ness and tenderness. He has no notion of her real state that she is dying; and finding that she could not succeed in her efforts gradually to apprize him of the event, which he always turned off with a smile of incredulity, she gives in to his humour, and tells him-poor girl!-that she is getting better! He has taken it into his head that she is to be married to Lord as soon as she recovers, and talks with high glee of the magnificent repairs going on at his former house in Square! He always accompanies me to the door; and sometimes writes me checks for 501.-which of course is a delusion only; as he has no banker, and few funds to put in his hands; and at other times slips a shilling or a sixpence into my hand at leaving-thinking, doubtless, that he has given me a guinea.

Friday. The idea of Miss Dudleigh's rapidly approaching marriage continues still uppermost in her father's head; and he is incessantly pestering her to make preparations for the event. To-day he appealed to me, and complained that she would not order her wedding-dress.

"Father, dear father!" said Miss Dudleigh, faintly, laying her wasted hand on his arm,-" only be quiet a little, and I'll begin to make it! I'll really set about it to-morrow!" He kissed her fondly, and then eagerly emptied his pockets of all the loose silver that was in them, telling her to take it, and order the materials. I saw that there was something or other peculiar in the expression of Miss Dudleigh's eye, in saying what she did-as if some sudden scheme had suggested itself to her. Indeed, the looks with which she constantly regards him are such as I can find no adequate terms of description for. They bespeak blended anguish-apprehension-pity-love-in short, an expression that haunts me wherever I go. Oh what a scene of suffering humanity-a daughter's death-bed watched by an idiot father!

Monday. I now know what was Miss Dudleigh's meaning in assenting to her father's proposal last Friday. I found, this morning, the poor dear girl engaged on her shroud!-It is of fine muslin, and she is attempting to sew and embroider it. The people about her did all they could to dissuade her; but there was at last no resisting her importunities. Yes there she sits, poor thing, propped up by pillows, making frequent but feeble efforts to draw her needle through her gloomy work, her father, the while, holding one end of the muslin, and watching her work with childish eagerness. Sometimes a tear will fall from her eyes while thus engaged. It did this morning. Mr. Dudleigh observed it, and, turning to me, said, with an arch smile, "Ah, ha!how is it that young ladies always cry about being married?" Oh the look Miss Dudleigh gave me, as she suddenly dropped her work, and turned her head aside!

Saturday.-Mr. Dudleigh is hard at work making his daughter a cowslip wreath, out of some flowers given him by his keeper!

When I took my leave to-day, he accompanied me, as usual, down stairs, and led the way into the little parlour. He then shut the door, and told me, in a low whisper, that he wished me to bring him 66 an honest lawyer,"--to make his will; for that he was going to settle 200,000l. upon his daughter!-of course I put him off with promises to look out for what he asked. It is rather remarkable, I think, that he has never once, in my hearing, made any allusion to his deceased wife. As I shook his hand at parting, he stared suddenly at me, and said, "Doctor, doctor! my daughter is very slow in getting well— isn't she?"

Monday, July 24.-The suffering angel will soon leave us and all her sorrows!-She is dying fast: She is very much altered in appearance, and has not power enough to speak in more than a whisper

and that but seldom. Her father sits gazing at her with a puzzled air, as if he did not know what to make of her unusual silence. He was a good deal vexed when she laid aside her "wedding-dress,"and tried to tempt her to resume it, by showing her a shilling! While I was sitting beside her, Miss Dudleigh, without opening her eyes, exclaimed, scarcely audible, "Oh! be kind to him! be kind to him! He won't be long here! He is very gentle!"

Evening. Happening to be summoned to the neighbourhood, I called a second time during the day on Miss Dudleigh. All was quiet when I entered the room. The nurse was sitting at the window, reading; and Mr. Dudleigh occupied his usual place at the bedside, leaning over his daughter, whose arms were clasped together round his neck. "Hush! hush!" said Mr. Dudleigh, in a low whisper, as I approached; "don't make a noiseshe's asleep!" Yes, she was ASLEEP-and to wake no more! Her snow-cold arms, her features, which on parting the dishevelled hair that hid them, I perceived to be fallen-told me that she was dead!

She was buried in the same grave as her mother. Her wretched father, contrary to our apprehensions, made no disturbance whatever while she lay dead. They told him that she was no more-but he did not seem to comprehend what was meant. He would take hold of her passive hand, gently shake it, and let it fall again, with a melancholy wandering stare that was pitiable!-He sat at her coffin-side all day long, and laid fresh flowers upon her every morning. Dreading lest some sudden paroxysm might occur, if he was suffered to see the lid screwed down, and her remains removed, we gave him a tolerably strong opiate in some wine, on the morning of the funeral; and as soon as he was fast asleep, we proceeded with the last sad rites, and committed to the cold and quiet grave another broken heart!

Mr. Dudleigh suffered himself to be soon after conveyed to a private asylum, where he had every comfort and attention requisite to his circumstances. He had fallen into profound melancholy, and seldom or never spoke to any one. He would shake me by the hand languidly when I called to see him, but hung down his head in silence, without answering any of my questions.

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His favourite seat was a rustic bench beneath an ample sycamore-tree, in the green behind the house. Here he would sit for hours together, gazing fixedly in one direction, towards a rustic church-steeple, and uttering deep sighs. No one interfered with him; and he took no notice of any one.-One afternoon a gentleman of foreign appearance called at the asylum, and in a hurried, faltering voice, asked if he could see Mr. Dudleigh. A servant but newly engaged on the establishment imprudently answered, Certainly, sir. Yonder he is, sitting under the sycamore. He never notices any one, sir." The stranger-young Dudleigh, who had but that morning arrived from America-rushed past the servant into the garden; and flinging down his hat, fell on one knee before his father, clasping his hands over his breast. Finding his father did not seem inclined to notice him, he gently touched him on the knee, and whispered, "FATHER!" Mr. Dudleigh started at the sound, turned suddenly towards his son, looked him full in the face-fell back in his seat, and instantly expired!

VOL. II.-0

CHAPTER IV.

MOTHER AND SON.

THIS is the last, and, it may be considered, most mournful extract from my diary. It appears to me a touching and terrible disclosure of the misery, disgrace, and ruin consequent on GAMBLING. Not that I imagine it possible, even by the most moving exhibition, to soften the more than nether-millstone hardness of a gamester's heart, or enable a voluntary victim to break from the meshes in which he has suffered himself to be entangled; but the lamentable cries ascending from this pit of horror, may scare off those who are thoughtlessly approaching its brink. The moral of the following events may be gathered up into a word or two:-Oh! be wise, and be wise in time!

I took more than ordinary pains to acquaint myself with the transactions which are hereafter specified; and some of the means I adopted are occa sionally mentioned, as I go on with the narrative. It may be as well to state, that the events detailed are assigned a date which barely counts within the present century. I have reason, nevertheless, to know, that at least one of the guilty agents still survives to pollute the earth with his presence; and if that individual should presume to gainsay any portion of the following narrative, his impotent efforts will meet with the disdain they merit.

Mr. Beauchamp came to the full receipt of a fortune of two or three thousand a-year, which, though hereditary, was at his absolute disposal, about the period of his return from those continental peregri