you? Why don't you awake? This day we are to set out for Brighton or Hastings. You shall roam on the beach again, and I shall wander on my favourite green fields at Falmer."

Mowbray rejoiced to hear her speak thus, for he thought it was only natural, but her eyes glared at him without recognition. He assured her over and over, of the timely aid which had been brought in abundance by his friend, Schönfeldt, but her replies were not an answer. She recked not his words; she understood him not, but persisted in her own wild ravings. This world had become to her a sphere of conceptions and dreams only; she had no longer any sensibility for present objects or present interests. The mind, of course, still existed, but the organic media by which it was attached to the material world were irretrievably injured, and about to be withdrawn for ever. She died next morning.

Schönfeldt remained; he watched over his quondam benefactor, and did all that a friend could do. He wished to have removed Mowbray to his cottage at Bayswater, but my unfortunate hero would not be advised nor guided. He still exists, and has subsided from a state of outrageous madness into one of helpless drivelling idiocy, in which condition he may be found by any one who chooses or chances to knock at the door of No. 45 in the Fair, Fleet Prison.