not, believe that the creation of a bountiful God is so despicable a being."

I rose to depart, for I was anxious to allow his feelings full play, that, when the first burst of passion had passed, I might be the more able to administer consolation or advice; but he stopped me as I was about to leave the room.

Franklin," he said, "do you believe that I am the ungrateful wretch that letter declares me to be?” "Certainly not," I replied, with warmth.

"had

He smiled with proud satisfaction, and grasped my hand. "I have one friend left, then," said he; you believed it, verily, I should have believed it myself. But now"-he drew a deep sigh, and turned away without completing the sentence.

From that hour, confidence between Stanton and his father ceased, nor was it ever completely restored, though a reconciliation was effected after a long lapse of time. Mr. Stanton acted strictly up to his threat, and returned letter after letter unopened, though his son persevered for many weeks in fruitless attempts at explanation. Even the mediation of friends was unavailing, so completely had the calumny sapped to the foundation the better feelings of the father. This harsh conduct was productive of strange events— ruinous, indeed, and bringing misery on more than one party concerned, and most of all on my unhappy friend. But for the immediate consequences.-No

longer of the amiable temper which had characterized him as an obliging and agreeable companion, Stanton showed himself, on many occasions, haughty and reserved, not to say, at times, overbearing and irritable. To strangers, heretofore affable, he now became cold, distant, and formal; and, narrowing the circle of his acquaintance, he seemed to have an eye to the good opinion of his intimate friends alone. To them, for a time, he was the same as he ever had been, and while their attachment to him became daily stronger, to others he rendered himself obnoxious and unpopular, by what they termed his absurd and capricious behaviour. The vices which he had formerly loathed he now, it was said, freely indulged in-that he played high, drank deep, frequented the race-course, and was, in short, the most dissipated among the most dissipated. That he should have thus become the subject of idle gossip, his real friends were more than grieved. To me, however, it was evident that he was playing a part, and that he knew well the game he had in hand. At length, without apparent cause, his conduct underwent a second and more material change, and he became quiet and reserved, and fond of being alone; and gradually withdrawing himself from the society of idle companions, gained the character of being the quietest man in the whole college.

At this time, I left the University, on the death of my father, in order that I might travel, and after an

absence of many years, I again saw my unhappy friend. The change in his appearance was painfully striking. He was just recovering from a severe and lingering illness, brought about by a series of disasters, which had shaken, and, indeed, for a time, deprived him of, his reason. Having accidentally heard that I was in London, he sent an earnest request that I would call and see him with as little delay as possible. I obeyed, and, with many a secret misgiving, prepared myself for the interview. It was well that I had done so, for so great was the shock, that, had I been taken by surprise, I could not have commanded my feelings sufficiently to conceal my emotion. On entering his room, I found him sitting in an easy chair supported by pillows, and the old housekeeper at his side reading the Bible to him. She rose on my entrance, and, with a court'sy, laid down the book and left the room. It was then that I saw, to their full extent, the ravages which the fever had made upon my poor friend, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I concealed my thoughts, for scarcely could I repress my tears when I contemplated his emaciated form.

"Franklin," he said, and he held out his hand and smiled faintly, as with a friendly pressure he endeavoured to convey to me how much gratified he was by my presence, "I am glad to see you, very glad. They tell me that I have been very ill from a severe

attack of fever, and have been delirious; yet, my friend, I thought that I felt, even then, that I could not die in peace without seeing you once more. I will not speak of the happy days we have passed together, for it would only bring into more striking contrast the misery of the present hour."

"Do not talk thus despondingly," said I; "there are many happy days yet in store for us, I trust, and then we shall smile at what we formerly termed the ills of life."

He shook his head mournfully as he replied, "There is but one moment of happiness in store for me, and that is when my soul shall part from my body. Nay, start not-I am not speaking idly, for a voice has whispered to me that soon I shall be no more. My mind could not bear the agony of life, and surely it is better to be dead than to be deranged."

He paused, and then proceeded nearly as follows.

CHAPTER II.

"Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing: 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;

But he, that filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that, which not enriches him,

And makes me poor indeed."

OTHELLO. Act. III., Sc. 3.

"Do you remember, Franklin, how my character changed after the receipt of the letter from my father announcing his displeasure in so abrupt a manner?"

I nodded assent.

"Yet," said he, "the second alteration in my conduct must have surprised you more, for from that hour even you to whom up to that period I had confided everything, even you were not admitted to my confidence. For such reserve I can assign no better reason than that I had become suspicious of all my companions and friends since that fatal morning, and at last even of you. In vain I struggled against these ungenerous feelings; in vain I recalled to mind the