his interment she proceeded one morning to his grave, bearing with her
the breakfast which the poor youth had been accustomed to take. This, in
fact, became her daily habit, and here she usually sat for hours, until
in most cases her woe-stricken husband, on missing her, was obliged,
by some pardonable fiction, to lure her home under the expectation
of seeing him. This continued during spring, summer, autumn, and the
greater portion of winter--up in fact until the preceding night. She
had, some time during the course of that night, escaped from her poor,
husband while he slept, and having entered the grave-yard by stone steps
that were in a part of the wall--for a passage went through it--she
reached her boy's grave, where it was supposed, after having for some
time, probably until lassitude and sorrow, and a frame worn down by her
peculiar calamity, had induced sleep--she was found dead in the course
of the morning--an afflicting but beautiful instance of that undying
love of a mother's heart, which survives the wreck of all the other
faculties that compose her being.

Her miserable husband and friends were then bearing her body home,
in order that it might be waked decently and with due respect, ere it
should mingle with the ashes of him whom she had loved so well. So much
for the consequences of being concerned in those secret and criminal
confederacies, that commit such fatal ravages, not only in society, but
in domestic life, and stand so strongly opposed to the laws of both God
and man.

Purcel, on reaching the metropolis, was a great deal astonished at the
change which he observed in Dr. Turbot. That gentleman's double chin had
followed the carnal fortunes of the church that supported it. The rosy
dewlap, in fact, was no longer visible, if we except a slight pendulous
article, which defied the whole nomenclature of colors to classify its
tint, and was only visible when his head and neck assumed a peculiar
attitude. In fact, the change appeared to Purcel to have been an
exceedingly beneficial one. The gross carnal character of his whole
appearance was gone; his person had become comparatively thin, and had
a far and distant, but still an approximating, tendency to something
of the apostolic. He was now leading by compulsion, a reasonable and
natural life, and one not so much at variance with the simple
principles of his religion, whatever it might be with those of the then
establishment. His horses and carriages