and this reflection
increased my misery. For my dishonesty, I had been justly and severely
punished: whether I was ever to be rewarded for my subsequent honesty
still remained to be proved; but I knew very well that most people would
have written off such a reward as a bad debt.

Once I consulted with Mr Masterton as to the chance of there being any
information relative to my birth in the packet left in the charge of Mr
Cophagus. "I have been thinking over it, my dear Newland," said he,
"and I wish I could give you any hopes, but I cannot. Having succeeded
with regard to your little protege, you are now so sanguine with respect
to yourself, that a trifle light as air is magnified, as the poet says,
`into confirmation strong as holy writ.' Now, consider, somebody calls
at the Foundling to ask after you--which I acknowledge to be a
satisfactory point--his name is taken down by an illiterate brute, as
Derbennon; but how you can decide upon the real name, and assume it is
De Benyon, is really more than I can imagine, allowing every scope to
fancy. It is in the first instance, therefore, you are at fault, as
there are many other names which may have been given by the party who
called; nay, more, is it at all certain that the party, in a case like
this, would give his real name? Let us follow it up. Allowing the name
to have been De Benyon, you discover that one brother is not married,
and that there are some papers belonging to him in the possession of an
old woman who dies; and upon these slight grounds what would you attempt
to establish that because that person was known not to have married,
therefore _he was married_ (for you are stated to have been born in
wedlock); and because there is a packet of papers belonging to him in
the possession of another party, that this packet of papers _must refer_
to you. Do you not perceive how you are led away by your excited
feelings on the subject?"

I could not deny that Mr Masterton's arguments had demolished the whole
fabric which I had built up. "You are right, sir," replied I
mournfully. "I wish I were dead."

"Never speak in that way, Mr Newland, before me," replied the old
lawyer in an angry tone, "without you wish to forfeit my good opinion."

"I beg your pardon, sir; but I am most miserable. I am avoided by all
who know me--thrown out of all society--I have not a parent or a
relative. Isolated being as I am, what have I to live for?"

"My dear fellow, you ar