The Hillsborough Recorder

FALSE FRIENDSHIP.
A FRAGMENT.

"My dear friend, you are heartily welcome to town, (said a spruce-dressed citizen, as he helped his country friend to alight from the stage;) pray come home with me: I expect you will make my house your own while you stay in town: there is nothing in my power I will not do to make it agreeable to you. I have depended upon your company—my whole house is at your service."

This overacted complaisance made me suspect his sincerity, or that he had some sinister point in view: so, putting my ring on my finger, I followed him home.

I am greatly obliged to you, (said the country gentleman, as he sat down to the breakfast table;) the invitation you have given me is very acceptable: I have lost the estate I have been so long at law about, for want of sufficient evidence; and when I have paid the costs, I shall not have more than two hundred pounds left, with which I mean to purchase an annuity: therefore I shall make your house my home till I can settle my affairs.

It may be some time before you can settle your business to your satisfaction, replied the citizen, his features contracted into cold civility; and I expect a gentleman to take my first floor in about a week: I am very sorry I cannot accommodate you longer.

My dear Mr. Woollet, cries the wife hastily entering, I am vastly glad to see you.

Mr. Woollet has lost his law-suit, my dear, said the husband.

The smile of welcome was instantly changed into a look of amazement; she had advanced to give him her hand; but on his attempting to salute her, she withdrew her cheek, exclaiming, I am sorry for his disappointment; and began to make the tea.

He drank two dishes of tea, and then asked his friend to lend him two guineas. He had it not in the house. Trade was very precarious—again mentioned his expected lodger, and recommended a mean room to his friend, at half a crown per week, in an obscure lane in the city.

Oh! self-interest! how dost thou deaden every virtue, lead to hypocrisy and vice, and make us what we should be ashamed to own—mean, avaricious and unfeeling. Would I change the feeling heart for all the interested views this world affords? O, no! Give me sensibility to feel as I ought, my own happiness.

I am very jealous, said Mr. Woollet, as he arose from breakfast, that I cannot stay here, as I have no ready money to procure a lodging—no answer was made.

Can't I have a room on your second floor, Mr. Saveall?

Really, sir, they are all occupied.

I do not know what to do: I must beg you to lend me half a guinea till next week.

I cannot, upon my word, sir.

Mr. Woollet summoned up a look of expressive contempt, and fixing his eyes on his false friend, cried—

He who can refuse half a guinea, to my necessities, shall never share in my prosperity.—Know, selfish man, I have gained my case, and am at this moment master of two thousand pounds per annum. Then turning from them, hastily left the house.

I stood for a moment to view their confusion: they spoke not a word, but giving each other the keenest looks of reproach, separated in sullen silence.