you're a good, generous woman-I love you, Meggy, I declare I do. Poor woman! I pity you give me a shilling, love, and God bless you!'

'No, Clifford, my children must have bread, and I must have money to pay for it. Brandy will not do you good, I know it will not; but the money that you would pay for it, may save us from death. I cannot let you have it.'

Clifford uttered a loud deep groan, that awoke a dismal echo in the gloomy apartment. Viola started from his arms, and concealed herself behind her mother's chair. After many attempts to rise, the poor wretch succeeded in getting on his knees, and in this attitude of petition, he grasped his wife's hand and pressed it to his fevered lips, pleading for a shilling, or a sixpence, or even a fourpence, with as much fervor as in previous years he had sued for her heart. She was deaf to his entreaties.

He then turned to Ellen. Sweet Ellen, you are not cruel, you will not curse me, ha! ha! ha! you will pity-yes, Ellen, you will pity me; you know I might command you, but I am tender hearted. I love you, I feel for you, and I beg you to give me just one little fourpence, I will not ask you for more. I know

I am a wretch-I know I am a sot-I know I do wrong-but I don't mean any harm, God knows I don't. I wouldn't hurt you, Ellen, for worlds, but I must have some spirit—I shall go distracted! Oh! see, see these tears! Should I weep if I were not in anguish ? Pity, pity your wretched father! Must I steal it? Will you not pity me, will you not save me from prison? Ellen! Ellen!'

The poor girl sank on knees at her father's side, took his hand in her own, and raised it toward Heaven. Lift your prayers to the throne of Mercy, appeal to your Father in heaven for pity, He alone can save you. Oh, papa! pray to Him-his ear is never closed, his heart is never pitiless. Pray for pardon, pray for salvation, father, pray!'

'I cannot! I must not ! 'twere blasphemy for such a wretch to pray! Oh, Ellen, give me money! give me money, and I will leave your sight. I will go and lie with the brutes, if they will suffer such a fool to grovel with them. Give me money-I beg, I plead, I pray, give me money!'

Money? does papa wish money?' inquired Viola, running toward him, her face brightening

with joy at her comprehension of his desires'does papa wish money? Viola has money for papa.' She took from her bosom a net purse, and dropped into his outstretched hand a silver half-dollar. Clement gave it to me; good Clement, wasn't he, papa ?'

'Clement Caldwell? Yes, very different from his miserly father. Good Viola, too-papy will buy Viola a new gown for this. Ha ha ha! I guess Sam Hilton will down with his bottles now, by—'

He did not utter the cath, for the child's lips were pressed to his; but placing one hand upon her shoulder, and the other upon the arm of his wife's chair, he raised himself upon his feet, then picking up his hat, he staggered toward the door.

'Oh Clifford !' exclaimed his wife, in a tone of inexpressible anguish. One of his loud, habitual laughs was the only response, as he rushed ruthlessly onward. He was arrested at the door by a scream from Ellen; he turned and saw his wife stretched senseless upon the floor. Now came the reign of conscience. He dropped the latch-flung his hat from him, and returned to groan and weep over the victim of his

sins. Terror gave him strength, and he assisted his daughter in conveying her to her bed, and in applying such restoratives, as were within their reach.

at her bedside.

Morning found them watching
Life and reason were there-

but she was exceedingly ill.

CHAPTER III.

'To be, or not to be that is the question-
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against assailing troubles,
And, by opposing, end them.'

HAMLET.

EDRED CLIFFORD was a man of very easy, credulous disposition, and as naturally pliable in character as was ever clay in the hands of a potter. Wild and volatile in youth, he had mingled with companions who had all his habits of dissipation, with very little of his amiability of heart; and, intoxicated by their caresses and applause, he had plunged into scenes of vice from which his natural feelings would have revolted. The voice of his pure-hearted Margaret won him awhile from the seductions of the charmer, and he vowed a reformation-but his jovial propensities again led him astray, and this time secretly.

It is possible, had Mrs. Clifford been conscious of his earliest renewed aberrations from rectitude, she might have saved him; but to a natural timidity of mind that shrunk from a deep