to sing, that is, do what he cannot do, am I not justified in laughing at him? Musgrave assented to the proposition. He might however have replied, "but you are not justified in lying, in order to urge him on, nor in saying, to him, you can sing," when you know he cannot. If he be weak, it is not necessary that you should be treacherous." But Musgrave always came off halting from a combat with his undutiful son; he therefore sighed, ceased, and turned away. On one point Marmaduke was right when vanity prompts us to do what we cannot do well, while conceit leads us to fancy that our efforts are successful, we are perhaps fit objects for ridicule. A consideration which holds up to us this important lesson; namely, that our own weakness alone can, for any length of time, make us victims of the satire and malignity of others. When Albany's visit to Musgrave was drawing near to is conclusion, he was very desirous of being asked to prolong it, as he had become attached to his friend's children, from living with them, and witnessing their various accomplishments, and was completely the dupe of Marmaduke's treacherous compliments. He was therefore glad when he, as well as the Musgraves, was invited to dine at a house in the neighbourhood, on the very day intended for his departure. This circumstance led them all, with one accord to say that he must remain at least a day longer, while Marmaduke exaimed, "Go you shall not! Our friends would be so disppointed, if they and their company did not hear you sing and act that sweet song about Chloe! and all the pleasure of the evening would be destroyed to me, dear sir, if you were not there!"

This was more than enough to make Albany put off his departure; and he accompanied the Musgraves to the dinner party. They dined at an early hour; so early, that it was daylight, when, tea being over, the intended amusements of the afternoon began, of which the most prominent was to be the vocal powers of the mistaken Albany, who, without much pressing, after sundry flatteries from Marmaduke, cleared his throat, and began to sing and act the song of "Chloe." At first, he was hoarse, and stopped to apologize for want of voice; "Nonsense!" cried Marmaduke, "you never were in better voice in your life! Pray

go on; you are only nervous !" while the side of his face not next to Albany was distorted with laughter and ridicule, Albany, believing him, continued his song; and Marmaduke, sitting a little behind him, took off the distorted expression of his countenance and mimicked his odd action. But, at this moment, the broadest splendour of the setting sun threw its beams into a large pier glass opposite, with such brightness, that Albany's eyes were suddenly attracted to it, and thence to his treacherous neighbour, whom he detected in the act of mimicking him in mouth, attitude, and expression-while behind him he saw some of the company laughing with a degree of violence which was all but audible!

Allany paused, in speechless consternation-and when Marmaduke asked why "he did not go on, as every one was delighted," the susceptible old man hid his face in his hands, shocked, mortified, and miserable, but taught and enlightened. Marmaduke however, nothing doubting, presumed to clap him on the back, again urging him to proceed; but the indignant Albany, turning suddenly round, and throwing off his arm with angry vehemence, exclaimed, in the touching tone of wounded feeling, "Oh! thou serpent, that I would have cherished in my bosom, was it for thee to sting me thus? But I was an old fool: and the lesson, though a painful one, will, I trust be salutary.”— "What is all this? what do you mean?" faltered out Marmaduke; but the rest of the party had not courage enough to speak; and many of them rejoiced in the detection of baseness which, though it amused their depraved taste, was very offensive to their moral sense. "What does it mean?" cried Albany, "I appeal to all present whether they do not understand my meaning, and whether my resentment be not just !"-" I hope, my dear friend, that you acquit me," said the distressed father.--" Ofall," he replied, "except of the fault of not having taught your son better morals and manners. Young man!" he continued, "the next time you exhibit any one as your butt, take care that you do not sit opposite a pier glass. And now, sir," addressing him- . self to the master of the house, "let me request to have a postchaise sent for to the nearest town directly."-" Surely, you will not leave us, in anger," cried all the Musgraves,

Marmaduke excepted. "I hope I do not go in anger, but I cannot stay," cried he, "because I have lost my confidence in you." The gentleman of the house, who thought Albany right in going, and wished to make him all the amends he could, for having allowed Marmaduke to turn um into ridicule, interrupted him, to say that his own carriage waited his orders, and would convey him withersoever he wished. "I thank you, sir, and except your offer," he replied, "since the sooner I quit this company, in which I have so lamentably exposed myself, the better it will be for you, and for us all." Having said this, he took the agitated Musgrave by the hand, bowed to his wife and daughters, who hid their confusion under distant and haughty airs; then, stepping opposite to Marmaduke, who felt it difficult to meet the expression of that eye, on which just anger and a sense of injury had bestowed a power hitherto unknown to it, he addressed him thus: "Before we part, I must tell you, young man, that I intended, urged, I humbly trust, by virtuous considerations, to expend on your maintenance at college a part of that large income which I cannot spend on myself. I had aiso given orders to my agent to purchase for me the advowson of a living now on sale, intending to give it to you; here is the letter, to prove that I speak the truth; but I need not tell you that I cannot make the fortune which was left me by a pious friend assist a youth to take on himself the sacred profession of a christian minister, who can utter falsehoods, in order to betray a fellow-creature into folly, utterly regardless of that christian precept, "Do unto others as ye would that others should do unto you." He then took leave of the rest of the company, and drove off, leaving the Musgraves chagrined and ashamed, and bitterly mortified at the loss of the intended patronage to Marmaduke, especially when a gentleman present exclaimed, "No doubt, this is the Dr. Albany, to whom Clewes of Trinity left his large fortune!"

Albany, taught by his misadventure in this worldly and treacherous family, went, soon after, to the abode of another of his college friends, residing near Cheltenham. He expected to find this gentleman and his family in unclouded prosperity; but they were labouring under unexpected adver◄

H

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sity, brought on them by the villany of others: he found them However bowed in lowly resignation before the inscrutable decree. On the pious son of these reduced, but contented, parents he, in due time, bestowed the living intended for the treacherous Marmaduke. Under their roof he experienced gratitude which he felt to be sincere, and affection in which he dared to confide; and, ultimately, he took up his abode with them, in a residence suited to their early prospects and his riches; for even the artless and unsuspecting can, without danger, associate and sojourn with those whose thoughts and actions are under the guidance of religious principle, and who live in this world as if they every hour expected to be summoned away to the judgment of a world to come.

CHAPTER X.

LIES OF BENEVOLENCE.

IN a former chapter I commented on those lies which are, at best, of a mixed nature, and are made up of worldly motives, of which fear and selfishness compose the principal part, although the utterer of them considers them as LIES

OF BENEVOLENCE.

Lies of real benevolence are, like most other falsehoods, various in their species and degrees; but, as they are, however in fact objectionable, the most amiable and respectable of all lies, and seem so like virtue that they may easily be taken for her children; and as the illustrations of them, which I have been enabled to give, are so much more connected with our tenderest and most solemn feelings, than those afforded by other lies; I thought it right that, like the principal figures in a procession, they should bring up the

rear.

The lies which relations and friends generally think it

their duty to tell an unconsciously dying person, are prompted by real benevolence, as are those which medical men deem themselves justified in uttering to a dying patient; though, if the person dying, or the surrounding friends, be strictly religious characters, they must be, on principle, derious that the whole truth should be told.*

The

* Richard Pearson, the distinguished author of the life of William Hey of Leeds, says, in that interesting book, p. 261," Mr. Hey's sacred respect for truth, and his regard for the welfare of his fellow-creatures, never permitted him intentionally to deceive his patients by flattering representations of their state of health, by assurances of the existance of no danger, when he conceived their situation to be hopeless, or even greatly hazardous. "The duty of a medical attendant," continues he, " in such delicate situations, has been a subject of considerable embarrassment to men of integrity and conscience, who view the uttering of a falsehood as a crime, and the practice of deceit as repugnant to the spirit of christianity. That a sacrifice of truth may sometimes contribute to the comfort of a patient, and be medicinally beneficial, is not denied; but that a wilful and deliberate falsehood can, in any case, be justifiable before God, is a maxim not to be lightly admitted. question may be stated thus: Is it justifiable for a man deliberately to violate a moral precept of the law of God, from a motive of prudence and humanity? If this be affirmed, it must be admitted that it would be no less justifiable to infringe the laws of his country from similar motives; and, consequently, it would be an act of injustice to punish him for such a transgression. But, will it be contended, that the divine, or even the human legislature, must be subjected to the control of this sort of casuistry? If falsehood, under these circumstances, be no crime, then, as no detriment can result from uttering it, very little merit can be attached to so light a sacrifice; whereas, if it were presumsed that some guilt were incurred, and that the physician voluntarily exposed himself to the danger of future suffering, for the sake of procuring temporary benefit to his patient, he would have a high claim upon the