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Here ended the narrative of Mervyn. Surely its incidents
were of no common kind. During this season of
pestilence, my opportunities of observation had been numerous,
and I had not suffered them to pass unimproved.
The occurrences which fell within my own experience, bore
a general resemblance to those which had just been related,
but they did not hinder the latter from striking on my mind
with all the force of novelty. They served no end, but as
vouchers for the truth of the tale.

Surely the youth had displayed inimitable and heroic
qualities. His courage was the growth of benevolence and
reason, and not the child of insensibility and the nursling
of habit. He had been qualified for the encounter of gigantic
dangers by no laborious education. He stepped forth
upon the stage, unfurnished, by anticipation or experience,
with the means of security against fraud; and yet, by the
aid of pure intentions, had frustrated the wiles of an accomplished
and veteran deceiver.

I blessed the chance which placed the youth under my
protection. When I reflected on that tissue of nice contingencies
which led him to my door, and enabled me to
save from death a being of such rare endowments, my
heart overflowed with joy, not unmingled with regrets and
trepidation. How many have been cut off by this disease,

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in their career of virtue and their blossom time of genius!
How many deeds of heroism and self-devotion are ravished
from existence, and consigned to hopeless oblivion!

I had saved the life of this youth. This was not the
limit of my duty or my power. Could I not render that
life profitable to himself and to mankind? The gains of
my profession were slender; but these gains were sufficient
for his maintenance as well as my own. By residing with
me, partaking my instructions, and reading my books, he
would, in a few years, be fitted for the practice of physic.
A science, whose truths are so conducive to the welfare of
mankind, and which comprehends the whole system of nature,
could not but gratify a mind so beneficent and strenuous
as his.

This scheme occurred to me as soon as the conclusion of
his tale allowed me to think. I did not immediately mention
it, since the approbation of my wife, of whose concurrence,
however, I entertained no doubt, was previously to
be obtained. Dismissing it, for the present, from my
thoughts, I reverted to the incidents of his tale.

The lady whom Welbeck had betrayed and deserted,
was not unknown to me. I was but too well acquainted
with her fate. If she had been single in calamity, her tale
would have been listened to with insupportable sympathy;
but the frequency of the spectacle of distress, seems to lessen
the compassion with which it is reviewed. Now that
those scenes are only remembered, my anguish is greater
than when they were witnessed. Then every new day
was only a repetition of the disasters of the foregoing. My
sensibility, if not extinguished, was blunted; and I gazed
upon the complicated ills of poverty and sickness with a
degree of unconcern, on which I should once have reflected
with astonishment.

The fate of Clemenza Lodi was not, perhaps, more signal
than many which have occurred. It threw detestable light
upon the character of Welbeck, and showed him to be more
inhuman than the tale of Mervyn had evinced him to be.
That man, indeed, was hitherto imperfectly seen. The
time had not come which should fully unfold the enormity
of his transgressions, and the complexity of his frauds.

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There lived in a remote quarter of the city, a woman, by
name Villars, who passed for the widow of an English
officer. Her manners and mode of living were specious.
She had three daughters, well trained in the school of
fashion, and elegant in person, manners, and dress. They
had lately arrived from Europe, and for a time, received
from their neighbors that respect to which their education
and fortune appeared to lay claim.

The fallacy of their pretensions slowly appeared. It began
to be suspected that their subsistence was derived not from
pension or patrimony, but from the wages of pollution.
Their habitation was clandestinely frequented by men who
were unfaithful to their secret; one of these was allied to
me by ties, which authorized me in watching his steps and
detecting his errors, with a view to his reformation. From
him I obtained a knowledge of the genuine character of
these women.

A man like Welbeck, who was the slave of depraved
appetites, could not fail of being quickly satiated with innocence
and beauty. Some accident introduced him to the
knowledge of this family, and the youngest daughter found
him a proper subject on which to exercise her artifices. It
was to the frequent demands made upon his purse, by this
woman, that part of the embarrassments in which Mervyn
found him involved, are to be ascribed.

To this circumstance must likewise be imputed his anxiety
to transfer to some other the possession of the unhappy
stranger. Why he concealed from Mervyn his connexion
with Lucy Villars, may be easily imagined. His silence,
with regard to Clemenza's asylum, will not create surprise,
when it is told that she was placed with Mrs. Villars. On
what conditions she was received under this roof, cannot be
so readily conjectured. It is obvious, however, to suppose,
that advantage was to be taken of her ignorance and weakness,
and that they hoped, in time, to make her an associate
in their profligate schemes.

The appearance of pestilence, meanwhile, threw them
into panic, and they hastened to remove from danger. Mrs.
Villars appears to have been a woman of no ordinary views.
She stooped to the vilest means of amassing money; but
this money was employed to secure to herself and her

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daughters the benefits of independence. She purchased
the house which she occupied in the city, and a mansion in
the environs, well built and splendidly furnished. To the
latter, she and her family, of which the Italian girl was now
a member, retired at the close of July.

I have mentioned that the source of my intelligence was
a kinsman, who had been drawn from the paths of sobriety
and rectitude, by the impetuosity of youthful passions. He
had power to confess and deplore, but none to repair his
errors. One of these women held him by a spell which
he struggled in vain to dissolve, and by which, in spite of
resolutions and remorses, he was drawn to her feet, and
made to sacrifice to her pleasure, his reputation and his
fortune.

My house was his customary abode during those intervals
in which he was persuaded to pursue his profession. Some
time before the infection began its progress, he had disappeared.
No tidings were received of him, till a messenger
arrived, entreating my assistance. I was conducted to the
house of Mrs. Villars, in which I found no one but my kinsman.
Here it seems he had immured himself from my
inquiries, and on being seized by the reigning malady, had
been deserted by the family, who, ere they departed, informed
me by a messenger of his condition.

Despondency combined with his disease to destroy him.
Before he died, he informed me fully of the character of
his betrayers. The late arrival, name, and personal condition
of Clemenza Lodi were related. Welbeck was not
named, but was described in terms, which, combined with
the narrative of Mervyn, enabled me to recognise the paramour
of Lucy Villars in the man whose crimes had been
the principal theme of our discourse.

Mervyn's curiosity was greatly roused when I intimated
my acquaintance with the fate of Clemenza. In answer to
his eager interrogations, I related what I knew. The tale
plunged him into reverie. Recovering, at length, from his
thoughtfulness, he spoke.

Her condition is perilous. The poverty of Welbeck will
drive him far from her abode. Her profligate protectors
will entice her or abandon her to ruin. Cannot she be
saved?

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I know not, answered I, by what means.

The means are obvious. Let her remove to some other
dwelling. Let her be apprized of the vices of those who
surround her. Let her be entreated to fly. The will need
only be inspired, the danger need only be shown, and she is
safe, for she will remove beyond its reach.

Thou art an adventurous youth. Who wilt thou find to
undertake the office? Who will be persuaded to enter the
house of a stranger, seek without an introduction the presence
of this girl, tell her that the house she inhabits is a
house of prostitution, prevail on her to believe the tale, and
persuade her to accompany him? Who will open his house
to the fugitive? Whom will you convince that her illicit intercourse
with Welbeck, of which the opprobrious tokens
cannot be concealed, has not fitted her for the company of
prostitutes, and made her unworthy of protection? Who
will adopt into their family, a stranger, whose conduct has
incurred infamy, and whose present associates have, no
doubt, made her worthy of the curse?

True. These are difficulties which I did not foresee.
Must she then perish! Shall not something be done to
rescue her from infamy and guilt?

It is neither in your power nor in mine to do any thing.

The lateness of the hour put an end to our conversation
and summoned us to repose. I seized the first opportunity
of imparting to my wife the scheme which had occurred,
relative to our guest; with which, as I expected, she readily
concurred. In the morning, I mentioned it to Mervyn. I
dwelt upon the benefits that adhered to the medical profession,
the power which it confers of lightening the distresses of
our neighbors, the dignity which popular opinion annexes to
it, the avenue which it opens to the acquisition of competence,
the freedom from servile cares which attends it, and
the means of intellectual gratification with which it supplies
us.

As I spoke, his eyes sparkled with joy. Yes, said he
with vehemence, I willingly embrace your offer. I accept
this benefit, because I know that if my pride should refuse
it, I should prove myself less worthy than you think, and
give you pain, instead of that pleasure which I am bound to
confer. I would enter on the duties and studies of my new

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profession immediately, but somewhat is due to Mr. Hadwin
and his daughters. I cannot vanquish my inquietudes
respecting them, but by returning to Malverton and ascertaining
their state with my own eyes. You know in what
circumstances I parted with Wallace and Mr. Hadwin. I
am not sure, that either of them ever reached home, or that
they did not carry the infection along with them. I now
find myself sufficiently strong to perform the journey, and
purposed to have acquainted you, at this interview, with my
intentions. An hour's delay is superfluous, and I hope you
will consent to my setting out immediately. Rural exercise
and air, for a week or fortnight, will greatly contribute
to my health.

No objection could be made to this scheme. His narrative
had excited no common affection in our bosoms for
the Hadwins. His visit could not only inform us of their
true state, but would dispel that anxiety which they could
not but entertain respecting our guest. It was a topic of
some surprise that neither Wallace nor Hadwin had returned
to the city, with a view to obtain some tidings of their
friend. It was more easy to suppose them to have been detained
by some misfortune, than by insensibility or indolence.
In a few minutes Mervyn bade us adieu, and set out upon
his journey, promising to acquaint us with the state of affairs,
as soon as possible after his arrival. We parted from him
with reluctance, and found no consolation but in the prospect
of his speedy return.

During his absence, conversation naturally turned upon
those topics which were suggested by the narrative and deportment
of this youth. Different conclusions were formed
by his two auditors. They had both contracted a deep interest
in his welfare, and an ardent curiosity as to those particulars
which his unfinished story had left in obscurity.
The true character and actual condition of Welbeck, were
themes of much speculation. Whether he were dead or
alive, near or distant from his ancient abode, was a point on
which neither Mervyn, nor any of those with whom I had
means of intercourse, afforded any information. Whether
he had shared the common fate, and had been carried by
the collectors of the dead from the highway or the hovel to
the pits opened alike for the rich and the poor, the known

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and the unknown; whether he had escaped to a foreign
shore, or were destined to reappear upon this stage, were
questions involved in uncertainty.

The disappearance of Watson would, at a different time,
have excited much inquiry and suspicion; but as this had
taken place on the eve of the epidemic, his kindred and
friends would acquiesce, without scruple, in the belief that
he had been involved in the general calamity, and was to be
numbered amongst the earliest victims. Those of his profession
usually resided in the street where the infection began,
and where its ravages had been most destructive; and
this circumstance would corroborate the conclusions of his
friends.

I did not perceive any immediate advantage to flow from
imparting the knowledge I had lately gained to others.
Shortly after Mervyn's departure to Malverton, I was visited
by Wortley. Inquiring for my guest, I told him that, having
recovered his health, he had left my house. He repeated
his invectives against the villany of Welbeck, his suspicions
of Mervyn, and his wishes for another interview with the
youth. Why had I suffered him to depart, and whither
had he gone?

He has gone for a short time into the country. I expect
him to return in less than a week, when you will meet with
him here as often as you please, for I expect him to take up
his abode in this house.

Much astonishment and disapprobation were expressed
by my friend. I hinted that the lad had made disclosures
to me, which justified my confidence in his integrity. These
proofs of his honesty were not of a nature to be indiscriminately
unfolded. Mervyn had authorized me to communicate
so much of his story to Wortley, as would serve to vindicate
him from the charge of being Welbeck's copartner in
fraud; but this end would only be counteracted by an imperfect
tale, and the full recital, though it might exculpate
Mervyn, might produce inconveniences by which this advantage
would be outweighed.

Wortley, as might be naturally expected, was by no
means satisfied with this statement. He suspected that
Mervyn was a wily imposter; that he had been trained in

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the arts of fraud, under an accomplished teacher; that the
tale which he had told to me, was a tissue of ingenious and
plausible lies; that the mere assertions, however plausible
and solemn, of one like him, whose conduct had incurred
such strong suspicions, were unworthy of the least credit.

It cannot be denied, continued my friend, that he lived
with Welbeck at the time of his elopement; that they disappeared
together; that they entered a boat, at Pine-street
wharf, at midnight; that this boat was discovered by the
owner in the possession of a fisherman at Red-bank, who
affirmed that he had found it stranded near his door, the day
succeeding that on which they disappeared. Of all this, I
can supply you with incontestible proof. If, after this proof,
you can give credit to his story, I shall think you made of
very perverse and credulous materials.

The proof you mention, said I, will only enhance his
credibility. All the facts which you have stated, have been
admitted by him. They constitute an essential portion of
his narrative.

What then is the inference? Are not these evidences
of a compact between them? Has he not acknowledged
this compact in confessing that he knew Welbeck was my
debtor; that he was apprized of his flight, but that, (what
matchless effrontery!) he had promised secrecy, and would,
by no means, betray him? You say he means to return;
but of that I doubt. You will never see his face more. He
is too wise to thrust himself again into the noose; but I do
not utterly despair of lighting upon Welbeck. Old Thetford,
Jamieson and I, have sworn to hunt him through the
world. I have strong hopes that he has not strayed far.
Some intelligence has lately been received, which has enabled
us to place our hounds upon the scent. He may
double and skulk; but if he does not fall into our toils at
last, he will have the agility and cunning, as well as the
malignity of devils.

The vengeful disposition thus betrayed by Wortley, was
not without excuse. The vigor of his days had been spent
in acquiring a slender capital; his diligence and honesty
had succeeded, and he had lately thought his situation such
as to justify marriage with an excellent woman, to whom
he had for years been betrothed, but from whom his

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poverty had hitherto compelled him to live separate.
Scarcely had this alliance taken place, and the full career
of nuptial enjoyments begun, when his ill fate exposed him
to the frauds of Welbeck, and brought him, in one evil
hour, to the brink of insolvency.

Jamieson and Thetford, however, were rich, and I had
not till now been informed that they had reasons for pursuing
Welbeck with peculiar animosity. The latter was the
uncle of him whose fate had been related by Mervyn, and
was one of those who employed money, not as the medium
of traffic, but as in itself a commodity. He had neither
wines nor cloths, to transmute into silver. He thought it
a tedious process to exchange to day, one hundred dollars
for a cask or bale, and tomorrow exchange the bale or
cask for one hundred and ten dollars. It was better to give
the hundred for a piece of paper, which, carried forthwith
to the money changers, he could procure a hundred
twenty-three and three-fourths. In short, this man's coffers
were supplied by the despair of honest men and the stratagems
of rogues. I did not immediately suspect how this
man's prudence and indefatigable attention to his own interest
should allow him to become the dupe of Welbeck.

What, said I, is old Thetford's claim upon Welbeck?

It is a claim, he replied, that, if it ever be made good,
will doom Welbeck to imprisonment and wholesome labor
for life.

How? Surely it is nothing more than debt.

Have you not heard? But that is no wonder. Happily
you are a stranger to mercantile anxieties and revolutions.
Your fortune does not rest on a basis which an untoward
blast may sweep away, or four strokes of a pen may demolish.
That hoary dealer in suspicions was persuaded to
put his hand to three notes for eight hundred dollars each.
The eight was then dexterously prolonged to eighteen; they
were duly deposited in time and place, and the next day
Welbeck was credited for fifty-three hundred and seventy-three,
which an hour after, were told out to his messenger.
Hard to say whether the old man's grief, shame or rage, be
uppermost. He disdains all comfort but revenge, and that
he will procure at any price. Jamieson, who deals in the

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same stuff with Thetford, was outwitted in the same manner,
to the same amount, and on the same day.

This Welbeck must have powers above the common rate
of mortals. Grown grey in studying the follies and the
stratagems of men, these veterans were overreached. No
one pities them. 'Twere well if his artifices had been
limited to such, and he had spared the honest and the poor.
It is for his injuries to men who have earned their scanty
subsistence without forfeiting their probity, that I hate him,
and shall exult to see him suffer all the rigors of the law.
Here Wortley's engagements compelled him to take his
leave.