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 . 21, 1861.]

is a serious matter when the water-bottle does not dilute the feverish consequences of the night’s excitement, and soda water absolveth not on the morrow. Westby lay that night in a horsehair shirt of remorse, and made great and audible confession in his small attic the next morning.

“I’m an ass and a knave!” this was the burden of the confession, amid the splish-splash of the cold water, and the work of razor and brushes.

Westby felt a grim satisfaction in emphasising this declaration, in laying it down as a strong proposition that needed no argument for its support.

“What the deuce is the matter with me? I know I can’t support a wife. I should be the veriest fool in the world to entangle myself in a hopeless engagement—and then, that I should be on the point of taking a wretched advantage of Newton’s misfortune! Good God; if that girl had not been ten thousand times better and truer than I was! Curse it! what an infernal cut! sticking-plaister! and I was so deuced grand in my notions of honour and all that—pshaw! it won’t stick. Mighty useful thing, this conscience of mine! I’m a wretched, beggarly fellow!”

Ay, there was comfort even in heaping up all sorts of contemptuous expressions, in degrading himself in the contemplation of high principle, in thorough self-bullying. At last, being very humble and contrite, he began to find consolation in forming resolutions for work and labour on behalf of Newton and his affairs.

And Lilian Temple—this was her confession, contained in a letter to her brother:

“I know, Fred, it was very naughty of me not to write to you all this time—only adding a line to mamma’s letter to tell you of my engagement.