After he had put this question to himself, the image of Dunham, scornfully rejecting him his hand, alone took possession of his remembrance, till he thirsted for revenge; and the irritation of the moment urged him to seek it immediately.

its

The opportunity, as he rightly suspected, was in his power; Dunham would soon be coming that way on his road to Y-; and he would meet him. He did so ; and, riding up to him, seized the bridle of his horse, exclaiming, "you have called me a murderer, Dunham; and you were right; for, though I loved my mother dearly, and would have died for her, I killed her by my wicked course of life!". "Well, well; I know that," replied Dunham," so let me go! for I tell you I do not like to be seen with such as you. Let me go, I say!" He did let him go; but it was as the tiger lets go prey, to spring on it again. A blow from Edgar's nervous arm knocked the rash insulter from his horse. In another minute Dunham lay on the road a bleeding corpse; and the next morning officers were out in pursuit of the murderer. That wretched man was soon found, and soon secured. Indeed, he had not desired to avoid pursuit; but, when the irritation of drunkenness and revenge had subsided, the agony of remorse took possession of his soul; and he confessed his crime with tears of bitterest penitence. To be brief; Edgar Vernon was carried into that city as a manacled criminal, which he had expected to leave as a successful gambler; and, before the end of the assizes, he was condemned to death.

He made a full confession of his guilt before the judge pronounced condemnation; gave a brief statement of the provocation which he received from the deceased; blaming himself at the same time for his criminal revenge, in so heart-rending a manner, and lamenting so pathetically the disgrace and misery in which he had involved his father and family, that every heart was melted to compassion; and the judge wept, while he passed on him the awful sentence of the law.

His conduct in prison was so exemplary, that it proved

he had not forgotten his father's precepts, though he had not acted upon them; and his brothers, for whom he sent, found him in a state of mind which afforded them the only and best consolation. This contrite, lowly state of mind accompanied him to the awful end of his existence; and it might be justly said of him, that "nothing in his life became him like the losing it."

Painful, indeed, was the anxiety of Edgar and his brothers, lest their father should learn this horrible circumstance; but as the culprit was arraigned under a feigned name, and as the crime, trial and execution, had taken, and would take up, so short a period of time, they flattered themselves that he would never learn how and where Edgar died; but would implicitly believe what was told him. They therefore wrote him word that Edgar had been taken ill at an inn, near London, on his road home; that he had sent for them; and they had hopes of his recovery. They followed this letter of BENEVOLENT LIES as soon as they could, to inform him 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 a 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 consequence may be fatal to life or reason. Remember how ill concealment answered in your poor mother's case." But he argued in vain. However, he obtained leave to go with them to their father, that he might judge of the possibility of making the disclosure which he advised.

They found the poor old man leaning his head upon an open Bible, as though he had been praying over it. The sight of his sons in mourning told the tale which he dreaded to hear; and, wringing their hands in silence, he left the room, but soon returned; and 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 the 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

THE FATHER AND SON.

can manage him so dearly! so Here her sobs redoubled;

"WELL, then, thou art willing that Edgar should go to a public school," said the vicar of a small parish in Westmoreland to his weeping wife. "Quite willing.""And yet thou art in tears, Susan? -"I weep for his faults; and not because he is to quit us. I grieve to think he is so disobedient and unruly that we at home no longer. And yet I loved him much more than and, as Vernon rested her aching head on his bosom, he said, in a low voice, "Aye; and so did I love him, even better than our other children; and therefore, probably, our injustice is thus visited. But, he is so clever! He learned more Latin in one week than his brothers in a month!" "And he is so beautiful!" observed his mother. "And so generous!" rejoined his father; "but, cheer up, my beloved; under stricter discipline than ours he may yet do well, and turn out all we could wish."—"I hope, however," replied the fond mother, "that his master will not be very severe; and I will try to look forward." As she said this, she left her husband with something like comfort; for a tender mother's hopes for a darling child are easily revived, and she went, with recovered calmness, to get her son's wardrobe ready against the day of his departure. The equally affectionate father meanwhile called his son into the study, to prepare his mind for that parting which his undutiful conduct had made unavoidable.

But Vernon found that Edgar's mind required no preparation; that the idea of change was delightful to his volatile nature; and that he panted to distinguish himself on a wider field of action than a small retired village afforded to his daring, restless spirit; while his father saw with agony, which he could but ill conceal, that this desire of entering into a new situation had power to annihilate all regret at leaving the tenderest of parents and the companions of his childhood.

However, his feelings were a little soothed when the parting hour arrived; for then the heart of Edgar was so melted within him at the sight of his mother's tears, and his father's agony, that he uttered words of tender contrition, such as they had never heard from him before; the recollection of which spoke comfort to their minds when they beheld him no longer.

But, short were the hopes which that parting hour had excited. In a few months the master of the school wrote to complain of the insubordination of his new pupil. In his next letter he declared that he should be under the necessity of expelling him; and Edgar had not been at school six months, before he prevented the threatened expulsion, only by running away, no one knew whither! Nor was he heard of by his family for four years; during which time not even the dutiful affection of their other sons, nor their success in life, had power to heal the breaking heart of the mother, nor cheer the depressed spirits of the father. At length the prodigal returned, ill, meagre, pennyless, and penitent; and was received, and forgiven. "But where hast thou been, my child, this long, long time?" said his mother, tenderly weeping, as she gazed on his pale sunk cheek. "Ask me no questions! I am here; that is enough; " Edgar Vernon replied, shuddering as he spake. "It is enough!" cried his mother, throwing herself on his neck! "For this, my son was dead, and is alive again; was lost, and found!" But the father felt and thought differently; he knew that it was his duty to interrogate his son; and he resolved to insist on knowing where and how those long four years had been passed. He, however, delayed his questions till Edgar's health was re-established, but when that time arrived, he told him that he expected to know all that had befallen him since he ran away from school." "Spare me till tomorrow," said Edgar Vernon, "and then you shall know all." His father acquisesced; but the next morning Edgar had disappeared, leaving the following letter behind him :—

"I cannot, dare not, tell you what a wretch I have