the manner of a gentleman remaining, and scarcely a pillow to lay his head upon; no affectionate wife to cheer and welcome him; no prattling children to press around him; not a friend in the world to acknowledge him for an intimate; and only a craving publican landlord to care whether he died or lived till to-morrow!

"Well, I think I hear you ask—' And what became of poor Arabella? Had they any children? -Did he waste her property?-Does the unfortunate lady still live; or did she die, like many a lovely flower, broken-hearted, torn from the root that nourished her, and left to languish and wither by cold neglect?'

"Would I could tell you that Arabella is as -happy as she deserves! But, no. Woman's bliss,

or misery, is dove-tailed so intimately with marriage, that you cannot separate her after wedlock. She ceases to exist as an individual while her husband lives. If he is good, kind, and sensible, she flourishes like a choice plant in the hot-house of his favour; otherwise, her hopes are shipwrecked; she is left on a barren coast, exposed to the hard gusts of unmerciful elements; her soul

tortured by remembrances of the past; and her only comfort in the tear-drop of despair, which serves as a mirror to reflect her beauty, and cheer her with the joy of grief.'

"I am incapable of entering into the history of Arabella's woes. She supports a large family on a very small income; and performs every duty of a mother in an exemplary manner. Her husband spent all her fortune; but most luckily her mother had a little independence, which his folly could not get possession of; and with it, the old lady has a heart all goodness, so that her unfortunate daughter and grand-children are not in absolute want. They have been forced, however, by the persecution of Bedford, to remove to a distant part of the country; for his conduct in many instances, when intoxicated, amounted to insanity, and the life of poor Arabella was often in imminent danger from his excesses.

"Were we not to see so many instances of the inveterate nature of evil habits, we should never believe that drunkenness, a vice which had grown on Bedford by imperceptible degrees, could in its practical effects so far besot him, and rob him of

rationality. He could not have been ignorant of his advantages in life. No doubt a man of his education knew well the duties he had to perform, to be entitled to rank amongst good and useful men. Yet every thing, sense, reason, fortune, gave way before habit, and lost themselves in the gulf of intemperance. Let us, then, be careful of the beginning, for we know not, when we once begin to indulge, where indulgence may end.

"I sometimes see poor Arabella. She still retains the traces of much beauty; and when looking on her fine soft features, and melting blue eye, I have often wondered that Bedford could not have sheltered himself behind them, as behind a shield, invincible against temptation. There is at all times an air of deep dejection on Arabella's countenance, imparting to every look peculiar expression: you cannot see a smile of her's without being sensible that grief is its attendant; yet such sweetness and resignation appear, as induce the conviction, that, even in this world, the good are never forsaken by Providence, nor left in absolute misery.

But how different are my sensations when I

behold Anthony Bedford! There is a devil in his eye, from which I turn away disgusted-a coarseness of mind upon which I cannot look. I see his hands trembling-his features emaciated or swollen-his frame worn away-his memory quite dead-the pulse of his associations torpid—his person dirty-his dress disordered-his language offensive to decency-his look a stare-his whole appearance frighful. Then I ask myself, what can induce a man to put an enemy into his mouth, which not only, in the phrase of Shakespeare, robs him of his brains, but takes away from him every thing that makes life respectable, and character estimable?

"If you are a parent, I leave it for your consideration whether Anthony Bedford would not have been happier, had he been left pennyless by his father, with habits of sobriety, virtue, and religion; in the practice of which earthly and eternal felicity is alone to be found."

END OF VOL. II.

PRINTED BY COX AND BAYLIS, GREAT QUEEN STREET.