sing,' when you know he cannot. If he be weak, it is not necessary that you should be treacherous.” But Musgrave always came off halting from a combat with his undutiful son; he therefore sighed, ceased, and turned away. On one point Marmaduke was right-when vanity prompts us to do what we cannot do well, while conceit leads us to fancy that our efforts are successful, we are perhaps fit objects for ridicule. A consideration which holds up to us this important lesson; namely, that our own weakness alone can, for any length of time, make us victims of the satire and malignity of others. When Albany's visit to Musgrave was drawing near to its conclusion, he was very desirous of being asked to prolong it, as he had become attached to his friend's children, from living with them, and witnessing their various accomplishments, and was completely the dupe of Marmaduke's treacherous compliments. He was

therefore glad when he, as well as the Musgraves, was invited to dine at a house in the neighbour. hood, on the very day intended for his departure. This circumstance led them all, with one accord to say that he must remain at least a day longer, while Marmaduke exclaimed, "Go you shall not! Our friends would be so disappointed, if they and their company did not hear you sing and act that sweet song about Chloe! and all the pleasure of the evening would be destroyed to me, dear sir, if you were not there!"

This was more than enough to make Albany put off his departure; and he accompanied the Musgraves to the dinner party. They dined at an early hour; so early, that it was yet daylight, when, tea being over, the intended amusements of the afternoon began, of which the most prominent was to be the vocal powers of the mistaken Alba

ny, who, without much pressing, after sundry flatteries from Marmaduke, cleared his throat, and began to sing and act the song of "Chloe." At first, he was hoarse, and stopped to apologize for want of voice; "Nonsense!" cried Marmaduke, "you were never in better voice in your life! Pray go on; you are only nervous !" while the side of his face not next to Albany was distorted with laughter and ridicule, Albany, believing him, continued his song; and Marmaduke, sitting a little behind him, took off the distorted expression of his countenance and mimicked his odd action. But, at this moment, the broadest splendour of the setting sun threw its beams into a large pier glass opposite, with such brightness, that Albany's eyes were suddenly attracted to it, and thence to his treacherous neighbour, whom he detected in the act of mimicking him in mouth, attitude, and expression

while behind him he saw some of the company laughing with a degree of violence which was all but audible!

Albany paused, in speechless consternationand when Marmaduke asked why" he did not go on, as every one was delighted," the susceptible old man hid his face in his hands, shocked, mortified, and miserable, but taught and enlightened. Marmaduke however, nothing doubting, presumed to clap him on the back, again urging him to proceed; but the indignant Albany, turning suddenly round, and throwing off his arm with angry vehemence, exclaimed, in the touching tone of wounded feeling, "Oh! thou serpent, that I would have cherished in my bosom, was it for thee to sting me thus? But I was an old fool: and the lesson, though a painful one, will, I trust be salutary.""What is all this? what do you mean?" faltered out Marmaduke; but the rest of the par

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ty had not courage enough to speak; and many of them rejoiced in the detection of baseness which, though it amused their depraved taste, was very offensive to their moral sense. "What does it mean?" cried Albany, "I appeal to all present, whether they do not understand my meaning, and whether my resentment be not just !"-" I hope, my dear friend, that you acquit me," said the distressed father." Of all," he replied, "except of the fault of not having taught your son better mo- rals and manners. Young man !" he continued, "the next time you exhibit any one as your butt, take care that you do not sit opposite a pier glass. And now, sir," addressing himself to the master of the house." let me request to have a postchaise sent for to the nearest town directly."-" Surely, you will not leave us, and in anger," cried all the Musgraves, Marmaduke excepted. "I hope I do not go in anger, but I cannot stay," cried he, "because I have lost my confidence in you.' The gentleman of the house, who thought Albany right in going, and wished to make him all the amends he could, for having allowed Marmaduke to turn him into ridicule, interrupted him, to say that his own carriage waited his orders, and would convey him whithersoever he wished. "I thank you, sir, and accept your offer," he replied, " since the sooner I quit this company, in which I have so lamentably exposed myself, the better it will be for you, and for us all." Having said this, he took the agitated Musgrave by the hand, bowed to his wife and daughters, who hid their confusion under distant and haughty airs; then, stepping opposite to Marmaduke, who felt it difficult to meet the expression of that eye, on which just anger and a sense of injury had bestowed a power hitherto unknown to it, he addressed him thus: "Before we

part, I must tell you, young man, that I intended, urged, I humbly trust, by virtuous considerations, to expend on your maintenance at college a part of that large income which I cannot spend on myself. I had also given orders to my agent to purchase for me the advowson of a living now on sale, intending to give it to you; here is the letter, to prove that I speak the truth; but I need not tell you that I cannot make the fortune which was left me by a pious friend assist a youth to take on himself the sacred profession of a christian minister, who can utter falsehoods, in order to betray a fellow-creature into folly, utterly regardless of that christian precept, "Do unto others as ye would that others should do unto you." He then took leave of the rest of the company, and drove off, leaving the Musgraves chagrined and ashamed, and bitterly mortified at the loss of the intended patronage to Marmaduke, especially when a gentleman present exclaimed, "No doubt, this is the Dr. Albany, to whom Clewes of Trinity left his large fortune!"

Albany, taught by his misadventure in this worldly and treacherous family, went, soon after, to the abode of another of his college friends, residing near Cheltenham. He expected to find this gentleman and family in unclouded prosperity; but they were labouring under unexpected adversity, brought on them by the villany of others he found them however bowed in lowly resignation before the inscrutable decree. On the pious son of these reduced, but contented, parents he, in due time, bestowed the living intended for the treacherous Marmaduke. Under their roof he experienced gratitude which he felt to be sineere, and affection in which he dared to confide;

and, ultimately, he took up his abode with them, in a residence suited to their early prospects and his riches; for even the artless and unsuspecting can, without danger, associate and sojourn with those whose thoughts and actions are under the guidance of religious principle, and who live inĝthis world as if they every hour expected to be summoned away to the judgment of a world to come.

CHAPTER X.

LIES OF BENEVOLENCE.

IN a former chapter I commented on those lies which are, at best, of a mixed nature, and are made up of worldly motives, of which fear and selfishness compose the principal part, although the utterer of them considers them as LIES OF BE

NEVOLENCE.

Lies of real benevolence are, like most other falsehoods, various in their species and degrees; but, as they are, however in fact objectionable, the most amiable and respectable of all lies, and seem so like virtue that they may easily be taken for her children; and as the illustrations of them, which I have been enabled to give, are so much more connected with our tenderest and most solemn feelings, than those afforded by other lies; I thought it right that, like the principal figures in a procession, they should bring up the rear.

The lies which relations and friends generally think it their duty to tell an unconsciously dying person, are prompted by real benevolence, as are those which medical men deem themselves justified in uttering to a dying patient; though, if the per