Had she, instead of taunting Fanny with her faults, kindly set before her the fearful consequences of the course she was pursuing, she might have been stopped in her career of folly. Instead of this, the daughter was only irritated and provoked by the injudicious manner in which her mother often reproached her; and seldom, if ever, paid any regard to her remonstrances.

The father of Fanny died when she was about fifteen, which was a most unfortunate occurrence for the poor girl. She had ardently loved her father, for he was better qualified to sympathize with her than was her mother. He was what is generally called an easy-tempered man; and it may be added with truth, that as a parent he was exceedingly kind and indulgent. Upon his eldest daughter he doted, and she had reason to feel that by his death she was bereft of her best earthly friend.

Although the misguided girl appeared happy, to the gay throng with which she was surrounded, her heart was not at rest. Her reason taught her that pleasure was not to be found in the way in which she sought it.

At short intervals, she listened to the dictates of her better judgment, and then she would resolve to reform, at least in some respects. But as she had never cultivated any firmness of purpose, she would allow herself to be gov erned by an impulsive nature, and gratify her present inclination, regardless of the pain it might cause others, and of the future misery it might bring upon herself.

It was this want of reflection, rather than malignity of heart, that led her to trifle with the feelings of Doctor Dickson. For a time he was entirely ignorant of the fact that she was receiving the attentions of any besides him

self; and when it was kindly hinted to him that such was the case, he could not at first believe it.

When the unwelcome conviction of the fact was forced upon his mind, he mildly told his beloved Fanny what he had heard. She did not fully deny it, yet was unwilling to confess the whole truth. The doctor was so much attached to her, that he would gladly have forgiven her, had she been willing to refrain from further wrong.

With the most tender expressions he warned her against encouraging the attentions of the unprincipled Mr. Coomer; telling her that it was still in her power to make him happy, and at the same time save herself much of the anguish of heart he feared she would experience, in doing otherwise.

Fanny, though her disposition was not bad, in some respects, sometimes yielded to passionate feeling; and when this kind and forbearing friend conversed in this manner with her, she wept most passionately, and accused him of cruelty. She told him he might forsake her society forever, if he chose; and if he was going to be so unreasonable as to debar her from the society of all others, he was welcome to do so.

The doctor vainly endeavored to make the poor deluded girl understand the motives by which he was actuated; but she refused to listen to him, and abruptly left the apartment. Her mother strongly sympathized with Doctor Dickson, whose character she justly estimated and greatly respected; and she evinced the most bitter feelings towards her daughter, which caused her, clandestinely, to quit the home of her mother, and seek shelter with some friends of her departed father.

She did not, however, acquaint these friends with the

circumstances under which she left her home, but led them to suppose she merely came to make them a friendly visit. It was not long ere her friends at home ascertained whither she had gone; and as soon as the generous Dickson knew where she was, he addressed a letter to her, written in a strain of most touching eloquence. He requested, if she still had any regard for him, whom he could not but be-lieve she had once loved, to return to the bosom of her family. He begged her to answer his letter, assuring her that she still possessed his friendship and best wishes.

Strange was the fact, yet fact it was, that Doctor Dickson still loved this erring one, ingrate as she had proved. She was deaf, however, to his entreaties, and noticed not his letter, except to deride it.

After the lapse of several weeks, and much importunity on the part of her mother, whose feelings had become somewhat softened towards her, she returned home. During her absence, she had attracted the admiration of a Mr. Wilcot, a gentleman possessed of great wealth, and a pleasing address, but many years her senior.

Fanny, whose feelings were alive upon the subject, was not long in ascertaining the fact, that this gentleman was becoming attached to her; and her long indulged vanity was greatly gratified by the thought, that she could now exult, triumphantly, over the less pretending, though far more worthy, Doctor Dickson.

After her return home, whenever she chanced to meet this amiable young gentleman, she treated him with marked contempt, and he was obliged, at length, to resign her to her own chosen way. He did so, and communicated to her, in a letter, his feelings in regard to her, and a kind

and final farewell. The epistle, which would have done honor to the ablest writer, was treated with as much scorn as was his former communication.

Doctor Dickson felt that the hopes he had once fondly cherished, were sadly blighted; yet he stood firm in the integrity of his heart, sustained by that power which never fails to support those who rely upon it for strength in the fulfilment of duty.

Poor Fanny, who lived upon excitement, appeared to enjoy, for a while, the flattering notice of Mr. Wilcot. She felt no affection for him, yet as he was affluent and handsome, she was proud of being escorted by him to places of public amusement, where, if she was aware of being seen by Doctor Dickson, her triumph was complete.

After a few months' acquaintance with Mr. Wilcot, she again secretly left her home, and went with him to an adjoining state, where she became his wife. Soon after this event took place, she returned home and presented her mother, whom she well knew disapproved of her intimate acquaintance with Mr. Wilcot, a certificate of their marriage.

Her mother said not a word, being well-nigh choked with various and mingled emotions. Maternal feelings, anger, hope, fear, and distrust, strongly conflicted in her bosom. At length, however, natural affection triumphed, and, spite of her daughter's departure from the path of duty, she determined to treat her kindly. To this determination she ever after adhered, and Fanny, who had sometimes doubted her affection for her, was somewhat reassured of her love.

At the expiration of a year after she was married, Mrs.

Wilcot was made the mother of a little son. She still rolled in affluence and splendor, and the future presented a dazzling prospect before her. Another, and another year passed by, much as the first had gone, at the end of which time a little daughter was given her. Shortly after this event took place, her friends often perceived an expression of sadness upon her countenance, and not unfrequently surprised her when bathed in tears; still, as she was always silent upon the subject, none ventured to ask her the cause of her anxiety. Her servants knew that her husband spent most of his nights from home; with this they acquainted her friends, who had strongly suspected, from what they had before learned, that he spent much of his time in billiard rooms.

It was not long before these suspicions were confirmed ; for, risking large sums while at play one night, he lost many thousands of dollars. He continued playing, as too many do, with the hope of retrieving his losses, until he was obliged, by his continued failures, to mortgage much of his real estate.

When this fact became known, the mortification of his wife was very great. As has been before hinted, she had not much affection for her husband; but consented to a union with him merely for the sake of being enabled, by his wealth, to gratify her foolish fondness for display.

Gloomy, indeed, were the nights to her on which she was obliged to sit alone until almost morning, or retire, with her mind burdened with feverish anxiety, to a bed that failed to yield her exhausted frame the repose it needed. It was on one of these fatal nights that her husband, returning a little past midnight, found her whom,