n near her since, yet
the elder brother, the Mr. Beaufort, always evinces his respect to them
by the yearly present of a fat buck. She then comments on the ups and
downs of life; and observes that it is a pity her son Tom preferred the
medical profession to the church. Their cousin, Mr. Beaufort, has two
livings. To all this Mr. Roger says nothing, except an occasional "Thank
Heaven, I want no man's help! I am as well to do as my neighbours. But
that's neither here nor there."

There are some readers--they who do not thoroughly consider the truths
of this life--who will yet ask, "But how is Lord Lilburne punished?"
Punished?--ay, and indeed, how? The world, and not the poet, must answer
that question. Crime is punished from without. If Vice is punished, it
must be from within. The Lilburnes of this hollow world are not to be
pelted with the soft roses of poetical justice. They who ask why he is
not punished may be the first to doff the hat to the equipage in which
my lord lolls through the streets! The only offence he habitually
committed of a nature to bring the penalties of detection, he renounced
the moment he perceived there was clanger of discovery! he gambled no
more after Philip's hint. He was one of those, some years after, most
bitter upon a certain nobleman charged with unfair play--one of those
who took the accusation as proved; and whose authority settled all
disputes thereon.

But, if no thunderbolt falls on Lord Lilburne's head--if he is fated
still to eat, and drink, and to die on his bed, he may yet taste the
ashes of the Dead Sea fruit which his hands have culled. He is
grown old. His infirmities increase upon him; his sole resources of
pleasure--the senses--are dried up. For him there is no longer savour
in the viands, or sparkle in the wine,--man delights him not, nor woman
neither. He is alone with Old Age, and in the sight of Death.

With the exception of Simon, who died in his chair not many days after
Sidney's marriage, Robert Beaufort is the only one among the more
important agents left at the last scene of this history who has passed
from our mortal stage.

After the marriage of his daughter he for some time moped and drooped.
But Philip learned from Mr. Blackwell of the will that Robert had made
previously to the lawsuit; and by which, had the lawsuit failed,
his rights would yet have been preserved to him. Deeply moved by a
generosity he could not have expected from his uncle, and not paus