themselves have not been so fortunate as to meet with any such cases in the course of their own experience. Our only answer shall be to tell them what happened to one of Dr. Warton's curates. He had read the stories in manuscript, and doubted, we believe, whether such conversations ever really occurred; but Dr. Warton being confined by a long sickness, and the whole business of visitation devolving upon this zealous young clergyman, he soon discovered that he had full scope for the employment of every process detailed in those manuscripts. And we remember very well, with what great pleasure our beloved father, unable to stir out himself, received this testimony almost daily from the mouth of his

curate.

Thus then, for the present, we take our leave.

DEATH-BED SCENES.

CHAPTER I.

MR. MARSDEN-OBDURACY.

1. The Marsdens.

As I was returning home one day from my morning's walk, through the main street of the village, one of our apothecaries ran from his house across the way, and stopped me, to mention to me the extraordinary case of Mr. Marsden, who, as he affirmed, was fast approaching his latter end. This Mr. Marsden was a shopkeeper, in a good way of business; and having plenty of money at command, he resorted continually to the ale-house and gin-shop, and thus reduced himself to the hopeless condition in which he now lay. "But what is extraordinary," said Mr. Benson, "is this: you might suppose that such a man would be glad to live as long as possible; far from it, however; for if so, he would be glad, also, of medical help; but I can never get at him, to do any thing for him, except by stratagem or by force. To-day, I have failed in both those methods; and the man, being left to himself, will certainly die very soon, however unfit he may be for it. And now I have told you this fact, and the undoubted speedy consequence, I leave the rest to yourself. You will do what is right, I know." "I will go to him this very

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moment," I replied. "I hope he will see you," he said, "but I much fear that he will refuse."

Upon this I turned back immediately, and went to Mr. Marsden's house, which was close at hand, in this very street. His wife, when I entered, was serving some 'customers in the shop, and she desired me to walk into the back room for a few moments. Here I found their daughter, a pretty young woman, and their only child, out of many, then at home, who curtsied to me as I came in. I questioned her at once about her father's sickness, and the probable danger of it; but she was at first very reserved, and seemed reluctant to talk with me; and I concluded that she felt but little for his melancholy situation. When Mrs. Marsden joined us, she was loquaciously communicative, and made no secret of any thing, but declared, without concealment or palliation, what she conceived to be the cause of her husband's disorder. "He has killed himself with drink, Sir," she said; "there is no doubt of that; but I will say this for him, that he was as sober a man as any in the world, till they chose him for a constable, which took him out of his proper business, and forced him to frequent public houses, where he got those habits of drinking, that have never since left him. But I will go up to him, Sir, and tell him that you are here; he will not see the doctor, if he can help it; and I fear I shall have great difficulty in persuading him to see you, Sir; but I will do my best."

Mrs. Marsden was supposed to be almost as fond of drinking as her poor husband, and her face seemed to betray the indulgence of some propensity of that sort, being marked all over with large red blotches. She was very tall, and excessively thin, as dram

drinkers generally are, with sharp nose and chin, her cheek bones projecting considerably, and her lips having shrunk away from her teeth. It was evident, however, that she was not quite embruted by that vice; for she shewed a great desire to take me upstairs, and to give me an opportunity of speaking to the sick man, which implied that she did not wish him to die in his present state.

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During her absence, I tried again to enter into conversation with the young woman. "Your poor father," I said, was, unfortunately, not in the habit. of coming to church; did he study the Bible at home?" "No, Sir," she answered now with freedom; "if he could have helped it he would not have suffered such a book in his house. I have got one, Sir, but I am forced to conceal it very carefully. One day he surprised me reading it, and he snatched it out of my hands with great fury, and threw it upon the fire: but my mother saved it for me. To church I have never once been since I left school; I could not go there without very great danger; I believe he would almost kill me.' 'You are very much to be pitied," I said. "When our duty to God and our duty to our parents seem to be at variance with each other, it is a very painful thing. I have no hesitation, however, in telling you, that if it be clearly made out in any instance that we owe a duty to God, the duty must be performed, in spite of parents, and all the world besides; and even with some risk to ourselves. Would you steal or commit any other crime, if your father ordered you to do so?" No, Sir," she replied with quickness, "that I never would." you allow," I said, "that in some cases you may dis

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"Then

obey a parent, and ought to do so.

"Yes, Sir," she

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