take heed; it
is too late for me: the dreadful gulf yawns to swallow me; I
plunge into perdition: there is no repentance in the grave, no
hope in hell.

"Yours, etc.
"DASHALL SQUEEZE."

The dead body was removed, and Mr. Bragwell remaining almost without
speech or motion, the company began to think of retiring, much out
of humor at having their party so disagreeably broken up: they
comforted themselves however, that it was so _early_ (for it was now
scarcely twelve) they could finish their evening at another party or
two; so completely do habits of _pleasure_, as it is called, harden
the heart, and steel it not only against virtuous impressions, but
against natural feelings! Now it was, that those who had nightly
rioted at the expense of these wretched people, were the first to
abuse them. Not an offer of assistance was made to this poor forlorn
woman; not a word of kindness or of pity; nothing but censure was
now heard, "Why must these upstarts ape people of quality?" though
as long as these upstarts could feast them, their vulgarity and
their bad character had never been produced against them. "As long
as thou dost well unto thyself, men shall speak good of thee." One
guest who, unluckily, had no other house to go to, coolly said, as
he walked off, "Squeeze might as well have put off shooting himself
till morning. It was monstrously provoking that he could not wait an
hour or two."

As every thing in the house was seized Mr. Bragwell prevailed on his
miserable daughter, weak as she was, next morning to set out with
him to the country. His acquaintance with polite life was short, but
he had seen a great deal in a little time. They had a slow and sad
journey. In about a week, Mrs. Squeeze lay-in of a dead child; she
herself languished a few days, and then died; and the afflicted
parents saw the two darling objects of their ambition, for whose
sakes they had made _too much haste to be rich_, carried to the land
where all things are forgotten. Mrs. Bragwell's grief, like her
other passions, was extravagant; and poor Bragwell's sorrow was
rendered so bitter by self-reproach, that he would have quite sunk
under it, had he not thought of his old expedient in distress, that
of sending for Mr. Worthy to comfort him.

It was Mr. Worthy's way, to warn people of those misfortunes which
he saw their faults must needs bring on them; but not to reproach or
desert them when the misfortunes came. He had neve