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of his uncle, he was fortunately enabled to repay the money he had taken, before it was necessary to make up his accounts for his employer's inspection. Christmas arrived, and the liberality of his uncle and master enabled Barnwell to make some handsome presents to his mistress, and these served to render her more loving and attentive than ever.

Soon after this, Milwood proposed to give up the lodgings, and make her own house the scene of their future interchanges of affection, as, she said, much expense would be thus saved. She then continued to urge him for more money, which the infatuated youth complied with: but at length, having received a considerable sum, which he should not have to account for some time, he took nearly two hundred pounds, and flew with it to the lodgings of Milwood.

Our hero had now become politic in his guilty conduct, and he managed so well in his concealment, as effectually to impose on his master, who, still retained his original opinion of worth and integrity. Trueman, indeed, who had been, from their first introduction, the tried and sworn friend of George, observed a change in him, which escaped the notice of those who were contented with a more superficial view of his conduct.

which our hero A month only had sufficed for Milwood to spend the money had secreted from his master's service, and another demand was made upon his liberality. At first he resisted the evident extortion of his mistress; but finding it in vain to contend, and being required in the customary manner either to bring a fresh supply of money at his next visit, or to come to her house no more, the poor victim returned home, fully prepared to lay his master's property again under contribution. He thought now little about replacing what he should take away, since, as the debt accumulated, he became more desperate and careless of the result.

From this moment the artful woman assumed a degree of despotic rule over her unresisting victim, which she had never before attempted: since, as she justly calculated, his mind being completely vitiated, he was willing to become her instrument in the execution of any designs, however remote from honour or rectitude. Her demands upon his purse now became unremitted, and his presence was received with either smiles or frowns, in proportion as he came loaded with golden offerings to the deity who presided in this unhallowed temple. His salary and the supplies of his uncle, were greatly incompetent to the expenses into which Barnwell thus plunged continually; and he was, of course, obliged to have recourse to his master's property.

But it was not possible for this course to continue long unnoticed: his daring and increasing calls being so unqualified and frequent, and the day of reckoning fast approaching. As this dreadful period drew nigh the terrors of Barnwell began to revive; and the more he thought of the impossibility of meeting the deficiencies his crimes had occasioned, the more his apprehensions gained ground: but when he imparted his fears to Milwood, she laughed at his pusilanimity; and her embraces and the intoxication of guilty pleasure proved effectual in drowning for a time the sober voice of reason; and a temporary forgetfulness of grief was eagerly resorted to, in the absence of every consolation of a more cheering and permanent nature.

From this moment, Barnwell resolved to absent himself from his duty; but, previous to this step, he resolved to make free with the remainder of the property entrusted to him, which amounted to upwards of £300.

But the idea of deserting Maria (though not so painful as it would have been some time since) was not entertained without some uneasiness; since he

had continually poured in her ears vows of fidelity and love, even at the moment when his heart was paying homage to the abandoned Milwood; and he could not reconcile the thought, that he must soon be looked upon with horror and detestation by a family which had been used to love and confide in him. Barnwell being resolved to leave his home, addressed the following letter to Maria :

“Maria,—I know my absence will surprise my honoured master and yourself; and the more, when you shall understand that the reason of my withdrawing is, my having embezzled part of the cash entrusted to my care. After this it is needless to inform you I shall return no more. Though you might have known this by examining my accounts, yet to prevent unnecessary trouble, and to cut off all fruitless expectations of my return, I have left this from the lost-George Barnwell."

The sight of the other clerks making up their accounts with unclouded brows, was agonizing in the extreme to the unfortunate youth; and the evening had scarcely closed in, when rifling the desk of its contents, he rushed out of the house, and stayed not till he reached the house of his mistress. Throwing himself on a seat, in an agony of despair, he exclaimed, “It is over! I have given the finishing stroke to my crimes, and deserted my good old master!"

Milwood, on hearing this, eagerly enquired if he had secured any property; and as he answered in the affirmative, and threw his ill-gotten spoils into her lap, she almost devoured him with kisses, called him her saviour and her love, and told him her arms should shelter him from every ill. At this unlucky moment, Barnwell mentioned that his uncle had called upon him, as he left his banker's, to enquire after him, when the vile woman, with her artful questions, drew from him an account that the worthy old gentleman had drawn a considerable sum from his banker's hands, with an intention to go on the following day to a distant fair.

No sooner had Milwood obtained these particulars, than she began to toy with redoubled affection, throwing her arms around his neck, and having reduced him to a state of temporary madness by liquors, she ventured to hint at a method which, if adopted, she said, could not fail to produce a considerable booty. The unfortunate youth eagerly enquired the method, when Milwood proposed that he should lay in wait for his uncle, and murder him, so as to gain the treasure which he possessed.

"Gracious God!" exclaimed Barnwell, what! add murder to robbery! Am I sunk so low as to be thought capable of such a crime? I have already forfeited all which ought to make life dear my honour and integrity; but yet there is a charm. Oh! my Milwood, will nothing less satisfy thee than the blood of my revered uncle? If it will not, say but the word, and by heaven he dies, if it will but gain a smile from thee!"

Milwood overwhelmed him with caresses, and praised the generous affection which animated his bosom. She continued to strengthen his mind with all the arguments which she could suggest; and, before bed-time, it was resolved that Barnwell should sally forth to accomplish the diabolical purpose.

The next day Milwood gradually revived the subject of the intended murder. The resolution of the youth seemed wound up to a desperate pitch, and he frequently exclaimed, "Yes, yes, give me a weapon that cannot err." About eight o'clock the wretched victim arose; his ghastly appearance, his beamless eyes, his hollow cheeks, and monotonous tone of voice, struck an inexpressable terror into her guilty soul, and, by all the endearments of artful love,

she strove to recall him to his wonted cheerfulness. But, alas! peace was flown for ever from his mind, and the impervious and immoveable gloom of despair had there fixed his habitation. He struck his clenched fists with uncommon violence against his temples, and gnashed his teeth with bitter agony. Am I not a wretch indeed?" he at length exclaimed, "not only to rob my master, who placed unbounded confidence in me, but I must also murder my beloved uncle! Oh, Milwood, revoke the cruel sentence you have passed; bid me not add murder to my long list of irrevocable crimes, and I will worship you for ever!"

"Away with this hypocritical whine, Barnwell," exclaimed Milwood; "have you so soon determined to break your resolutions of last night?— Come, come, there is too much time lost already: the sunbeams have risen above the window, and you have told me old Barnwell is an early man. Here is brandy-drink deep!-again, and yet again!"

Hurrying out of the house with the utmost trepidation, the unfortunate young man slunk through the streets, afraid to raise his eyes from the ground, lest they might encounter some person who should claim acquaintance with him. After walking for about an hour, he espied a person walking across a field towards him, whom, by his gait, he immediately recognized to be his unele. At the first sight a secret horror chilled his blood; but the recollection of Milwood's words, aided by the intoxicating fumes of the brandy with which Milwood had plied him, soon expelled the unwelcome sensation.

At length his unsuspecting benefactor entered near a clump of trees, and be resolved to intercept him. With this intention he increased his speed, till he was at a little distance before him; and when by the side of a large tree, he levelled the fatal weapon, and drawing the trigger, the best of men fell, weltering in his blood. No sooner did he behold the dreadful effects of his crime, than he sunk, overpowered by his feelings. The shock, however, was temporay, and he recovered himself sufficiently to escape before any person appeared in sight. After having rested himself a little while, he called a coach, and in a short time was with Milwood.

From the moment of his departure on the dreadful errand, Milwood had been in a continual state of trepidation both of body and mind. The agitated manner and phrenzied appearance of her victim, at his outset, had raised terrible apprehensions in her bosom, lest by incautiousness and alarm, he might lead to suspicion; and she had no doubt, that if once interrogated closely as to the cause of the murder, he would confess the whole of the circumstances, and probably implicate her as being an accomplice in the murder. Such reflections were ill calculated to make her easy; added to which, the long absence of the youth increased her fears; he had departed at eight o'clock, and she fully expected him back by twelve; it was now past four, and the day began to wane; but, when Barnwell opened the door, and with the air and wildness of insanity fell senseless into a chair, she hastily sprang to the door, and hastily bolting it, exclaimed, "Tell me, for heaven's sake, are you pursued; or, have you been fortunate enough to escape suspicion ?"

"I have escaped!" exclaimed Barnwell, "from every thing but my own conscience, and that will pursue me every where ;" and throwing a bag of money, his ill-gotten booty upon the table, he heaved a deep sigh, and fell insensible on the floor. Milwood summoned her servant, and by their united efforts he was restored to reason; and while his mistress was counting over the dear-bought plunder, convulsive sobs rent the agonized frame of the murderer.

Milwood reproached him for his cowardice and upbraided him for his villany in murdering his uncle ;- to rob him of life-nature's first, last, dear prerogative; telling him she would not hazard her life by screening him. At this dreadful treatment Barnwell became almost fantic. "Oh, Milwood!" said he, "this from you? If you hate me, if you wish me dead, then are you happy; for, oh! 'tis sure my grief will quickly end me." Milwood exclaimed, "In this madness you will discover all, and involve me in your ruin. We are on a precipice, from whence there's no retreat for both." She then paused awhile, and meditating, "Then, to preserve myself," said she, "I must hand him over to justice. 'Tis dreadful; but reflection comes too late, when danger's pressing, and then there's no room for choice, so it must be done;" and ringing the bell, calls a servant. "Fetch me an officer,” she exclaimed," and seize this villain; he has confessed himself a murderer. Should I let him escape, I might justly be thought as bad as he." The servant having left the room, "Oh, Milwood!" said the broken-hearted Barnwell," sure you do not, you cannot, mean it. Stop the messenger; upon my knees I beg you'll call him back. 'Tis fit I die, but not by you. I will this instant throw myself into the hands of justice; indeed I will, for death is all I wish. But thy ingratitude so tears my wounded soul-'tis worse ten thousand times than death by torture!" "I care not what you call it," said Milwood; "I am willing to live, and live secure, which nothing but your death can warrant.” At this moment the servant returned with two officers, and having entered the room, "Here, Sir," said she to one of the officers, "take this youth into your custody; I accuse him of murder, and will appear to make good my charge;" whereupon poor Barnwell was seized, and hurried off to prison. In the meanwhile his master had become acquainted, by Milwood's female servant, of the whole of her mistress's diabolical proceedings. Barnwell's master instantly repaired to the lodgings of the monster Milwood, and upbraided her for the villany of her behaviour. "Well may I," says she, addressing herself to Barnwell's master," curse your barbarous sex, who robbed me of reputation ere I knew its worth; then left me, too late, to count its value by its loss. Another, and another spoiler came, and all my gain was poverty and reproach. My soul disdained, and yet disdains, dependence and contempt. Riches, no matter by what means obtained, I saw secured the worst of men from both; I found it therefore necessary to be rich, and to that end I suminoned all my arts. You call them wicked; be it so ; they were such as my conversation with your sex had furnished me withal. Men of all degrees and all professions have I known, yet found no difference, but in their several capacities; all were alike wicked to the utmost of their power. What are your laws, of which you make your boast, but the fool's wisdom, and the coward's valour-the instrument and screen of all your villanies? By them you punish in others what you act yourselves, or would have acted, had you been in their circumstances. The judge who condemns the poor man for being a thief, would have been a thief himself, had he been poor."

Barnwell's master, indignant at the cold-blooded recital of Milwood's villanies, instantly gave her over to the power of the police, and hastened to the ill-fated Barnwell.

A few days afterwards the unfortunate Barnwell was put to the bar, to take his trial for the wilful murder of his uncle. The evidence brought against him was too conclusive to admit of even a doubt in his favour; and after a most affecting and impressive address from the judge the jury returned their

verdict of "Wilful murder!"-No sooner was the dreadful sentence pronounced, than a torrent of tears gushed from the eyes of the ill-fated prisoner, and one of the most crowded courts ever witnessed sympathized in his fate; and a universal sensation of mingled pity and sorrow prevailed throughout the hall. From this moment Barnwell's attention was abstracted from earthly things, except when his old employer, in compliance with his wish, came to pay him a last sad visit, the sorrows of which interview were beyond description. The worthy old man displayed a father's feelings, wishing that he had been acquainted with his situation before the fatal murder took place, that he might have healed the wounds he had inflicted on himself. When the moment of separation arrived, their mutual agitation was such, as to render force necessary to divide them; and the door, which closed upon the venera→ ble Mr. Strickland, shut up from Barnwell's view for ever all which remained to him of interest in this world.

But if the old gentleman felt so much at the dreadful situation of his young friend, what were the feelings of Maria, who accompanied her father; she, whom her parent had taught to look to Barnwell as her future husband. When the door opened, and she beheld the unhappy youth, with his arms folded, in conversation with the clergyman of the prison, she uttered a piercing scream, and fell senseless on the floor; she from this period gradually pined away, and shortly afterwards died of a broken heart.

The evening now closed in, and all was night to Barnwell; the waning hours denoted the rapid approach of that awful period when he must resign his earthly being, which induced him to pass the greater part of the night in devotion. Stretched on his bed of straw, he found in a transient slumber a slight forgetfulness of the past, and alleviation of his present sorrows.— After reposing about two hours, he arose, dressed himself with peculiar care, and prepared to go through that awful ceremony to which he was compelled to submit. Mounting the cart which waited to receive him, he proceeded on his way to the place of execution reading and praying, as he passed through the immense crowds who lined the streets and roads.

It is a fact, that George Barnwell was hung in St. Martin's-lane, Charingcross, the corner of Hemming's-row. Formerly they used to execute criminals near London-wall; the next place was the above St. Martin's lane, at that period, the great western road; next at Tyburn; and now the Old Bailey.

ANCIENT NECROMANCY.

In an Arabic MS. in the Royal Library at Paris, containing a description of Egypt, by Macrizy, a singular story is told in these terms.

"The remains of ancient magic are still to be found in the said country. The following circumstance was related on this subject by the Emir Tacktabag, who had been governor of Kous under the reign of Mahommed Ben Kalaoun.

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"Having arrested a sorceress, I ordered her to shew me a specimen of her She replied, My greatest secret consists in charming a scorpion, by pronouncing the name of a person, whom he is sure to sting and put to death.' Well,' said I to her, I'desire you to make the experiment on me.' Accordingly she took a scorpion; and after having done what she deemed necessary, she let loose the animal, which began to pursue me eagerly, notwithstanding all my endeavours to avoid it. Having placed myself in a seat, in

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