Dudley, in the midst of the vast city, opened his books under the guidance of Doctor Calomel, and entered society under the guardianship of Mrs. Col. Hays. Dr. Calomel taught him the grand mystery of dosing—Mrs. Col. Hays gave him lessons in the sublime mystery of being dosed. This lady, elegant, beautiful, and rich, had great sway in what is considered “the world.” Her house was thronged with fashionable nonentities—her will undisputed, and her wishes carefully considered by a dozen other families, who held in common with her iron sway over society. She was cold, correct, graceful—in fact, a thoroughbred woman of the world. No stain had ever fallen upon her snowy character; she turned with freezing dignity upon the slightest departure from rectitude, and yet was the most perfect teacher of vice Satan ever commissioned. Dudley was dazzled and delighted; and when he compared the splendor of his aunt’s drawing-room, satined, slippered, powdered and perfumed, the contrast between Mary—poor little Mary—and those fashionables in his mind, was great; and when Mrs. Col. Hays made a casual allusion to that “little love-scrape” in the country, shame entered and took side with love. He did not love her less, but he pitied her more; and the brave thought of an humble home and happy fireside took flight, never, never to return. Mrs. Col. Hays—lady of Col. Cabell Hays—had some unseen spirit whispered harshly in your ear, while you were sitting in your cushioned pew, listening to that divine man, the Rev. Theodore Smoothe, preach from a marble pulpit, upon the righteousness of right and the sinfulness of sin, that you had opened a rosewood door and shown the downward path carpeted and beautiful to a poor, innocent boy, that, under your care, was hastening on to misery and death—what an awful chill would have fallen upon your soul. Yet this is what you have to answer for; and no beautifully sculptured stone, telling of a virtuous wife and Christian neighbor, will save you! Dudley continued to love the little May, he could not help that; but it was not with the pure love that once made life so beautiful. He wrote long, burning letters frequently to her, and received long, truthful letters in return. With what a beating heart she stole in the crowd that thronged the village post-office upon the day the great coach came in, and sitting timidly upon a coil of rope, heard her name called out by the greasy postmaster, as he sorted over the letters. With what a trembling hand she gave the pay and hastened away with the dear unopened letter. How she hid herself in retired places, in the woods, in the cellar or garret, and read and read, through tears of joy, the delicious poison. What Dudley received in his gay life he transmitted in letter to the poor girl. How the heart sickens at the miserable lies that line a way like this.