Wharton he knew that he was too late. Without asking any other question than, "Is Vivian alive?" he pressed forwards. The surgeon, who was the next person he saw, gave him no hopes of his friend's recovery, but said he might last till night, or linger perhaps for a day or two. Vivian had by this time recovered his senses and his speech; but when Russell entered the room where he lay, he was so much struck by the grief in his countenance that he could not recollect any one of the many things he had to say. Russell, the firm Russell, was now quite overcome.

"Yes, my dear friend," said Vivian; "this is the end of all your care--of all your hopes of me!--Oh, my poor, poor mother! What will become of her! Where can we find consolation for her!--You and Selina Sidney! You know how fond my mother was of her--how fond she was of my mother--till I, the cause of evil to all my friends, separated them.

You must reunite them. You must repair all. This hope--this hope of your happiness, my beloved friend, will soothe my last moments!----How much happier Selina will be with you than----"

Russell sobbed aloud.--"Yes, yield to your feelings, for I know how strong they are," said Vivian: "you, that have always felt more for me than I have ever felt for myself! But it is well for you that my life ends; for I have never been any thing but a torment and a disgrace to you!--And yet I had good dispositions!--but there is no time for regret about myself; I have others to think of, better worth thinking of."

Vivian called for pen, ink, and paper, had himself raised in his bed, and supported, whilst he wrote to Selina, and to his mother.

"Do not stop me," cried he to Russell; "it is the only act of friendship--the only thing I can do in this world now with pleasure, and let me do it."

His notes contained nearly what he had just said to Russell--he put them open into his friend's hand; then, good-natured to the last, Vivian took up his pen again, with no small difficulty, and wrote a few affectionate words to his wife. "She _well_ deserves this from me," said he. "Be a friend to her, Russell--when I am gone, she will, I know, want consolation," After Russell had a.s.sured him that he would do all he desired, Vivian said, "I believe there is no one else in the world who will regret my death, except, perhaps, Lady Julia Lidhurst. How generous she was to forgive me!--Tell her, I remembered it when I was dying!--Weakness, weakness of mind!--the cause of all my errors!----Oh, Russell! how well you knew me from the first!--But all is over now!--My experience can be of no use to me--Every thing swims before my eyes.----One comfort is, I have not the blood of a fellow-creature to answer for. My greatest error was making that profligate man my friend--he was my ruin. I little thought, a few years ago, that I should die by his hand--but I forgive him, as I hope to be forgiven myself! Is the clergyman who was sent for come?--My dear Russell, this would be too severe a task for you.--He is come? Then let me see him."

Vivian was left for some time to his private devotions. The clergyman afterwards summoned Russell to return:--he found his friend calmed and resigned. Vivian stretched out his hand--thanked him once more--and expired!

"Oh! worthy of a better fate!" thought Russell.--"With such a heart!--With such talents!--And so young!--With only one fault of character!--Oh, my friend! is it all over?--and all in vain?"

Vivian's mother and widow arrived just at this moment; and Russell and Lord Glis...o...b..ry, who followed breathless, could not stop them from entering the apartment. The mother's grief bordered on distraction; but it found relief in tears and cries. Lady Sarah shed no tear, and uttered no exclamation; but advancing, insensible of all opposition, to the bed on which her dead husband lay, tried whether there was any pulse, any breath left; then knelt down beside him in silent devotion. Lord Glis...o...b..ry, striking his forehead continually, and striding up and down the room, repeated, "I killed him!--I killed him!--I was the cause of his death!--My victim!--My victim!--But take her away!--Take _her_ away--I cannot.--For mercy's sake, force her away, Mr. Russell!"

"There is no need of force," said Lady Sarah, rising, as her father approached; "I am going to leave my husband for ever."----Then, turning to Mr. Russell, she inquired if his friend had left any message or letter for her--desired to see the letter--retired with it--still without shedding a tear--a few hours afterwards was taken ill, and, before night, was delivered of a dead son.

Lady Sarah survived, but has never since appeared in what is called the WORLD.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] It is to be regretted that a word, used in the days of Charles II.

and still intelligible in our times, should have become obsolete; _viz_.

the feminine for intriguer--an _intriguess_. See the Life of Lord Keeper North, whose biographer, in speaking of Lord Keeper Bridgeman, says, "And what was worst of all, his family was no way fit for that place (of Chancellor), his lady being a most violent INTRIGUESS in business."

Had Mr. Walsingham lived in Ireland, even there he might have found in the dialect of the lower Irish both a substantive and a verb, which would have expressed his idea. The editor once described an individual of the Beaumont species to an Irish labourer, and asked what he would call such a person--"I'd call her a policizer--I would say she was fond of policizing."

[2] Life of Admiral Roddam, Monthly Magazine.

[3] This reminds us of an expression of Charles the Second--"It is very strange, that every one of my friends keeps a _tame knave_"--_Note by the Editor_.

[4] Young wild ducks.

[5] _Note by the Editor_.--It is much to be regretted that the original papers belonging to this correspondence, including all the notes and letters, which Mrs. Beaumont either wrote herself, or those, still more important, which she caused to be written by her confidential amanuensis, which would doubtless form all together a body _of domestic diplomacy equally curious and useful_, are irrecoverably lost to the world. After the most diligent search, the Editor is compelled to rest under the persuasion that they must all have been collected and committed to the flames by the too great prudence of the princ.i.p.al party concerned. Had they been trusted to the discretion of a _friend_, the public would, doubtless, long since have been favoured with the whole.

[6] See Bacon on Cunning.

[7] See Annual Register, 1761, for an entertaining account of the trial of Mr. M'Naughton.

[8] Supposed to be from the pen of Mr. Twigg, who was presented with a living in the gift of Mrs. Beaumont.

[9] Literally copied from a family receipt-book in the author's possession.

[10] From some lines of Delille's, on Rousseau, concluding with the following:--

"Malheureux! le trepas est donc ton seule asile! Ah! dans la tombe, au moins, repose enfin tranquille! Ce beau lac, ces flots purs, ces fleurs, ces gazons frais, Ces pales peupliers, tout t'invite a la paix. Respire, donc, enfin, de tes tristes chimeres. Vois accourir vers toi les epoux, et les meres. Contemple les amans, qui viennent chaque jour, Verser sur ton tombeau les larmes de l'amour! Vois ce groupe d'enfans, se jouant sous l'ombrage, Qui de leur liberte viennent te rendre hommage; Et dis, en contemplant ce spectacle enchanteur, _Je ne fus point heureux, mais j'ai fait leur bonheur_."

Ill-fated mortal! doom'd, alas! to find The grave sole refuge from thy restless mind. This turf, these flow'rs, this lake, this silent wave, These poplars pale, that murmur o'er your grave, Invite repose.--Enjoy the tranquil sh.o.r.e, Where vain chimeras shall torment no more. See to thy tomb the wife and mother fly, And pour their sorrows where thy ashes lie! Here the fond youth, and here the blushing maid, Whisper their loves to thy congenial shade; And grateful children smiling through their tears, Bless the loved champion of their youthful years: Then cry, triumphant, from thy honour'd grave-- _Joyless I lived, but joy to others gave_. C.S.E.

THE END.