'Tis observation, well applied,

Much more than studied precept, forms the mind
Nor will, the ready tribute freely paid
To excellence, self excellence inspire.
The splendid beauties of another's mind,
Will not, however great, or wise, or good,
By dim reflection purify our own.
Oft vanity, the bane of mental beauty,
Whispers perfection in our listening ears,
And, in imagination's powerful scope,
The wish alone will oft the substance form.
Thus may the soundest judgment be misled
By vanity!-a subtle monitor-

Subtle indeed, not faithful or sincere !
Faults, are by faulty semblance easiest cured--
A mirror for its own deformity-

Each bane an antidote to cure itself.

The industrious bee, which rankling poison bears, Yet from her own rich store of hoarded sweets,

A balsam yields to draw the venomed sting.

So judgment organizes well the soul,
When light-wing'd vanity o'erleaps itself,
Till sober reason holds the reins of power

Oh! vice accursed, that lurest thy victim on
With specious smiles, and false deluding hopes-
Smiles that destroy, and hopes that bring despair,
Infatuation dangerous and destructive,

Pleasure most visionary, if delight, how transient
Prelude of horror, anguish, and dismay!

"WHY what a world is this! The slave that digs for gold receives his daily pittance, and sleeps contented; while those, for whom he labours, convert their good to mischief, making abundance the means of want. What had I to do with play? I wanted nothing-My wishes and my means were equal. The poor followed me with blessings; love scattered roses on my pillow; and morning waked me to delight-Oh! bitter thought, that leads me to what I was, by what I am! I would forget both. My wife, my wife! Oh, I have played the boy, dropping my counters in the stream; and, reaching to redeem them, lost myself!"

Such was the gloomy soliloquy of the afflicted Beverley; as with wild and haggard looks he sat, after a night spent at the gaming table; a long, long, night, the first he had ever passed from his own happy roof: and the pangs of self reproach, as he reflected on the agonizing anxiety of his affectionate wife, tortured by his absence, were almost more than he could endure. His sorrows were interrupted by the entrance of his old steward, the faithful Jarvis, who came to comfort his poor un

happy deluded master; to entreat his return home to his wife and infant boy, and to offer, for present exigencies, the little money he had saved in his own and his father's service.

Beverley at first, considering his visit as an intrusion, repulsed him sternly; but at length the unaffected sorrow of the faithful old man, and his liberal offers of pecuniary aid, struck him to the heart. "What! (he exclaimed) thinkest thou I'd ruin thee too, I have enough of shame already. Go to thy mistress, tell her I'll come presently: go, go, I prithee.

And Beverley did return; but, oh how changed! No longer the happy husband, and delighted father,

the smiles of his wife, and the endearments of his infant boy, were daggers to his heart. Yet but a few months were passed, since he was the happiest of the happy; possessed of wealth; with an unspotted reputation and untainted principles; a disposition noble and benevolent, and a temper uniformly cheerful. Sorrow never reached him, but in the contemplation of his fellow-creatures' sufferings, which he ever relieved to the full extent of his power. Could it be supposed there existed a wretch so vile, as to destroy, with cool and deliberate villany, the domestic peace of a character so worthy? Yet such a villain did exist, and was the remorseless agent of Beverley's destruction.

Mr. Stukely, a man of fortune and family, had loved Mrs. Beverley before her marriage; but being reserved and distant, he spoke not of his regard: while Beverley, open and manly, avowed his love, and obtained her hand; an offence which Stukely secretly swore never to forgive. Envy and jealousy took possession of his soul, and were followed by fiercer and more deadly passions. Hatred spurred him on to vengeance; but he concealed all these feelings beneath a mask of hypocrisy. He professed the most ardent friendship for the unsuspecting Beverley; who too easily fell a victim to his arts. The vengeance he meditated was of great extent; nothing less could appease his resentment than the destruction of Beverley, and the seduction of his lovely and amiable wife.

For this purpose he associated himself with a band of unprincipled men, who, by various arts, lured his victim to the gaming table; where night after night he lost considerable sums. Already was he on the brink of ruin his house, furniture, and equipage had been brought to the hammer; and, immured in private lodgings, his uncomplaining wife used her utmost efforts to reconcile his sister to this

sad change of fortune. But Charlotte beheld her brother's imprudence with indignation; and could scarcely be prevailed upon to restrain her resentment. She was engaged to an amiable young man named Lewson; but their intended marriage had been postponed from time to time, on account of Beverley's embarrassments. The kind and affectionate Charlotte could not endure the idea of a selfish attention to her own happiness, while her beloved sister was miserable: besides, she wished to retain her fortune in her own power, in order to preserve her sister and infant nephew from poverty, should her brother's infatuation rush onwards to irretrievable ruin; an event, there was too much reason to dread.

Lewson, in the meantime, was urgent with her to accept his hand; so that he might have a brother's right to interfere in Mr. Beverley's affairs, and rescue him from the power of a villain: for his suspicions of Stukely were deep, and well founded. He easily succeeded in impressing upon the mind of Charlotte his own convictions of Stukely's treachery; but with Mr. and Mrs. Beverley, the task was difficult. As the serpent coils round the unresisting form of his victim, so had this insidious monster wound round the heart of Beverley; and such was his unbounded confidence, that he thought it would be sinning against Heaven, to admit even a doubt of his friend's truth. Mrs. Beverley, whose pure heart scarcely admitted the possibility of human depravity, was little likely to differ in opinion from the beloved of her soul. She blamed Stukely as the cause of Beverley's love of play, it is true; but then she only blamed him, for that delusion which, while it had drawn misery upon his friend, had been equally fatal, as she supposed, to his own fortune and happiness.

Charlotte took an opportunity, in the absence of