between this volume and his pocket-book. Death hasted upon him too
suddenly to allow him to explain his precautions. Welbeck had placed the
book in his collection, purposing some time to peruse it; but, deterred
by anxieties which the perusal would have dissipated, he rushed to
desperation and suicide, from which some evanescent contingency, by
unfolding this treasure to his view, would have effectually rescued him.

But was this event to be regretted? This sum, like the former, would
probably have been expended in the same pernicious prodigality. His
career would have continued some time longer; but his inveterate habits
would have finally conducted his existence to the same criminal and
ignominious close.

But the destiny of Welbeck was accomplished. The money was placed,
without guilt or artifice, in my possession. My fortune had been thus
unexpectedly and wondrously propitious. How was I to profit by her
favour? Would not this sum enable me to gather round me all the
instruments of pleasure? Equipage, and palace, and a multitude of
servants; polished mirrors, splendid hangings, banquets, and flatterers,
were equally abhorrent to my taste and my principles. The accumulation
of knowledge, and the diffusion of happiness, in which riches may be
rendered eminently instrumental, were the only precepts of duty, and the
only avenues to genuine felicity.

"But what," said I, "is my title to this money? By retaining it, shall I
not be as culpable as Welbeck? It came into his possession, as it came
into mine, without a crime; but my knowledge of the true proprietor is
equally certain, and the claims of the unfortunate stranger are as valid
as ever. Indeed, if utility, and not law, be the measure of justice, her
claim, desolate and indigent as she is, unfitted, by her past life, by