 call on him in London. Our hero gave him a direction to Mr. Balance, who, he knew, would be his man

of business, and who, whether they were friends or foes, would, of course, forward any thing or person to him.
It will also be recollected that Mrs. Hazard's monument at Rochester, from which Mr. Gloss received some of his intelligence, was shewn to all strangers. It appears therefore feasible enough that Father Fitzgibbon, in his way from Dover to the capital, should have seen it.
Father Fitzgibbon was the person now introduced by Mr. Balance, who had scarcely exchanged the usual compliments with Charles, when he admired by what remarkable and extraordinary means the strangest discoveries are brought about. In short, it appeared that he was the intimate friend of Combrie, and had received the greatest obligations from his family; that he had known him the whole time he meditated the elopement• with Miss Le Clerc, and indeed was the very friend who had equipped him with the dress in which he so successfully personated father Benedict. He had also connived at the business of the keys, and lent him much other material assistance, which he was the better enabled to do, as he was well acquainted with Goufre's affairs, and then belonged to a convent at Dieu-le-war, about two leagues from Nancy, where all intelligent

travellers to that part of France have been informed there is such a convent made up of English, Irish, and Scotch, and where they brew very good beer.
Fitzgibbon mentioned the business of Miss Le Clerc's journey to England, and of Combrie's preventing her from leaving the papers at Sir Sidney's; adding, that those papers had at length been entrusted to him, and that, as he understood they contained something of consequence, he had deferred
'sending them by another,' to use his own words, 'till he had an opportunity of delivering them himself.'

So saying, he gave the packet to Sir Sidney, who, in a moment, knew and proclaimed that the hand writing was that of Annette's mother.

'Then I am right, I find,' said Fitzgibbon.—
'Too right,' cried one.
'Fatal confirmation!' sighed another.
'Cruel destiny!' said a third.—
'Unheard of misery!' exclaimed a fourth.
In short, the whole company exhibited such tokens of wretchedness, that the Irishman cried
'Why, by my soul, one would tink, by all these destinies, and
