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had rejected, from the secret love she entertained for Barnwell; and said that the former, incensed at her rejection of his hand, had in revenge brought in an account of his executorship, in which he actually made her debtor to him. So pathetically did this artful female repeat her tale of distress, that she wrought upon the gentle heart of Barnwell, who, as if fate itself conspired against him, had unhappily in his haste to quit the counting house, forgot to leave behind him a pocket book containing bills of exchange to a very considerable amount, and these were, in the moment of infatuation, given up, to save the lovely and beloved Millwood from poverty and

sorrow.

'The morning returned; and Barnwell, awakened from his delirium, began to reflect upon his situation, but felt himself degraded below the general mass of human kind. Millwood clung around him, and implored him to return to her soon, as she existed not in his absence; he wept, promised that a few hours should bring him to her arms again, and then tenderly bade her adieu.

When he drew near to his master's house he trembled, and scarce dared attempt to enter; but at length summoning his utmost resolution, he approached the door. It stood open; and he gained his own apartment unseen by any one, save only the watchful Trueman, who advanced to meet, and bid him welcome. Barnwell was not in a state of mind to receive him; conscious of his guilt, he dared not meet the cye of the friend, whom he so long and tenderly had loved; and fearful lest Trueman's anxiety should pry into the guilty secret of his soul, he felt as if he shuddered at his approach, loathed his tender inquiries, and almost hated his officious kindness. Trueman's appeal to his feelings, in presenting the lines he had written on the subject of friendship, awakened every affectionate remembrance;

and this returning softness, still farther heightened by the kind forbearance of his master, determined him to impart the fatal secret to his friend.

But a few moments longer, this confidence would have been reposed, and the devoted Barnwell saved from ruin; those few moments unhappily were not at his command! Ere he had left his apartment in search of Trueman, a servant announced that two ladies from his uncle in the country requested to see him! It was Millwood and her attendant Lucy! She came on the specious pretence of bidding him an eternal adieu, attributing her love to him as the cause of her sorrow. She insidiously informed him that by some means or other, her tyrannical guardian had heard of his having been entertained at her house, and there spending the night, and that in the utmost fury of raging jealousy he threatened her utter ruin unless she allowed him the same indulgence, which he supposed had been granted to Barnwell. She farther urged, that not being prepared to meet his pecuniary demands, she had no resourse but either to fly from her house, and seek a shelter where she could, or prove unfaithful to him, by sacrificing her person to a rival. She had therefore come to take one last look, and bid him farewell for ever.

Poor unhappy Barnwell, horror-struck at the idea of having caused the ruin of a lovely and affectionate woman, whose only crime was an unbounded regard for himself, resolved to save her, though at the hazard of his own destruction. Instead therefore of replacing the sums already bestowed upon Millwood, he added to his former crime, by a second theft, and plunged himself by this means too deeply in guilt to hope any thing from Trueman's influence with his uncle.

So entire was the dominion of this specious, this depraved woman, over the soul of the infatuated youth, that she now led him from step to step, to

the very climax of guilt and infamy; and having committed many robberies on his master, when the time drew near that he must render up his accounts, he absconded, leaving a letter for Trueman, to acknowledge that he had embezzled the money entrusted to his charge. Trueman, in his grief, imparted the sad information to Maria, who generously offered to supply the money if he could arrange the accounts so, as to conceal the circumstance from her father's knowledge; and Trueman willingly undertook the task, promising also to use every endeavour to trace the haunts of the poor lost Barnwell, and furnish such excuses for his absence, as might check the apprehensions of Mr. Thorowgood. The money was supplied, and Trueman's excuses for Barnwell's absence admitted by his indulgent master; but every effort to obtain knowledge of his abode was ineffectual day after day passed on, but no intelligence could be learned, and Trueman and Maria were in a state of agonizing anxiety and despair.

Maria, in secret, cherished the most ardent love for Barnwell her anxious parent had for a long time observed her health and spirits decline; every attempt to amuse her now proved abortive, society became irksome to her, and she appeared to brood over some gloomy feeling which resisted every effort of cheerfulness; pale, dejected, and mournful, she looked the victim of melancholy,

Pale goddess of impending gloom, whose power
With sable wings, spread o'er th' unnerved mind,
Robs energy of all its native glow

And leaves a shadow of its former self!
How vain to seek, amid a bustling crowd,
The scatter'd remnants of our peace, when e'en
The very smile which mantles on our cheek
Borrows reflection's shade; yet for itself
Speaks not! Oh Melancholy! there's in thee
A secret charm, which misery, alone
In silence, feels, and on distraction feeds:
The heart's recess conceals the lurking thief;

A poisonous serpent, clinging round life's trunk,
Saps at the root, th' ethereal balm absorbs-

The withering branches-drooping-sink in death!

It was thus with Maria; the demon of Melancholy preyed upon her health and life; whilst her, afflicted father anxiously beheld this his only child, drooping into an early grave. Had Barnwell known that he was beloved by this peerless maid, his heart would surely have been guarded against the fascinations of the artful Millwood: but he was ignorant of the happiness which awaited him; and fell the casy unresisting victim, of an imaginary happiness, the prelude to misery while living, and infamy when dead!

When the misguided youth sought protection from Millwood, after quitting the house of his master, she instigated him to the murder of his uncle, the venerable man who had been to him as a parent. His virtuous mind revolted at the idea of such enormity; but she left him no choice between that, and losing her for ever and such was her dominion over his senses, that he would rather have undertaken the murder of half mankind, than have been banished her presence for ever; and almost distracted he left her for the dreadful purpose of robbery and murder. With trembling steps, and an agonized heart, he entered the shrubbery where his uncle was accustomed to walk, and saw him advance, with a book in his hand, lost in religious contemplation. He pulled his vizor over his face, and standing at a distance presented a pistol; but his trembling hand forbade the performance of the dreadful deed, and after several vain attempts, he dashed the instrument of death with vehemence on the ground, exclaiming, "I cannot do it, it is impossible !"

Old Barnwell suddenly turned upon him; when, overpowered with terror from the idea of being discovered, in a momentary fit of frenzy he plunged a

dagger to his uncle's heart. The venerable man staggered a short distance and fell; for the fatal blow had been sure in its aim. He then breathed a short prayer, implored the blessing of heaven upon his darling nephew, and asked forgiveness for his murderer!! Barnwell, struck with horror and dismay, ran to his expiring uncle, caught him in his arms, and besought him to live, if he would not drive him to madness and despair. The good old

man pressed his hand, and a tear of pity glistened in his dying eye; he strove to speak but could not, and the distracted Barnwell, when he beheld him breathless on the ground, weltering in the blood he had spilled, rushed from the dreadful scene, and mounting his horse, fled back with the utmost rapidity to the house of Millwood.

The time from his departure, to his return, was spent by Millwood with great anxiety. Fearing her desire of revenge had led her too far, she began to tremble for her own safety, and almost repented of her design; but it was now too late. In the midst of her apprehensions as to the result of his undertaking, the wretched youth rushed into her presence, his cheeks pale, his eyes starting from their sockets, his hair erect, and his hands stained with blood. She endeavoured to sooth him; assuring him of the most perfect safety; for even if the officers of justice