seal," under this very seal Sir John put a sixpence -and he called upon me to observe him doing it; for, my lord, it is my opinion he thought then of what might come to pass-he had a sort of a foreboding of this day. And now, my lord, order them, if you please, to break the seal-break it before them all; and if there is not the sixpence under it, why this deed is not Sir John's, and this is none of my writing, and," cried he, lifting up his hands and eyes, “I am a liar, and perjured."

There was a profound silence. The seal was broken. The sixpence appeared. It was handed in triumph, by Sir Robert Percy's counsel, to the jury and to the judge. There seemed to be no longer a doubt remaining in the minds of the jury-and a murmur of congratulations among the partisans of Sir Robert seemed to anticipate the verdict.

""Tis all over, I fear," whispered Friend to Alfred. "Alfred, you have done all that could be done, but they have sworn through every thing; it is over with us."

"Not yet," said Alfred. Every eye turned upon him-some from pity, some from curiosity, to see how he bore his defeat. At length, when there was silence, he begged to be permitted to look at the sixpence. The judge ordered that it should be shown to him. He held it to the light, to examine the date of the coin; he discovered a faint impression of a head on the sixpence, and upon closer inspection he made out the date, and showed clearly that the date of the coin was later than the date of the deed; so that there was an absolute impossibility that this sixpence could have been put under the seal of the deed by Sir John.

The moment Alfred stated this fact, the counsel

on the opposite side took the sixpence, examined it, threw down his brief, and left the court. People looked at each other in astonishment. The judge ordered that William Clerke should be detained, that he might be prosecuted by the crown for perjury.

The old man fell back senseless. Mr. Sharpe and Sir Robert Percy pushed their way together out of court, disclaimed by all who had till now appeared as their friends. No further evidence was offered, so that here the trial closed. The judge gave a short impressive charge to the jury, who, without withdrawing, instantly gave their verdict in favour of the plaintiff, Lewis Percy-a verdict that was received with loud acclamations, which not even respect to the court could restrain.

Mr. Percy and Alfred hastily shook hands with their friends, and in the midst of universal applause hurried away to carry the good news to Mrs. Percy and Rosamond, who were at Alfred's house, waiting to hear the event of the trial.

Neither Alfred nor Mr. Percy had occasion to speak; the moment Mrs. Percy and Rosamond saw them, they knew the event.

66

Yes," said Mr. Percy, "our fortune is restored; and doubly happy we are in having regained it, in a great measure, by the presence of mind and ability of my son."

His mother and sister embraced Alfred with tears of delight. For some moments a spectator might have imagined that he beheld a family in deep affliction. But soon through these tears appeared on the countenance of each individual the radiance of joy, smiles of affection, tenderness, gratitude, and every delightful benignant feeling

of the human heart.

"Has anybody sent to Mrs. Hungerford and to Lady Jane Granville ?" said Mr. Percy.

"Yes, yes, messengers were sent off the moment the verdict was given," said Erasmus: "I took care of that."

"It is a pity," said Rosamond, "that Caroline is not here at this moment, and Godfrey."

"It is best as it is," said Mrs. Percy; "we have that pleasure still in store."

"And now, my beloved children," said Mr. Percy, "after having returned thanks to Providence, let me here, in the midst of all of you, to whom I owe so large a share of my happiness, sit down quietly for a few minutes to enjoy the sober certainty of waking bliss.'"

MARIA EDGEWORTH.

MISTAKEN KINDNESS.

ANN BELSON had lived in a respectable mer. chant's family, of the name of Melbourne, for many years, and had acquitted herself to the satisfaction of her employers in successive capacities of nurse, house-maid, and lady's maid. But it was at length discovered that she had long been addicted to petty pilfering; and, being emboldened by past impunity, she purloined some valuable lace, and was detected; but her kind master and mistress could not prevail on themselves to give up the tender nurse of their children to the just rigour of the law, and as their children themselves could not bear to have "poor Ann sent to gaol," they resolved to punish her in no other manner than by turning her away without a character, as

the common phrase is. But without a character she could not procure another service, and might be thus consigned to misery and ruin. This idea was insupportable! However she might deserve punishment, they shrunk from inflicting it! and they resolved to keep Ann Belson themselves, as they could not recommend her conscientiously to any one else. This was a truly benevolent action; because, if she continued to sin, they alone were exposed to suffer from her fault. But they virtuously resolved to put no further temptation in her way, and to guard her against herself, by unremitting vigilance.

During the four succeeding years, Ann Belson's honesty was so entirely without a stain, that her benevolent friends were convinced that her peni. tence was sincere, and congratulated themselves that they had treated her with such lenity.

At this period the pressure of the times, and losses in trade, produced a change in the circumstances of the Melbournes; and retrenchment became necessary. They therefore felt it right to discharge some of their servants, and particularly the lady's maid.

The grateful Ann would not hear of this dismissal. She insisted on remaining on any terms, and in any situation; nay, she declared her willingness to live with her indulgent friends for nothing; but, as they were too generous to accept her services at so great a disadvantage to herself, especially as she had poor relations to maintain, they resolved to procure her a situation; and having heard of a very advantageous one, for which she was admirably calculated, they insisted on her try. ing to procure it.

"But what shall we do, my dear," said the wife

to her husband, "concerning Ann's character ? Must we tell the whole truth? As she has been uniformly honest during the last four years, should we not be justified in concealing her fault?" "Yes; I think, at least I hope so," replied he. "Still, as she was dishonest more years than she has now been honest, I really.... I.... it is a very puzzling question, Charlotte; and I am but a weak casuist." A strong Christian might not have felt the point so difficult. But the Melbournes had not studied serious things deeply; and the result of the consultation was, that Ann Belson's past faults should be concealed, if possible.

And possible it was. Lady Baryton, the young and noble bride who wished to hire her, was a thoughtless, careless woman of fashion; and, as she learned that Ann could make dresses, and dress hair to admiration, she made few other inquiries; and Ann was installed in her new place.

It was, alas! the most improper of places, even for a sincere penitent, like Ann Belson; for it was a place of the most dangerous trust. Jewels, laces, ornaments of all kinds, were not only continually exposed to her eyes, but placed under her especial care. Not those alone. When her lady returned home from a run of good luck at loo, a reticule, containing bank-notes and sovereigns, was emptied into an unlocked drawer; and Ann was told how fortunate her lady had been. The first time that this heedless woman acted thus, the poor Ann begged she would lock up her money. "Not I; it is too much trouble; and why should I?”— "Because, my lady, it is not right to leave money about; it may be stolen." -"Nonsense! who should steal it? I know you must be honest; the Melbournes gave you such a high character."