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Mrs. Ludlow took the hint, and retired hastily.

'Now, Ludlow,' said Burridge, walking up to him; 'I feel this to be one of the most solemn moments of my life. If it be—and upon my soul it is—to me, who am in no way connected with this young man-to you who are, as it were, involved with him, it must be the most solemn.'

'What do you mean?' faltered Ludlow, turning very pale.

'Lay your hand upon your heart, and repeat after me, if you can, these words :—I swear, as I am a living man, as I hope for peace in this world, and pardon in the next, the young man before me is the son of Mrs. Brett-is the child committed to me by Lady Mason.' Ludlow pronounced the words calmly and distinctly.

But what is the meaning of this, Mr. Burridge ? he inquired. Burridge laid his hands upon the shoulders of the other, and gazed into his face earnestly.

'I believe you, good fellow,' he said,- entirely believe you. Ah, well! worthy, honest creature!'

He turned aside in emotion.

Ludlow,' he resumed, 'I must have five minutes' talk with you alone-not here-not in the house.

Dixon's coffee-house,' I suggested.

Where can we go?'

'It is hard by, sir,' said Ludlow, taking his hat.

When I have done with him, I'll send for you, Dick. Laay Macbeth nursed her own children, she has told us. I must take her into my books, I think. Loved her husband, too. Come, come, not so bad.'

I marvelled much at Burridge's present proceeding. It was altogether unlike him. This secresy-or rather, this separate disclosure of circumstances that might be unfolded at once. It was, however, useless to expostulate with him; for Burridge was one of those men who will have their own way, and who talk of the pig-headedness of the world.

Whilst I sat awaiting with some impatience the return of Ludlow, his wife suddenly entered the room. She had on her bonnet and cloak.

'I am going out, Mr. Savage; but shall be back in a very short time.'

'Had you not better stay till Mr. Ludlow returns. I expect him every instant. You look very unwell-what is the matter?'

I sought to detain the woman; partly because I was not sure that Ludlow would approve her going out; but chiefly that there was something in her manner which awakened, not my suspicion, indeed, but my curiosity. She had, it is true, gone abroad several times since her convalescence, and upon two occasions had stayed away a considerable time; but she had explained to Ludlow's satisfaction the cause of her detention; and she had never heretofore left the house without his permission.

6

'I am sure,' said I, 'you are not well enough for a walk to-day. Come,' I added, smiling, you must let me play the physician,' and I placed my back against the door: no stirring abroad to-day.'

'But I must,' she replied quickly; 'pray let me pass you.'

'No. Of what importance are a few minutes? Ludlow shall decide whether you may be trusted out.'

She endea

Trusted!' she repeated, with a momentary glance at me for her eyes on meeting mine were instantly cast upon the floor. voured at composure, but vainly. I led her to a seat.

'That tall, handsome gentleman was your schoolmaster, was he not?'

she said at length.

'He was.'

'Mr. Ludlow tells me that he took you to see Mrs. Brett. Did you see her?'

I did not.'

'Nor Mr. Burridge ?'

Mr. Burridge did see her.'

' And what did she say to him?' she asked hastily, rising from her

seat.

'I don't know. He has not told me.'

A rapid step was heard upon the stairs.

Lord have mercy-it's James!' exclaimed the woman, retreating to the further part of the room.

The door at this instant was burst open, and Ludlow rushed in headlong; his clenched hands raised; his face not pale-livid; his lips working convulsively. He could not bring forth a word for some time. At length, he cried, shrieked rather,

'Down on your knees! down on your knees!—not you, hellish woman! but you-you, Richard Savage,-down upon your knees, and curse that bitter, bitter beast, that unthankful

He sprang towards her. With a piercing scream she eluded the grasp he made at her throat; and, dropping a small box, which she had concealed under her cloak, dashed past him, and ran out of the room-out of the house.

Baffled of his vengeance, I suppose-but I knew not the instigation, Ludlow struck his head violently against the wall, and fell upon his knees, with a heavy groan, on the floor.

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'Gracious God!' I exclaimed, bending over him, what is the meaning of this? For Heaven's sake, tell me; I can't bear to see you thus. Dear Ludlow, get up.'

He waved me from him.

'Leave me-leave me ! It is not this fool's head, but this greater fool's heart that is broken-broken through-to pieces-crushed. Dig me a grave, and let me crawl into it. Oh! to think !'-pressing his

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hands against his temples,- I must not think. Would I could go mad

--I will go mad.'

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Compose yourself,' I said. Where have you left Burridge? What has he told you? What has your wife done?'

'Done?' he exclaimed; 'that which all the devils in hell are clapping their hands at. They'll have her; but they won't laugh then, when they do have her. She's too wicked for 'em. But the world will laugh at me-you amongst them. And you'll hate and curse me, too. You will and I deserve it. Go from me. I have no friend in the

world.'

I was moved.

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Oh, yes! you have-in me you have a sincere friend. Come, let me lead you to a chair. Look up, and tell me you will be calm.' He raised his head, and gazed upon me. There was something so inexpressibly touching in his face-it was so utterly wo-begone, so full of anguish, that I could not refrain from tears.

On beholding these marks of my sympathy, the wretched man burst into a passion of weeping so loud, so vehement, so frightful, that I became terrified. I called aloud for the Greaveses. They were at their respective posts at the head of the stairs, and now came forward, alarmed, but alert for horror.

After a time the shocking paroxysm began to subside.

Leave me,' he said, when they had helped him to a chair; go away, and leave me.'

'But we shan't leave you now, till you're better,' said Mrs. Greaves; 'make yourself comfortable now, for the sake of the young gentleman you've almost frightened out of his seven senses. Lord ha' mercy,' in a whisper nudging me, I thought he'd done it-truth. I couldn't ha' cut him down in a month,'

'But I could,' said Greaves, who had joined his head to ours. 'Once, sir,

'The room goes round with me,' said Ludlow vaguely. is Richard ?'

I took his hand.

• Where

'Go to Mr. Burridge; he wants particularly to see you. I should

have told you before. I shall be better soon. stay with me. Won't you, my friends?'

These good people will

เ To be sure we will,' cried Mrs. Greaves; there's a brave man. Now, cheer up, do. Have you got any brandy in the house? Go to your friend, Mr. Savage; we'll doctor him up while you're gone.'

I directed Greaves to the closet in which some brandy was to be found, and hastened to Burridge, impatient to learn the cause of Ludlow's frenzy, and wondering how it could be that Burridge had not accompanied him home.

I found him pacing the room to and fro, swinging his watch in the air round and round.

'I was coming after you,' he said; but the sight of that other woman would have been too much for me. You have kept me waiting; and I don't like it. I've another engagement, and shall be too late. How is it since you waited to hear it all-is the woman guilty or not guilty?'

'I hardly know what you mean,' I replied; I only know that you have told Ludlow something that has driven him well-nigh mad.'

'How!' said he; impossible. He heard what I had to say-not calmly, certainly; for what human being but must have been shocked at the cursed infamy? but he heard me in silence. When I had finished, he took my hands between his own, and said calmly, "Forgive me, sir, that I presume to take this liberty with you; but I feel grateful that you did not tell me this before Richard. It shall be set straight, Mr. Burridge,-rely upon it;" and so saying, he took his hat and went his way.'

But what did you tell him?' I inquired.

'You shall hear. Oh, Dick! if you've a drop of that woman's blood in your body, let it out, and recruit your veins with poison—it were less pernicious. Beautiful wretch! what an ugly soul it has! Why, she has been lying to me-uttering base nasty lies-lying, the vilest meanness of which a created being can be guilty. She said you

were not her son,—that you were an impostor,—that you had been put upon this scheme of extortion, as she called it, by Ludlow. All this I expected to hear. But she said further, that Mrs. Ludlow was prepared to swear that you were her child,-that Ludlow was your father— that the woman had (a lie) voluntarily confessed thus much to her. She has a paper to that effect, drawn up by herself, and signed, she said, by the woman. She offered to show it to me; but I declined to look upon it. Well, I told all this to your poor friend.'

I had no room in my heart for resentment against the infamous woman at that moment-it was overflowing with compassion for Ludlow.

'Oh, sir!' said I, 'that you had permitted me to be the first to hear this. I dread the consequences to the best creature breathing. I know his nature. It will go hard with him-I am certain of it.'

'Stuff!' cried Burridge; 'why, it cannot be true: you cannot believe it to be true?'

'That Mrs. Brett has such a paper in her possession, and that the woman has signed it, I do assuredly believe,' said I,-and I made him acquainted with her flight; but it is a sorry device, and will gain credit nowhere. My face vouches for me, I believe.'

'And so it does; and I don't like you the better for it.

But who

could have believed it possible that two such women could exist in the same age, in the same country, and be employed in the same worklaying their two hideous hearts together to outdo Satan? Upon my soul, it troubles me. There-go to Ludlow-comfort him. If he's a man, he will shake the creature from his memory with scorn. For the dignity of his own nature he must do so. Upon my soul, it would go far to make a man weep-however great a philosopher he might be-to dwell upon this. I will call upon you to-night.'

I hastened from him.

Reader, this Ludlow,-this foolish, weak, milk and water man, has excited, haply, rather your contempt than your pity. I fear this; although, to tell you the truth, I have endeavoured to preserve him against the former, and to secure the latter for him. To this end I purposely forbore to record much that took place on the night in which he supposed his wife to be dying. How entirely, how tenderly he forgave her!-how he wept over her, and blessed her!-how, with a woman's unwearied care, he tended her till she was out of danger. Reflect, then, not so much upon his weakness, as upon her wickedness, which is of a complexion so deep that fiction would not dare to paint it. Methinks I hear somebody whisper, who has more intolerance of fools than wise men encourage, 'The fool is worthy of his fate, and it of him.' But, since prosperous fools are often smiled upon,—one sigh for the wretched Ludlow!

THE PHILOSOPHER IN LONDON.

'YE fires that bathe in æther as ye roll,

Sun, moon, and stars, huge lamps of day and night,
What mysteries, revealed not by your light,

In your own realms exist? Do things of soul,
Human, or super-human, hold control

Over your surface? Do they delve below
For perilous gold? and do their passions flow
Current and subtercurrent, deep or shoal?
Tell me, ye worlds, and let no doubting pang-'
His looks upturned, communing with the sky,
Thus mused a stranger as he walked, when, bang!
A butcher's tray knocked out almost his eye,
And a voice followed, that transfixed him quite-
Vy, can't you see, you fool? Jist sarves you right!'

G. D.

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