THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF GEORGE BARNWELL.

It is not exactly known where the subject of our history was born, nor precisely the date, although enough has been handed down to us to prove the truth of his unfortunate career; and that he was apprenticed to his uncle, a merchant of the City of London, who had, by his industry and prudence, amassed a very considerable property, and at an advanced period of life retired from the active pursuits of his business to his seat in Surrey, where his hospitality and social disposition endeared him to an extensive circle of acquaintance; and with this inestimable man George Barnwell spent three years of his life, previous to his entering into the bustling scenes of life. Whilst an inmate in his uncle's house, he gained the affections of the old man, who often declared, that after his death he should inherit his fortune.

The person of George was tall, his height five feet five inches; and his whole behaviour marked with an elegance, rather uncommon in persons, who like himself, had been secluded from the scenes of life.

With these qualifications he entered into the counting-house of Mr. Strickland, a very considerable woollen-draper in Cheapside.

For some time our hero's assiduity and punctuality were so conspicuous, as to render him, in the eyes of Mr. Strickland, worthy of the most implicit confidence: while, by his indefatigable exertions, he obtained a complete proficiency in the counting-house department, a perfect knowledge in mercantile transactions, and a degree of prudence in his dealings with others, rarely attained by persons of his age and experience.

About this time Maria, his cousin, and daughter of his worthy master, became sensible of the merits of George, and had too much candour and too little prudery, to conceal an affection, the object of which was so highly. deserving. With that unreserved confidence, which confers the greatest honour on her character as a daughter, she opened her heart to her parents; and experienced the felicity of understanding that, when Barnwell had gained

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more experience in the world, and had entered into business, her wish should be gratified.

Thus happily was he situated in the bosom of a family which esteemed him; thus did he daily make a progress in their affections, which promised to lead to the most blissful and honourable consequences; and thus fulfilling his duty to others, did he communicate gladness to his uncle's heart, and establish his own reputation and sincerity of mind.

But this season of peaceful sincerity lasted but for a short period. While virtue and integrity were the main-springs of his actions, Barnwell had nothing to fear, and he had only faithfully to discharge his duties, and attend to the voice of probity and industry: every indulgence was allowed him by his master and his family; but at length temptation led to vice, and Barnwell fell from virtue.

Sarah Milwood was the daughter of a merchant in Bristol, who spared no expense in endowing her with every accomplishment; but her principles were undermined by the flatteries of those who surrounded her. She at length married a Mr. Milwood, who two years after lost his life in a midnight broil. In the course of her daily perambulations, she one morning encountered Barnwell, as he was coming out of a house in Lombard-street, and she resolved not to let slip an opportunity of making a profitable adventure of her morning's walk. No sooner had she made up her mind on the subject, than observing him turn to view her with some attention, she made a false step, and, with a loud scream, fell on one knee. The ill-fated youth immediately tendered his assistance, and, raising her from the ground, she expressed her fears that she had dislocated her ancle, as she found herself utterly unable to walk without his assistance, and entreated that he would increase her obligations by assisting her to reach her residence in Cannon-street. Barnwell complied with her request, and conducted the artful woman to her house, where she insisted upon his entering and receiving some refreshment

Eager to improve the moment, Milwood threw herself upon a sofa, and, raising her leg from the ground, as if in agony, and apologising for her apparent indelicacy, solicited the youth to examine if the ancle appeared swollen. The request, coupled with the appearance of a most delicately turned foot, produced an emotion in our hero to which he had hitherto been a stranger. His agitation, notwithstanding his efforts to conceal it, did not escape her scrutinizing eye, and her hopes rose accordingly. She now contrived, in the course of conversation, to learn from Barnwell the particulars of his name and connections, and every other particular which was likely to facilitate her intended project of seduction.

Until this hour George's heart had been uncorrupted, and the first impressions of a vicious nature were accompanied by the most bitter sensations. Alarmed at this breach of fidelity to his master, he took his hat, and seizing the hand of his seducer, begged of her to suffer him to depart; a request which she would not comply with, until she had extorted from him a promise to renew his visit on the following evening. As he walked homewards, his eyes were fixed on the ground, and his thoughts were deeply intent upon framing an excuse for his long absence; at last, still hesitating and undetermined, he reached the counting-house. It was now he awoke to a proper sense of his situation; a thousand times he resolved to break his appointment with Milwood; and as often would he say to himself, that the best proof he could give of his contrition would arise from the triumph of his virtuous principles in the hour of temptation.

Thus did the misguided youth reason himself into an opinion, that the second interview was founded on the most excellent of motives; and, when the evening approached, forming an excuse for his absence, he left his master's house, and with impatient steps hurried to Milwood's residence. As he reached the abode of this depraved woman, a strange fluttering of heart betrayed his emotions. If the imagination of Barnwell was already wrought to a dangerous warmth, his second reception was calculated to increase it. On a crimson damask sofa, placed under a brilliant mirror, illuminated with wax-lights, the syren Milwood reclined. She did not rise as he entered the room, but holding out a most beautiful arm, encircled at the wrist with a brilliant bracelet, she motioned him to be seated. George doubted for a moment whether the woman of sentiment he had beheld on the preceding day, and the wanton form now before him, were the same. touched the strings of a harp which lay near her, and the effect on Barnwell was instantaneous. Her embraces so infatuated him, as to destroy all his good resolutions, and his heart once more renounced its principles.

She

This moment the artful woman directly fixed on to complete the ruin of Barnwell, and with bewitching looks and expressions she gradually seduced him; until at length, unable to withstand the impetuosity of his passions, he fell from the path of virtue, and fixed the seal of his own destruction. The artful Milwood, in a voice of tenderness, pretended to lament the indiscretion into which their warm affection had carried them. This remark called Barnwell to his senses, and with tears the unfortunate youth declared his willingness to compensate for his guilt, by any means in his power, promising at the same time, to be guided entirely by her directions; and in a short time he was prevailed on by the seducing entreaties of his mistress, to abandon his intention of returning home that evening.

The morning brought with it a return of compunction, but the voice of Milwood again soothed him into a degree of composure; and his mind was gradually led to suppose the vice into which he had fallen, as less wicked than it appeared at first; he listened with less pain to the observations of his seducer, as to the necessity of her seeking new apartments in the course of the day; and to his providing her with money, as she could not bear the idea of applying to her friends after what had passed. Every thing which she requested was promised by her infatuated victim, who appeared to have sacrificed reason and duty at the shrine of his unhallowed passion; and, before he departed, Milwood promised to leave a note for him at a place which he appointed, informing him of her new place of residence, where she expected him in the evening.

The gentle and affectionate reproaches of the amiable Maria for his absence, and want of attention to herself, revived in his breast the slumbering feelings of penitence and remorse; but they were transient and ungrounded, and her absence destroyed their influence, and left him once more the prey of his appetites, which now raged with uncontrolled fury. His attention to business, which until now had been indefatigable and unwearied, was remitted, and appeared to be the result of a painful struggle, rather than the effect of a will devoted to his master's interest. Having gained the information by a letter from Milwood, that she had removed to a lodging in Moorfields, thither Barnwell repaired in the evening; and, bringing with him a considerable sum of money, he was welcomed by the designing woman with an appearance of the sincerest affection. At this visit he related to her the suspicions which his absence had occasioued, and consulted her as to the most ready method of

continuing his connection with her without the hazard of a discovery.-Milwood, determined to try the nature of his attachment to her, declared, in reply, that as she had taken these apartments, she expected that he would give up his companions, quit his master's house, and take up his residence with her, who, as she said, had given up every thing on his account. On consideration of his putting this project into execution on the following day, she consented to allow his absence on that night; and, after an hour or two, Barnwell submitted to the conditions which his mistress had imposed, and accordingly took his leave of her.

A thousand thoughts now engaged his harassed mind; it was the grand struggle between virtuous honour to his master and patron, and all-powerful illicit love to a fascinating wicked woman. Love seemed to have gained an entire ascendancy over him; and just as he had made up his mind to inform his uncle he could no longer remain with him, his kind patron met him at the door, and received him with more than his usual affection, which recalled poor Barnwell's scattered senses of honour to so good a master, that he altered his resolution, and determined to forget Milwood, and by attention repay the favours he had received from his uncle. He accordingly entered the office, and exclaiming to himself, "How strange are all things round me! Like some thief that treads forbidden ground, and fain would lurk unseen, fearful I enter each apartment of this well-known house. To guilty love, as if that were too little, already have I added breach of trust. A thief!-Can I know myself that wretched thing, and look my honest friend and injured master in the face? Though hypocrisy may awhile conceal my guilt, it will at length be known, and public shame and ruin must ensue. In the mean time what must be my life? Even to speak a language foreign to my heart; hourly to add to the number of my crimes, in order to conceal them. Sure such was the condition of the grand apostate, when first he lost his purity. Like me, disconsolate he wandered; and while yet in heaven, bore all his future hell about him."

At length he became more composed, and settled to his business with his wonted assiduity; till one morning, being just on the point of going out on business, a woman knocked at the door with a letter for him: it was from Milwood. Trembling with emotion, he opened it; it was full of the wicked woman's pretended misery in not seeing him for so long a time, and stating that she would destroy herself if he neglected her. It was worded with such tenderness, that for the moment she regained his affection; and placing the letter in his pocket, he uttered to the bearer, "I will come."

When the evening arrived, our hero again procured leave of absence until the following morning, and he again hastened to the house of infamy.

When he entered, Milwood, with feigned regret, threw herself into his arms, and entreated him to forgive the impetuosity of her conduct, so inconsistent with her affection for one whom she prized so highly; to which the credulous youth listened. Before Barnwell left his mistress on the following morning, she had intimated to him the necessity of procuring a fresh supply of money, as her funds were again nearly exhausted; the enamoured youth promised to comply, and vowed that nothing should induce him to cause her future unhappiness. This declaration was received by Milwood with a great show of gratitude, and she entreated him to come every evening, if he remained with her only a single hour; he assented, and took his leave.

Weeks thus crept on, and as Barnwell's affection for his seducer was ever on the increase, his love for Maria naturally declined. Still, however, to save

appearances, he continued to pay her his customary attentions; but they were not the effusions of sincere love, and the scrutinizing eye of affection did not fail to observe the constraint which marked his conduct. Many were the unhappy hours which the discovery cost Maria.

But notwithstanding our youth appeared still attentive to the duties of his business, his visits to his wicked mistress were observed with the most rigid punctuality. She never failed to drain him closely, whenever she found he had received any money; and oftentimes was he compelled to draw upon the liberality of his uncle, in order to gratify her rapacity. The time, however, was now at hand, when Milwood began to extend her views, and to discover still deeper designs upon her ill-fated victim. She complained at first with an appearance of tenderness, which gradually gave way to a more reproving manner of the supplies which he had brought her.

In vain did the unhappy Barnwell urge, that he had already drawn from his generous uncle, until he was ashamed to solicit any further contributions towards his extravagance; that he had not only received all the wages that were due, but that he was even in arrears with his master. Every thing was urged in vain; and driven to desperation by her continued reproaches, he exclaimed, "What would you have me do?" Milwood, with a sarcastic sneer, replied, "Do you ask such a question, who have continually your employer's money vested in your hands?"

Never, till this moment, had the idea of robbing his master been suggested to him, and the sensation which followed it was dreadful in the extreme. Distressed beyond measure, his spirits sunk, and more than once a full resolution was formed, rather to quit his mistress for ever, than support her by dishonest means; but alas! its influence was transient.

The evening approached rapidly-the hour drew nigh, at which he pledged himself to carry to Milwood the spoils of his integrity. Thrice he opened the desk, and as often did he close it again, unable to summon courage enough to commit the act he meditated. At this instant he glanced at the clock-a quarter to seven, and seven was the hour appointed: a shivering seized him, and a tremor crept over him, as he seized the lid for the fourth time. He cast his eyes fearfully and cautiously round him; no person was present, he hesitated, stretched out his hand, as he drew from the drawer a bank-bill of one hundred pounds-the lid fell from his hands; and, with a faint sigh, the unhappy youth hurried the plunder into his pocket, sunk back into his seat, and for a moment lost all recollection.

Hurrying out of the house, Barnwell hastened in a state of madness to Milwood's lodgings. No sooner had he entered her apartment, than with bitter sighs he threw the note before her; which his mistress no sooner saw, than she grasped it in her hand, and assuming the most bewitching tenderness, she exclaimed, "My dearest Barnwell, why this agonizing emotion? has any thing occurred to distress you, which the unalterable love of your Milwood may not alleviate?" Deceived by this appearance of uncommon affection, Barnwell poured forth in her ear the tale of his feelings and his sufferings, on account of the unpardonable step he had taken. When he had ended, he threw himself into Milwood's arms, and gave way to the bitterness of his grief. On meeting his master, the following morning, the unfortunate victim of vice hid his face with his hands, and sought, by fixing his attention on business, to lose for a while the sense of what he had done.

Every succeeding day assisted to tranquillize the mind of the vicious youth, and to render the recollection of it less irksome: and, through the liberality