you this warning, because I know it will be of no use to you--Your
most obedient, my lord." The house-door closed after him.

"Thank Heaven," thought Lord Colambre, "that I did not horsewhip that
mean wretch!--This warning shall be of use to me. But it is not time
to think of that yet."

Lord Colambre turned from his own affairs to those of his friend, to
offer all the assistance and consolation in his power. Sir John Berryl
died that night. His daughters, who had lived in the highest style in
London, were left totally unprovided for. His widow had mortgaged her
jointure. Mr. Berryl had an estate now left to him, but without any
income. He could not be so dishonest as to refuse to pay his father's
just debts; he could not let his mother and sisters starve. The scene
of distress to which Lord Colambre was witness in this family made a
still greater impression upon him than had been made by the warning or
the threats of Mordicai. The similarity between the circumstances of
his friend's family and of his own struck him forcibly.

All this evil had arisen from Lady Berryl's passion for living
in London and at watering places. She had made her husband an
ABSENTEE--an absentee from his home, his affairs, his duties, and his
estate. The sea, the Irish Channel, did not, indeed, flow between him
and his estate; but it was of little importance whether the separation
was effected by land or water--the consequences, the negligence, the
extravagance, were the same.

Of the few people of his age who are capable of benefiting by the
experience of others, Lord Colambre was one. "Experience," as an
elegant writer has observed, "is an article that may be borrowed with