Critical Notices [pp. 784-788]

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
ings of a grateful heart. Oh! that you may be rewarded, even should your noble endeavors fail." "But you
have not told me," he continued, "whether or not you
think my charges against those persons just." "I have
feared it," said she, " but I resolved to condemn no one
until I knew that they deserved it. Those who have
writhed under the tortures of unmerited charges, will
be the last to give like pangs." "Farewell) Miss Clayton," said he, "when next we meet, may it be to tell
you that the sun of happiness has dawned again in
your horizon, and that your wrongs are revenged."
"Talk not of revenge," she replied; "I would not have
it taken.' Judgment is mine; I will repay, saith the
Lord,' and to himn will 1 leave it." She could say no
more-tears streamed down her cheek. The widow
pressed his hand, and exclaimed, "The Lord will bless,
wvill reward thee!" Maxwell left the room, and rejoined
the impatient Williams.
* * * * * *
The excitement which reigned during the time that
WVilliams and Maxwell were investigating the mystery
of Matilda's injuries cannot be described. Suffice it to
say, that a complete exposure of a deep and villainous
plot was the result. Dudley, exasperated at his conduct
and that of his wife being detected, challenged Williams to a duel; but he refused, and wrote him a letter
declaring his contempt of himn and his wife, and his determined purpose neither to meet him or any other man
for a purpose so ungentlemanly, and at direct variance
with the laws of God and man. A suit against them
was expected, but Matilda positively refused her consent to such a measure, declaring that money was no
atonement for sorrow, and that, her innocence attested,
she neither sought nor wished to punish her enemies,
as she well knew they would suffer far more than they
had forced her to endLure. Need I add, that she soon
became the wife of the only man she ever loved. A
short time before their marriage the brother of Mrs.
Clayton sought her out. Her father had died. On his
death-bed he forgave her for marrying against his will,
and left her a large estate. But happiness is brief at
best. It was soon too evident that Matilda was not
long for earth. Excitement and sorrow had undermined her health, and her husband saw but too plainly
that the seeds of death were already sown.
But to return to Dudley. Disgraced and despised by
the virtuous and good, he plunged into excesses of every
kind. He and his wife were miserable; for, mutually
sunkin each other's estimation, their conduct manifested
to all who knew them, the object for which they sacrificed their honor: truth and peace defeated, all was too
much for even them to bear. Mr. Wilton did not long
survive the shock his feelings had received. He died
in less than twelve months after Williams' return.
Clara's health failed; penitence perhaps was little
felt-but shame and wounded pride, and a cold neglectful husband, added to the pangs of a reproving conscience, carried her to the grave. She left one child,
but that too has lately been laid by her side. Dudley
is a bankrupt and a wanderer. Where he is I am unable to inform you. Rumor saysthat he has fallen a victim to the fury of a mob. And who reared that splendid
monument to Clara's memory? Her husband, neglectful, cruel to her while living, had it erected, as if in
mockery-for it serves but to remind all who see it how
little she deserved its inscription. But Matilda, my
heart bleeds to think on her. She was the mother of
one lovely child; but her health was gone. Her husband spared no pains to arrest the progress of disease;
but it was in vain that he took her from north to south,
from place to place: after two years absence from this
village, she returned but to die. But how different was
her end from that of her once beloved friend. The sympathy of all, the love of all, the blessings of the poor,
accompanied her to her last home. Never shall I
forget the joyful peace that illumined her dying facenor the anguish of her mother, the agony of her husband, when, for the last time, she clasped her infant in
her arms, poured out her heart in prayer, forgave her
enemies, blessed her friends, and clasping her htsband's
hand to her heart, breathed her last. You saw her
tomb, and do you wonder thatit says no external record
is necessary for her praise. Two months ago, and I
saw her laid in her last bed.
And what became of Maxwell? Williams had an
only sister; she is an inestimable woman, and she is
his wife. He has met a rich reward for his generous
conduct towards Matilda and her husband. IHe lives in
that beautiful spot where the Wiltons once resided.
Williams has taken his child and its grandmother, and
gone to reside among her fiiends. His heart is deeply
wounded, but the piety of his wife has induced him to
look above for comfort. Long might I dwell on the
moral of this narrative, but it needs no comment with
you.
The two tombs are called the "Contrast," and justly
do they deserve the appellation. Strangely blended in
their destinies while living, it seems fit that they should
thus repose near each other, if but to remind those who
pass by, that virtue and vice alike meet their reward.
CRITICAL NOTICES
MEDICAL REVIEW.
The British and Foreign Medical Reviete, or Quarterly
Journal of Practical.Medicine and Surgery. Edited by
John Forbes, M.D., F. R. S., and John Conolly, M. D.
(./inerican Edtitioen.) Xos. I, II and I11: For January,
.pril, Jily, 1836.
If any augury of success is to be drawn from desert,
this work mnay fairly be regarded as likely soon to assume a vanward place amongst its competitors for favor
with the medical world. Whether we view the quantity or the quality of its matter-the niumber, variety,
richness, or power ofits articles —the comprehensiveness
of its plan or the judiciousness of its arrangement-it
equally strikes us as possessing the very first degree of
merit.
Each number consists of four grand divisions: L.
Analytical and Critical Reviews; II. Bibliographical
Notices; II1. Selections from Foreign Journals; IV.
Medical Intelligence. So wide is the scope of each one
of these divisions, and so copious its fillig utip, that a
steady reader of the Review can hardly fail to know
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mbitorfal.