rauford; "and in interceding for the
poor fellow, whose pardon I am happy to say I procured, I could not help
declaring that, if I were placed in the same circumstances, I am not
sure that my crime would not have been the same."

"No man could feel sure!" said Glendower, dejectedly. Delighted and
surprised with this confession, Crauford continued: "I believe,--I
fear not; thank God, our virtue can never be so tried: but even you,
Glendower, even you, philosopher, moralist as you are,--just, good,
wise, religious,--even you might be tempted, if you saw your angel wife
dying for want of the aid, the very sustenance, necessary to existence,
and your innocent and beautiful daughter stretch her little hands to you
and cry in the accents of famine for bread."

The student made no reply for a few moments, but averted his
countenance, and then in a slow tone said, "Let us drop this subject:
none know their strength till they are tried; self-confidence should
accompany virtue, but not precede it."

A momentary flash broke from the usually calm, cold eye of Richard
Crauford. "He is mine," thought he: "the very name of want abases his
pride: what will the reality do? O human nature, how I know and mock
thee!"

"You are right," said Crauford, aloud; "let us talk of the pamphlet."

And after a short conversation upon indifferent subjects, the visitor
departed. Early the next morning was Mr. Crauford seen on foot, taking
his way to the bookseller whose address he had learnt. The bookseller
was known as a man of a strongly evangelical bias. "We must insinuate a
lie or two," said Crauford, inly, "about Glendower's principles. He! he!
it will be a fine stroke of genius to make the upright tradesman suffer
Glendower to starve out of a principle of religion. But who would have
thought my prey had been so easily snared? why, if I had proposed the
matter last night, I verily think he would have agreed to it."

Amusing himself with these thoughts, Crauford arrived at the
bookseller's. There he found Fate had saved him from one crime at least.
The whole house was in confusion: the bookseller had that morning died
of an apoplectic fit.

"Good God! how shocking!" said Crauford to the foreman; "but he was a
most worthy man, and Providence could no longer spare him. The ways of
Heaven are inscrutable! Oblige me with three copies of that precious
tract termed the 'Divine Call.' I should like to be allowed permission
to attend the funeral o