which might meet his ear, whatever might be his authority, that he might relate them to the Club at night; and, by sundry of his own improvements, render them a subject for the diversion of his companions. Then was, indeed, his hour of gratification :-then his reign of glory and triumph. But how dearly did he purchase that fame! How often, even at the risk of his honour and character, did he intrude himself into the company of those with whom he could claim no acquaintance; and gain possession of secrets and observations, in a manner from which Honour would recoil in disdain. Nay, so totally did he forget all virtuous and upright sentiments, that he was more than once detected in listening to the private conference of persons, and committing it to paper;—an indelible stigma upon him through life, had not the injured parties most kindly forgiven him, on account of his father's respectability, and his own youth; and concealed their discovery from the world. Now was the time that his parents began to lament their foolish indulgence. Many were their admonitions, and frequent his renewals of penitence. But this fatal habit had so completely overpowered him, that all his exertions were in vain; nor could they rescue him from that strange infatuation, to which must be attributed all his future shame and ruin. His first exploit of mischief was to embroil two of his own companions in a duel, who, whatever were their actual differences, might lay the consummation of their quarrel princípally~ to his charge. Their mutual dislike proceeded from a love affair, in which the affections of both rested upon the same object. But Edward heightened that dislike, by relating to each, in the other's absence, some insult which was offered, or intended to be offered to him, by his rival. The consequences need not be related. A duel was agreed upon in the heat of their passion. Fortunately, however, the blood of neither was shed; and, upon the interposition of the seconds, after their first onset, the affair was amicably adjusted. But the author of it, on a close examination of all the circumstances, was detected, and expelled from their society; of which he could no longer be deemed a worthy and honourable member. Why did he not, at this warning, desist? Why should not the dishonour, which he incurred from this evil propensity, entirely check its farther progress? Alas! he only departed from the зcene of his disgrace, and his enraged associates, to stir up dissensions in his own family!-his affectionate family--which, notwithstanding his pernicious qualities, received him in its bosom. During six short months, which he passed beneath his father's roof, he caused differences between all his relations; disturbed even the love and harmony of his worthy parents; and weaned the affections of his eldest sister from her Lover;-all by his false repesentations, and the subtlety of his plots. Let us for a moment view the scene of domestic misery, which his idle and deceitful tongue created. A feud, which embittered the ties of consanguinity; a coldness of manner, so diametrically opposite to the warmth of affection formerly manifested in a most delightful manner towards each other by his parents;-the separation of two worthy and innocent hearts, which caused the death of his intended brother, and clouded the happiest days of his sister's life with the blackest despair :-all, all these miseries owed their birth to the disgraceful folly and cruel indiscretion of Edward Overton! His unhappy father, although nearly sinking beneath the accumulation of distress heaped upon him by an unworthy son, had still the resolution, after having settled upon that son a handsome income, to dismiss him from the home whose joys and endearments he had eternally blasted. Yet, while he despaired of working any reformation upon his heart, he nevertheless, with some of the most tender and affecting admonitions which parental love could utter, bade him farewell for ever. Edward Overton, whatever might be his failings, and great indeed they were, was by no means destitute of feeling. He saw clearly, and felt acutely, the miseries which he had wrought upon the very persons who deserved his most earnest attention, and most affectionate sincerity. Often did he repent; and fervently did he desire to cast himself upon the pity and forgiveness of those whom he had so deeply afflicted. But could he return to that roof, could he enter those doors, could he look upon those countenances, once so happy, with any other feeling than that of horror, melancholy, and self-reproach? His wishes were in vain ; nor could he endure the thought of turning his footsteps to that home, whence he had banished Happiness, Tranquillity, and Love. For the space of a year he gave himself up to solitude and remorse; entirely relinquishing society. But the impressions of woe gradually faded away, and he again appeared in the world. None of his old friends, indeed, would form any connexion with him; but they kindly spared those strictures upon his character, which he had so frequently and so illiberally distributed against others. Hence his dangerous qualities were little known; and, from his superior talents, elegant education, and gentlemanly appearance, he was much admired and esteemed in all the circles of his new acquaintance. He chanced to meet, at an evening party, a young lady of great beauty and accomplishments; and, being somewhat captivated with her appearance at his first introduction to her, requested the favour of her hand in a dance, which constituted the principal evening's amusement. This favour was not denied him. He imperceptibly admitted sentiments, which, once entertained, quickly lead to an attachment; and his feelings soon convinced him of it: when, at the close of the dance, after handing her to the carriage which was to convey her home, he left the assembly with emotions which his breast had never before known. Having obtained her permission on the preceding night to visit her father, and inquire respecting her safe arrival, he proceeded in the morning to her abode. Mr. Williams was so much delighted with his conversation and engaging manners, that he requested him to renew his visits frequently. We need not doubt that the offer was accepted-that he soon became an inmate of the family-and that, finally, having discovered his affection to the daughter and the father, he was successful in all his hopes, and received a promise of the hand of Emma Williams in marriage. It may not be improper here to give a short account of the family to which he was about to connect himself. Mr. Williams was a man of large property, which depended chiefly upon an extensive mercantile firm in Liverpool. His wife had been dead for many years; and Emma was the sole hope, delight, and consolation of his declining life. Every arrangement was proceeding in a most favourable way for the completion of their nuptials, when Edward Overton chanced one morning to enter a coffee-house, where he passed much of his leisure time in reading the news, and sundry other trivial employments, by which the idle beguile a tedious hour. He was loitering in solitude, and scarcely knowing in what manner he might dissipate ennui, when he fancied that he heard the voices of persons holding a serious conference in the next room. His culpable curiosity was immediately excited; and thinking that he now had found something to divert his attention, he applied his ear to the thin wainscoting, which separated him from the unknown speakers. The subject which one was explaining to the other seemed to contain a secret of the greatest importance and mystery. The words which he could collect appeared to be relative to a large mercantile concern, which was pronounced in great danger, and which, should any of the creditors discover its peril, would be inevitably ruined by their demands upon it. The person, however, who was giving this information, expressed a hope which Mr. Fitzgerald (as he styled the principal director), had induced him to cherish, that if their embarrassments could be concealed for a few months, they might regain their former prosperity. He concluded by desiring his auditor to preserve the secret with the greatest caution; and declared his satisfaction in having been able to entrust it to him with such security. Edward Overton departed, and in the course of the day published at a large party, with his usual folly and carelessness, the tidings which he had so dishonourably gained possession of in the morning. Several persons, on hearing the name of Fitzgerald, and the danger of his firm, immediately took the alarm, and spread the news on all sides. The consequences, as might be expected, were dreadful. The unhappy merchants, unable to release themselves from their embarrassments, or to answer the demands of their creditors, were immediately pronounced bankrupts and a House, which had long surpassed all others in wealth, in reputation, and the number and respectability of its directors, was reduced to disgrace-to a mere nothing, by the babblings of one pernicious and heedless man. It were enough to think of this with the most heartfelt sorrow. But as yet, the reader is uninformed of the whole effects of Edward's indiscretion. What shall we say, what must be our feelings, on discovering that the father of Emma Williams, although the circumstance was unknown to Edward Overton, was deeply concerned in the affairs of that ruined firm, which once bore Fitzgerald's name? He, consequently, was also plunged in the general misery and calamity. On hearing, therefore, the fatal discovery of that secret, which but one day before had been entrusted to him with such circumspection; on perceiving the adversity and wretchedness to which he and his daughter must necessarily be reduced; and, above all, on discovering that he was betrayed by Edward Overton,-the friend of his bosom,-the affianced husband of his child,-a shock was inflicted, which nearly proved fatal. But for Emma's sake he struggled against this painful trial; and through the aid of a mind whose natural strength was increased by true Christian fortitude, and the consolations of religion, gradually overcame the pressure of his woes. Having collected the wrecks of a once splendid fortune, he retired from a world of tumults and vicissitudes, to the tranquillity of a country life. Happiness at length began again to smile upon him and the innocent Emma, who was united to a lover far more worthy of her affections than the imprudent Edward. The father and his children lived beneath the same roof, and enjoyed in their retirement the sweets of Affection and Peace, undisturbed by the misrepresentations of falsehood-untainted by the breath of Calumny. But the days of Edward's happiness were at an end. Neglected by his friends, deserted by his acquaintances, and detested even by those to whom he had given his despicable and officious information, he also buried himself in seclusion. Alas! how different was his from that delightful retirement, which those whom he had cruelly injured now enjoyed! His was an attempt to fly from the scoffs of the world, and the odium which he had incurred as a talebearer. He could not, however, avert the pangs of conscience, or dispel the gloom of melancholy, which hung over him from day to day. So truly miserable was his life,— with such horror and shame did he look back upon the past, that death itself would have been a relief. But the Divine retribution had ordained it otherwise, condemning him to expiate his sins, and to feel the miseries which he had inflicted upon others, by a tedious life of anguish and remorse. No years diminished the care which preyed upon his heart; and this dreadful punishment of calumny was extended to his latest hour! Further comment upon this tale is unnecessary. May those under whose observation it chances to fall, should they at any time perceive the impulse of slander rising in their breasts, for once recall to memory the sad example of Edward Overton; and be warned by it from those pursuits which allure us into the tracts of unhappiness, and betray us to the shackles of perpetual M. STERLING. woe. HORE PALUDANÆ; OR, DROPS OF DERWENT WATER. No. II. TO THE LADY CAROLINE MOWBRAY. LADY! no marvel that the kinsman young The wayward youth rode nightly journeying,-he Than that of youthful poet: locks of light; Cheeks of rich bloom, where love hath built his nest; The polish'd shield returns the warrior's lance. Highgate, Jan. 15, 1821. The Hon. G. Montgomery. X W. |