art
you pretend to, O do not rob a poor, friendless creature, but let me
depart!"

"When did you receive your last letter from him?" said Melchior.

"It is now seven months--dated from Bahia," replied she, pulling it out
of her reticule, and covering her face with her handkerchief.

Melchior caught the address, and then turned the letter over on the
other side, as it lay on the table. "Mrs Watson," said he.

"Heavens! do you know my name?" cried the woman.

"Mrs Watson, I do not require to read your son's letter--I know its
contents." He then turned over his book, and studied for a few seconds.
"Your son is alive."

"Thank God!" cried she, clasping her hands, and dropping her reticule.

"But you must not expect his return too soon--he is well employed."

"Oh! I care not--he is alive--he is alive! God bless you--God bless
you!"

Melchior made a sign to me, pointing to the five guineas and the
reticule; and I contrived to slip them into her reticule, while she
sobbed in her handkerchief.

"Enough, madam; you must go, for others require my aid."

The poor woman rose, and offered the ring.

"Nay, nay, I want not thy money; I take from the rich, that I may
distribute to the poor--but not from the widow in affliction. Open thy
bag." The widow took up her bag, and opened it. Melchior dropped in the
ring, taking his wand from the table, waved it, and touched the bag. "As
thou art honest, so may thy present wants be relieved. Seek, and thou
shalt find."

The widow left the room with tears of gratitude; and I must say, that I
was affected with the same. When she had gone, I observed to Melchior,
that up to the present he had toiled for nothing.

"Very true, Japhet; but depend upon it, if I assisted that poor woman
from no other feelings than interested motives, I did well; but I tell
thee candidly, I did it from compassion. We are odd mixtures of good and
evil. I wage war with fools and knaves, but not with all the world. I
gave that money freely--she required it; and it may be put as a set-off
against my usual system of fraud, or it may not--at all events, I
pleased myself."

"But you told her that her son was alive."

"Very true, and he may be dead; but is it not well to comfort her--even
for a short time, to relieve that suspense which is worse than the
actual knowledge of his death? Sufficient for the day is the evil
thereof."

It would almost have appeared that this good action of Melchior met with
it