posed by his client, defended the action in such a manner as did himself no good, at the same time that it nearly ruined the poor plaintiff; for he raked up every circumstance that had come to his knowledge professionally, during the course of several years' confidential connexion with Mr Dudleigh-and which could possibly be tortured into a disreputable shape; and gave his foul brief into the hands of an ambitious young counsel, who, faithful to his instructions, and eager to make the most of so rich an opportunity of vituperative declamation, contrived so to blacken poor Mr Dudleigh's character, by cunning, cruel innuendoes, asserting nothing, but suggesting every thing vile and atrocious-that poor Mr Dudleigh, who was in court at the time, began to think himself, in spite of himself, one of the most execrable Scoundrels inexistence-and hurried home in a paroxysm of rage, agony, and despair, which, but for my being opportunely sent for by Mrs Dudleigh, and bleeding him at once, must in all probability have induced a second and fatal apoplectic seizure. His energies, for weeks afterwards, lay in a state of complete stagnation; and I found he was sinking into the condition of an irrecoverable hypochondriac. Every thing, from that time, went wrong with him. He made no provision for the payment of his regular debts; creditors precipitated their claims from all quarters; and he had no resources to fall back upon at a moment's exigency. Some of the more forbearing of his creditors kindly consented to give him time, but the small fry pestered him to distraction; and at last one of the latter class, a rude, hard-hearted fellow, cousin to the attorney whom Mr Dudleigh had recently prosecuted, on receiving the requisite" denial," instantly went and struck the docket against his unfortunate debtor, and Mr Dudleigh-the celebrated Mr Dudleigh-became a-BANKRUPT!

then pausing again, striking his hands. on his forehead, and exclaiming with an abstracted and incredulous air"A bankrupt! a bankrupt! Henry Dudleigh a bankrupt? What are they saying on 'Change!"-In subsequently describing to me his feelings at this period, he said he felt as though he had "fallen into his grave for an hour or two, and come out again cold and stupified."

While he was in this state of mind, his daughter entered the room, wan and trembling with agitation.

"My dear little love, what's wrong? What's wrong, eh? What has dashed you, my sweet flower, eh?" said he, folding her in his arms, and hugging her to his breast. He led her to a seat, and placed her on his knee. He passed his hand over her pale forehead. "What have you been about to-day, Agnes? You've forgotten to dress your hair to-day," taking her raven tresses in his fingers; "Come, these must be curled! They are all damp, love! What makes you cry?" My dear, dear, dear darling father!" sobbed the agonized girl, almost choked with her emotionsclasping her arms convulsively round his neck, "I love you dearer-a thousand times-than I ever loved you in my life!"

"My sweet love!" he exclaimed, bursting into tears. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

"You are young, Agnes, and may be happy-but, as for me, I am an old tree, whose roots are rotten! The blasts have beaten me down, my darling!" She clung closer to him, but spoke not. Agnes, will you stay with me, now that I'm made a-a beggar? Will you? I can love you yet-but that's all !" said he, staring vacantly at her. After a pause, he suddenly released her from his knee, rose from his seat, and walked hurriedly about the room.

Igrieve! What is to become of you?" Again he paused." "Well! it cannot be helped-it is more my misfortune than my fault! God knows, I've tried to pay my way as I went on-and

and-no, no! it doesn't follow that every man is a villain that's a bankrupt!"

No, no, no, father!" replied his daughter, again flinging her arms round his neck, and kissing him with passionate fondness, "Your honour is untouched-it is"

Aye, love-but to make the world think so-There's the rub! What has been said on 'Change to-day, Agnes? That's what hurts me to my soul!"

* * "Come, father, be calm! We shall yet be happy and quiet, after this little breeze has blown over! Oh yes, yes, father! We will remove to a nice little comfortable house, and live among ourselves!"

"But, Agnes, can you do all this? Can you make up your mind to live in a lower rank-to-to-to be, in a manner, your own servant ?"

"Yes, God knows, I can! Father, I'd rather be your servant girl, than wife of the king!" replied the poor girl, with enthusiasm.

"Oh, my daughter!-Come, come let us go into the next room, and do you play me my old favouriteO Nanny, wilt thou gang wi' me. You'll feel it, Agnes!" He led her into the adjoining room, and set her down at the instrument, and stood by her side.

"We must not part with this piano, my love,-must we?" said he, putting his arms round her neck, "we'll try and have it saved from the wreck of our furniture!" She commenced playing the tune he had requested, and went through it.

Sing, love-sing!" said her father. "I love the words as much as the music! Would you cheat me, you little rogue ?" She made him no reply, but went on playing, very irregularly however.

"Come! you must sing, Agnes." "I can't!" she murmured. " My heart is breaking! My-my-bro-" and fell fainting into the arms of her father. He rung instantly for assistance. In carrying her from the music stool to the sofa, an open letter dropped from her bosom. Mr Dudleigh hastily picked it up, and saw that the direction was in the handwriting of his son, and bore the " Wapping" post-mark. The stunning contents were as follow:-"My dear, dear, dear Agnes, farewell! it may be for ever! I fly from my country!

While you are reading this note, I am on my way to America. Do not call me cruel, my sweet sister, for my heart is broken! broken! Yesterday, near Oxford, I fought with a man who dared to insult me about our family troubles. I am afraidGod forgive me-that I have killed him! Agnes, Agnes, the blood-hounds are after me! Even were they not, I could not bear to look on my poor father, whom I have helped to ruin, under the encouragement of ONE who might have bred me better! I cannot stay in England, for I have lost my station in society; I owe thousands I can never repay; besides-Agnes, Agnes! the bloodhounds are after me! I scarce know what I am saying! Break all this to my father-my wretched father-as gradually as you can. Do not let him know of it for a fortnight, at least. May God be your friend, my dear Agnes! Pray for me! pray for me, my darling Agnes, yes, for me, your wretched, guilty, heart-broken brother. H. D.”

"Ah! he might have done worse! he might have done worse," exclaimed the stupified father. "Well, I must think about it!" and he calmly folded up the letter, to put it into his pocketbook, when his daughter's eye caught sight of it, for she had recovered from her swoon while he was reading it; and with a faint shriek, and a frantic effort to snatch it from him, she fell back, and swooned again. Even all this did not rouse Mr Dudleigh. He sat still, gazing on his daughter with a vacant stare, and did not make the slightest effort to assist her recovery. I was summoned in to attend her, for she was so ill, that they carried her up to bed.

Poor girl, poor Agnes Dudleigh! already had CONSUMPTION marked her for his own! The reader may possibly recollect, that in a previous part of this narrative, Miss Dudleigh was represented to be affianced to a young nobleman. I need hardly, I suppose, inform him that the "affair" was "all off," as soon as ever Lord

heard of her fallen fortunes. To do him justice, he behaved in the business with perfect politeness and condescension; wrote to her from Italy, carefully returning her all her letters; spoke of her admirable qua

lities, in the handsomest strain; and, in choice and feeling language, regretted the altered state of his affections, and that the "fates had ordained their separation." A few months afterwards, the estranged couple met casually in Hyde Park, and Lord

passed Miss Dudleigh with a strange stare of irrecognition, that showed the advances he had made in the command of manner! She had been really attached to him, for he was a young man of handsome appearance, and elegant, winning manners. The only things he wanted were a head and a heart! This circumstance, added to the perpetual harassment of domestic sorrows, had completely undermined her delicate constitution; and her brother's conduct prostrated the few remaining energies that were left her.

But Mrs Dudleigh has latterly slipped from our observation. I have little more to say about her. Aware that her own infamous conduct had conduced to her husband's ruin, she had resigned herself to the incessant lashings of remorse, and was wasting away daily. Her excesses had long before sapped her constitution; and she was now little else than a walking skeleton. She sate moping in her bedroom for hours together, taking little or no notice of what happened about her, and manifesting no interest in life. When, however, she heard of her son's fate-the only person on earth she really lovedthe intelligence smote her finally down. She never recovered from the stroke. The only words she uttered, after hearing of his depart ure for America, were "wretched woman! guilty mother! I have done it all!" The serious illness of her poor daughter affected her scarce at all. She would sit at her bedside, and pay her every attention in her power, but it was rather in the spirit and manner of a hired nurse than a mother.

To return, however, to the "chief mourner"-Mr Dudleigh. The attorney, whom he had sued for his villainy in the mortgage transactions, contrived to get appointed solicitor to the commission of bankruptcy sued out against Mr Dudleigh; and he enhanced the bitterness and agony incident to the judicial proceedings

he was employed to conduct, by the cruelty and insolence of his demeanour. He would not allow the slightest indulgence to the poor bankrupt, whom he was selling out of house and home; but remorselessly seized on every atom of goods and furniture the law allowed him, and put the heart-broken helpless family to all the inconvenience his malice could suggest. His conduct was, throughout, mean, tyrannical-even diabolical, in its contemptuous disregard of the best feelings of human nature. Mr Dudleigh's energies were too much exhausted to admit of remonstrance or resistance. The only evidence he gave of smarting under the man's insolence, was, after enduring an outrageous violation of his domestic privacy-a cruel interference with the few conveniences of his dying daughter, and sick wifewhen he suddenly touched the attorney's arm, and in a low broken tone of voice, said, “ Mr ——, I am a poor heart-broken man, and have no one to avenge me, or you would not dare to do this"-and he turned away in tears!-The house and furniture in

Square, with every other item of property that was available, being disposed of, on winding up the affairs, it proved that the creditors could obtain a dividend of about fifteen shillings in the pound. So convinced were they of the unimpeached-the unimpeachable integrity of the poor bankrupt, that they not only spontaneously released him from all future claims, but entered into a subscription amounting to L.2000, which they put into his hands, for the purpose of enabling him to recommence housekeeping, on a small scale-and obtain some permanent means of livelihood. Under their advice-or rather direction, for he was passive as an infant-he removed to a small house in Chelsea, and commenced business as a coal-merchant, or agent for the sale of coals, in a small and poor way, it may be supposed. His new house was very small, but neat, convenient, and situated in a quiet and creditable street. Yes, in a little onestoried house, with about eight square feet of garden-frontage, resided the once wealthy and celebrated Mr Dudleigh!

The very first morning after Mrs Dudleigh had been removed to her new quarters, she was found dead in her bed for the fatigues of changing her residence, added to the remorse and chagrin which had so long prey. ed upon her mind, had extinguished the last spark of her vital energies. When I saw her, which was not till the evening of the second day after her decease, she was lying in her coffin; and I shall not soon forget the train of instructive reflections elicited by the spectacle. Poor creature-her features looked indeed haggard and grief-worn!-Mr Dudleigh wept over her remains like a child, and kissed the cold lips and hands, with the liveliest transports

of regret. At length came the day of the funeral, as plain and unpretending an one as could be. At the pressing solicitations of Mr Dudleigh, I attended her remains to the grave. It was an affecting thought, that the daughter was left dying in the house from which her mother was carried out to burial! Mr Dudleigh went through the whole of the melancholy ceremony with a calmness-and even cheerfulness-which surprised me. He did not betray any emotion when leaving the ground; except turning to look into the grave, and exclaiming rather faintly-"Well -here we leave you, poor wife!" On our return home, about three o'clock in the afternoon, he begged to be left alone for a few minutes, with pen, ink, and paper, as he had some important letters to write-and requested me to wait for him, in Miss Dudleigh's room, where he would rejoin me, and accompany me part of my way up to town. I repaired, therefore, to Miss Dudleigh's chamber. She was sitting up, and dressed in mourning. The marble paleness of her even then beautiful features, was greatly enhanced by contrast with the deep black drapery she wore. She reminded me of the snowdrop she had an hour or two before laid on the pall of her mother's coffin! Her beauty was fast withering away under the blighting influence of sorrow and disease! She reclined in an easy-chair, her head leaning on her small snowy hand, the taper fingers of which were half-concealed beneath her dark clustering, uncurled tresses

"Like a white rose, glistening 'mid

evening gloom."

"How did he bear it?" she whispered, with a profound sigh, as soon as I had taken my place beside her. I told her that he had gone through the whole with more calmness and fortitude than could have been expected. "Ah!-'Tis unnatural! He's grown strangely altered within these last few days, Doctor! He never seems to feel any thing! His troubles have stunned his heart, I'm afraid! -Don't you think he looks altered?"

Yes, my love, he is thinner, cer

tainly-"

"Ah-his hair is white!-He is old-he won't be long behind us!"

"I hope that now he is freed from the cares and distractions of busi

ness

"Doctor, is the grave deep enough for THREE?" enquired the poor girl, abruptly, as if she had not heard me speaking. "Our family has been strangely desolated, Doctor-has not it ?-My mother gone; the daughter on her deathbed; the father wretched, and ruined; the son-flown from his country-perhaps dead, or dying!-But it has all been our own fault-"

"You have nothing to accuse yourself of, Miss Dudleigh," said I. She shook her head, and burst into tears. This was the melancholy vein of our conversation, when Mr Dudleigh made his appearance, in his black gloves, and crape-covered hat, holding two letters in his hand.

"Come, Doctor," said he, rather briskly-" you've a long walk before you! I'll accompany you part of the way, as I have some letters to put into the post."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself about that, Mr Dudleigh !—I'll put them into the post, as I go by."

"No, no-thank you-thank you"he interrupted me, with rather an embarrassed air, I thought-" I've several other little matters to do-and we had better be starting." I rose, and took my leave of Miss Dudleigh. Her father put his arms round her neck, and kissed her very fondly. "Keep up your spirits, Agnes !and see and get into bed as soon as possible-for you are quite exhausted!"-He walked towards the door. "Oh, bless your little heart, my love!" ―said he, suddenly returning to her,

and kissing her more fondly, if possible, than before. "We shall not be apart long, I dare say!"

We set off on our walk towards town; and Mr Dudleigh conversed with great calmness, speaking of his affairs, even in an encouraging tone. At length we separated. Remember me kindly to Mrs," said he, mentioning my wife's name, and shaking me warmly by the hand.

The next morning, as I sate at breakfast, making out my daily list, my wife, who had one of the morning papers in her hand, suddenly let it fall, and looking palely at me, exclaimed-" Eh, surely-surely, my dear, this can never be-Mr Dudleigh!"-I enquired what she meant, -and she pointed out the following paragraph:

:

"ATTEMPTED SUICIDE.-Yesterday evening, an elderly gentleman, dressed in deep mourning, was observed walking for some time near the water side, a little above Chelsea-Reach, and presently stepped on board one of the barges, and threw himself from the outer one into the river. Most providentially this latter movement was scen by a boatman who was rowing past, and who succeeded, after some minutes, in seizing hold of the unfortunate person, and lifting him into the boat-but not till the vital spark seemed extinct. He was immediately carried to the public-house by the water-side, where prompt and judicious means were made use of-and with success. He is now lying at the public-house, but as there were no papers or cards about him, his name is at present unknown. The unfortunate gentleman is of middling stature, rather full make—of advanced years-his hair very grey,-and he wears a mourning ring on his left hand."

I rung the bell, ordered a coach, drew on my boots, and put on my walking-dress; and in a little more than three or four minutes was hurrying on my way to the house mentioned in the newspaper. A twopenny post-man had the knocker in his hand at the moment of my opening the door, and put into my hand a paid letter, which I tore open as I drove along. Good God! it was from -Mr Dudleigh. It afforded unequivocal evidence of the insanity which

had led him to attempt his life. It was written in a most extravagant and incongruous strain, and acquainted me with the writer's intention to "bid farewell to his troubles that evening." It ended with informing me, that I was left a legacy in his will for L.5000-and hoping, that when his poor daughter died, “I would see her magnificently buried." By the time I had arrived at the house where he lay, I was almost fainting with agitation: and I was compelled to wait some minutes below, before I could sufficiently recover my self-possession. On entering the bedroom where he lay, I found him undressed, and fast asleep. There was no appearance whatever of discomposure in the features. His hands were clasped closely together-and in that position he had continued for several hours. The medical man who had been summoned in over-night, sate at his bedside, and informed me that his patient was going on as well as could be expected. The treatment he had adopted, had been very judicious and successful; and I had no doubt, that when next Mr Dudleigh awoke, he would feel little if any the worse for what he had suffered. All my thoughts were now directed to Miss Dudleigh; for I felt sure that if the intelligence had found its way to her, it must have destroyed her. I ran every inch of the distance between the two houses, and knocked gently at the door with my knuckles, that I might not disturb Miss Dudleigh. The servant girl, seeing my discomposed appearance, would have created a disturbance, by shrieking, or making some other noise, had I not placed my fingers on her mouth, and in a whisper, asked how her mistress was? "Master went home with you, sir, did not he?"-she enquired with an alarmed air.

"Yes-yes"-I replied hastily.

"Oh, I told Miss so! I told her so!" replied the girl, clasping her hands, and breathing freer.

"Oh, she has been uneasy about his not coming home last night-eh?

Ah-I thought so, this morning, and that is what has brought me here in such a hurry," said I, as calmly as I could. After waiting down stairs to recover my breath a little, I repaired to Miss Dudleigh's room. She