in Queen Square, where a magistrate was then sitting.

When Edmund entered the office, he was recognised by the jeweller to whom he had paid the Bank Post Bill which he received from Raymond. This, may it please your worship," said the tradesman, " is the person who paid me the forged bill." A clerk from the Bank of England attended to prove the forgery. Edmund inquired whether he might send for a friend; but the magistrate, rather sternly, informed him that his offence was not bailable; and without hesitation wrote his mittimus. He was conveyed in a coach without delay to Newgate, and on entering this abode of misery and crime, was taken to a felon's cell. He was shocked, and inquired whether he could not be accommodated with a better apartment. "Yes, yes," replied the turnkey, " if you can command "if money; its power is great even in a prison." "Then take me to a more comfortable place." The turnkey, however, locked him in; but returned in about half an hour, and led him to a room tolerably furnished, and where a good fire softened the rigour of a winter's day. The turnkey now desired to know whether he wished for refreshments, and Edmund ordered a mutton chop and a bottle of wine. Not that he felt the cravings of hunger, but because he supposed that

the profits of whatever he ordered would cause the turnkey to treat him with more attention and humanity. He then wrote to Mr. Bolton, with a short account of his situation, and gave the turnkey a crown to dispatch an errand boy with the letter.

When alone, Edmund endeavoured to calm the perturbation of his mind. The events of the ⚫ morning had been so unexpected, as well as calamitous, and passed in such rapid succession, that a review of them seemed like an unpleasant dream; but when he looked around, and beheld the bolts and bars with which he was environed, he shuddered with instinctive horror at his dreadful situation, and sickened while he execrated the treachery of mankind.

While he indulged these gloomy reflections, the door of his apartment was opened, and Mr. Buersil entered with a countenance as pale as death. He happened to be passing as Edmund stepped out of the coach, and the idea that he might be of some service, induced him to call at the prison, on his return from a printing office to which he was taking some copy of a work which was then in the press. There was some consolation in the presence of an acquaintance; and, as Edmund arose to shake hands with Buersil, tears started from the eyes of the Yorkshire critic, while he exclaimed, "Good Heaven!

Mr. Vere, what can this mean? Why do I see you here?" Edmund then, in a few words, informed his friend of his irreparable misfortune, and the countenance of the hearer was expressive of the grief of his mind. Nothing can save you, Sir," said he, "but the discovery of the villain, who, while he swindled you out of your

money, meditated your destruction. Do you know his name, and can you describe his person?" Edmund satisfied Buersil respecting both these particulars, and he hastened away to employ a number of police officers to discover the miscreant.

About four o'clock in the afternoon Mr. Bolton arrived at Newgate. Edmund felt humiliated at this interview; his friend perceived his chagrin, and hinted the necessity of immediately. writing to his father. "I shall write to Mr. Vere," said he, "with a simple statement of circumstances; he will doubtless hasten to London, where I hope that our united influence will extricate you from this dreadful misfortune." Edmund concurred with his friend in this plan, and Mr. Bolton soon afterwards departed from the prison.

Dinner was now served up to the solitary dupe of metropolitan deception: and notwithstanding the tremendous abyss into which he was plunged, yet the excellence of his constitu

tion enabled him to take some refreshment with a good appetite. After dinner he reviewed the events of his life since his arrival in London, and discovered that his open and unsuspicious heart misled him to cherish too good an opinion of mankind. But Lady Frances, the lovely and tender Lady Frances, surely she was not deceitful; that idea alone operated as a cordial to his spirits; but he recollected with grief, that it was impossible for him to gratify their mutual wishes. by an elopement. An apology was indispensable: he did not think it decorous to date his letter from a prison; and therefore wrote as it appeared from the Chapter Coffee House, informing her that an unforeseen event put it totally out of his power to meet her on the following evening.

On the fourth afternoon of Edmund's confinement Mr. Bolton again visited him, and informed him that his father had arrived that morning, and was busily engaged in consulting lawyers on the nature of the charge against him, and the possibility of effecting his speedy liberation. The tears filled Edmund's eyes, and his bosom heaved with filial gratitude and affection to so good a parent. "He will visit you this evening, my friend," said Mr. Bolton, "so keep up your spirits and hope the best. Your other relations have not forgot you; here is a letter from your

mother, which you will probably like to read without witnesses; I shall, therefore, retire." With these words he left the room, and Edmund with a palpitating heart, and almost overpowered by his emotions, perused the following effusion of maternal love.

A MOTHER'S LETTER TO HER SON.

This is my first letter to my only son, and oh! in what a situation is my Edmund ?-The child of my youth, and the darling of my heart, in prison-perhaps in chains! Oh Edmund! forgive your mother's womanish lamentation, for I must pour forth the feelings of my full heart to you, my dearest child-instead of imparting comfort to you, I myself need consolation-for anguish, bitter and indescribable anguish, has taken possession of my soul. I tremble at every sound-I dread every knock at my door, lest intelligence, not to be survived, should be announced by some messenger. When you set out for London, I felt sad forebodings of evil; but confiding in the virtue of my son, I hoped would escape the snares of that seat of folly and iniquity.

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I looked into Cowper's Task the other day,

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