AN INJURED HUSBAND'S REVENGE.

The heart of Ellis bled; the comfort, pride,
The hope and stay of his existence died;

Rage from the ruin of his peace arose.

And he would follow and destroy his foes;

Would with wild haste the guilty pair pursue,

And when he found, good Heaven! what would he do?

THE following tale shows how much of the romantic and the awful lies buried in the neglected records of public justice. Here is a true transaction at the conception of which the imagination of dramatist or poet would have paused. Shakespeare made Othello kill Desdamona, not while in a state of imploring & repentance, but when, as the jealous assassin thought, she was in the very course and hardihood of her sin, insulting him by a denial of her palpable guilt. Crabbe's rustic husband, betrayed by her whom he so fondly doted on, rushes to vengeance, but when he has it in his grasp he draws back: he is a Christian, and he stands softened and forgiving in the presence of the woman taken in adultery-in view of the extreme

misery that has fallen on her who was his all in his affection and his despair :

"Tell him not then of rights, and wrongs, or powers,

He feels it written- Vengeance is not ours." "

But here, in an humble tradesman, carrying on business in a minor street of the metropolis, living the ordinary life of his class, we have a far more harrowing instance of the wronged husband's vengeance. Here, all Christian feeling—all common humanity is cast aside, in the one solemn pursuit of sanguinary vindication, and that, by a man whose kindness and gentleness of disposition are proverbial. The spirit that moves him, absorbed in its one fell object, would have done well to embody the fate that is the mainspring of a Greek tragedy. And then the wife, regardless of space and suffering in the energy of her remorse, receiving the mortally intended wounds as à just punishment in her hope of forgiveness kissing as she falls the very hand that stabs her. Verily, this is a romance to be elicited only in the forum of public justice. The story needs no amplification nor adornment. Let us take it simply as recorded in the annals of the police office and the Old Bailey.

Mr. Stent was a respectable butcher, residing at Pimlico, and at the time of the elopement of his wife was about twentyeight years old; his wife twenty-six; and they had been married about seven years. They had lived in the greatest harmony and comfort, Stent himself being of a remarkably mild and tranquil temperament, dotingly attached to his wife, and displaying on all occasions towards her an excess of fondness..

A person named Sweeting, who resided in the adjoining house, was upon terms of intimacy with Mr. and Mrs. Stent,

frequent visits passing between them. By what means he first acquired an influence over the mind of his wretched victim does not appear, but the following is a specimen of the arts which he used to complete his triumph, and to induce her entirely to desert the man who loved her so well.

A short time previous to the elopement, Mrs. Stent had been ordered to go into the country for change of air. She was in consequence sent down to the house of an uncle of her husband, a farmer, within three miles of Uxbridge. While in this situation, she was repeatedly visited by Sweeting, both publicly and privately, and from thence he endeavored by every possible argument to induce her to elope. Still, however, the unhappy woman resisted his importunities. In order to work upon her mind, and to incline her to place a more implicit belief in the strength of his unnatural affection, he went through the farce of hanging himself to a tree in the neighborhood, as if in despair at her cruelty. From this perilous situation he took especial care to be providentially relieved; and he was still bent upon an imaginary death, and pretended to quench the flame by which he was devoured in the canal; but here, too, he contrived to be rescued from the crime of self-destruction. These feats were performed anonymously; he would not disclose his name, or the cause of his contempt of life; but he took care that Mrs. Stent should not remain in ignorance of the ordeal through which he had passed. At length the woman became so alarmed by these occurrences that she returned to town. In a few days afterwards she fled from her husband; and her fate remained involved in obscurity, except that there was no doubt Sweeting was the partner of her flight, as he had disappeared from his home about the same time. On the evening previous to

the morning of the elopement, Mr. and Mrs. Stent were invited to meet a party at Sweeting's house: Sweeting, after tea, engaged Stent in a game of cards, while Stent's wife returned home, packed up all the moveables on which she could lay her hands clothes, plate and money-and took them to another place. After she had accomplished this object, she returned. and finished the evening in the most convivial manner. The next morning she eloped. About three weeks after, Sweeting came back to his wife in the dead of night, and demanded what money she had in her possession. She denied that she had any; but he declared that she had, and insisted upon having it. The poor woman urged the proximity of her confinement, and the calls of her other children. He was, however, deaf to these arguments; he shut the door, and from her stays ripped sixty pounds, with which he went off. The unhappy wife of this villain soon afterwards gave birth to a child, and from the agonies of her mind became raving mad. Her neighbor Stent was sent for, to assist in clothing her in a straight waistcoat, and in an hour afterwards she died in his arms. Her death was soon followed by that of her helpless infant.

Meanwhile the guilty Mrs. Stent and Sweeting fled to France, whence it appears they returned to England very soon afterwards, and then sailed to America. There Mrs. Stent found that she was a dupe. Sweeting treated her in a ruffianly manner. The moment of remorse came in terrible force upon her. Her penitence led the wretched woman to a bold decision. She resolved to return home, to throw herself at the feet of her injured husband, and to implore him to let her make some atonement for the deep and irreparable injuries she had committed. She left America, and on her arrival at Liverpool, she took the stage to London; and being set down at

the Saracen's Head Inn, Snow Hill, retired to a room, from whence, in a kind of frenzy of conscious guilt and despair, she addressed the following letter to her husband :—

'HENRY,-You, no doubt, will be offended at my writing to you, one that I have used so ill; but believe me, I have considered of my crime, and will repent, if possible. O Henry! I have suffered more than I can tell you in crossing the seas; there was nothing but storms and trouble, and the ship was lost. But you, perhaps, already know that I have put my trust in God for safety in crossing them again, and have got safe to England once more, to throw myself at your feet, and implore your pity, if you cannot pardon me; but oh! for one moment consider before my doom is fixed. Indeed, I am penitent, and sorry for my sins, and hope you will hear my prayer for mercy, as well as that God whom I have offended. But if my story was told by any other than me, you would see what a villain he was. If you find you cannot forgive— but oh! that thought makes me tremble-do not let my dear father and mother know you have heard of me, for that would bring their trouble afresh to their minds, (that is, if their lives are spared,) and I hope I have not got that to answer for.

'All I wish is to pass the remainder of my days in obscurity, or in the workhouse, if you think proper, or in any other place; do not desert me, for God's sake, do not. I have come from America, landed on Tuesday morning, and at night left Liverpool; and this morning got to the Saracen's Head, where I shall await your answer with the greatest distress. If you please to let me have some of the clothes I left, as I