luxury, he had depended entirely
upon his salary for subsistence; and now that he was turned from his
sacred occupation, dishonored and disgraced, he found himself almost
penniless. He had no friends to whom he could apply for assistance, for
his conduct had been noised abroad, and those who formerly had loved and
reverenced him, now turned their backs upon him with cold contempt.

Instead of endeavouring to retrieve his fallen reputation by repentance
and good conduct, he no sooner found himself shorn of his clerical
honors, than he abandoned himself to every species of degraded
dissipation. In two weeks after his removal from the church he was
without a home; then he became the associate of the most vile.
Occasionally he would venture to the house of some one of his former
congregation, and in abject tones implore the gift of some trifling sum;
moved by his miserable appearance, though disgusted by his follies, the
gentleman would perhaps hand him a dollar or two, and sternly bid him
come there no more. Sinclair would then hasten to the low pot house in
Water Street which he made his resort, and amid his vagabond companions
expend the money in the lowest debauchery.

Perhaps the reader may say the thing is impossible--no man could fall so
rapidly from a high and honorable position, as to become in a few short
weeks the degraded creature Sinclair is now represented to be. But we
maintain that there is nothing exaggerated in the picture we have drawn.
Here is a church congregation eminently aristocratic, wealthy, and
rigidly particular in the nicest points of propriety. The pastor proves
himself unworthy of his sacred trust; he disgraces himself and them by
indulgence in vice, which is betrayed by his looks and actions. Too
haughty and too impatient to take the erring brother by the hand, and
endeavor to reclaim him, they at once cast him off with disgust, and
fill his place with a more faithful pastor. Humbled and degraded,
rendered desperate by his unhappy situation, the miserable man abandons
himself yet more recklessly to the vice; his self-respect is gone, the
finger of scorn is pointed at him, and to drown all consciousness of his
downfall, he becomes a constant tipple and an irreclaimable sot.

The low groggery in Water street where poor Sinclair made his temporary
home, was extensively known as the 'All Night House,' from the fact of
its being kept open night and day. As this establishment was quite a
feature