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ally he struggled for breath, and his efforts were directed to remove some choking impediment.

"No test of my fortitude had hitherto occurred equal to that to which it was now subjected. The suspicion which this deportment suggested was vague and formless. The tempest which I witnessed was the prelude of horror. These were throes which would terminate in the birth of some gigantic and sanguinary purpose. Did he meditate to offer a bloody sacrifice? Was his own death or was mine to attest the magnitude of his despair, or the impetuosity of his vengeance?

"Suicide was familiar to his thoughts. He had consented to live but on one condition: that of regaining possession of this money. Should I be justified in driving him, by my obstinate refusal, to this fatal consummation of his crimes? Yet my fear of this catastrophe was groundless. Hitherto he had argued and persuaded, but this method was pursued because it was more eligible than the employment of force, or than procrastination.

"No. These were tokens that pointed to me. Some unknown instigation was at work within him, to tear away his remnant of humanity, and fit him for the office of my murderer. I knew not how the accumulation of guilt could contribute to his gratification or security. His actions had been partially exhibited and vaguely seen. What extenuations or omissions had vitiated his former or recent narrative; how far his actual performances were congenial with the deed which was now to be perpetrated, I knew not.

"These thoughts lent new rapidity to my blood. I raised my head from the pillow, and watched the deportment of this man, with deeper attention. The paroxysm which controlled him, at length, in some degree, subsided. He muttered, Yes. It must come. My last humiliation must cover me. My last confession must be made. To die, and leave behind me this train of enormous perils, must not be.

"O'Clemenza! O Mervyn! Ye have not merited that I should leave you a legacy of persecution and death. Your safety must be purchased at what price my malignant destiny will set upon it. The cord of the executioner, the note of everlasting infamy, is better than to leave you beset by the consequences of my guilt. must not be.

It

"Saying this, Welbeck cast fearful glances at the windows and door. He examined every avenue and listened. Thrice he repeated this scrutiny. Having, as it seemed, ascertained that no one lurked within audience, he approached the bed. He put his mouth close to my face. He attempted to speak, but once more examined the apartment with suspicious glances.

"He drew closer, and at length, in a tone, scarcely articulate and suffocated with emotion, he spoke: Excellent but fatally obstinate youth! Know at least the cause of my importunity. Know at least the depth of my infatuation and the enormity of my guilt.

"The bills-Surrender them to me, and save yourself from perse

cution and disgrace. Save the woman whom you wish to benefit, from the blackest imputations; from hazard to her life and her fame; from languishing in dungeons; from expiring on the gallows!

"The bills-0 save me from the bitterness of death. Let the evils to which my miserable life has given birth terminate here and in myself. Surrender them to me, for

"There he stopped. His utterance was choked by terror. Rapid glances were again darted at the windows and door. The silence was uninterrupted except by far-off sounds, produced by some moving carriage. Once more, he summoned resolution, and spoke: "Surrender them to me, for-they are forged.

"Formerly I told you, that a scheme of forgery had been conceived. Shame would not suffer me to add, that my scheme was carried into execution. The bills were fashioned, but my fears contended against my necessities, and forbade me to attempt to exchange them. The interview with Lodi saved me from the dangerous experiment. I enclosed them in that volume, as the means of future opulence, to be used when all other, and less hazardous resources should fail.

"In the agonies of my remorse, at the death of Watson, they were forgotten. They afterwards recurred to recollection. My wishes pointed to the grave; but the stroke that should deliver me from life, was suspended only till I could hasten hither, get possession of these papers, and destroy them.

"When I thought upon the chances that should give them an owner; bring them into circulation; load the innocent with suspicion ; and lead them to trial, and, perhaps, to death, my sensations were fraught with agony: earnestly as I panted for death, it was necessarily deferred till I had gained possession of and destroyed these

papers.

"What now remains? You have found them. Happily they have not been used. Give them, therefore, to me, that I may crush at once the brood of mischiefs which they could not but generate.

"This disclosure was strange. It was accompanied with every token of sincerity. How had I tottered on the brink of destruction! If I had made use of this money, in what a labyrinth of misery might I not have been involved! My innocence could never have been proved. An alliance with Welbeck could not have failed to be inferred. My career would have found an ignominious close; or, if my punishment had been transmitted into slavery and toil, would the testimony of my conscience have supported me?

"I shuddered at the view of those disasters from which I was rescued by the miraculous chance which led me to this house. Welbeck's request was salutary to me, and honourable to himself. I could not hesitate a moment in compliance. The notes were enclosed in paper, and deposited in a fold of my clothes. I put my hand upon them.

My motion and attention was arrested at the instant, by a noise which arose in the street. Foot-steps were heard upon the pave

ment before the door, and voices, as if busy in discourse. This incident was adapted to infuse the deepest alarm into myself and my companion. The motives of our trepidation were, indeed, different, and were infinitely more powerful in my case than in his. It portended to me nothing less than the loss of any asylum, and condemnation to an hospital.

"Welbeck hurried to the door, to listen to the conversation below. This interval was pregnant with thought. That impulse which led my reflections from Welbeck to my own state, past away in a moment, and suffered me to meditate anew upon the terms of that confession which had just been made.

"Horror at the fate which this interview had enabled me to shun, was uppermost in my conceptions. I was eager to surrender these fatal bills. I held them for that purpose in my hand, and was impatient for Welbeck's return. He continued at the door; stooping, with his face averted, and eagerly attentive to the conversation in the street.

"All the circumstances of my present situation tended to arrest the progress of thought, and chain my contemplations to one image; but even now there was room for foresight and deliberation. Welbeck intended to destroy these bills. Perhaps he had not been sincere; or, if his purpose had been honestly disclosed, this purpose might change when the bills were in his possession. His poverty and sanguineness of temper, might prompt him to use them. "That this conduct was evil and would only multiply his miseries, could not be questioned. Why should I subject his frailty to this temptation? The destruction of these bills was the loudest injunction of my duty; was demanded by every sanction which bound me to promote the welfare of mankind.

"The means of destruction were easy. A lighted candle stood on a table, at the distance of a few yards. Why should I hesitate a moment to annihilate so powerful a cause of error and guilt. A passing instant was sufficient. A momentary lingering might change the circumstances that surrounded me, and frustrate my project.

"My languors were suspended by the urgencies of this occasion. I started from my bed and glided to the table. Seizing the notes with my right hand, I held them in the flame of the candle, and then threw them, blazing, on the floor.

"The sudden illumination was perceived by Welbeck. The cause of it appeared to suggest itself as soon. He turned, and marking the paper where it lay, leaped to the spot, and extinguished the fire with his foot. His interposition was too late. Only enough of them remained to inform him of the nature of the sacrifice.

"Welbeck now stood, with limbs trembling, features aghast, and eyes glaring upon me. For a time he was without speech. The storm was gathering in silence, and at length burst upon me. In a tone menacing and loud, he exclaimed:

"Wretch! What have you done?

I have done justly. These notes were false.

You desired to

destroy them that they might not betray the innocent. I applauded your purpose, and have saved you from the danger of temptation by destroying them myself.

"Maniac! Miscreant! To be fooled by so gross an artifice! The notes were genuine. The tale of their forgery was false, and meant only to wrest them from you. Execrable and perverse idiot! Your deed has sealed my perdition. It has sealed your own. You shall pay for it with your blood. I will slay you by inches. I will stretch you as you have stretched me, on the rack."

The length of the preceding extract prevents us from occupying much space in our remarks on the remaining novels of this writer. We cannot, however, pass over Edgar Huntly without notice. It is an inferior production in every respect to those on which we have been commenting. Its plot has not the unity of Wieland, nor the interesting diversity of incident in Arthur Mervyn. We know not whom we can call the hero or heroine of the piece. If it be Edgar himself, the supposed relator of the tale, who communicates it in a letter to a Miss Waldegrave, with whom we are in one or two passages given to understand that he is in love, then we have no plot at all; for we are not brought to any thing like a termination of his adventures. We are not informed whether he ever obtained the hand of his fair correspondent, nor are we sure, from the beginning to the end of the tale, that he ever seriously wanted it.

This lady's brother, it appears, was murdered, (by the way we think these novels rather overcharged with murders,) while he was in possession of seven or eight thousand dollars belonging to a seafaring friend. This money he had lodged in his own name, in one of the Philadelphia banks. At his death, vouchers to that effect were found among his papers. This, as it is natural to suppose, occasioned a very agreeable surprise among his friends, who had believed him to be indigent, dependent altogether on the emoluments of a country school for his subsistence. They believed this unexpectedly found sum to belong to himself; but how he obtained it, they could not conjecture, his papers af fording no means of discovering. The sister of Waldegrave became, in consequence, the heiress of this property; and Edgar Huntly, in consequence of what we cannot tell, projects an alliance with her.

Unfortunately, however, a seafaring man visits Edgar, claims

the money, exhibits the most satisfactory circumstantial proofs that he is the owner, but admits his want of legal testimony. Edgar assures him that legal testimony will not be required to induce Miss Waldegrave to resign his property, if her mind can only be satisfied as to the justice of his claim. The reader is consequently led to expect that the money will be given up, especially as Edgar and his mistress are represented as models of moral rectitude. But here the matter rests; not a syllable more is said of this seafaring man; and very little more of Miss Waldegrave. Are we to presume that, in accordance with the character assigned to her, she gave up, the money, and having relapsed into her original penury, Master Edgar Huntly no longer thought her worth his notice.

If the reader is disposed to take this couple for the hero and heroine, round whom the chief interest of the story should revolve, we have no objection; but we must say, with respect to the lady in particular, that we can see no one thing she does to entitle her to such a distinction. There is a pretty interesting Irish girl, called Clarice, mentioned in several parts of the work, who has, in our opinion, a better claim to it. But, except captivating a young countryman of her own, called Clithero, a very uncommon name for an Irishman, she does nothing that can, strictly speaking, entitle her to be the heroine of a novel. She is, however, the most fascinating female in the work, and although she neither marries the hero, nor, for aught we know, any body else, she is the only one whom we could have the conscience to raise to the contested dignity. Her aunt is too old, and marries a man who is of too little consequence in the piece to have any right to dispute her claim. There is no other female who occupies more than half a dozen of sentences in the work.

Clithero, the Irishman with the Italian name, is by far the most interesting character in the performance. His enthusiasm, his virtues, and his misfortunes, are of the most striking description. They are depicted and deplored in a manner worthy of Brown's genius. His woes, and his endurance of them, although not sublimated to the height to which Wieland's are raised, are conceived much in the same spirit. They proceed from a delu

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