ed themselves that he would never learn how and wher Edgar died; but would implicitly believe what wa told him. They therefore wrote him word that Edgar har been taken ill at an inn, near London, on his road home that he had sent for them; and they had little hopes his recovery. They followed this letter of BENEV LENT LIES as soon as they could inform himn that all was

over.

This plan was wholly disapproved by a friend of the family, who, on principle, thought all concealment wrong; and, probably, useless too.

When the brothers drove to his house, on their way home, he said to them, "I found your father in a state of deep submission to the divine will, though grieved at the loss of a child, whom not even his errors could drive from his affections. I also found him consoled by those expressions of filial love and reliance on the merits of his Redeemer, which you transmitted to him from Edgar himself. Now, as the poor youth died penitent, and as his crime was palliated by great provocation, I conceive that it would not add much to your father's distress, were he to be informed of the truth. You know that from a principle of obedience to the implied designs of Providence, I object to any concealment on such occasions, but on this, disclosure would certainly be a safer, as well as more proper, mode of proceeding; for, though he does not read newspapers, he may one day learn the fact as it is; and then the con sequences may be fatal to life or reason. Remember hov ill concealment answered in your poor mother's case." But he argued in vain. However, he obtained leave to g with them to their father, that he might judge of the post sibility of making the disclosure which he advised.

The

They found the poor old man leaning his head upon an open Bible, as though he had been praying over it. sight of his sons in mourning told the tale which he dreaded to hear; and, wringing their hands in silence left the room, but soon returned; with surprising composure, said, "Well; now I can bear to hear particulars." When they had told him all they chose to relate, he exclaimed, melting into tears, "Enough!-Oh, my dear sons and dear friend, it is a sad and grievous thing for a father to own

but I feel this sorrow to be a blessing! I had always feared that he would die a violent death, either by his own hand, or that of an executioner; (here the sons looked triumphantly at each other;) therefore his dying a penitent, and with humble christian reliance, is such a relief to my mind! Yes; I feared he might commit forgery, or even murder; and that would have been dreadful!"" Dreadful indeed!" faltered out both the brothers, bursting into tears; while Osborne, choked, and almost convinced, turned to the window. "Yet," added he, " even in that case, if he had died penitent, I trust that I could have borne the blow, and been able to believe the soul of my unhappy boy would find mercy!" Here Osborne eagerly turned round, and would have ventured to tell the truth; but was withheld by the frowns of his companions, and the truth was not told.

Edgar had not been dead above seven months, before a visible change took place in his father's spirits, and expression of countenance ;-for the constant dread of his child's coming to a terrible end had hitherto preyed on his mind, and rendered his appearance haggard; but now he looked, and was cheerful; therefore his sons rejoiced, whenever they visited him, that they had not taken Osborne's advice. You are wrong," said he, "he would have been just as well, if he had known the manner of Edgar's death. It is not his ignorance, but the cessation of anxious suspense, that has thus renovated him. Howev er, he may go in this ignorance to his grave; and I earnestly hope he will do so."" Amen ;" said one of his sons; "for his life is most precious to our children as well as to us. Our little boys are improving so fast under his tuition !"

The consciousness of recovering health, as a painful affection of the breath and heart, had greatly subsided since the death of Edgar, made the good old man wish to visit, during summer months, an old college friend, who lived in Yorkshire; and he communicated his intentions to his sons. But they highly disapproved them, because, though Edgar's dreadful death was not likely to be revealed to him in the little village of Rit might be dis

closed to him by some one or other during a long jour

ney.

However, as he was bent on going, they could not find a sufficient excuse for preventing it; but they took every precaution possible. They wrote to their father's intended host, desiring him to keep all papers and magazines for the last seven months out of his way; and when the day of his departure arrived, Osborne himself went to take a place for him; and took care it should be in that coach which did not stop at, or go through York, in order to obviate all possible chance of his hearing the murder discussed. But it so happened that a family, going from the town whence the coach started, wanted the whole of it; and, without leave, Vernon's place was transferred to the other coach, which went the very road Osborne disapproved. "Well, well; it is the same thing to me;" said the good old man, when he was informed of the change; and he set off, full of pious thankfulness for the affectionate conduct and regrets of his parishioners at the moment of his departure, as they lined the road along which the coach was to pass, and expressed even clamorously their wishes for his

return.

The coach stopped at an ipn out-side the city of York; and as Vernon was not disposed to eat any dinner, he strolled along the road, till he came to a small church pleasantly situated, and entered the church-yard to read, as was his custom, the inscriptions on the tombstones. While thus engaged, he saw a man filling up a new-made grave, and entered into conversation with him. He found it was the saxon himself; and he drew from him several anecdotes of the persons interred around them.

During this conversation they had walked over the whole of the ground, when, just as they were going to leave the spot, the saxon stopped to pluck some weeds from a grave near the corner of it, and Vernon stopped also; taking hold, as he did so, of a small willow sapling, planted near the corner itself.

As the man rose from his occupation, and saw where Vernon stood, he smiled significantly, and said, "I planted that willow; and it is on a grave, though the grave is not marked out," "-"Indeed!" Yes; it is the grave

of a murderer."-" Of a murderer !"-echoed Vernon, in stinctively shuddering and moving away from it.--" Yes,' resumed he," of a murderer who was hanged at York. Poor lad! it was very right that he should be hanged; but he was not a hardened villain! and he died so penitent! and, as I knew him when he used to visit where I was groom, I could not help planting this tree, for old acquaintance' sake." Here he drew his hand across his eyes. "Then he was not a low-born man."-" Oh no ; his father was a clergyman, I think."-" Indeed! poor man was he living at the time?" said Vernon, deeply sighing. "Oh yes; for his poor son did so fret, lest his father should ever know what he had done; for he said he was an angel upon earth; and he could not bear to think how he would grieve; for, poor lad, he loved his father and his mother too, though: he did so badly,"—" Is his mother living ?"-"No: if she had, he would have been alive; but his evil courses broke her heart; and it was because the man he killed reproached him for having murdered his mother, that he was provoked to murder him."-" Poor rash, mistaken youth! then he had provocation."" Oh yes; the greatest: but he was very sorry for what he had done; and it would have broken your heart to hear him talk of his poor father."-" I am glad I did not hear him," said Vernon hastily, and in a faltering voice (for he thought of Edgar.) And. yet, sir, it would have done your heart good too."--" Then he had ́virtuous feelings, and loved his father amidst all his errors;"" Aye"-" And I dare say his father loved him, in spite of his faults."-" I dare say he did," replied the man; "for one's children are our own flesh and blood, you know, sir, after all that is said and done; and may be this young fellow was spoiled in bringing up."-" Perhaps so," said Vernon, sighing deeply. However, this poor lad made a very good end.""I am glad of that! and he lies here," continued Vernon, gazing on the spot with deepening interest, and moving nearer to it as he spoke. "Peace be to his soul! but was he not dissected?”. "Yes; but his brothers got leave to have the body after dissection. They came to me; and we buried it privately at night." "-"His brothers came! and who were his broth

ers ?"-"Merchants, in London; and it was a sad cut on them ; but they took care that their father should not know it."-" No!" cried Vernon, turning sick at heart. "Oh no; they wrote him word that his son was ill; then went to Westmoreland, and "Tell

me, interrupted Vernon gasping for breath, and laying his hand on his arm, " tell me the name of this poor youth!"-"Why, he was tried under a false name, for the sake of his family; but his real name was Edgar Ver non !""

The agonized parent drew back, shuddered violently and repeatedly, casting up his eyes to heaven at the same time, with a look of mingled appeal and resignation. He then rushed to the obscure spot which covered the bones of his son, threw himself upon it, and stretched his arms over it, as if embracing the unconscious deposit beneath, while his head rested on the grass, and he neither spoke nor moved. But he uttered one groan: then all was stillness!

His terrified and astonished companion remained motionless for a few moments,-then stooped to raise him; but the FIAT OF MERCY had gone forth, and the paternal heart broken by the sudden shock, had suffered, and breathed its last.

CHAPTER XI.

LIES OF WANTONNESS.

I COME now to LIES OF WANTONNESS; that is, lies told from no other motive but a love of lying, and to show the utterer's total contempt of truth, and for those scrupulous persons of their acquaintance who look on it with reverence, and endeavour to act up to their principles: lies, having their origin merely in a depraved fondness for speaking and inventing falsehood. Not that persons of this description confine their falsehoods to this sort of lying on the con trary, they lie after this fashion, because they have exhaust

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