THAT evening and a part of the following day was employed in fruitless attempts to discover our enemies; scarcely a family
in the neighborhood but incurred our suspicions, and each of us had reasons for our opinion best known to ourselves. As we
were in this perplexity, one of our little boys, who had been playing abroad, brought in a letter-case, which he found on the
green. It was quickly known to belong to Mr. Burchell, with whom it had been seen, and, upon examination, contained some
hints upon different subjects; but what particularly engaged our attention was a sealed note, superscribed "The copy of a letter
to be sent to the two ladies at Thornhill Castle." It instantly occurred that he was the base informer, and we deliberated whether
the note should not be broken open. I was against it; but Sophia, who said she was sure that of all men he would be the last to
be guilty of so much baseness, insisted upon its being read. In this she was seconded by the rest of the family, and,

at their joint solicitation, I read as follows: "LADIES:

   "The bearer will sufficiently satisfy you as to the person from whom this comes: one at least the friend of innocence, and ready
to prevent its being seduced. I am informed for a truth, that you have some intention of bringing two young ladies to town,
whom I have some knowledge of, under the character of companions. As I would neither have simplicity imposed upon, nor
virtue contaminated, I must offer it as my opinion, that the impropriety of such a step will be attended with dangerous
consequences. It has never been my way to treat the infamous or the lewd with severity; nor should I now have taken this
method of explaining myself, or reproving folly, did it not aim at guilt. Take, therefore, the admonition of a friend, and seriously
reflect on the consequences of introducing infamy and vice into retreats where peace and innocence have hitherto resided."

   Our doubts were now at an end. There seemed, indeed, something applicable to both sides in this letter, and its censures
might as well be referred to those to whom it was written, as to us; but the malicious meaning was obvious, and we went no
farther. My wife had scarcely patience to hear me to the end, but railed at the writer with unrestrained resentment. Olivia was
equally severe, and Sophia seemed perfectly amazed at

his baseness. As for my part, it appeared to me one of the vilest instances of unprovoked ingratitude I had met with. Nor could
I account for it in any other manner than by imputing it to his desire of detaining my youngest daughter in the country, to have
the more frequent opportunities of an interview. In this manner we all sat ruminating upon schemes of vengeance, when our
other little boy came running in to tell us that Mr. Burchell was approaching at the other end of the field. It is easier to conceive
than describe the complicated sensations which are felt from a pain of a recent injury, and the pleasure of approaching
vengeance. Though our intentions were only to upbraid him with his ingratitude, yet it was resolved to do it in a manner that
would be perfectly cutting. For this purpose we agreed to meet him with our usual smiles, to chat in the beginning with more
than ordinary kindness, to amuse him a little; and then in the midst of the flattering calm to burst upon him like an earthquake,
and overwhelm him with the sense of his own baseness. This being resolved upon, my wife undertook to manage the business
herself, as she really had some talents for such an undertaking. We saw him approach; he entered, drew a chair, and sat down.
"A fine day, Mr. Burchell."-"A very fine day, Doctor; though I fancy we shall have some rain by the shooting of my
corns."-"The shooting of your horns!" cried my wife, in a loud fit of laughter, and then asked pardon

for being fond of a joke.-"Dear madam," replied he, "I pardon you with all my heart; for I protest I should not have thought it a
joke had you not told me."-"Perhaps not, sir," cried my wife, winking at us, "and yet I dare say you can tell us how many jokes
go to an ounce."-"I fancy, madam," returned Burchell, "you have been reading a jest-book this morning, that ounce of jokes is
so very good a conceit; and yet, madam, I had rather see half an ounce of understanding."-"I believe you might," cried my wife,
still smiling at us, though the laugh was against her; "and yet I have seen some men pretend to understanding that have very
little."-"And no doubt," replied her antagonist, "you have known ladies set up for wit that had none." I quickly began to find that
my wife was likely to gain but little at this business; so I resolved to treat him in a style of more severity myself. "Both wit and
understanding," cried I, "are trifles without integrity; it is that which gives value to every character. The ignorant peasant, without
fault, is greater than the philosopher with many; for what is genius or courage without a heart? 'An honest man is the noblest
work of God.'"

   "I always held that hackneyed maxim of Pope," returned Mr. Burchell, "as very unworthy of a man of genius, and a base
desertion of his own superiority. As the reputation of books is raised not by their freedom from defect, but the greatness of their
beauties,

so should that of men be prized not for their exemption from fault, but the size of those virtues they are possessed of. The
scholar may want prudence, the statesman may have pride, and the champion ferocity; but shall we prefer to these the low
mechanic, who laboriously plods on through life, without censure or applause? We might as well prefer the tame, correct
paintings of the Flemish school to the erroneous, but sublime animations of the Roman pencil."

   "Sir," replied I, "your present observation is just, when there are shining virtues and minute defects; but when it appears that
great vices are opposed in the same mind to as extraordinary virtues, such a character deserves contempt."

   "Perhaps," cried he, "there may be some such monsters as you describe, of great vices joined to great virtues; yet in my
progress through 'life I never yet found one instance of their existence; on the contrary, I have ever perceived that where the
mind was capacious the affections were good. And, indeed, Providence seems kindly our friend in this particular, thus to
debilitate the understanding where the heart is corrupt, and diminish the power where there is the will to do mischief. This rule
seems to extend even to other animals: the little vermin race are ever treacherous, cruel, and cowardly, while those endowed
with strength and power are generous, brave, and gentle."

   "These observations sound well," returned I, "and

yet it would be easy this moment to point out a man," and I fixed my eye steadfastly upon him, "whose head and heart form a
most detestable contrast. Ay, sir," continued I, raising my voice, "and I am glad to have this opportunity of detecting him in the
midst of his fancied security. Do you know this, sir, this pocketbook?"-"Yes, sir," returned he, with a face of impenetrable
assurance, "that pocket-book is mine, and I am glad you have found it."-"And do you know," cried I, "this letter? Nay, never
falter, man, but look me full in the face; I say, do you know this letter?""That letter," returned he, "yes, it was I that wrote that
letter."-"And how could you," said I, "so basely, so ungratefully presume to write this letter?"-"And how came you," replied he,
with looks of unparalleled effrontery, "so basely to presume to break open this letter? Don't you know, now, I could hang you
all for this ? All that I have to do is to swear at the next justice's that you have been guilty of breaking open the lock of my
pocket-book, and so hang you all up at this door." This piece of unexpected insolence raised me to such a pitch that I could
scarcely govern my passion. "Ungrateful wretch, begone! and no longer pollute my dwelling with thy baseness; begone, and
never let me see thee again! go from my doors, and the only punishment I wish thee is an alarmed conscience, which will be a
sufficient tormentor!" So saying, I threw him his pocket-book, which he took up with a smile, and, shutting

the clasp with the utmost composure, left us, quite astonished at the serenity of his assurance. My wife was particularly enraged
that nothing could make him angry, or make him seem ashamed of his villainies. "My dear," cried I, willing to calm those
passions that had been raised too high among us, "we are not to be surprised that bad men want shame; they only blush at
being detected in doing good, but glory in their vices."

   "Guilt and Shame," says the allegory, "were at first companions, and in the beginning of their journey inseparably kept
together. But their union was soon found to be disagreeable and inconvenient to both; Guilt gave Shame frequent uneasiness,
and Shame often betrayed the secret conspiracies of Guilt. After long disagreement, therefore, they at length consented to part
for ever. Guilt boldly walked forward alone to overtake Fate, that went before in the shape of an executioner; but Shame being
naturally timorous, returned back to keep company with Virtue, which, in the beginning of their journey, they had left behind.
Thus, my children, after men have travelled through a few stages of vice, Shame forsakes them, and returns back to wait upon
the few virtues they have still remaining."