the family tomb in St. Paul's churchyard.
My confession is made. After the funeral, my lady and Josephine gave me
plenty of money. 'Go,' said they, 'to some other city, and take up your
abode; you will never the mention the manner in which Mr. Franklin came
to his death, for such a disclosure would bring your own neck to the
halter, without injuring us--_your hand_ alone did the deed!' I went to
Boston, and gave birth to a stillborn child; my money soon went and I
became a common prostitute.--Disease soon overtook me--but why dwell
upon the misfortunes and wanderings of a wretch like me? A week ago, I
found myself again in New York, the inmate of this garret; to-day I felt
myself dying, and sent for a clergyman to hear my dying confession. I am
exhausted; I can say no more--God have mercy on me!'

'One word more,' cried the rector; 'by what name were you known to the
Franklins?'

'Mary Welch,' she replied, faintly.

The wretched creature soon afterwards breathed her last.

The Doctor left a sufficient sum of money with the inmates of the house
to defray the expenses of the woman's funeral, and took his departure
from that scene of wretchedness. As he retraced his steps to his own
dwelling, his thoughts were of the most painful nature; the woman's
confession, implicating Josephine and her mother in the crime of murder,
horrified him, and gave rise to the most terrible reflections. In his
own heart he could not doubt the truth of the wretched woman's
statement, made as it was on her death-bed, and just as she was about to
be ushered into the presence of her Maker.

'My God!' thought the rector, entering his study, and throwing himself
distractedly into a seat--'to what a dreadful disclosure have I
listened--Josephine the murderess of her father! Mrs. Franklin the
murderess of her husband! Can it be possible?--Alas, I cannot doubt it;
for why should that woman, at the awful moment of her dissolution, tell
a falsehood? I remember now the circumstances of Mr. Franklin's death;
it was sudden and unaccountable, and privately spoken of with suspicion,
as to its cause; yet those suspicions never assumed any definite
shape.--The poor gentleman was buried without any post mortem
examination, and the singular circumstances of his death were gradually
forgotten. But now the awful mystery is revealed to me; he met his death
at the hands of that miserable woman, at the instigation of Josephine
and her mother.'

But the Doctor's