B 3 32S 210 9 ■H m&Zj^ M m ■ •/»• ^ ■ K x - L i 1 > i - i s SAMUEL TREAT ARMSTRONG Med. el Phil. Dr. mi J THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESENTED BY PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID PASSAGES from Tin: DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN WITH NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE EDITOR. £22t++> PARIS, BAUDRY'S EUROPEAN LIBRARY, RUE DU COQ, SEAR THE LOCYRE. SOLD ALSO BY AMYOT, RLE DE LA PAIS; TRICF1Y, BOl'LEVAKD DES ITALIKlfSj TUEOPH1LE BAUROIS, IOH., Rl t RICHELIEL ; UBRAIR1E DES ETRA>GERS, RLE \EL\E-SAINT-ALGLSTI> i; AND FRENCH \M> ENGLISD LIBRARY, HIE YIVIEVNE. 1835, ,#♦ -. • N V, r a *C CONTENTS. Page Chap. I. Early Struggles, -I II. Cancer, . % . . . . 27 III. The Dentist and the Comedian. 51 IV. A Scholar's Deathbed, 55 V. Preparing for the House.. 48 VI. Duelling. 55 YII. Intriguing and Madness 64 Note to the editor of Blackwood's Magazine, 64 VIII. The Broken Heart, 85 IX. Consumption, 90 X. The Spectral Dog, M5 A Corroboratory Letter, M7 XI. The Forger, " M9 XII. A Man about Town 150 Note to the editor of Blackwood, 150 Vindication of the above, 460 XIII. Death at the toilet, 461 XIV. The Turned Head, -165 XV. The Wife, . 180 Note, 2D4 XVI. Grave Doings 204 XVII. The Spectre-Smitten, 215 Note, 222 XVIII. The Martyr Philosopher, 242 XIX. The Statesman, 284 XX. A slight Cold, 526 XXI. Rich and Poor, 558 XXII. The ruined Merchant, 550 XXIII. Mother and Son, 585 Letter from the Morning Herald, 441 M3'?-in1.5 NOTICE TO THE READER The Editor hopes the event will prove, that he was not wrong in sup- posing the public would view with favour the reappearance of these "Pas- sages " in their present form. He was led to indulge such hopes, by seeing the flattering terms in which this Diary was mentioned, from tune to time, by many respectable journals in London and elsewhere, during its suc- cessive "appearance in Blackwood's Magazine; by the circumstance of its translation into the French language at Paris; and by its republication separately in America, where the sale has been so extensive that the work is now stereotyped. Several additional sketches were intended to have been inserted; but this was found impracticable, without extending the work to a third vo- lume, Much new matter, however, will be found introduced in the notes, and the whole has been very carefully revised— although some errors have crept in after all, owing chiefly to the work's being printed in Edinburgh, while the Editor resided in London. In conclusion, the Editor hopes these sketches may not unfrequently have succeeded in reaching the reader's heart, and pointing public atten- tion to those pregnant scenes of interest and instruction which fall under the constant observation of the medical profession. London, February 3, 1852. INTRODUCTION. It is somewhat strange, that a class of men who can command such interesting, extensive, and instructive materials, as the expe- rience of most members of the medical profession teems with, should have hitherto made so few contributions to the stock of polite and popular literature. The Bar, the Church, the Army, the Navy, and the Stage, have all of them spread the volumes of their secret history before the prying gaze of the public; while that of the Medical Profession has remained hitherto, with scarcely an ex- ception, a sealed book. And yet there are no members of society whose pursuits lead them to listen more frequently to what has been exquisitely termed, The still, sad music of humanity. What instances of noble, though unostentatious, heroism— of calm and patient fortitude, under the most intolerable anguish that can wring and torture these poor bodies of ours ; what appalling com- binations of moral and physical wretchedness, laying prostrate the proudest energies of humanity ; what diversified manifestations ol character ; what singular and touching passages of domestic history, must have come under the notice of the intelligent practitioner of physic!— And are none of these calculated to furnish both instruc- tion and entertainment to the public? Why are we to be for ever- shut out from these avenues to the most secret and profound know- ledge of human nature? Till the attempt was made, in the publi- cation of this Diary, who has sunk a shaft into so rich a mine of incident and sentiment ? Considerations such as these have led to the publication of this vin INTRODUCTION. work, reprinted from the pages of Blackwood's Magazine — a periodical which was the first to present similar papers to the public. Whether the Writer or Subject of them is dead or alive can be a matter of very little consequence, it is apprehended, to the reader; and no information, therefore, on that point, is requisite. It can scarcely be necessary to say, that the various names which have been pitched upon, in the papers, as those of the writer of this Diary, are all of them totally erroneous, and that it has, in parti- cular, no claim whatever to the honourable names of " Dr Gooch, Dr Armstrong, or Dr Baillie." It is respectfully suggested, that if the ensuing pages have no intrinsic claims to attention, the defi- ciency cannot be supplied by the most glittering appendages of name or title. In selecting from a copious store of sketches, in every instance drawn from nature — warm and vivid with the colouring of reality, all possible care has been taken to avoid undue disclosures, as far as that end could be obtained by the most scrupulous concealment of names, dates, and places. I cannot close these introductory re- marks better, than in the words of the American Editor's Preface to the stereotyped edition : — ■ " These scenes, so well calculated to furnish both instruction and amusement, have been hitherto kept from public observation, as carefully as the Eleusinian mysteries were kept from the eyes of the vulgar. Access is occasionally given to the deathbed of some distinguished character,— Addison is seen instructing a profligate how a Christian can meet death ; and Dr Young, in his Deathbed of AUamont, lias painted, in strong and lasting colours, the closing s lending to acquire for the writer a reputation for skill on the subject of which be treated, and introduce him to the notice of the higher members of his own profession, I determined to turn my attention thai way. For several months I was up, early and late, atawork on Diseases of the Lungs. I bestowed incredible pains on il ; and my toil was sweetened by my wife, who would sit by me in the long summer evenings like an angel, consoling and encouraging me with predictions of success. She lightened my la- bour by undertaking the transcription of the manuscript; and I thought that two or three hundred sheets of fair and regular hand- writing were heavily purchased by the impaired eyesight of the beloved amanuensis. When at length it was completed, having been read and revised twenty times, so that there was not a comma wanting, I hurried, full of fluttering hopes and fears, to a well- known medical bookseller, expecting he would at once purchase the copy-right. Fifty pounds I had fixed in my own mind as the minimum of what I would accept ; and I had already appropriated some little part of it towards buying a handsome silk dress for my wife. Alas ! even in this branch of my profession, my hopes were doomed to meet with disappointment. The bookseller received me with great civility ; listened to every word I had to say ; seemed to take some interest in my new views of the disease treated of, which f explained to him, and repeated— and ventured to assure him, that they would certainly attract public attention. My heart leaped for i saw his business-like eve settled upon me with an ex- iion of attentive interest. Alter having almost talked myself se, and Hushed myself all over with excitement, he removed his spectacles, and politely assured me of his approbation of the work : bin that be had determined never to publish any more me- dical books on his own account. I have the most vivid recollection of almost mi ning sick with chagrin. With a faltering voice 1 asked him il dial was his unalterable determination ? He replied, it was; for he had "lost too much by speculations of that sort*" I tied up the manuscript, and withdrew. As goon as I left his shop, I let fall a scorching tear of mingled sorrow i nd mortification. I could almost have wept aloud. At that moment, whom should 1 meet but ins dear wife ; for we had both been talking all night long, and nil breakfast time, about the probable result of my interview with the bookseller ; ;u;d her anxious affection would not permit her to wan my return. She had been pacing to and fro on the other side of the strei i. and flew to me on m\ leaving the shop, f could not EARLY STRUGGLES. 5 speak to her ; I felt almost choked. At last her continued ex- pressions of tenderness and sympathy soothed rue into a more equable frame of mind, and we returned to dinner. In the after- noon, I offered it to another bookseller, who, John Trot like, told meat once he "never did that sort of thing." I offered it subse- quently to every medical bookseller I could lind — with like success. One fat fellow snuffled out, " If he might make so bold," he would advise me to leave off book-making, and stick to my practice ; an- other assured me he had got two similar works then in the press ; and the last I consulted, told me I was too young, he thought, to have seen enough of practice for writing " a book of that nature," as his words were. " Publish it on your own account, love," said my wife. That, however, was out of the question, whatever might be the merits of the work — for I had no funds ; and a kind-hearted bookseller, to whom I mentioned the project, assured me that, if I went to press, my work would fall from it still-born. When I re- turned home from making this last attempt, I flung myself into a chair by the fireside, opposite my wife, without speaking. There was an anxious smile of sweet solicitude in her face. My agitaied and mortified air convinced her that I was finally disappointed, and that six months' hard labour were thrown away. In a fit of uncontrollable pique and passion, I flung the manuscript on the fire ; but Emily suddenly snatched it from the flames, gazed on me with a look such as none but a fond and devoted wife could give- threw her arms round my neck, and kissed me back to calmness, if not happiness. I laid the manuscript in question on a shelf in my study ; and it was my first and last attempt at medical book- making. From what cause, or combination of causes, I know not, but I seemed marked out for failure in my profession. Though mv name shone on my door, and the respectable neighbourhood could not but have noticed the regularity and decorum of my habits and manners, yet none ever thought of calling me in ! Had I been able to exhibit a line of carriages at my door, or open my house for the reception of company, or dash about town in an elegant equipage, or be seen at the opera and theatres— had I been able to do this, the case might have been different. In candour I must acknow- ledge, that another probable cause of my ill success was a some- what insignificant person, and unprepossessing countenance. I could not wear such an eternal smirk of conceited complacency, or keep my head perpetually bowing, mandarin like, as many of my professional brothers. Still there were thousands to whom these , ; l.ARl.Y STRUGGLES ,!, .|„ ai hcmi proved no serious obstacles. The great misfortune in • was, undoubtedly, ihe wanl of introductions. There was ;, man of considerable rank and great wealth, who was a sort of fiftieth cousin of mine, resided in one of the fashionable squares HOI | ;|I - from „„.. and on whom I had called to claim kindred, and Bolictl his patronage; but after baring sent up my name and ad- dj ess, I was suffered to wait so long in an anteroom, that, what with ibis and the noise of servants busding past with insolent familiarity, ! quite forgot the relationtbip, and left the house, wondering what bad brought me there. I never felt inclined to go near it again; so there was an end of all prospects of introduction from that quarter. I was left, therefore, to rely exclusively on my own el- and trust to chance for patients. It is true, that in the time 1 have mentioned, I was twice called in at an instants warning ; but in both eases, the objects of my visits had expired before my ar- rival, probably before a messenger could be despatched for me; and the manner in which my fees were proffered, convinced me ilia! I should be cursed for a mercenary wretch if I accepted them. I was, therefore, induced in each case to decline the guinea, though n would have purchased me a week's happiness! 1 was, also, on il occasions, called in to visit the inferior members of families in the neighbourhood-— servants, housekeepers, porters, etc.; and ol all the trying, the mortifying occurrences in the life of a young physician, such occasions as these are the most irritating. You go to the house— a large one probably— and are instructed not to knock ;il the front door, but to go down by the area to your pa- lienl ! I think it was about this time that I was summoned in haste to £ Sir Charles F -, who resided near Mayfair. Delighted at the prospect of securing so distinguished a patient, I hurried to his b >lved to do my utmost to give satisfaction. When I entered the room, I found the sprig of fashion enveloped in a crim- son silk dressing-govt a, silting conceitedly on the sofa, and sipping a cup of coffee, from which he desisted a moment to examine me— positively-— through his eye-glass, and then directed me to inspect the swelled fool of a favourite pointer! Darting a look of anger at Hie insulting coxcomb, I instantly withdrew without uttering a word. / a afterwards, did thai young man make use pf the most strenuous effoi ts to oust me From the confidence of ;> family of distinction, to which li<- was distantly related \ i ins .I,,. to iiis ihumI one lold me !><■ Hi" late Dr Uaam Hamilton EAIILY STRUGGLES. 7 A more mortifying incident occurred shortly afterwards. I had the misfortune to be called on a sudden emergency into consultation with the late celebrated Dr . It was the first consullational visit that I had ever paid ; and I was, of course, very anxious to acquit myself creditably. Shall I ever forget the air of insolent condescension with which he received me ; or the remark he made in the presence of several individuals, professional as well as un- professional—" I assure you, Dr , there is really some dif- ference between apoplexy and epilepsy, at least there was when I was a young man ! " He accompanied these words with a look of supercilious commiseration, directed to the lady whose husband was our patient; and I need not add, that my future services were dispensed with ! My heart ached to think, that such a fellow as this should have it in his power to take, as it were, the bread out of the mouth of an unpretending, and almost spirit-broken, pro- fessional brother ; but I had no remedy. I am happy to have it in my power to say how much the tone of consulting physicians is now (1820) lowered towards their brethren who may happen to be of a few years' less standing, and, consequently, less firmly fixed in the confidence of their patients. Tt was by a few similar inci- dents to those above related, that my spirit began to be soured ; and had it not been for the unvarying sweetness and cheerfulness of my incomparable wife, existence would not have been tolerable. My professional efforts were paralysed; failure attended every at- tempt ; my ruin seemed sealed. My resources were rapidly melt- ing away— my expenditure, moderate as it was, was counterba- lanced by no incomings. A prison and starvation scowled before me. Despairing of finding any better source of emolument, I was in- duced to send an advertisement to one of the daily papers, slating, that "a graduate of Cambridge University, having a little spare time at his disposal, was willing to give private instructions in the classics, in the evenings, to gentlemen preparing for college, or to others ! " After about a week's interval, I received one solitarv communication. It was from a young man holding some subor- dinate situation under government, and residing at Pimlico. This person offered me two guineas a-month, if I would attend him at lie was sent for once in great haste by Lady P , to see— absolutely a little fa- vourite monkey, which was almost suffocated with its morning feed. AVben the doctor entered the room, he saw only her Ladyship, her young son, (a lad of ten years old, who was most absurdly dressed, ) and his patient. Looking at each of Ibe two latter, he said coolly to Lady P , " My Lady, u-hich is the monke> ? " 8 EARLY STRUGGLES. his own house, for two hours, on the evenings of Monday, Wed- nesday, and Friday ! With these hard terms was I obliged to comply — yes, a gentleman, and a member of an English University, was driven so low as to attend, for these terms, an ignorant un- derling, and endeavour to instil a few drops of classic lore into the turbid and shallow waters of his understanding. I had hardly given him a month's attendance before he assured me, with a flip- pant air, that, as he had now acquired "a practical knowledge of the classics," he would dispense with my farther services ! Dull dunce ! he could not, in Latin, be brought to comprehend [the dif- ference between a neuter and an active verb ; while, as for Greek, it was an absolute chokepear ; so he nibbled on to rta/i— and then gave it up. Bitter but unavailing were my regrets, as I returned from paying my last visit to this promising scholar, that I had not entered the army, and gone to America, or even betaken myself to some subordinate commercial situation. A thousand and a thou- sand times did I curse the ambition which brought me up to Lon- don, and the egregious vanity which led me to rely so implicitly on my talents for success. Had I but been content with the humbler sphere of a general practitioner, I might have laid out my dearly bought 5000/. with a reasonable prospect of soon repaying it, and acquiring a respectable livelihood. But all these sober thoughts, as is usual, came only lime enough to enhance the mortification of failure. About o00/. was now the miserable remnant of the money bor- rowed trom the Jew; and half a year's interest, (225/.,) together with my rent, was due in. about a fortnight's time. I was, besides, indebted to many tradesmen — who were becoming every day more querulous — for articles of food, clothing, and furniture. My poor Emily was in daily expectation of her accouchement ; and my own health was sensibly sinking-, under the combined pressure of anxiety and excessive parsimony. What was to be done? Despair was clinging fco me, and shedding blight and mildew over all my fa- culties. Every avenue was closed against me. I never knew what ii was to have more than one or two hours' sleep at night, and that so heavy, so troubled, and interrupted, that I awoke each morning more dead than alive. 1 lay tossing in bed, revolving all conceiv- able schemes and fancies in my tortured brain, till at length, from mere iteration, they l»<;;;u: to assume a feasible aspect ; alas ! how- ever, they would none of them bear the blush of daylight, but laded :iw;i\ ;»s r\ 1 1 avagaiH and absurd. I would endeavour lo se< EARLY STRUGGLES. 3 afloat a popular medical Journal— to give lectures on diseases of the lungs (a department with which I was familiar —I would ad- vertise far a small medical partnership, as a general practitioner — I would do a thousand things of the sort ; but where was my ca- pital to set out with? I had 500/. in the world, and 4501. yearly to pay to an extortionating old miser ; that was the simple fact ; and it almost drove me to despair to advert to it for one instant. Wretched, however, as I was, and almost every instant loathing mv existence, the idea of suicide was never entertained for a mo- ment. If the fiend would occasionally ilit across the dreary cham- ber of mv heart, a strong, an unceasing confidence in the goodness and power of my Maker always repelled the fearful visitant. Even yet, rapidly as I seemed approaching the precipice of ruin, I could not avoid cherishing a feeble hope that some unexpected avenue would open to better fortune ; and the thought of it would, for a time, soothe my troubled breast, and nerve it to bear up against the inroads of my present misfortunes. I recollect sitting down one day in St James's Park, on one of the benches, weary with wandering the whole morning, I knew not whither. I felt faint and ill, and more than usually depressed in mind. I had that morning paid one of my tradesmen's bills, amounting to 10/. ; and the fellow told my servant, that, as he had so much trouble in getting his money, he did not want the honour of my custom any longer. The thought that my credit was failing in the neighbourhood was insupportable. Ruin and disgrace would then be accelerated; and being unable to meet my creditors, I should be proclaimed little less than a swindler, and shaken like a viper from the lap of society. Fearful as were such thoughts, 1 had not enough of energy of feeling left to suffer much agitation from them. I folded my arms on my breast in sullen apathy, and wished only that, whatever might be my fate, certainty might be substituted for suspense. While indulging in thoughts like these, a glittering troop of soldiers passed by me, preceded by their band, playing a merry air. How the sounds jarred on the broken strings of my heart ! And many a bright face, dressed in smiles of gaiety and happiness, thronged past, attracted by the music, little thinking of the wretch- edness of him who was sitting by ! I could not prevent the tears of anguish from gushing forth. I thought of Emily — of her deli- cate and interesting, but, to me, melancholy situation. I could not bear the thought of returning home, to encounter her affectionate looks— her meek and gentle resignation to her bitter fortunes. 10 EARLY STRUGGLES. Why had I married her, without iirst having considered whether 1 could support her? Passionately fond of me, as 1 well knew she ould she avoid frequently recurring to the days of our court- ship, when I reiteratedly assured her of my certainty of profes- sional success as soon as I could get settled in London? Where DOW were all the fair and nourishing scenes to which my childish enthusiasm had taught me to look forward ? Would not the bitter contrast she was now experiencing, and seemed doomed long yet to experience, alienate from me a portion of her affections, and induce feelings of anger and contempt? Could I blame her for all this? II the goodly superstructure of my fortunes fell, was it not I that had loosened and destroyed the foundation ?— Reflections like these were harassing and scourging me, when an elderly gentleman, evidently an invalid, tottered slowly to the bench where 1 was sitting, and sat down beside me. He seemed a man of wealth and consideration : for his servant, on whose arm he had been leaning, and who now stood behind the bench on which he was sitting, wore a very elegant livery. He was almost shaken to pieces by an asthmatic cough, and was besides suffering from another severe disorder, which need not be more particularly named. He looked at me once or twice, in a manner which seemed to say, that he would not take it rudely if 1 addressed him. 1 did so. "I am afraid, Sir," I said, "you are in great pain from that cough/" — yes," he gasped faintly ; "and I don't know how to get rid of it. 1 am an old man, you see, Sir; and melhinks my summons to the grave might have been less loud and painful." After a little pause, I ventured to ask him how long he had been subject to the cough which now harassed him. He said, more or less, for the last ten yean; but that, latterly, it had increased so much upon him, that he could not dnive any benefit from medical advice. "I should think, Sir, the more violent symptoms of your disorder might be mitigated," said I. and proceeded to question him minutely, but hesitatingly, as to the origin and progress of the complaints which afflicted him. He answered ail my questions with civility; and. as I went on, seemed to be roused into something like curio- sity and interest. I need not say more, than that 1 discovered he had not been in the hands <>f a skilful practitioner; and that 1 as- sured him \<-i\ lew and simple means would give him great relief from at least die more violent symptoms, lie, of course, perceived I was iu the medical profession ; ami after some apparent hesitation, evidently as to whether or not I .should feel hurt, tendered me a guinea. I refused it promptly and decidedly, and assured him EARLY STRUGGLES. It ihat he was quite welcome to the very trifling advice I had ren- dered him. At that moment, a young man of fashionable appear- ance walked up, and told him their carriage was waiting at the corner of the Stable-yard. This last gentleman, who seemed to be either the son or nephew of the old gentleman, eyed me, I thought, with a certain superciliousness, which was not lessened when the invalid told him I had given him some excellent advice, for which he could not prevail on me to receive a fee. " We are vastlv obliged to you, Sir; but are going home to the family phy- sician," said the young man, haughtily ; and, placing the invalid's arm in his, led him slowly away. He was addressed several times bv the servant as "Sir" something, Wilton or William, I think; but I could not distinctly catch it, so that it was evidently a person of some rank I had been addressing. How many there are, thought I, that, with a more plausible and insinuating address than mine is, would have contrived to get into the confidence of this gentleman, and become his medical attendant ! How foolish was I not to give him my card when he proffered me a fee, and thus, in all proba- bility, be sent for the next morning to pay a regular professional visit ! and to what lucrative introductions might not that have led ! A thousand times I cursed my diffidence — my sensitiveness as to professional etiquette — and my inability to seize the advantages oc- casionally offered by a fortunate conjuncture of circumstances. I was fitter, I thought, for La Trappe than the bustling world of bu- siness. I deserved my ill fortune; and professional failure was the natural consequence of the mauvaise honte which has injured so many. As the day, however, was far advancing, I left the seat, and turned my steps towards my cheerless home. As was generally the case, I found Emily busily engaged in paint- ing little fire-screens, and other ornamental toys, which, when completed, I was in the habit of carrying to a kind of private bazaar in Oxford Street, where I was not known, and where, with an aching heart, I disposed of the delicate and beautiful productions of my poor wife, for a trifle hardly worth taking home. Could any man, pretending to the slightest feeling, contemplate his young- wife, far advanced in pregnancy, in a critical state of health, and requiring afr, exercise, and cheerful company, toiling, in the man- ner I have related, from morning to night, and for a miserably inadequate remuneration? She submitted, however, to our misfor- tunes, with infinitely more firmness and equanimity than I could pretend to; and her uniform cheerfulness of demeanour, together with the passionate fervour of her fondness for me, contributed to \ 2 1 .\l,l.\ STRUGGLES. fling a leu rays <»| ii enabling and evanescent lustre over the gloomy prospects of the Future. Still, however, the dreadful question in- cessantl] presented itself,— What, in Heaven's nam.', is to become of us v 1 cannot say thai we were at this time in absolute literal want; though our parsimonious fare hardlj deserved the name of food, especially such as my wife's delicate situation required. It was the hopelessness of all prospective resources thai kept as in per- petual thraldom. With infinite effort, we might contrive to hold ..ii to a given period, — say, till the next half-yearly demand of old L ; and then we must sink altogether, unless a miracle inter- vened t<> save us. Had I been alone in the world, I might have braved the worst, have tinned my hands to a thousand things, have accommodated myself in almost any circumstances, and borne the extremes! privations with fortitude. But my darling — my meek, smiling, gentle, Emily! — my heart bled for her. Nol i" leave any stone unturned, seeing an advertisement ad- il •• To Medical Men," I applied for the situation of assistant to a general practitioner, though 1 had but little skill in the practical pari of compounding medicines. 1 applied personally to the ad- vertiser, a fat, red-faced, vulgar fellow, who had contrived to gain a very large practice, by what means God only knows, lbs terms were, — and these named in the most offensive contemptuousness of manner, — 80/. a-year, board and lodge out, and give all my time in the dav to my employer! Absurd as was the idea of acceding to terms like these, 1 thought I might .-till consider them. I pi haul for 1U(>/. a-year, and told him I was married • Hurried ! " said he, with a loud laugh; >k No, no, Sir, you arc not the man for m\ money ; sol wish you good morning 1 /' Thus was I baffled in every attempt to obtain a permanent source <.l support from my profession. It brought me al t 401. per annum. I gained, by occasional contributions to magazines, an average sum annually of about 25/. M\ wife earned about that i pencil. And these were :ill the lends 1 bad to meet the enormous interest due half-yearly to (.Id I. , to discharge my rent, and the various other expenses of house-keeping, etc. Might I not well despair .' I did ; and God's goodness onl\ preserved me from til*' frightful calamity which lias suddenly terminated the «aiilil\ miseries "i thousands in similar circumstances. \nd is it possible, I often thought, with all the tormenting cre- I Ins \\i»itli\, | M> i |.\ MOM, 1 1 % t -« I ;il this timr in Um region «'f SI ( .c onre'i in the t EARLY STRUGGLES. 15 Julousness of a man half stupified with his misfortunes,— is it pos- sible, that, in the very heart of this metropolis of splendour, wealth, and extravagance, a gentleman and a scholar, who has laboured long in the honourable toil of acquiring professional knowledge, cannot contrive to scrape together even a competent subsistence ? and that, too, while ignorance and infamy are wallowing in wealth, —while charlatanry and quackery of all kinds are bloated with success ! Full of such thoughts as these, how often have I slunk stealthily along the streets of London, on cold and dreary winter evenings, almost fainting with long abstinence, yet reluctant to re- turn home and incur the expense of an ordinary family dinner, while my wife's situation required the most rigorous economy to enable us to meet, even in a poor and small way, the exigencies of her approaching accouchement ! How of ten— ay , hundreds of times — have 1 envied the coarse and filthy fare of the minor eating-houses, and been content to interrupt a twelve hours' fast with a bun or biscuit, and a draught of water or turbid table-beer, under the wretched pretence of being in too great a hurry to go home to din- ner! I have often gazed with envy— once, T recollect, in particular —on dogs eating their huge daily slice of boiled horse's flesh, and envied their contented and satiated looks ! With what anguish of heart have I seen carriages setting down company at the door of a house, illuminated by the glare of a hundred tapers, where were ladies dressed in the extreme of fashion, whose cast off clothes would have enabled me to acquire a tolerably respectable livelihood ! Oh! ye sons and daughters of luxury and extravagance, how manv thousands of needy and deserving families would rejoice to eat of the crumbs which fall from your tables, and they may not ! I have stood many a time at my parlour window, and envied the kitchen fare of the servants of my wealthy opposite neighbour ; while I protest I have been ashamed to look our own servant in the face, as she, day after day, served up for two, what was little more than sufficient for one : and yet, bitter mockery ! I was to support abroad the farce of a cheerful and respectable professional exterior. Two days after the occurrence at St James's Park, above related, 1 was, as usual, reading the columns of advertisements in one of the daily papers, when my eyes lit on the following:— " The professional gentleman, who, a day or two ago, had some conversation on the subject of asthma, with an invalid, on one of the benches of St James's Park, is particularly requested to for- ward his name and address to W. J., care of Messrs ." 14 EARLY STRUGGLE I almost let the paper fall from my hands with delighted surprise. That I was the " professional gentleman "alluded to, was dear; and on the slender Inundation of this advertisement, I had, in a few moments, buill a large and splendid superstructure of good fortune. I had hardly calmness enough to call my wife, who was engaged with smne small household matters, for the purpose of commu- nicating the good news to her. 1 need hardly say with what eager- ■ess 1 complied with the requisitions of the advertisement. Half an hour beheld rny name and address in an envelope, with the su- perscription, " W. J." lying at Messrs \s, who were stationers. After passing a most anxious and sleepless night, agitated by all kinds of hopes and fears, my wife and I were silling at breakfast, when a livery servant knocked at the door ; and, after inquiring whether " Or " was at home, ieft a letter. It was an en- velope, containing the card of address of Sir William, No. 26, Street, accompanied with the following note :— " Sir William 's compliments to Dr , and will feel obliged by his looking in in the course of the morning." II NOw, becalm, my dear ," said Emily, as she saw my flut- tering excitement of manner. But, alas ! that was impossible. I was impatient for the hour of twelve ; and precisely as the clock struck, I sallied forth to visit my titled patient. All the way 1 went, 1 was taxing my ingenuity for palliatives, remedies for asthma : I would new-i egulaie his diet and plan of life,— in short, I would do wonders ! Sir William, who was silting gasping by the fireside, received me with great courtesy ; and after motioning his nitre, a charming young woman, to retire, told me, lie had been so much interested by my remarks the other day, in the Park, that he Felt inclined to follow my advice, and put himself under my care altogether, lie then entered ona history of his complaints. 1 found his constitu- tion NNas entirely broken up, and that in a very little time ii must tall lo pieces. 1 told him, however, that if he would adhere Strictly to the regimen J proposed, 1 could promise him great if not per- manent relief, lb- listened to what I said with the utmost interest. M D.) yon think you could prolong m\ hie. Doctor, lor two years?" said he, with enmiioii. 1 lold him, 1 certainlx could not pretend to promise him so much. ' k M\ onl) reason for asking the question/' he replied, "is m\ beloved niece, thai young lady, who has just l,.|i us. if I I'iiiiiioi li\«' lor two years or eighteen months longer, it will be a bitter thing for her!"— He sighed deeply, and added abruptly,— "But of thai more hereafter. 1 hope lo see you to- EARLY STRUGGLES. 43 morrow, Doctor." He insisted on my accepting five guineas, in return for the two visits he said he had received ; and I took my departure. I felt altogether a new man, as I walked home. My spirits were more light and buoyant than they had been for many a long month ; for 1 could not help thinking, that I had now a fair chance of introduction inte/ respectable practice. My wife shared my joy ; and we were as happy for the rest of that day, as if we had already surmounted the heavy difficulties which oppressed us. I attended Sir William every day that week, and received a fee of two guineas for each visit. On Sunday I met the family phy- sician, Sir , who had just been released from attendance on one of the royal family. He was a polite, but haughty man ; and seemed inclined to be much displeased with Sir William for calling me in. When I entered, Sir William introduced me to him as "Dr ."' "Dr , of Square?" inquired the other physician, carelessly. I told him where I lived. He affected to be reflecting where the street was ; it was the one next to that in which he himself resided. There is nothing in the world so easy, as for the eminent members of our. profession to take the bread out of the mouths of their younger brethren, with the best grace in the world. So Sir — — contrived in the present case. He assured Sir William, that nothing was calculated to do him so much good, as change of air — of course, I could not but assent. The sooner, he said, Sir William left town the better ; Sir William asked me if I concurred in that opinion ? — Certainly. He set off for Worth- ing two days after ; and I lost the best, and almost the onh patient I had then ever had ; for Sir William died after three weeks' resi- dence at Worthing. This circumstance occasioned me great depression of spirits. Nothing that I touched seemed to prosper ; and the transient glimpses I occasionally obtained of good fortune, seemed given only to tantalize me, and enhance the bitterness of the coetrast. My store of money was reduced at last from 5000/. to 257. in cash ; my debts amounted to upwards of 100/. ; and in six months, an- other 225/. would be due to old L ! My wife, too, had been confined, and there was another source of expense ; for both she and my little daughter were in a very feeble state of health. Still, sweetly wishful to accommodate herself to one lowered in circum- stances, she almost broke my heart one day with the proposal of dismissing our servant, the whole of whose labour my poor sweet Emily herself undertook to perform ! No, no — this was too much ; the tears of agony gushed from my eyes, as I folded her l(j EARLY STRUGGLES. delicate frame in my arms, and assured her that Providence would never permit so much virtue and gentleness to be degraded into such humiliating servitude. I said this ; but my heart heavily mis- gave me, that a more wretched prospect was before her ! I have often sat by my small solitary parlour fire, and pondered over our misery and misfortunes, till almost frenzied with the vio- lence of my emotions. Where was I to look for relief ? What earthlv remedy was there ? my God ! thou alone knowest what this poor heart of mine suffered in such times as these, not on my own account, but for those beloved beings whose ruin was impli- cated in mine ! What, however, was to be done at the present crisis, seeing, at Christmas, old L would come upon me for his interest, and my other creditors would insist on payment? A dreary mist came over my mind's eye whenever I attempted to look steadily forward into futurity. I had written several times to my kind and condescending friend, Lord , who still continued abroad ; but as I knew not to what part of the Continent to di- rect, and the servants of his family pretended they knew not, I left my letters at his town house, to be forwarded with his quarterly packages. I suppose my letters must have been opened, and burnt, as little other than pestering, begging letters ; for I never heard from him. I had often heard from my father, that we had a sort of fiftieth cousin in London, a baronet of great wealth, who had married a di- stant relation of our family, on account solely of her beauty ; but that he was one of the most haughty and arrogant men breathing— had, in the most insolent manner, disavowed the relationship, and treated my father, on one occasion, very contumeliously ; a fate I had my- self shared, as the reader may recollect, not long ago \ Since then, however, the pressure of accumulated misfortunes had a thousand times forced upon me the idea of once more applying to this man, and stating my circumstances. As one is easily induced to believe what one wishes to be true, I could not help thinking that surely he must in some degree relent, if informed of our utter misery : but my heart always failed Avhen I look my pen in hand to write to him. I was at a loss for terms in which to state our distress most feeling- ly, and in a manner best calculated to arrest his attention. I had, however, alter infinite reluctance, addressed a letter of this sort to his lady ; who, I am sorry to say, shared all Sir '& hauteur; and ived an answer from a fashionable watering-place, where her ladyship was spending the summer months. This is it :— EARLY STRUGGLES. \1 " Lady 's compliments to Dr , and having received his letter, and given it her best consideration, is happy in being able to request Dr 's acceptance of the enclosed ; which, however, owing to Sir 's temporary embarrassment in pecuniary matters, she has had -some difficulty in sending. She is, therefore, under the painful necessity of requesting Dr to abstain from future appli- cations of this sort. As to Dr 's offer of his medical services to Lady— 's family, when in town, Lady must beg to decline them, as the present physician has attended the family for years, and neither Lady nor Sir see any reason for changing. "W , lo Dr ." The enclosure was 10/., which I was on the point of returning in a blank envelope, indignant at the cold and unfeeling letter which accompanied it ; but the pale sunk cheeks of my wife appealed against my pride, and I retained it. To return. Recollecting the reception of this application, as well as my former visit to Sir , my heart froze at the very idea of repeating it. To what, however, will not misfortune compel a man ! I determined, at length, to call upon Sir ; to insist upon being shown to him. I set out for this purpose, without telling my errand to my wife, who, as I have be- fore stated, was confined to her bed, and in a very feeble stale of health. It was a fine sunny morning, or rather noon ; all that I passed seemed happy and contented ; their spirits exhilarated by the genial weather, and sustained by the successful prosecution of business. My heart, however, was fluttering feebly beneath the pressure of anticipated disappointment. I was going in the spirit of a forlorn hope ; with a dogged determination to make the attempt ; to know that even this door was shut against me. My knees trem- bled beneath me as I entered Place, and saw elegant equipages standing at the doors of most of the gloomy, but magnificent houses, which seemed to frown off such insignificant and wretched indivi- duals as myself. How could 1 ever muster resolution enough, I thought, to ascend the steps, and knock and ring in a sufficiently authoritative manner lo be attended to? It is laughable to relate, but I could not refrain from stepping back into a by-street, and getting a small glass of some cordial spirit to give me a little firmness. At length 1 ventured again into Place, and found Sir 's house, on the opposite side. There was no one to be seen but some foot- men in undress, lolling indolently at the dining-room window, and making their remarks on passers by. I dreaded these fellows as much as their master ! It was no use, however, indulging in thoughts of that kind ; so I crossed over, and lifting the huge knocker, made 18 EARLY STRUGGLES. a tolerably decided application of it, and pulled the bell with what I fancied was a sudden and imperative jerk. The summons was instantly answered by the corpulent porter, who, seeing nothing but a plain pedestrian, kept hold of the door, and leaning against the door-post, asked me familiarly what were my commands. " Is Sir at home?" " Ye — es," said the fellow, in a supercilious tone. " Can he be spoken to?" " I think he can't, for he wasn't home till six o'clock this morn- ing from the Duchess of 's." " Can I wait for him? and will you show him this card," said I, tendering it to him — " and say I have particular business?" " Couldn't look in again at four, could you ?" he inquired, in the same tone of cool assurance. " No, Sir," I replied kindling with indignation, "my business is urgent,— I shall wait now." With a yawn he opened the door for me, and called to a servant to show me into the antechamber, saying, I must make up my mind to wait an hour or two, as Sir was then only just gelling up, and would be an hour al least at his breakfast. He then left me, saying he would send my card up to his master. My spirits were somewhat ruffled and agitated with having forced my way thus far through the frozen island of English aristocracy, and I sat down determined to wait patiently, till I was summoned up to Sir . I could hear several equipages dashing up to the door, and the visi- ters they brought were always shown up immediately. I rung the bell, and asked a servant why 1 was suffered to wait so long, as Sir was clearly visible now. " Ton honour, I don't know, indeed," said the fellow, coolly, shutting the door. Boiling with indignation, I resumed my seat, then walked to and fro, and presently sat down again. Soon afterwards, I heard the French valet ordering the carriage to be in readiness in half an hour. I rung again; the same servant answered. He walked into the room, and standing near me, asked in a familiar tone, what I wanted. " Show me op to Sir , for 1 shall wait no longer," said 1 sternly. "Can't, Sir, indeed," In* replied, with a smirk on his face. " Has my card hem shown to Sir ?" I inquired, struggling to preserve my temper. " I'll ask the porter ii In- gave it to Sir s' valet," he replied, and shut the d0OT. About ten minutes aftei wards a carriage drove up; there was EARLY STRUGGLES. 19 a bustle on the stairs, and in the hall. I heard a voice saying, " If Lord calls, tell him I am gone to his house. " In a few mo- ments, the steps of the carriage were let down — the carriage drove off— and all was quiet. Once more I rung. " Is Sir now at liberty ? ' " Oh, he's gone out, Sir," said thesame servant, who had twice be- fore answered my summons. The valet then entered. I asked him, with lips quivering with indignation, why I had not seen Sir ? I was given to understand that my card had been shown the Baro- net — that he said, " I've no time to attend to this person," or words to that effect — and had left his house without deigning to notice me ! Without uttering more, than " Show me the door, Sir," to the ser- vant, I took my departure, determining to perish rather than make a second application. To anticipate my narrative a little, I may state, that ten years afterwards, Sir , who had become dread- fully addicted to gambling, lost all his property, and died suddenly of an apoplectic seizure, brought on by a paroxysm of fury ! Thus did Providence reward this selfish and unfeeling man. I walked about the town for several hours, endeavouring to wear off that air of chagrin and sorrow which had been occasioned by my reception at Sir 's. Something must be done, and that immediately ; for absolute starvation was now before us. I could think of but two other quarters where T could apply for a little temporary relief. I resolved to write a note to a very ce- lebrated and successful brother practitioner, stating my neces- sities — acquainting him candidly with my whole circumstances, and soliciting the favour of a temporary accommodation of a few pounds — twenty was the sum I ventured to name. I wrote the letter at a coffee-house, and returned home. I spent all that even- ing in attempting to picture to myself the reception it would meet with. I tried to put myself in the place of him I had written to, and fancy the feelings with which I should receive a similar appli- cation. I need not, however, tantalize the reader. After nearly a fortnight's suspense, I received the following reply to my letter. I shall give it verbatim, after premising, that the writer of it was at that time making about 10,000/. or 12,000/. a-year :— " encloses a trifle (one guinea j to Dr ; wishes it may be serviceable ; but must say, that when young men attempt a station in life without competent funds to meet it , they cannot wonder if they fail. M Square." The other quarter was old Mr G , our Indian lodger. Though 20 EARLY STRUGGLES. an eccentric and reserved man, shunning all company except that of a favourite black servant, I thought he might yet be liberal. As lie was something of a character , I must be allowed a word or two about him, in passing. Though he occupied the whole of the iirst floor of my house, I seldom saw him. In truth, he was little else than a bronze fireside iixlure, all day long, summer and winter, — protected from the intrusion of draughts and visiters, which equally annoved him, by a huge folding-screen, — swathed, mummylike, in flannel and furs — squalling incessant execrations against the chilly English climate— and solacing himself, alternately, with sleep, caudle and curry. He would sit for hours listening to a strange cluttering, ( I know no word but this that can give any thing like an idea of it,) and most melancholy noise, uttered by his black grizzle-headed ser- vant — which I was given to understand was a species of Indian song —evincing his satisfaction by a face curiously puckered together, and small beady black eyes, glittering with the light of vertical suns : thus, I say, he would sit till both dropt asleep. He was very fond of this servant, (whose name was Clinquabor, or something of that sort;) and yet would kick and strike him with great violence on the slightest occasions. Without being sordidly self-interested, I candidly acknowledge, that, on receiving him into our house, and submitting to divers in- conveniences from his strange foreign fancies, I had calculated on his proving a lucrative lodger. I was, however, very much mis- taken. He uniformly discouraged my visits, by evincing the utmost restlessness, and even trepidation, whenever I approached. He was more tolerant of my wife's visits; but even to her could not help intimating, in pretty plain terms, on more occasions than one, that lie had no idea of being " drugged to death by his landlord." On one occasion, however, his servant came stuttering with agita- tion into my room, that " hib massa wis to see — a — a Docta." I found him suffering from the heartburn; submitted to his asthmatic querulousness for nearly half an hour; prescribed the usual re- medies ; and received in return — a guinea 7 — No, a curious, ugly, and perfectly useless cane, with which do enhance its value) he as- sured me he bad once kept a large snake at bay ! On another occasion, in return for similar professional assistance, he dismissed me Without tendering me a lee, or any thing instead of it ; but sent for my wife, in ili<- course 6? the afternoon, and presented bet with a hideous little cracked china teapot, the led fastened with a dingy silver chain, and the lip of the spoul bearing evident marks of an ancient compound fracture. He was singularly exaci EARLY STRUGGLES. 21 in every thing he did : he paid his rent, for instance, at ten o'clock in the morning- every quarter day, as long as he lived with me. Such was the man whose assistance I had at last determined to ask. With infinite hesitation and embarrassment, T stated my circumstances. He fidgeted sadly, till I concluded, almost inarti- culate with agitation, by soliciting the loan of 300/. — offering, at the same time , to deposit with him the lease of my house, as a collateral security for what he might advance me. " My God ! " he exclaimed, falling back in his chair, and elevat- ing his hands. " Would you favour me with this sum, Mr G ?" I inquired in a respectful tone. " Do you take me, Doctor, for a money-lender?" •• No, indeed, Sir ; but for an obliging friend as well as lodger — if von will allow me the liberty." 44 Ha! you think me a rich old hunks come from India, to fling his gold at every one he sees? " "May I beg an answer, Sir?" said I, after a pause. " I cannot lend it you, Doctor," he replied calmly, and bowed me to the door. I rushed down stairs almost gnashing my teeth with fury. The Deity seemed to have marked me with a curse. No one would listen to me ! The next day my rent was due; which, with Mr G 's rent, and the savings of excruciating parsimony, t contrived to meet. Then came old L ! Good God ! what were my feelings when I saw him hobble up to my door ! I civilly assured him, with a quaking heart, and ashy cheeks, but with the calmness of despair, that though it was not convenient to-day, he should have it on the morning of the next day. His greedy, black. Jewish eye seemed to dart into my very soul. He retired, apparently satis- fied, and I almost fell down and blessed him on my knees, for his forbearance. It was on Wednesday, two days after Christmas, that my dear Emily came down stairs after her confinement. Though pale and languid, she looked very lovely, and her fondness for me seemed redoubled. By way of honouring the season, and welcoming my dear wife down stairs, in spite of my fearful embarrassments, I expended my last guinea in providing a tolerably comfortable din- ner, such as I had not sat down to for many a long week. I was determined to cast care aside for one day at least. The litde table was set ; the small but savoury roast beef was on ; and I was just drawing the cork' of a solitary bottle of port, when a heavy knock 22 EARLY STRUGGLES. was heard at the street door. I almost fainted at the sound— I knew not why. The servant answered the door, and two men entered the verv parlour, holding a thin slip of parchment in their hands. "In God's name, who are you? — what brings you here?" I inquired— or rather gasped, while my wife sat silent, trembling, and looking very faint. "Are you the gentleman that is named here?" inquired one of the men in a civil and even compassionate tone — showing me a ivrit issued by old L , for the money I owed him ! My poor wife saw my agitation, and the servant arrived just in time to preserve her from falling, for she had fainted. I had her carried to bed, and was permitted to wait by her bedside for a few moments; when, more dead than alive, I surrendered myself into the hands of the officers. " Lord, Sir," — said they, as I walked between them, "this here is not by no manner of means an uncommon thing, d'ye see— thof it's rather hard, too, to leave one's dinner and one's wife so sudden ! But you'll no doubt soon get bailed — and then, you see, there's a little time for turning in ! " I an- swered not a syllable — for I felt suffocated. Bail — where was I — a poor, unknown, starving physician— to apply for it? — Even if I could succeed in finding it, would it not be unprincipled to take their security when 1 had no conceivable means of meeting the fearful claim? What is the use of merely postponing the evil day, in order to aggravate its horrors ! T shall never forget that half hour, if I were to live a thousand years. I felt as if I were stepping into my grave. My heart was utterly withered within me. A few hours beheld me the sullen and despairing occupant of the back attic of a sponging-house near Leicester Square. The wea- ther was bitterly inclement, yet no fire was allowed one who had not a farthing to pay for it— since I had slipped the only money I had in the world,— tin re shillings,— into the pocket of my insen- sible wife at parting. Had it not been for my poor Emily and my child, I think 1 should have put an end to my miserable exist- ence; lor to prison I must go — if there was no miracle to save me; and what was to become of Emily and her little one? Jewels she had none to pawn — my books had nearly all disappeared — the scanty remnants of our furniture were not worth selling. Great God! I was nearly frantic when I thought of all this. I sat up the whole night without fire or candle, (for the brutal wretch in whose custody I was, suspected I bad money with me, and would not part with it,) till nearly seven o'clock in the morning, when I sank in a state of stupor, on the bed, and fell asleep. How long 1 continued EAJILY STRUGGLES. 23 so, I know not ; for I was roused from a dreary dream by some one embracing me, and repeatedly kissing my lips and forehead. It was my poor Emily; who, at the imminent risk of her life, having found out where I was, had hurried to bring me the news of re- lease ; for she had succeeded in obtaining the sum of 500/. from our lodger, which I had in vain solicited. We returned home imme- diately. 1 hastened up stairs to our lodger to express the most en- thusiastic thanks. He listened without interruption, and then coldly replied,—" 1 would rather have your note of hand, Sir ! " Almost choked with mortification at receiving such an unfeeling rebuff, I gave him what he asked, expecting nothing more than that he would presently act the part of old L . He did not, however, trouble me. The few pounds above what was due to our relentless creditor L , sufficed to meet some of our more pressing exigencies ; but as they gradually disappeared, my prospects became darker than ever. The agitation and distress which recent occurrences had oc- casioned, threw my wife into a low, nervous, hysterical state, which added to my misfortunes ; and her little infant was sensibly pining away, as if in unconscious sympathy with its wretched parents. Where now were we to look for help ? We had a new creditor, to a serious amount, in Mr G , our lodger ; whatever, therefore, might be the extremity of our distress, applying to him was out of the question; nay, it would be well if he proved a lenient creditor. The hateful annuity was again becoming due. It pressed like an incubus upon us. The form of old L flitted incessantly around us, as though it were a fiend, goading us on to destruction. I am sure I must often have raved frightfully in my sleep ; for more than once I was woke by my wife clinging to me, and exclaiming, in ter- rified accents, "Oh, hush, hush, , don't, for Heaven's sake, say so ! " To add to my misery, she and the infant began to keep their bed ; and our lodger, whose constitution had been long ago broken up, began to foil rapidly. 1 was in daily and most harassing at- tendance on him ; but of course, could not expect a fee, as I was al- ready his debtor to a large amount. I had three patients who paid me regularly, but only one was a daily patient ; and I was obliged to lay by, out of these small incomings, a cruel portion to meet my rent, and L 's annuity. Surely my situation was now like that of the fabled scorpion, surrounded with fiery destruction ! Every- one in the house, and my few acquaintances without, expressed surprise and commiseration at my wretched appearance. I was 24 EARLY STRUGGLES. worn almost to a skeleton ; and when I looked suddenly in the glass, my worn and hollow looks startled me. My fears magnified the illness of my wife; the whole world seemed melting away from me into gloom and darkness. My thoughts, 1 well recollect, seemed to be perpetually occupied with the dreary image of a desolate churchyard, wet and cold with the sleets and storms of winter. 0, that T, and my wife and child, I have sometimes madly thought, were sleeping peacefully in our long home ! Why were we brought into the world ? — why did my nature prompt me to seek my present station in society ? — merely for the purpose of reducing me to the dreadful condition of him of old, whose only consolation from his friends was, — Curse God, and die! What had we done — what had our forefathers done — that Providence should thus frown upon us, thwarting every thing we attempted ! Fortune, however, at last seemed tired of persecuting me ; and my affairs took a favourable turn when most they needed it, and when least I expected it. On what small and insignificant things do our fates depend ! Truly — There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. About eight o'clock one evening in the month of March, I was walking down the Haymarket, as usual, in a very disconsolate mood, in search of some shop where I might execute a small com- mission for my wife. The whole neighbourhood in front of the Opera-house door, exhibited the usual scene of uproar, arising from clashing carriages and quarrelsome coachmen. 1 was stand- ing at the box-door, watching with Mckcning feelings the company descend from their can iages, when a cry was heard from the very centre of the crowd of coaches, — " Hun for a doctor !" 1 rushed instantly to the spot, at the peril of my life, announcing my pro- fession. 1 soon made my way up to the open door of a carriage, from which issued the meanings of a female, evidently in great agony. The accident was this: A young lady had suddenly stretched her arm through theopen window of the carriage convey- ing her to the opera, for the purpose <>f pointing < :it t<> <>n<' of her companions a brilliant illumination of one of the opposite houses. At that instant their coachman, dashing forward t" gain theopen space opposite the box-door, shot with gn ai velocity, and within a bairsbreadUi distance past a retiring carriage. The con iequence was inevitable : a sudden shrink announced the dislocation of the EARLY STRUGGLES. 2o voting lady's shoulder, and the shocking laceration of the fore-arm and hand. When I arrived at the carriage door, the unfortunate sufferer was lying motionless in the arms of an elderly gentleman and a young lady, both of them, as might be expected, dreadfully agitated. It was the Earl of and his two daughters. Having entered the carriage, I placed my fair patient in such a position as would prevent her suffering more than was necessary from the motion of the carriage — despatched one of the servants for Mr Cline, to meet us on our arrival, and then the coachman was or- dered to drive home as fast as possible. I need not say more than that, by 3Ir Cline's skill, the dislocation was quickly reduced, and the wounded hand and arm duly dressed. I then prescribed what medicines were necessary — received a check for ten guineas from the Earl, accompanied with fervent thanks for my prompt attentions, and was requested to call as early as possible the next morning. As soon as I had left his lordship's door, I shot homeward like an arrow. My good fortune | truly it is an ill wind that blows no- body any good 1 was almost too much for me. I could scarce re- press the violence of my emotions, but felt a continual inclination to relieve myself, by singing, shouting, or committing some other such extravagance. I arrived at home in a*very few minutes, and rushed breathless up stairs, joy glittering in my eyes, to communi- cate — inarticulate with emotion — my good fortune to my wife, and congratulate ourselves that the door of professional success seemed at length really opened to us. How tenderly she tried to calm my excitement, and moderate my expectations, without, at the same time, depressing my spirits ! I did certainly feel somewhat damped, when I recollected the little incident of my introduction to Sir William , and its abrupt and unexpected termination. This, however, seemed a very different affair ; and the event proved that my expectations were not ill founded. I continued in constant attendance on my fair patient, who was really a very lovely girl ; and, by my unremitting and anxious at- tentions, so conciliated the favour of the Earl, and the rest of his family, that the Countess, who had long been an invalid, was com- mitted to my care, jointly with that of the family physician. I need hardly say, that my poor services were most nobly remunerated ; and more than this — having succeeded in securing the confidence of the family, it was not many weeks before I had the honour of visiting one or two of their connexions of high rank ; and I felt con- scious that I was laying the foundation of a fashionable and lucra- tive practice. With joy unutterable, I contrived to be ready for 26 EARLY STRUGGLES. our half-yearly tormentor, old L ; and somewhat surprised him, by asking, with an easy air,— oh, the luxury of that moment! —when he wished for a return of his principal. Of course, he was not desirous of losing such interest as I was paying ! I had seen too much of the bitterness of adversity, to suffer the dawn of good fortune to elate me into too great conlidence. I now husbanded my resources with rigorous economy— and had, in re- turn, the inexpressible satisfaction of being able to pay my way, and stand fair with all my creditors. Oh, the rapture of being able to pay every one his own !— My beloved Emily appeared in that society which she was born to ornament ; and we numbered se- veral families of high respectability among our visiting friends. — As is usual in such cases, whenever accident threw me in the way of those who formerly scowled upon me contemptuously, I was re- ceived with an excess of civility. The very physician who sent me the munificent donation of a guinea, I met in consultation, and made his cheeks tingle, by returning him the ban he had ad- vanced me ! In four years, time from the occurrence at the Haymarket, I con- trived to repay old L his 5000/., (though he did not live a month after signing the receipt,) and thus escaped— blessed be God!— for ever from the fangs of the money-lenders. A word or two, also, ab- out our Indian lodger. He died about eighteen months after the ac- cident 1 have been relating. His sole heir was a young lieutenant in the navy ; and, very much to my surprise and gratification, in a co- dicil to old Mr G 's will, I was left a legacy of 2000/., including the 500/. he had lent me, saying, it was some return for the many attentions he had received from us since he had been our lodger, and as a mark of his approbation of the honourable and virtuous prin- eiples by which, he said, he had always perceived our conduct to be actuated. Twelve years from this period, my income amounted to between 5000/. and 44)00/. a-year ; and as my family was increasing, I thought my means warranted a more extensive establishment. I therefore removed into a large and elegant house, and set up my carriage. The recollection of past times has taught me at least one useful lesson— whether my life be long or short,— to bear success with moderation, and never to turn a deaf ear to applieations from the younger and less successful members of my profession. Sweet are the uses of adversity; Which, like a ton. I, ngl] ami venomous, \\ ears yet a precious jewel iu his head. CANCER. 27 CHAPTER II. CANCER. One often hears of the great firmness of the female sex, and their powers of enduring a degree of physical pain, which would utterly break down the stubborn strength of man. An interesting exemplification of this remark will be found in the short narrative immediately following. The event made a strong impression on my mind at the time, and I thought it well worthy of an entry in my Diary. I had for several months been in constant attendance on a Mrs St , a young married lady, of considerable family and fortune, who was the victim of that terrible scourge of the female sex, a cancer. To great personal attractions, she added uncommon sweet- ness of disposition ; and the fortitude with which she submitted to the agonizing inroads of her malady, together with her ardent ex- pressions of gratitude for such temporary alleviations as her anxious medical attendants could supply , contributed to inspire me with a very lively interest in her fate. I can conscientiously say, that during the whole period of my attendance, I never heard a word of complaint fall from her, nor witnessed any indications of impatience or irritability. I found her, one morning, stretched on the crimson sofa in the drawing-room; and though her pallid features, and gently corrugated eyebrows, evidenced the intense agony she was suffering, on my inquiring what sort of a night she had passed, she replied, in a calm but tremulous tone, — "Oh, Doctor, I have had a dreadful night ; but I am glad Captain St was not with me; for it would have made him very wretched!" At that mo- ment, a fine flaxen-haired little boy, her first and only child, came running into the room, his blue laughing eyes glittering with inno- cent merriment. I took him on my knee , and amused him with my watch, in order that he might not disturb his mother. The poor sufferer, after gazing on him with an air of intense fondness for some moments, suddenly covered her eyes with her hand, (oh ! how slender! how snowy! how almost transparent was that hand!) and I presently saw the tears trickling through her fingers ; but she utter- 88 CANCER. ed not a word. There was the mother! The aggravated malignity ul her disorder rendered an operation at length inevitable. The eminent surgeon, who, jointly with myself, was in regular attendanee (ii her, feelingly communicated the intelligence, and asked whether she thought she had fortitude enough to submit to an operation ? She assured him, with a sweet smile of resignation, that she had for some time been suspecting as much, and had made up her mind t<> submit to it, but on two conditions, — that her husband | who was then at sea i should not be informed of it, till it was over ; and that, during the operation, she should not be in any wise bound or blind- folded. Tier calm and decisive manner convinced me that remon- strance would be useless. Sir looked at me with a doubtful air. She observed it ; and said, "J see what you are thinking, Sir ; but I hope to show you that a woman has more courage than you seem willing to give her credit for." In short, after the surgeon had acquiesced in the latter condition — to which he had especialiy demurred — a day was fixed for the operation — subject, of course, to Mrs St 's state of health. When the Wednesday arrived, it was with some agitation that I entered Sir 's carriage, in com- pany with himself, and his senior pupil, Mr . I could scarce avoid a certain nervous tremor — unprofessional as it may seem— when 1 saw the servant place the operating case on the seat of the carriage. " Are you sure you have every thing ready, Mr ? " inquired Sir , with a calm business-like air, which somewhat irritated me. On being assured of the affirmative, and after cautiously cast- in;; his eye over the ease of instruments*, to make assurance doubly sure, we drove off. We arrived at Mrs St 's, who resided a few miles from town, about two o'clock in the afternoon, and were im- mediately ushered into the room in which the operation was to be performed — a back parlour, the window of which looked into a beautiful garden. I shall be pardoned, 1 hope, lor acknowledging, that the glimpse I caught of the pale and disordered countenance of \ ml. ;i> lie retired, after showing us into the room, some- what disconcerted me : lor, in addition to the deep interest I felt in the fate of til'- lovely sufferer, I had always an abhorrence for the operative part of the profession, which many years <>i practice did not suffice to remove. The necessary arrangements being at length completed — consisting of ;i hateful array of instruments, cloths, • i once am the life of i patient lost, morel] through the wul of such simple precaution .is thai <»t Sir . in the present instance. An iodfopensaMe instru- ment was suddenrj required in the midst of me operation; and, to the dismay o( the operator and those around him. there was none ;it hand ! * CANCER. 29 sponge, warm water, etc. etc. a message was sent to Mrs St . to inform her all was ready. Sir was just making a jocular and not very well-limed allusion to my agitated air, when the door was opened, and Mrs St en- tered, followed by her two attendants. Her step was firm, her air composed, and her pale features irradiated with a smile — sad, how- ever, as the cold twilight of October. She was then about twenty six or seven years of age— and, under all the disadvantageous circum- stances in which she was placed, looked at that momenta beautiful woman. Her hair was light auburn, and hung back neglecledly over a forehead and neck white as marble. Her full blue eves, which usually beamed with a delicious pensive expression from beneath —the soft languor of the drooping lid, were now lighted with the glitter of a restlessness and agitation, which the noblest degree of self-command could not entirelv conceal or repress. Her features were regular — her nose and mouth ex- quisitely chiselled— and her complexion fair, almost to transpa- rency. Indeed, an eminent medical writer has remarked that the most beautiful women are generally the subjects of this terrible dis- ease. A large Indian shawl was thrown over her shoulders, and she wore a white muslin dressing-guwn. And was it this innocent and beautiful being who was doomed to writhe beneath the torture and disfigurement of the operating knife? My heart ached. A decanter of port wine and some glasses were placed on a small table near the window ; she beckoned me towards it, and was going to speak. " Allow me, my dear Madam, to pour you a glass of wine, " said I — or rather faltered. 1 ' If it would do me good, Doctor," she whispered. She barely touched the glass with her lips, and then handed one tome, saving, with assumed cheerfulness, " Come, Doctor, I see you need it as much as I do, after all. Yes, Doctor," she continued, with em- phasis, "you are very, very kind and feeling to me." When I had set down the glass she continued, "Dear Doctor, do forgive a woman's weakness, and try if you can hold this letter, which I received yesterday from Captain St , and in which he speaks very fondly, so that my eyes may rest on his dear handwriting all the while I am sitting here without being noticed bv anv one else — will vou?" 30 CANCER. " Madam, you must really excuse me — it will agitate you— I must beg " — " You are mistaken," she replied with firmness; M it will rather compose me. And if I should" expire, she was going to have said — but her tongue refused utterance. She then put the letter into my hand — hers was cold, icy cold, and clammy — but I did not perceive it tremble. "In return, Madam, you must give me leave to hold your hand during the operation." "What — you fear me, Doctor?" she replied, with a faint smile, but did not refuse my request. At this moment, Sir ap- proached us with a cheerful air, saying, "Well, Madam, is your tete-a-tete finished ? I want to get this little matter over, and give you permanent ease." I do not think there ever lived a profes- sional man who could speak with such an assuring air as Sir ! "I am ready, Sir . Are the servants sent out?" she in- quired from one of the women present. "Yes, Madam," she replied, in tears. "And my little Harry?" Mrs St asked, in a fainter tone. She was answered in the affirmative. " Then I am prepared," said she, and sat down in the chair that was placed for her. One of the attendants then removed the shawl from her shoulders, and Mrs St herself, with perfect compo- sure, assisted in displacing as much of her dress as was necessary. She then suffered Sir to place her on the corner side of the chair, with her left arm thrown over the back of it, and her face looking over her right shoulder. She gave me her right hand ; and, with my left, I endeavoured to hold Captain St 's letter, as she had desired. She smiled sweetly, as if to assure me of her forti- tude ; and there was something so indescribably affecting in the ex- pression of her full blue eyes, that it almost broke my heart. I shall never forget that smile as long as I live ! Half closing her eyes, she fixed them on the letter 1 held — and did not once remove them till all was over. Nothing could console me at this trying moment, but a conviction of the consummate skill of Sir , who now, with a calm eye, and a steady hand, commenced the operation. At the instant of the first incision, her whole frame quivered with a convulsive shudder, and her cheeks became ashy pale. I prayed inwardly that she might faint, so that the earlier stage of the ope- ration might be got oxer while she was in a state of insensibility. It was not the case, however — her eyes continued riveted in one long burning gaze of fondness mi the beloved handwriting of her THE DENTIST AND THE COMEDIAN. 31 husband ; and she moved not a limb, nor uttered more than an oc- casional sigh, during the whole of the protracted and painful ope- ration. When the last bandage had been applied, she whispered almost inarticulately, "Is it all over, Doctor?" "Yes, 3Iadam," replied I, "and we are going to carry you up to bed." " No, no— I think I can walk— I will try," said she, and endea- voured to rise ; but on Sir assuring her that the motion might perhaps induce fatal consequences, she desisted, and we carried her, sitting in the chair, up to bed. The instant we had laid her down, she swooned— and continued so long insensible, that Sir held a looking-glass over her mouth and nostrils, apprehensive that the vital energies had at last sunk under the terrible struggle. She recovered, however; and under the influence of an opiate draught, slept for several hours. Mrs St recovered, though very slowly ; and I attended her assiduously— sometimes two or three times a-day, till she could be removed to the sea-side. I shall not easily forget an observation she made at the last visit I paid her. She was alluding, one morn- ing, distantly and delicately, to the personal disfigurement she had suffered. 1, of course, said all that was soothing. "But, Doctor, my husband" said she, suddenly, while a faint crimson mantled on her cheek— adding, faltefingly, after a pause, —"I think St will love me vet! " CHAPTER III. THE DENTIST AND THE COMEDIAN. Friday,— 18— . A ludicrous contretems happened to-day, which I wish I could describe as forcibly as it struck me. Mr — — , the well-known comedian, with whom I was on terms of intimacv, after having suffered so severely from the toothach, as to be prevented, for two evenings, from taking his part in the play, sent, under my direction, for Monsieur , a fashionable dentist, then but re- cently imported from France. While I was sitting with my friend, 3-2 THE DENTIST AND THE COMEDIAN. endeavouring to "screw his courage up lo the sticking place," Monsieur arrived, duly furnished with the "tools of his craft.'' The comedian sat down with a rueful visage, and eyed the dentist's formidable preparations with a piteous and disconcerted air. As SOQD as I had taken my station behind, for the purpose of holding the patients head, the gum was lanced without much ado; but as the doomed tooth was a very formidable broadi ooled molar, Mon- sieur prepared for a vigorous effort. He was just commencing the dreadful wrench, when he suddenly relaxed his hold, retired a step vv two from his patient, and burst into a loud fit of laughter ! Up- started the astounded comedian, and with clenched lists demanded furiously, "What the he meant by such conduct?" The little bewhiskered foreigner, however, continued standing at a little distance, still so convulsed with laughter as to disregard the me- nacing movements of his patient ; and exclaiming, "Ah, monDieu! — ver good— ver good— bien! ha, ha!— Be Gar, Monsieur, you pull one such d queer, extraordinaire comique face— Be Gar, like one big fiddle!" or words to that effect. The dentist was right : Mr 's features were odd enough at all times; but, on the present occasion, they suffered such excruciating contortions- such a strange puckering together of the mouth and cheeks, and upturning of the eyes, that it was ten thousand times more laugh- able than any artificially distorted features with which he used to set Drury Lane in a roar.— Oh that a painter had been present !— There was, on one side, my friend, standing in menacing attitude, with both lists clenched, his left cheek swelled, and looking as if the mastication of a large apple had been suddenly suspended, and his whole features exhibiting a grotesque expression of mingled pain, in lecision, and fury. Then there was the operator beginning to look a little startled at the probable consequences of his sally ; and, lastly, I stood a little aside, almost suffocated with suppressed laughter! At length, however, 's perception of the ridiculous prevailed; and alter a very hearty laugh, and exclaiming, "I must have looked odd, I su| pose!" he once more resigned himself into lb.' hands of Monsieur, and the tooth was out in a twinkling. A SCHOLAR'S DEATHBED. do CHAPTER IV. A SCHOLAR'S DEATHBED. [Much more of the following short, but melancholy, narrative, might have been committed to press ; but as it would have related chieflv to a mad devotion to alchemy, which some of Mr 's few posthumous papers abundantly evidence, it is omitted, lest the reader should consider the details as romantic or improbable. All that is worth recording is told ; and it is hoped, that some young men of powerful, undisciplined, and ambitious minds, will find their account in an attentive consideration of the fate of a kindred spirit. Bene facit, qui ex aliorum erroribus sibi exemphun sumat.] Thinking, one morning, that I had gone through the whole of my usual levee of home patients, I was preparing to go out, when the servant informed me there was one yet to be spoken with, who, he thought, must have been asleep in a corner of the room, else he could not have failed to summon him in his turn. Directing him to be shewn in immediately, I retook my place at my desk. The servant, in a few moments, ushered in a young man, who seemed to have scarce strength enough, even with the assistance of a walk- ing-stick, to totter to a chair opposite me. I was much struck with his appearance, which was that of one in reduced circumstances. His clothes, though perfectly clean and neat, were faded and threadbare ; and his coat was buttoned up to his chin, where it was joined by a black silk neckerchief, in such a manner as to lead me to suspect the absence of a shirt. He was rather below than above the average height, and seemed wasted almost to a shadow. There was an air of superior ease and politeness in his demeanour ; and an expression about his countenance, sickly and sallow though it was, so melancholy, mild, and intelligent, that I could not help viewing him with peculiar interest. " I was afraid, my friend, I should have missed you," said I, in a kind tone, " as I was on the point of going out." — "I heard your carriage drive up to the door, Doctor, and shall not detain you more than a few moments : nav, I will call to-morrow, if that would 34 A SCHOLARS DEATHBED. be more convenient," he replied family, suddenly pressing his hand to his side, as though the effort of speaking occasioned him pain. I assured him 1 had a quarter of an hour at his service, and begged he would proceed at once to state the nature of his complaint. He detailed—what I had anticipated from his appearance— all the symptoms of a very advanced stage of pulmonary consumption. He expressed himself in very select and forcible language; and once or twice, when at a loss for what he conceived an adequate expression in English, chose such an' appropriate Latin phrase, that the thought perpetually suggested itself to me, while he was speaking—" a starved scholar!*' He had not the most distant al- lusion to poverty, but confined himself to the leading symptoms of his indisposition. 1 determined, however, (hand vraeteritorum knmemor!) to ascertain his circumstances, with a view, if pos- sible, of relieving them. I asked if he ate animal food with re- lish,— enjoyed his dinner,— whether his meals were regular. He coloured, and hesitated a little, for I put the question searchingly ; and replied, with some embarrassment, that he did not, certainly, then eat regularly, nor ^njoy his food when he did. I soon found that he was in very straitened circumstances ; that, in short, he was sinking rapidly under the pressure of want'and harassing anxiety, which alone had accelerated, if not wholly induced, his present ill- ness ; and that all he had to expect from medical aid, was a little al- leviation. I prescribed a few simple medicines, and then asked him in what part of the town he resided. " 1 am afraid, Doctor," said he, modestly, " I shall be unable to afford your visiting me at my own lodgings. I will occasionally rail mi vim here, as a morning patient,"— and he proffered me half a guinea. The conviction that it was probably the very last he had in the world, and a keen recollection of similar scenes in my own history, almost brought the tears into my eyes. 1 refused the fee, of course ; and prevailed on him to let me set him down, as I wis driving close past bis residence. He seemed overwhelmed with gratitude; and, with a blush, hinted, that he was "not quite in carriage costume." He lived in one of tin- small streets leading from May-fair; and after having made a note in my tablets of his name and number, I set him down, promising him an early call. The clammy pressure ol bis wasted fingers, as l shook his hand at parting, remained with me all that da) . I could not dismiss from my mind I lit- mild and SOJTOwful < oimtenaiiee of this young man, go where 1 would ; and 1 was on the point of mentioning the inei- ib lit to a most exeellenl ami ;;eneioiis nobleman, whom I was then A SCHOLAR'S DEATHBED. 35 attending, and soliciting his assistance ; but the thought that it was premature, checked me. There might be something unworthy id the young man ; he might possibly be an— impostor. These were hard thoughts— chilling and unworthy suspicions, but I could not resist them : alas ! an eighteen years' intercourse with a deceitful world has alone taught me how to entertain them ! As my wife dined a little way out of town that evening, I hastily swallowed a solitary meal, and set out in quest of my morning pa- tient. With some difficulty I found the house ; it was the meanest, and in the meanest street, I had visited for months. I knocked at the door, which was open, and surrounded by a babbling throng of dirty children. A slatternly woman, with a child in her arms, answered my summons. Mr , she said, lived there, in the top floor ; but he was just gone out for a few moments, she sup- posed, ' 6 to get a mouthful of victuals, but I was welcome to go up and wait for him, since," said the rude wretch, "there was not much to make away with, howsoever!" One of her children led me up the narrow, dirty staircase, and having ushered me into the room, left me to my meditations. A wretched hole it was in which I was sitting! The evening sun streamed in discoloured rays through the unwashed panes, here and there mended with brown paper, and sufficed to show me that the only furniture consisted of a miserable curtainless bed, (the disordered clothes showing that the wearv limbs of the wretched occupant had but recently left it) — three old rush-bottomed chairs— and a rickety deal table, on which were scattered several pages of manuscript— a letter or two— pens, ink, and a few books. There was no chest of drawers— nor did I see any thing likely to serve as a substitute. Poor Mr pro- bably carried about with him all that he had in the world ! There was a small sheet of writing paper pinned over the mantel-piece, (if such it deserved to be called,) which I gazed at with a sigh ; it bore simply the outline of a coffin, with Mr 's initials, and " obiit 18—," evidently in his own hand-writing. Curious to see the kind of books he preferred, I took them up and examined them. There were, if I recollect right, a small Amsterdam edition of Plautus— a Horace— a much befingered copy of Aristophanes— a neat pocket edition of iEschylus— a small copy of the works of Lactantius — and two odd volumes of English books. I had no in- tention of being impertinently inquisitive, but my eye accidentally lit on the uppermost manuscript, and seeing it to be in the Greek character, I took it up, and found a few verses of Greek sapphics, entitled, Ek tv; vQxra tz\vjtt.m — evidently the recent compo- 36 A SCHOLAR'S DEATHBED. sition of Mr . He entered the room as I was laying down the paper, and started at seeing a stranger, for it seems the people of the house had not taken the trouble to inform him I was waiting. On discovering who it was, he bowed politely, and gave me his hand ; but the sudden agitation my presence had occasioned, de- prived him of utterance. I thought I could almost hear the pal- pitation of his heart. I brought him to a chair and begged him to be calm. " You are not worse, Mr , I hope, since I saw you this morn- ing?" I enquired. He whispered almost inarticulately, holding his hand to his left side, that he was always worse in the evenings. T felt his pulse ; it beat 130 ! I discovered that he had gone out for the purpose of trying to get employment in a neighbouring printing-office !— but, having failed, had returned in a state of deeper depression than usual. The perspiration rolled from his brow almost faster than he could wipe it away. I sat by him for nearly two minutes, holding his hand, without uttering a word, for I was deeply affected. At length I begged he would forgive my inquiring how it was that a young man of talent and education like himself could be reduced to a state of such utter destitution ? While I was waiting for an answer, he suddenly fell from his chair in a swoon. The exertion of walking, the pressure of disappointment, and, I fear, the almost unbroken fast of the day, added to the sud- den shock occasioned by encountering me in his room, had com- pletely prostrated the small remains of his strength. When he had a little revived, 1 succeeded in laying him on the bed, and instantly summoned the woman of the house. After some time, she saun- tered lazily to the door, and asked me what I wanted. "Are you the person that attends on this gentleman, my good woman?" I inquired. "Marry come up, Sir!" she replied in a loud tone — " I've no manner of cause for attending on him, not I ; he ought to attend on himself: and as for his being a (jcnikman" she continued, with an insolent sneer, for which I felt heartily inclined to throw her down stairs, " not a stiver of his money have I seen for this three weeks for liis icni, and" Seeing the fluent virago was wanning, and approaching close to my unfortunate patient's bedside, I stopped her short by pulling half a guinea into her hand, and directing her i., purchase a bottle of porl wine ; at the same lime hinting, that if she conducted herself properly, 1 would see her rent paid myself. I then shut the door, and resumed my seat by Mr , who was trembling violently all Over with agitation, and endeavoured to A SCHOLARS DEATHBED. 37 soothe him. The more I said, however, and the kinder were my tones, the more was he affected. At length he burst into a flood of tears, and continued weeping for some time, like a child. I saw it was hysterical, and that it was best to let his feelings have their full course. His nervous excitement at length gradually subsided, and he began to converse with tolerable coolness. "Doctor," he faltered, "your conduct is very— very noble — it must be disinterested," pointing with a bitter air, to the wretched room in which we were sitting. " I feel sure, Mr , that you have done nothing to merit your present misfortunes," 1 replied, with a serious and inquiring air. " Yes — yes, 1 have ! — I have indulged in wild ambitious hopes — lived in absurd dreams of future greatness— been educated beyond my fortunes — and formed tastes, and cherished feelings, incom- patible with the station it seems I was born to, — beggary or dailv labour ! " was his answer, with as much vehemence as his weakness would allow. " But 31 r , your friends, your relatives — they cannot be ap- prized of your situation." "Alas! Doctor, friends I have none— unless you will permit me to name the last and noblest,— yourself ; relatives, several." " And they, of course, do not know of your illness, and straitened circumstances?" " They do, Doctor— and kindly assure me I have brought it on myself. To do them justice, however, they could not, I believe, efficiently help me, if they would." "Why, have vou offended them, Mr ? Have thev cast you off?" "Not avowedly — not in so many words. They have simply re- fused to receive or answer any more of my letters. Possibly I may have offended them, but am content to meet them hereafter, and try the justice of the case — there" said Mr , solemnly pointing upwards. — " Weill know, and so do you, Doctor, that my days on earth are very few, and likely to be very bitter also." It was in vain I pressed him to tell me who his relatives were, and suffer me to solicit their personal attendance on his last moments, " It is altogether useless, Doctor, to ask me farther," said he, rising him- self a little in bed, — " my father and mother are both dead, and no power on earth shall extract from me a syllable farther. It is hard," he continued, bursting again into tears, " if I must die amid their taunts and reproaches." I felt quite at a loss what to say to all this. There was something very singular, if not reprehensible, 38 A SCHOLARS DEATHBED. in his manner of alluding to his relatives, which led me to fear that he was by no means free from blame. Had I not felt myself very delicately situate, and dreaded even the possibility of hurting his morbidly irritable feelings, I felt inclined to have asked him how he thought of existing without their aid, especially in his forlorn and helpless stale ; having neither friends, nor the means of obtaining tli. in. 1 thought, also, that* short as had been my intimacy with him, I had discerned symptoms of a certain obstinacy, and haughty imperiousness of temper, which would sufficiently account, if not for occasioning, at least for widening, any unhappy breach which might have occurred in his family. But what was to be done ? I could not let him starve ; as 1 had voluntarily stepped into his as- sistance, I determined to make his last moments easy— at least as far as lay in my power. A little to antieipate the course of my narrative, I may here state what information concerning him was elicited in the course of our various interviews. His father and mother had left Ireland, their native place, early, and gone to Jamaica, where they lived as slave superintendents. They left their only son to the care of the wife's brother-in-law, who put him to school, where he much distinguished himself. On the faith of it, he contrived to get to the college in Dublin, where he staid two years: and then, in a confident reliance on his own talents, and the sum of 50/., which was sent him from Jamaica, with intelligence of the death of both his parents in im- poverished circumstances, he had come up to London, it seems, with no very definite end in view. Here he continued for about two years ; but, in addition to the failure of his health, all his efforts to establish himself proved abortive. He contrived to glean a scanty sum, heaven knows how, which was gradually lessening at a time whin his impaired health rather required that his resources should he augmented. He had no friends in respectable life, whose in- fraence or wealth might have been serviceable; and, at the time he called "ii me he had not more in the world than the solitary half- guinea In- proffered to me as a fee. I never learnt the names of ;m\ <>1 Ins relatives ; but from several things occasionally dropped in the heat of conversation, it was clear there must have been un- happv differences. To return, however. As ih<- evening was for advancing, and I had one or two patients yet to visit, I began to think of taking my departure, [enjoined him strirtlyto keep his bed nil I saw him again, to preserve as calm and equable a frame oi mind as possible, in. I i.. dismiss all anxieiv for the future, as I would gladly supph A SCHOLAR'S DEATHBED. his present necessities, and send him a civil and attentive nurse. He tried to thank me, but his emotions choked his utterance. He grasped my hand with convulsive energy. His eye spoke elo- quently ; but, alas! it shone with the fierce and unnatural lustre of consumption, as though, I have often thought in such cases, the conscious soul was glowing with the reflected light of its kindred element,— eternity. I knew it was impossible for him to survive many days, from several unequivocal symptoms of what is called, in common language, a galloping consumption. I was as good as my word, and sent him a nurse, the mother of one of my servants,) who was charged to pay him the utmost attention in her power. My wife also sent him a little bed-furniture, linen, preserves, jellies, and other small matters of that sort. I visited him every evening, • and found him on each occasion verifying my apprehensions, for he was sinking rapidly. His mental energies, however, seemed to increase inversely with the decline of his physical powers. His conversation was animated, various, and, at times, enchainingly in- teresting. I have sometimes sat at his bedside for several hours together, wondering how one so young (he was not more than two or three and twenty) could have acquired so much information. He spoke with spirit and justness on the leading political topics of the day; and J particularly recollect his making some very noble re- flections on the character and exploits of Bonaparte, who was then blazing in the zenith of his glory. Still, however, the current of his thoughts and language was frequently tinged with the enthu- siasm and extravagance of delirium. Of this he seemed himself conscious ; for he would sometimes suddenlv stop, and pressing his hand to his forehead, exclaim, "Doctor, Doctor, I am failing here— here ! " He acknowledged that he had, from his childhood, given himself up to the dominion of ambition ; and that his whole life had been spent in the most extravagant and visionary expecta- tions. He would smile bitterly when he recounted some of what he justly stigmatized as his insane projects. " The objects of my ambition," he said, " have been vague and general ; I never knew exactly where, or what I would be. Had my powers, such as they are, been concentrated on one point — had I formed a more just and modest estimate of my abilities — I might possibly have become something. Besides, Doctor, I had no money— no solid substratum to build upon; there was the rotten point! Oh! Doctor," he continued, with a deep sigh, " if I could but have seen these things three years ago, as I see them now, T might at this moment have been a sober 40 A SCHOLAR'S DEATHBED. and respectable member of society ; but now I am dying a hanger- on— a fool— a beggar! " and lie burst into tears. "You, Doctor," he presently continued, "are accustomed, I suppose, to these deathbed repinings — these soul-scourgings — these waitings over a badly spent life! Oh! yes; as I am nearing eternity, 1 seem to look at things— at my own mind and heart, especially— through the medium of a strange, searching, unearthly light. Oh, how many, many things it makes distinct, which I would fain have forgotten for ever ! Do you recollect the terrible language of Scripture, Doctor, which compares the human breast to a cage of unclean birds! " — I left him that evening deeply convinced of the compulsory truths he had uttered ; I never thought so seriously before. It is some Scotch divine who has said, that one deathbed preaches a more startling sermon than a bench of bishops. Mr was an excellent and thorough Greek scholar, perfectly well versed in the Greek dramatists, and passionately fond, in par- ticular, of Sophocles. I recollect his reciting, one evening, with great force and feeling, the touching exclamation of the chorus, in the UEdipus Tijrannus — CL 7:0-7:01 — avapuh/a jap 4>spo) 7r^aaTa , Notu os pot 7r t oo7ra? gto).o; , Ojf oonsolanon. A SCHOLAR'S DEATHBED. II ment — redolent of the eternal freshness and beauty of the most exquisite poetry and philosophy the world ever saw ! With my faculties quickened and strengthened, I shall go confidently, and claim kindred with the great ones of Eternity. They know I love their works — have consumed all the oil of my life in their sludv, and they will welcome their son— their disciple ! M 111 as he was, Mr uttered these sentiments as nearly as I can recollect, in the very words I have given with an energy, an enthusiasm, and an eloquence, which I never saw surpassed. He faltered suddenly, however, from this lofty pitch of excitement, and complained bit- terly, that his devotion to ancient literature had engendered a mor- bid sensibility, which had rendered him totally unfit for the ordinary business of life, or intermixture with societv. * * * Often I found him sitting up in bed, and reading his favourite play, the Prometheus Vinctus of .£schylus, while his pale and wasted features glowed with delighted enthusiasm. He told me, that, in his estimation, there was an air of grandeur and romance about that play, such as was not equalled by any of the productions of the other Greek dramatists ; and that the opening dialogue was peculiarly impressive and affecting. He had committed to memory nearly three-fourths of the whole play ! I on one occasion asked him, how it came to pass, that a person of his superior classical attainments had not obtained some tolerably lucrative engagement as an usher or tutor ? He answered, with rather a haughty air, that he would rather have broken stones on the highway. "To hear," said he, "the magnificent language of Greece, the harmo- nious cadences of the Romans, mangled and disfigured by stupid lads and duller ushers— oh ! it would have been such a profanation as the sacred groves of old suffered, when their solemn silence was disturbed by a rude unhallowed throng of Bacchanalians. I should have expired, Doctor!" I told him, I could not help la- menting such an absurd and morbid sensitiveness ; at which he seemed exceedingly piqued. He possibly thought I should rather have admired than reprobated the lofty tone he assumed. I asked him if the stations, of which he spoke with such supercilious con- tempt, had not been joyfully occupied by some of the greatest scholars that had ever lived? He replied, simply, with a cold air, that it was his misfortune, not his fault. He told me, however, that his classical acquirements had certainly been capable of something like a profitable employment ; for that, about two months before he had called on me, lie had nearly come to terms with a book- seller, for publishing a poetical version of the comedies of Aristo- 42 A SCHOLAR'S DEATHBED. plianes ; lhat lie had nearly completed one, the neeaai, if I re- collect right, when the great difficulty of the task, and the wretched remuneration offered, so dispirited him, lhat he threw it aside in disgust/ His only means of subsistence had been the sorry pay of an occasional reader for the press, as well as a contributor to the columns of a daily paper. He had parted with almost the whole of his slender stock of books, his watch, and all his clothes, ex- cept what he wore when he called on me. "Did you never try any of the magazines?" I inquired; "for they afford to young men of talent a fair livelihood." He said he had indeed struggled hard to gain a footing in one of the popular periodicals, but that his communications were invariably returned " with polite acknow- ledgments." One of these notes I saw, and have now in my pos- session. It was thus: — " Mr M' begs to return the inclosed 'Remarks on English Versions of Euripides,' 1 with many thanks for the writer's polite offer of it to the E M ; but fears that, though an able per- formance, it is not exactlv suited for the readers of the E M . "Jo A. A." A series of similar disappointments, and the consequent poverty and embarrassment into which he sank, had gradually undermined a constitution naturally feeble ; and he told me, with much agi- tation, lhat had it not been for the trifling, but timely assistance of myself and family, he saw no means of escaping literal starvation ! * Among his papers I found the following spirited and elose version of one of the choral odes in the Xubes, commencing. AwEt, etc. Thee, too, great Phoebus, 1 invoke, Thou Delian King, who dwelt st on Cynthia's toft] rock ! Thy passage hither wing, nli>t Goddess! whom Bphesian splendours hold in temples bright with gold, 'Mid LydJ hi maidens oobl] worshipping ! And thee, our native deily, PaftrM. (inr city's mianli. in. thou! w ho wieldsl the dreadful aegis, i bed Thee, too, gay Bacchus, from Parnassian height! Ruddy with lis i\e torches glow— ro crown the sacred choiri I thee invite! 'i bote who «'tir coarersanl with Ebe original, will perceive that main ot the diffl call Greek espreuioai tn ren d ered into KteraJ English. A SCHOLARS DEATHBED. 43 Could I help sympathizing deeply with him ? Alas ! his misfortunes were very nearly paralleled by my own. While listening to his melancholy details, I seemed living over again the four first wretched vears of my professional career. 1 must hasten, however, to the closing scene. I had left word with the nurse, that when Mr appeared dying, I should be instantly summoned. About five o'clock, in the evening of the 6th July, 18—, I received a message from Mr himself, saying that he wished to breathe his last in my presence, as the only friend he had on earth. Unavoidable and pressing professional en- gagements detained me until half-past six ; and it was seven o'clock before I reached his bedside. "Lord, Lord, Doctor, poor Mr is dying, sure ! " exclaimed the woman of the house, as she opened the door. "Mrs Jones says he has been picking and clawing the bed-clothes awfully, so he must be dying ! " * On entering the room, 1 found he had dropt asleep. The nurse told me he had been wandering a good deal in his mind. I asked what he had talked about? "Laming, Doctor," she replied, " and a proud young lady." I sat down by his bed- side. I saw the dews of death were stealing rapidly over him. His eyes, which were naturally very dark and piercing, were now far sunk into their sockets ; his cheeks were hollow, and his hair mat- ted with perspiration over his damp and pallid forehead. While I was gazing silently on the melancholy spectacle, and reflecting what great but undisciplined powers of mind were about soon to * This very prevalent but absurd notion is not confined to the vulgar; and as I have, in the course of ray practice, met with hundreds of respectable and intelli- gent people, who have held that a patient's "picking and clawing the bed-clothes" is a symptom of death, and who, consequently, view it with a kind of superstitious horror, I cannot refrain from explaining the philosophy of it in the simple and sa- tisfactory words of Mr C. Bell t : — " It is very common, " he says, " to see the patient picking the bed-clothes, or catching at the empty air. This proceeds from an appearance of motes or pes passing before the eyes, and is occasioned by an affection of the retina, producing in it a sensation similar to that produced by the impression of images ; and what is deficient in sensation, the imagination siqyplies : for although the resemblance betwixt those diseased affections of the retina, and the sensation conveyed to the brain, may be very remote, yet, by that slight resemblance, the idea usually asso- ciated with the sensation will be excited in the mind."— Bell's Anatomy, vol. iii. pp. 57, 58. The secret lies in a disordered circulation of the blood, forcing the red globules into the minute vessels of the retina. t Now Sir Charles Bell. 44 A SCHOLARS DEATHBED. be disunited from the body, Mr opened his eyes, and, seeing me, said, in a low, but clear and steady tone of voice,—" Doctor— the last act of the tragedy ! " He gave me his hand. It was all he could do to lift it into mine. I could not speak — the tears were nearly gushing forth. 1 felt as if I were gazing on my dying son. "I have been dreaming, Doctor,, since you went," said he, " and what do you think about? I thought I had squared the circle, and was to perish for ever for my discovery." " I hope, Mr ," I replied, in a serious tone, and with some- thing of displeasure in my manner—" I hope that, at this awful moment, you have more suitable and consolatory thoughts to oc- cupy your mind with than those ?" He sighed. " The clergyman voi i were so good as to send me," he said, after a pause, "was here this afternoon. He is a good man, I dare say, but weak, and has his head stuffed with the quibbles of the schools. He wanted to discuss the question of free will with a dying man, Doctor! " " I hope he did not leave you without administering the ordi- nances of religion?" I inquired. "He read me some of the church prayers, which were exqui- sitely touching and beautiful, and the fifteenth chapter of Corinth- ians, which is very sublime. He could not help giving me a re- hearsal of what he was shortly to repeat over my grave ! " exclaimed the dving man, with a melancholy smile. I felt some irritation at the light tone of his remarks, but concealed it. " You received the sacrament, I hope, Mr ?" He paused a few moments, and his brow was clouded. " No, Doctor, to tell the truth, 1 declined it " "Declined the sacrament ! " I exclaimed, with surprise. "Yes— but, dear Doctor, I beg— I entreat you not to ask me about it any farther," replied Mr gloomily, and lapsed into a lii of abstraction for some moments. Unnoticed by him, I de- spatched the nurse for another clergyman, an excellent and learned man, who was my intimate friend. I was gazing earnestly on Mr , as he lay with closed eyes ; and was surprised to see the tears trickling from them. " Mi- , you have nothing, 1 hope, on your mind, to render your last moments unhappy?" I asked, in a gentle tone. " No— nothing material," he replied, with a deep sigh; con- tinuing with his eyes closed, "J was only thinking what a bitter thing it is to be struck down SO soon from among the bright throng of the living— to leave this fair, this beautiful world, after so short and sorrowful a sojourn. Oh, it it hard!" He shortly opened A SCHOLARS DEATHBED. 4S his eyes. His agitation had apparently passed away, and delirium was hovering over and disarranging his thoughts. " Doctor, Doctor, what a strange passage that is," said he, sud- denly, startling me with his altered voice, and the dreamy thoughtful expression of his eyes, " in the chorus of the Medea, — Avw Trorauwv Upwv -/(xtoryZai jropyac Rat Shut v.y-i nmrra ttx/.vj orpsfsrac *. Is not there something very mysterious and romantic about these lines ? I could never exactly understand what was meant by them." Finding I continued silent— for I did not wish to encourage his in- dulging in a train of thought so foreign to his situation— he kept murmuring at intervals, metrically, Avco Troraawv Uowv , in a most melancholy monotony. He then wandered on from one topic of classical literature to another, till he suddenly stopped short, and turning to me, said, " Doctor, I am raving very ab- surdly ; I feel I am ; but I cannot dismiss from my thoughts, even though I know I am dying, the subjects about which my mind has been occupied nearly all my life through.— Oh ! " changing the sub- ject abruptly, "tell me, Doctor, do those who die of my disorder generally continue in the possession of their intellects to the last?" I told him I thought they generally did. " Then I shall burn brightly to the last ! Thank God !— And yet," with a shudder, " it is shocking, too, to find oneself gradually ceas- ing to exist.— Doctor, I shall recover.— I am sure I should, if you were to bleed me," said he. His intellects were wandering. The nurse now returned, and, to my vexation, unaccompanied by Dr , who had gone that morning into the country. I did not send for any one else. His frame of mind was peculiar, and very unsatisfactory ; but I thought it, on the whole, better not to disturb or irritate him by alluding to a subject he evidently disliked. I ordered candles to be brought, as it was now nearly nine o'clock. "Doctor," said the dying young man, in a feeble tone, " I think you will find a copy of Lactantius lying on my table. He has been a great favourite with me. May I trouble you to read me a pas- sage—the eighth chapter of the seventh book— on the immortalitv of the soul ? I should like to die thoroughly convinced of that noble truth— if truth it is— and I have often read that chapter with much satisfaction." I went to the table and found the book— a pocket * Eurip. Med. 4H-13. id A SCHOLAR'S DEATHBED. copy— the leaves of which were ready turned down to the very page I wanted. I therefore read him slowly and emphatically the whole of the eighth and ninth chapters, beginning, "Nvm est icjilur sum- mum bonum mmortalitas,'adquam eapiendam, et formali a prineipio, ci naii wmus." When I had got as far as the allusion to the va- cillating views of Cicero, Mr repealed with me, sighing, the words, " harum, innuit, sententiarum, quce vera sit, Deus aliquis vi- derit." — xVs an instance of the Ruling passion, strong in death, I may mention, though somewhat to my own discredit, that he briskly corrected a false quantity which slipped from me. " Allow me, Doctor, — ' expetii,' not ' expetit."' He made no other observa- tion, when I had concluded reading the chapter from Lactantius, than, "I certainly wish I had early formed fixed principles on reli- gious subjects — but it is now too late." He then dropped asleep, but presently began murmuring very sorrowfully, — "Emma, Emma ! haughty one ! Not one look ? — I am dying — and you don't know it — nor care for me ! How beautiful she looked step- ping from the carriage ! How magnificently dressed ! I think she saw — why can't she love me ! She cannot love somebody else — No — madness — no ! " In this strain he continued soliloquizing for some minutes longer. It was the first time I had ever heard any thing of the kind fall from him. At length he asked. " I wonder if they ever came to her hands ?" as if striving to recollect something. The nurse whispered that she had often heard him talk in the night- time about this lady, and that he would go on till he stopped in tears. I discovered, from a scrap or two found among his papers, after his decease, that the person he addressed as Emma, was a young lady in the higher circles of society, of considerable beauty, whom he first saw by accident, and fancied she had a regard for him. He had, in turn, indulged in the most extravagant and hope- less passion for her. He suspected himself, that she was wholly unconscious of being the object of his almost frenzied admiration. When he was asking " if something came to her hands," I have no doubt he alluded to some copy of verses he had sent to her, of which the following fragments, written in pencil, on a blank leaf of his Aristophanes, probably formed a part. There is some merit in them, but more extravagance. I could no through ilio world with thee, To spend with thee^eternirj ' A SCHOLARS DEATHBED. 47 To see thy blue and passionate eye. Light on another scornfully, But fix its melting glance on me. And blend Read the poor heart that throbs for thee, Imprint all o'er with thy dear name- Yet withering 'neath a lonely flame, That warms thee not, vet me consumes ! Ay, I would have thee all my own. Thy love, thy life, mine, mine alone ; See nothing in the world but me, Since nought J know, or love, but thee ! The eyes that on a thousand fall, I would collect their glances all, And fling their lustre on my soul, Till it imbibed, absorb'd the whole. These are followed by several more lines; but the above will suf- fice. This insane attachment was exactly what I might have ex- pected from one of his ardent and enthusiastic temperament. To return, however, once more. Towards eleven o'clock, he began to fail rapidly. I had my fingers on his pulse, which beat very feebly, almost imperceptibly. He opened his eyes slowly, and gazed upwards with a vacant air. "Whvarevou taking the candles away, nurse?" he inquired fainllv. Thevhad not been touched. His cold fingers gently com- pressed mv hand — they were stiffening with death. " Don't, don't put the candles out, Doctor," he commenced again, looking at me, with an eye on which the thick mists and shadows of the grave were settling fast— they were filmy and glazed. " Don't blow them out— don't— don't ! " he again exclaimed, al- most inaudibly. " >~o, we will not ! My dear Mr , both candles are burning brightlv beside you on the table," I replied tremulously — for I saw the senses were forgetting their functions — that life and conscious- ness were fast retiring ! " Well," he murmured, almost inarticulately, "I am now quite in darkness! Oh, there is something at my heart— cold, cold! Doctor, keep them off!' Why— oh, death"— He ceased. He had ' I once before heard these strange words fall from the lips of a dying patient — a lady. To me they suggest very unpleasant, I may say, fearful thoughts. What is to be kept off? [This note has called forth an angry commentary from the able Editor of the 48 PREPARING FOP, THE HOUSE. spoken his last on earth. The intervals of respiration became gra- dually longer and lunger ; antl the precise moment when he ceased to breathe at all could not be ascertained. Yes ; it was all over. Poor Mr was dead. I shall never forget him. CHAPTER V. PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE ! " Do, dear Doctor, be so good as to drop in at Place, in the course of the morning, by accident, — for I want you to see Mr . He has, I verily believe, bid adieu to his senses, for he is conducting himself very strangely. To tell you the truth, he is resolved on going down to the House this evening, for the purpose of speaking on the bill, and will, I fear, act so absurdly, as to make himself the laughing-stock of the whole country— at least I suspect as much, from what I have heard of his preparations. Ask to be shown up at once to Mr , when you arrive, and gradually direct the conversation to politics — when you will soon see what is the matter. Dirt mind, Doctor, not a word of this note! Your visit will be quite accidental, you know. Believe me, my dear Doc- tor, yours," etc. etc. — Such was the note put into my hands by a servant, as my carriage was driving off on my first morning round. I knew Mrs , the fair writer of it, very intimately, — as, indeed, the familiar and confidential strain of her note will suffice to show. Sin- was a very amiable and clever woman, and would not have complained, I was sure, without reason. Wishing, therefore, to oblige her, by a prompt attention to her request; and in the full 9pedator newspaper, who heads the paragraph of which I complain, with the words — " Injudicious Sanction of Superstitious Terrors." I feel satisfied thai the writer, on a reconsideration of what he has there expressed, will in- disposed to withdraw his censures. True— a dying man ma\ often utter " unintelli»ihle yihherish : " hut it we find several dying persons, of Afferent characters and si- tuations, concur in ottering, in their last moments, (hi $am words, [sit so unwar- rantable for an observer to hazard an 'mquiry concerning their possible import? There is i lecture of Sir Benrj Balford, Intel] published, which contains some highl] pertinent and interesting observations on the subject. 1 beg to refer the reader to it. ] PREPARING FOR THE. HOUSE. 49 expectation, from what 1 knew of the worthy Member's eccentrici- ties, of encountering some singular scene, I directed the horses* heads to be turned towards Place. I reached the house about twelve o'clock, and went up stairs at once to the drawing-room, where I understood Mr had taken up quarters for the day. The servant opened the door and announced me. "Oh — shew Dr in." I entered. The object of my visit, 1 may just. say, was the very beau ideal of a County Member; somewhat inclined to corpulency, with a fine, fresh, rubicund, good-natured face, and that bluff old English frankness of man- ner, which flings you back into the age of Sir Roger de Coverley. He was dressed in a long, grey woollen morning-gown ; and with his hands crammed into the hind pockets, was pacing rapidly to and fro from one end of the spacious room to the other. At one extremity was a table, on which lay a sheet of foolscap, closely written, and crumpled as if with constant handling, his gold repeater, and a half-emptied decanter of sherry, with a wine glass. A glance at all these paraphernalia convinced me of the nature of Mr 's occupation ; he was committing his speech to memory ! " How d'ye do, how d'ye do, Doctor?!' he exclaimed, in a hearty but hurried tone; "you must not keep me long: busy — very busy indeed, Doctor." I had looked in by accident, I assured him, and did not intend to detain him an instant. I remarked that I sup- posed he was busy preparing for the House. "Ah, right, Doctor— right ! Ay, by ! and a grand hit it will be, too !— I shall peg it into ihem to-night, Doctor ! I'll let them know what an English County Member is ! I'll make the House too hot to hold them !" said Mr , walking to and fro, at an accelerated pace. He was evidently boiling over with excitement. "You are going to speak to-night, then, on the great ques- tion, I suppose?" said I, hardly able to repress a smile. "Speak, Doctor? I'll burst on them with such a view-halloo as shall startle the whole pack ! I'll shew 7 my Lord what kind of stuff I'm made of— I will, by ! He was pleased to tell the House, the other evening — curse his impudence! — that the two Members for shire were a mere couple of dumb-bells — he did, by ! But I'll show him whether or not/, for one of them, am to be jeered and flamm'd with impunity ! Ha, Doctor, what d'ye think of this?" said he, hurrying lo the table, and taking up the manuscript I have mentioned. He was going to read it to me, but suddenly stopped short, and laid it down again on the table, 50 PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE. exclaiming— " Nay, I must know it off by this time— so listen! have at ye, Doctor!" After a pompous hem ! hem! he commenced, and with infinite energy and boisterousness of manner, recited the whole oration. It was certainly a wonderful— a matchless performance— parcelled out with a rigid adherence to the rules of ancient rhetoric. As he proceeded, he recited such astounding absurdities— such prepos- terous Bombastes-furioso declamations— as, had they been uttered in the House, would assuredly have procured the triumphant speaker six or seven rounds of convulsive laughter ! Had I not known well the simplicity and sincerity— the perfect bonhomie— of Mr , 1 should have supposed he was hoaxing me; but I as- suredly suspected he was himself the hoaxed parly— the joking-post of some witty wag, who had determined to afford the House a night's sport at poor Mr 's expense! Indeed, I never in my life listened to such pitifully puerile— such almost idiotic galimatias. I felt certain it could never have been the composition of fox-hunt- ing Uf r ! There was a hackneyed quotation from Horace— from the Septuagint, (!) and from Locke; and then a scampering through the whole flowery realms of rhetorical ornament— and a glancing at every topic of foreign or domestic policy that could conceivably attract the attention of the most erratic fancy. In short, there surely never before was such a speech composed since the world began! And this was the sort of thing that poor Mr actually intended to deliver that memorable evening in the House of Commons ! As for myself, I could not control my risible facul- ties ; but accompanied the peroration with a perfect shout of laugh- ter! Mr laid down the paper (which he had twisted into a sort of a scroll) in an ecstasy, and joined me in full chorus, slapping me on the shoulder, and exclaiming — "Ah! d it! Doctor, I km w von would like it ! It's just the thing— isn't it? There will be ]i«» standing me at the next election for shire, if I can only deliver all this in the House to-night ! Old Turnpenny, that's going tp Start against me, backed by the manufacturing interest, won't come up— and you see if he does!— Curse it! I thought it was in me, and would (nnio otd some of these days. They shall have it all to-night— they shall, by ! Only be on the look-out for the morning papers, Doctor— that's all ! " and he set off, walking ra- pidlv, with long strides, from one end of the room to the other. I began to be apprehensive thai there was too much ground for Mrs » 8 suspicions, thai he had literally "taken leave of his senses.'' Recollecting, at length, the object of my visit, which the PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE. 51 amusing exhibition I have been attempting to describe had almost driven from my memory, I endeavoured to think, on the spur of the moment, of some scheme for diverting him from his purpose, and preventing the lamentable exposure he was preparing for him- self. I could think of nothing else than attacking him on a sore point— one on which he had been hipped for years, and not without reason, — an hereditary tendency to apoplexy. "But, my dear Sir," said I, "this excitement will destroy you — you will bring on a fit of apoplexy, if you go on for an hour longer in this way— you will indeed!" He stood still, changed colour a little, and stammered, "What! eh, d it!— apoplexy ! you don't sav so, Doctor ? Hem ! how is my pulse?" extending his wrist. I felt it — looked at my watch, and shook my head. "Eh— what, Doctor ! flewmmktt, eh?" said he, with an alarmed air — meaning to ask me whether his pulse was beating rapidly. "It is indeed, Mr . It beats upwards of one hundred and fifteen a minute," I replied, still keeping my fingers at his wrist, and my eyes rivelted on my watch— for I dared not trust myself with looking in his countenance. He started from me without uttering a syllable ; hurried to the table, poured out a glass of wine, and gulped it down instantly. I suppose he caught an unfortunate smile or a smirk on my face, for he came up to me, and in a coaxing but disturbed manner, said, "Now, come, come, Doctor— Doctor, no humbug! I feel well enough all over! D it, I will speak in the House to-night, come what may, that's Hat ! Why, there'll be a general election in a few months, and it's of consequence for me to do something — to make a figure in the House. Besides, it is a great constitu- tional'' "Well, well, Mr , undoubtedly you must please yourself," said I, seriously; "but if a fit should — you'll remember I did my duty, and warned you how to avert it ! " — " Hem, ahem ! " he eja- culated with a somewhat puzzled air. I thought I had succeeded in shaking his purpose. I was, however, loo sanguine in my expecta- tions. " I must bid you good morning, Doctor," said he abruptly. " I must speak! I uill try it to-night, at all events ;— but I'll be calm — I will ! And if I should die — but — devil take it — that's impossible, you know ! But if I should— why, it will be a martyr's death ; I shall die a patriot— ha, ha, ha ! Good morning. Doctor ! " He led me to the door, laughing, as he went, but not so heartily or boisterously as formerly. I was hurrying down stairs, when Mr re-opened the drawing-room door, and called out, "Doctor, Doc- 52 PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE. tor, just be so good as to look in on my good lady before you go. She's somewhere about the house — in her boudoir, I dare say. She's not quite well this morning— a fit of the vapours— hem ! You understand me, Doctor?" putting his finger to the side of his nose, with a wise air. I could not help smiling at the reciprocal anxiety for each other's health simultaneously manifested by this worthy couple. " Well, Doctor, am not I right? " exclaimed Mrs in a low tone, opening the dining-room door, and beckoning me in. " Yes, indeed, 3Iadam. My interview was little else than a run- ning commentary on your note to me." " How did you find him engaged, Doctor ?— Learning his speech, as he calls it — eh? " inquired the lady, with a chagrined air, which was heightened when I recounted what had passed up stairs. "Oh, absurd! monstrous! Doctor, I am ready to expire with vexation to see Mr acting so foolishly !— Tis all owing to that odious Dr , our village rector, who is up in town now, and an immense crony of Mr 's. I suspected there was something brewing between them ; for they have been laying their wise heads together for a week past. Did he not repeat the speech to you, Doctor? —the whole of it ? " " Yes, indeed, Madam, he did," I replied, smiling at the recol- lection. " Ah— hideous rant it was, I dare say !— I'll tell you a secret, Doctor. I know it was every word composed by that abominable old addlehead, Dr , a doodle that he is! — J wonder what brought him up from his parish !)— And it is he that has inflamed Mr 's fancy with making ' a great hit 9 in the House, as they call it. That precious piece of stuff which they call a speech, poor Mr has been learning Tor this week past ; and has several times woke me in the night with ranting snatches of it." I begged Mrs not to take it so seriously. k - Now, it'll me candidly, Dr , did you ever hear such hor- rible nonsense in your life? It is all that country parson's trash, collected by bits out of his old stupid sermons ! I'm sure our name will ran the gauntlet of all the papers in England , for a fortnight to come!" I said, I was sorry to be compelled to acquiesce in the truth of what six- was saying. " Really/' she continued, pressing her hand to her forehead, •I feel quite poorly myself, with agitation at the thought of to- night's force. Did you attempt to dissuade him ? You might have frightened him with a hint or two about his tendency to apoplexy, vou know." DUELLING. 53 "1 did my utmost, Madam, I assure you; and certainly startled him not a little. But, alas, he rallied, and good-humouredly sent me from the room, telling me, that, if the effort of speaking killed him, he should share the fate of Lord Chatham, or something of that sort." "Preposterous!" exclaimed Mrs , almost shedding tears with vexation. "But, cnire nous, Doctor, could not you think of any thing — hem ! — something in the medical way — to prevent his going to the House to-night ? — A — a sleeping draught — eh, Doctor ? " "Really, my dear Madam," said I, seriously, " 1 should not feel justified in going so far as that." " Oh, dear, dear Doctor, what possible harm can there be in it? Do consent to my wishes for once, and I shall be eternally obliged to vou. Do order a simple sleeping draught — strong enough to keep him in bed till five or six o'clock in the morning — and I will myself slip it into his wine at dinner." In short, there was no resisting the importunities and distress of so fine a woman as Mrs ; so I ordered about five-and-thirty drops of laudanum, in a little syrup and water. But, alas, this scheme was frustrated by Mr 's, two hours afterwards, unexpectedly ordering the carriage, (while Mrs was herself gone to procure his quietus^ and leaving word he should dine with some Members that evening at Brookes's. After all, however, a lucky accident arcomplished Mrs — — 's wishes, though it deprived her husband of that opportunity of seizing the laurels of parliamentary eloquence ; for the ministry, finding the measure against which Mr had intended to level his oration, to be ex- tremely unpopular, and anticipating that they should be dead beat, wisely postponed it sine die. CHAPTER VI. DUELLING \ I had been invited by young Lord , the nobleman mentioned in my first chapter, to spend the latter part of my last college vaca- 1 The melancholy facts on which the ensuing narrative is founded, 1 6nd entered in the Diary as far back as nearly twenty-five years ago; and I am convinced, after 54 DUELLING. lion with his Lordship at his shooting box in shire. As his destined profession was the army, he had already a tolerably nu- merous retinue of military friends, several of whom were engaged to join us on our arrival at ; so that we anticipated a very gay and jovial season. Our expectations were not disappointed. What with shooting, fishing, and riding, abroad— billiards, songs, and high feeding, at home, our days and nights glided as merrily away as fun and frolic could make them. One of the many schemes of amusement devised by our party, was giving a sort of military sub- scription ball at the small town of , from which we were dis- tant not more than four or live miles. All my Lord 's party, of course, were to be there, as well as several others of his friends, scattered at a little distance from him in the country. On the ap- pointed day all went off admirably. The little town of abso- lutelv reeled beneath the unusual excitement of music, dancing, and universal feting. It was, in short, a sort of miniature carni- val, which the inhabitants, for several reasons, but more especially the melancholy one I am going to mention, have not yet forgotten. It is not very wonderful, that all the rustic beauty of the place was there. Many a village belle was there, in truth, panting and fluttering with delighted agitation at the unusual attentions of their handsome and agreeable partners ; for there was not a young military member of our party but merited the epithets. As for myself, being cursed— as I once before hinted— with a very insi- gnilicant person, and not the most attractive or communicative man- ners ; being utterly incapable of pouring that soft delicious non- sense—that fascinating, searching, small-talk, which has stolen so often right through a lady's ear, into the very centre of her heart ; being no adept, I say, at this, I contented myself with dancing a set or two with a young woman, whom nobody else seemed in- clined to lead out ; and continued, for the rest of the evening, more a sjm tutor than a partaker of the gaieties of the scene. There was one girl thru — the daughter of a reputable retired tradesman — of singular beauty, and known in the neighbourhood by the name of " The lilur Bell of ." Of course, she was the object of uni- versal admiration, and literally besieged the whole evening with applications for "the honour of her hand." 1 do not exaggerate, when 1 say, that, in my opinion, this young woman was perfectly beautiful. Bercompleuon was of dazzling purity and transparence —her symmetrical features of a placid bust-like character, which, noe little inquiry, that there is no one no* Irciog uhov feelings could be shocked In its perusal. DUELLING however, would perhaps have been considered insipid, had it not been for a brilliant pair of large, languishing blue eyes, resembling: blue water-lilies., when the breeze Maketh the crystal waters round them tremble.. which it was almost madness to look upon. And then her light auburn hair, which hung in loose and easy curls on each cheek like soft golden clouds flitting past the moon ! Her figure was in keep- ing with her countenance,— slender, graceful, and delicate, with a most exquisitely-turned foot and ankle. I have spent so many words about her description, because I have never since seen any woman that I thought equalled her; and because her beauty occa- sioned the wretched catastrophe I am about to relate. She rivetted the attention of all our party, except my young host Lord , who adhered all the evening to a sweet creature he had selected on first entering the room. I observed, however, one of ourparty, a dashing young Captain in the Guards, highly connected, and of handsome and prepossessing person and manners, and a gentleman, of nearly equal personal pretensions, who had been in- vited from Hall, his father's seat,— to exceed every one pre- sent in their attentions to sweet Mary ; and as she occasionally smiled on one or the other of the rivals, I saw the countenance of either alternately clouded with displeasure. Captain was so- liciting her hand for the last set— a country dance— when his rival, (whom, for distinction's sake, I shall call Trevor, though that, of course, is very far from his real name, ) stepping up to her, seized her hand, and said, in rather a sharp and quick tone, "Captain , she has promised me the last set ; I beg, therefore, you will resign her. —I am right, Miss ? " he enquired of the girl, who blushingly replied, '4 think I did promise Mr Trevor — but I would dance with both, if I could. Captain, you are not angry with me; are you ? " she smiled, appealingly. " Certainly not, Madam," he replied, with a peculiar emphasis; and, after directing an eye, which kindled like a star, to his more successful rival, retired haughtily a few paces, and soon afterwards left the room. A strong conviction seized me, that even this small and trifling incident would be attended with mischief between those two fierce and undisciplined spirits ; for 1 occasionally saw Mr Tre- vor turn a moment from his beautiful partner, and cast a stern in- quiring glance round the room, as if in search of Captain . I saw he had noticed the haughty frown with which the Captain had retired. o6 DUELLING. Most of the gentlemen who had accompanied Lord to this ball were engaged to dine with him the next Sunday evening. Mr Trevor and the Captain (who, I think I mentioned, was staying a few days with his Lordship) would meet at this parly; and I deter- mined to watch their demeanour. Captain was at the win- dow, when Mr Trevor, on horseback, attended by his groom, alighted at the door; and, on seeing who it was, walked away to another part of the room, with an air of assumed indifference ; but I caught his quick and restless glance involuntarily directed towards the door through which Mr Trevor would enter. They saluted each other with civility— rather coldly, I thought— but there was nothing particularly marked in the manner of either. About twenty sat down to dinner. All promised to go off well— for the cooking was admirable, the wines first-rate, and the conversation brisk and various. Captain and Mr Trevor were seated at some distance from each other — the former being my next neigh- bour. The cloth was not removed till a few minutes after eight, when desert with a fresh and large supply of wine was introduced. The late ball, of course, was a prominent topic of conversation ; and after a few of the usual bachelor toasts had been drunk with noisy enthusiasm, and we all felt the elevating influence of the wine we had been drinking, Lord motioned silence, and said,— " Now, my dear fellows, I have a toast in my eye that will delight you all— so, bumpers, Gentlemen— bumpers !— up to the very brim and over— to make sure your glasses are full — while I propose to you the health of a beautiful— nay, by ! the most beautiful girl we have any of us seen for this year— Ha ! I see all anticipate me— so, to be short, here is the health of Mary , the Blue Bell of ! " It was drunk with acclamation. I thought I perceived Captain 's hand, however, shake a little, as he lifted his glass to his mouth. " Who is to return thanks for her?"— "The chosen one, to be sure! "_ " Who is he?"— " Legs— rise— legs— whoever he is! "— was shouted, asked, and answered in a breath. "Oh! Trevor is the happy swain— there's no doubt of that— he monopolized her all the evening— I could not get her hand once," exclaimed one near Mr Trevor. "Nor I"— "Nor I"— echoed several. Mr Trevor looked with a delighted and triumphant air round the room, and seemed aboul to rise,bul there was a cry,— "No !^4 Trevor is not the man—/ say Captain is the favourite!"—" Ay— ten to oneon the Captain!" roared a young hero of Ascot. "Stuff— stuff!" muttered the Captain hurriedly, cutting an apple to fritters, and DUELLING. 57 now and then casting a fierce glance towards Mr Trevor. There were many noisy maintainers of both Trevor and the Captain. "Come, come, Gentlemen," said a young Cornish Baronet, good- humouredly, seeing the two young men appeared to view the af- fair very seriously, "the best way, since I dare be sworn the girl herself does not know which she likes best, will be to toss up who shall be given the credit of her beau ! n A loud laugh followed this droll proposal ; in which all joined except Trevor and the Captain. The latter had poured out some claret while Sir w as speaking, and sipped it w ith an air of assumed carelessness. I observed, how- ever, that he never removed his eye from his glass ; and that his face was pale, as if from some strong internal emotion. Mr Trevor's demeanour, however, also indicated considerable embarrassment ; but he was older than the Captain, and had much more command of manner. I was amazed, for my own part, to see them take up such an insignificant affair so seriously ; but these things generally involve so much of the strong passions of our youthful nature, especially our vanity and jealousy, that, on second thoughts, my surprise abated. "I certainly fancied you were the favourite, Captain ; for I saw her blush with satisfaction when you squeezed her hand," I whis- pered. " You are right, ," he answered, with a forced smile. "I don't think Trevor can have any pretensions to her favour." The noisiness of the party was now subsiding, and, nobody knew why, an air of blank embarrassment seemed to pervade all present. "Upon my honour, Gentlemen, this is a vastly silly affair alto- gether, and quite unworthy such a stir as it has excited," said Mr Trevor ; "but as so much notice has been taken of it, I cannot help saying, though it is childishly absurd, perhaps, that I think the beautiful 'Blue Bell of ' is mine — mine alone! I believe I have good ground for saying I am the sole w inner of the prize, and have distanced my military competitor," continued Mr Trevor, turn- ing to Captain , with a smiling air, which was very foreign to his real feelings, "though his bright eyes— his debonair demeanour — that fascinating je ne sais quoi of his" " Trevor ! don't be insolent ! " exclaimed the Captain sternly, red- dening with passion. "Insolent! Captain?" inquired Trevor, with an amazed air— " What the deuce do you mean? I'm sure you don't want to quar- rel with me— oh, it's impossible ! If I have said what was offen- sive, by , I did not mean it; and, as we said at Rugby, indic- ium puta— and there's an end of it. But as for my sweet little 58 DUELLING. Blue Bell, 1 know— am perfectly certain— ay, spite of the Captain's dark looks — that I am the happy man. So, Gentlemen, dejure and de facto — for her, I return you thanks." He sat down. There was so much kindness in his manner, and he had so handsomely disavowed any intentions of hurting Captain 's feelings, that I hoped the young Hotspur beside me was quieted. Not so, however. "Trevor," said he, in a hurried tone, "you are mistaken — you are, by ! You don't know what passed between Mary and myself that evening. On my word and honour, she told me she wished she could be off her engagement with you." "Nonsense! nonsense! She must have said it to amuse you, Captain — she could have had no other intention. The very next morning she told me" "The very next morning!" shouted Captain , "why, what the could you have wanted with Mary the next morning?" "That is my affair, Captain— not yours. And since you will have it out, I tell you, for your consolation, that Mary and I have met eyery dav since!" said Mr Trevor loudly— even vehemently. He was getting a little flustered, as the phrase is, with wine, which he was pouring down glass after glass, else, of course, he could ne- ver have made such an absurd — such an unusual disclosure. "Trevor, I must say you act very meanly in telling us— if it really is so," said the Captain, with an intensely chagrined and mortified air ; "and if you intend to ruin that sweet and innocent creature, I shall take leave to say, that you are a — a — a — curse on it, it will out — a villain !" continued the Captain, slowly and de- liberately. My heart flew up to my throat, where it fluttered as though it would have choked me. There was an instant and dead silence. " A villain— did you say, Captain? and accuse me of meanness?" inquired Mr Trevor, coolly, while the colour suddenlv faded from his darkening features ; and, rising from his chair, ne stepped for- ward, and stood nearly opposite to the Captain, with his half-emp- tied glass in his hand, which, however, was not observed by him he addressed. " Yes, Sir, I did say so," replied the Captain firmly — "and what then?" " Then, of course, you will see the necessitv of apologizing for it instantly," rejoined Mr Trevor. " As I am not in the habit, Mr Trevor, of saving what requires an apology, 1 have, none to offer," said Captain , drawing him- self up in his chair, and eyeing .Mr Trevor with a steady look of haughty composure. DUELLING. 59 "Then, Captain, don't expect me to apologize for this!" thun- dered Mr Trevor, at the same time hurling his glass, wine and all, at the Captain's head. Part of the wine fell on me, but the glass glanced at the ear of Captain , and cut it slightly ; for he had started aside on seeing Mr Trevor's intention. A mist seemed to cover my eyes, as I saw every one present rising from his chair. The room was, of course, in an uproar. The two who had quar- relled were the only calm persons present. Mr Trevor remained standing on the same spot with his arms folded on his breast ; while Captain calmly wiped off the stains of wine from his shirt-ruffles and white waistcoat, walked up to Lord , who was at but a yard or two's distance, and inquired, in a low tone of voice, " Your Lordship has pistols here, of course ? We had better settle this little matter now, and here. Captain V , you will kindly do what is necessary for me? " " My dear fellow, be calm ! This is really a very absurd quarrel — likely to be a dreadful business, though !" replied his Lordship with great agitation. "Come, shake hands, and be friends! Come, don't let a trum- pery dinner brawl lead to bloodshed — and in my house, too ! Make it up like men of sense" " That, your Lordship of course knows as well as I do, is im- possible. Will you, Captain V , be good enough to bring the pistols? You will find them in his Lordship's shooting gallery — we had better adjourn there, by the way, eh?" inquired the Cap- tain, coolly. — He had seen many of these affairs! " Then, bring them — bring them, by all means." " In God's name, let this quarrel be settled on the spot! " ex- claimed , and , and -- — . "We all know they must fight — that's as clear as the sun — so the sooner the better ! exclaimed the Honourable Mr , a hot- headed cousin of Lord 's. "Eternal curses on the silly slut !" groaned his Lordship; "here will be blood shed for her ! "—My dear Trevor ! " said he, hurrying to that gentleman, who, with seven or eight people around him, was conversing on the affair with perfect composure ; " do, I implore —I beg— 1 supplicate that you would leave my house ! Oh ! don't let it be said I ask people here to kill one another ! Wfcy may not this wretched business be made up ?— By , it shall be," said he, vehemently ; and, putting his arm into that of 3Ir Trevor, he endeavoured to draw him towards the spot where Captain was standing. 66 DUELLING " Your Lordship is verj good, but it's useless," replied Mr Tre- vor, straggling to disengage his arm from that of Lord . k - Y the mere 66 INTRIGUING AM) MiRNBSS. purpose of exorcisaiion. This I have done for him ; and I hope his fears will henceforth abate. A moment farther, good Sir Christopher. As to one or two in- dividuals \n1io have been singled out by the various knowing papers of the day, as the writer or subject of these chapters, you and I know well thai the proper party has never yet been glanced at, nor is likely to be; and for the future, no notice whatever will be taken of their curious speculations. Believe me ever, revered Sir Christopher, etc. Lum>o>, September 9. 1850. When I have seen a beautiful and popular actress, I have often thought, How many young playgoers these women must intoxicate —how many even sensible, and otherwise sober heads, they must turn upside down ! Some years ago, a case came under my care, which showed fully the justness of this reflection; and 1 now relate it, as I consider it pregnant both with, interest and instruction. It will show how the energies of even a powerful and well-informed mind, may be prostrated by the indulgence of unbridled passions. Late one evening in November, I was summoned in haste to visit a gentleman who was staying at one of the hotels in Covent Garden, and informed in a note that he had manifested symptoms of insa- nity. As there is no time to be lost in such cases, I hurried to the Hotel, which I reached about nine o'clock. The proprietor gave me some preliminary information about the patient to whom I was summoned, which, with what I subsequently gleaned from the party himself, and other quarters, I shall present connectedly to the reader, before introducing him to die sick man's chamber. Mr Warningham — for that name may serve to indicate him through this narrativi — was a young man of considerable fortune, some family, and a member of College, Cambridge. His person and mannei > were gentlemanly; and his countenance, with- out possessing any claims i<> the character of handsome, faithfully indicated a powerful anil cultivated mind. Me had mingled largely in College gaieties and dissipations, but knew little or nothing of what i> called "town life;'' which may, in a great measure, ac- count for much "I die simplicity and extravagance of the conducl 1 am about to relate. Having from his youth upwards been accustom- ed io the instant gratification of almost everj wish he could form, ihe slightest obstacle in his way wa at to irritate him almost Mis temperamenl wasverj ardentr-his imagination Ii- INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. (37 vely aiul active. In short, he passed every where for what he real- ly was — a very clever man — extensively read in elegant literature, and particularly intimate with the dramatic writers. About a fort- night before the day on which I was summoned to him, he had come up from College to visit a young lady whom he was addressing; but finding her unexpectedly gone to Paris, he resolved to continue in London the whole time he had proposed to himself, and enjoy all the amusements about town— particularly the theatres. The even- ing of the day on which he arrived at the Hotel, beheld him at Drury Lane, witnessing a new, and, as the event proved, a very popular tragedy. In the afterpiece, Miss was a prominent performer; and her beauty of person— her "maddening eyes," as Mi' Warningham often called them— added to her fascinating naivete of manner, and the interesting character she sustained that evening— at once laid prostrate poor Mr Warningham among the throng of worshippers at the feet of this 4 ' Diana of the Ephesians." As he found she played again the next evening, he took care to engage the stage-box ; and fancied he had succeeded in attracting her attention. He thought her lustrous eyes fell on him several times during the evening, and that they were instantly withdrawn, with an air of conscious confusion and embarrassment from the intense and passionate gaze which they encountered. This was sufficient to fire the train of Mr Warningham's susceptible feelings; and his whole heart was in a blaze instantly. Miss sang that evening one of her favourite songs— an exquisitely pensive and beautiful air; and Mr Warningham, almost frantic with excitement, applauded with such obstreperous vehemence, and continued shout- ing " encore— encore"— so long after the general talis of the house had ceased, as to attract all eyes for an instant to his box. Miss could not, of course, fail to observe his conduct; and presenlly herself looked up with what he considered a gratified air. Quiver- ing with excitement and nervous irritability, Mr Warningham could scarcelv sit out the rest of the piece ; and the moment the curtain fell, he hurried round to the stage-door, determined to wait and see her leave, for the purpose, if possible, of speaking to her. He presently saw her approach the door, closely muffled, veiled, and bonneted, leaning on the arm of a man of military appearance, who handed her into a very gay chariot. He perceived at once that it was the well-known Captain . Will it be believed that this enthusiastic young man actually jumped up behind the carriage which contained the object of his idolatrous homage, and did not alight till it drew up opposite a large house in the western suburbs : 68 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. and that this absurd feat, moreover, was performed amid an inces- sant shower of small searching rain? He was informed by the footman, whom he had bribed with five shillings, that Miss 's own house was in another part of the town, and that her stay at Captain 's was only for a day or two. He returned to his hotel in a state of tumultuous excitement, which can be better conceived than described. As may be sup- posed, he slept little that night ; and the first thing he did in the morning was to despatch his groom, with orders to establish him- self in some public house which could command a view of Miss 's residence, and return to Covent Garden as soon as he had seen her or her maid enter. It was not till seven o'clock that he brought word to his master, that no one had entered but Miss 's maid. The papers informed him that Miss played again that even- ing ; and though he could not but be aware of the sort of intimacy which subsisted between Miss and the Captain, his enthu- siastic passion only increased with increasing obstacles. Though seriouslv unwell with a determination of blood to the head, induced by the perpetual excitement of his feelings, and a severe cold caught through exposure to the rain on the preceding evening— he was dressing for the play, when, to his infinite mortification, his friendly medical attendant happening to step in, positively forbade his leaving his room, and consigned him to bed and physic, instead of the maddening scenes of the theatre. The next morning he felt relieved from the more urgent symptoms ; and his servant hav- ing brought him word that he had at last watched Miss enter her house, unaccompanied, except by her maid, Mr Warningham despatched him with a copy of passionate verses, enclosed in a blank envelope. He trusted that some adroit allusions in them, might possibly give her a clew to the discovery of the writer— especially if he could contrive to be seen by her that evening in the same box he had occupied formerly ; for to the play he was resolved to go, in defiance of the threats of his medical attendant. To his vexation, he found the box in question pre-engaged for a family party; and— will it be credited?— he actually entertained the idea of discovering who they were, for the purpose of prevailing on them to vacate in his favour ! Finding that, however, of course, out of the question, he was compelled to content himself with the corresponding box opposite, where he was duly ensconced the moment the doors were opened. A[j ss appealed that evening in only one piece, but in the course of it she had to sing some of her most admired songs. The INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 69 character she played, also, was a favourite both with herself and the public. Her dress was exquisitely tasteful and picturesque, and calculated to set off her figure to the utmost advantage. When, at a particular crisis of the play, Mr Warningham, by the softened lustre of the lowered foot-lights, beheld Miss emerging from a romantic glen, with a cloak thrown over her shoulders, her head covered with a velvet cap, over which drooped, in snowy pen- dency, an ostrich feather, while her hair strayed from beneath the cincture of her cap in loose negligent curls, down her face and beautiful cheeks; when he saw the timid and alarmed air which her part required her to assume, and the sweet and sad expressions of her eves, while she stole about, as if avoiding a pursuer; when, at length, as the raised foot-lights were restored to their former glare, she let fall the cloak which had enveloped her, and, like a metamor- phosed chrysalis, burst in beauty on the applauding house, habited in a costume, which, without being positively indelicate, was cal- culated to excite the most voluptuous thoughts ; when, I say, poor Mr Warningham saw all this, he was almost overpowered, and leaned back in his box, breathless with agitation. A little before Miss quitted the stage for the last time that evening, the order of the play required that she. should stand for some minutes on that part of the stage next to Mr Warningham's box. While she was standing in a pensive attitude, with her face turned full towards Mr Warningham, he whispered, in a quivering and under tone, "Oh, beautiful, beautiful creature ! " Miss heard him, looked at him with a little surprise ; her features re- laxed into a smile, and, with a gentle shake of the head, as if hint- ing that he should not endeavour to distract her attention, she moved away to proceed with her part. Mr Warningham trembled violently ; he fancied she encouraged his attentions, and,— Heaven knows how,— had recognised in him the writer of the verses she had received. When the play was over, he hurried, as on a former occasion, to the stage-door, where he mingled with the inquisitive little throng usually to be found there, and waited till she made her appearance, enveloped, as before, in a large shawl, but followed only by a maid-servant, carrying a band-box. They stepped into a hackney-coach, and, though Mr Warningham had gone there for the express purpose of speaking to her, his knees knocked together, and he felt so sick with agitation, that he did not even attempt to hand her into the coach. He jumped into the one which drew up next, and ordered the coachman to follow the preceding one wherever it went. When it approached the street where he knew 70 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. she resided, he ordered it to stop, got out, and hurried on foot towards the house, which he reached just as she was alighting. He offered her his arm. She looked at him with astonishment, and something like apprehension, At length, she appeared to recog- nise in him the person who had attracted her attention, by whisper- ing when at the theatre, and seemed, he thought, a little discom- posed. She declined his proffered assistance— said her maid was with her— and was going to knock at the door, when Mr Warning- ham stammered faintly, "Dear Madam, do allow me the honour of calling in the morning, and inquiring how you are, after the great exertions at the theatre this evening ! " She replied in a cold and discouraging manner: could not conceive to what she was in- debted for the honour of his particular attentions, and interest in her welfare, so suddenly felt by an utter stranger— unusual— sin- gular — improper — unpleasant, etc. She said, that, as for his calling in the morning, if he felt so inclined, she, of course, could not pre- vent him ; but if he expected to see her when he called, he would find himself " perfectly mistaken." The door that moment was opened, and closed upon her, as she made him a cold bow, leaving Mr Warningham, what with chagrin and excessive passion for her, almost distracted. He seriously assured me, that he walked to and fro before her door till nearly six o'clock in the morning; that he repeatedly ascended the steps, and endeavoured, as nearly as he could recollect, to stand on Jie very spot she had occupied while speaking to him, and would remain gazing at what he fancied was the window of her bed-room, for ten minutes together ; and all this extravagance, to boot, was perpetrated amidst an incessant foil of snow, and at a time— Heaven save the mark!— when he was an accepted suitor of Miss , the young lady whom he had come to town for the express purpose of visiting ! I several times asked him how it was that he could bring himself to consider such con- duct consistent with honour or deiieaey, or feel a spark of real attachment for the lady to whom he was engaged, if it were not sufficient to steel his heart and close his eye> against the charms of any other woman in the world? His only reply was, that hi; "really could not help it,"— he felt "rather the patient, than agent." Hiss took his heart, he said, by storto, and forcibly ejected* for a while, his love for any other woman breathing! To return however : About half-past six, he jumped into a haek- nev coach which happened l<> be posing through the street, drove home lo the holel in Covent < iarden, and threw himself on the bed. in a slate of utter exhaustion, both of mind and body. lie slept 6n INTFiIGt"I>G A.ND MADNESS. heavily liil twelve o'clock at noon, when he awoke seriously indis- posed. For the first few moments, he could not dispossess him- self of the idea that Miss was standing by his bedside, in the dress she wore the preceding evening, and smiled encouragingly on him. So strong was the delusion, that he actually addressed several sentences to her! About three o'clock, he drove out, and called on one of his gay friends, who was perfectly oh fait at mat- ters of this sort, and resolved to make him his confidant in the affair. Under the advice of this Mentor, Mr Warningham pur- chased a very beautiful emerald ring, which he sent off instantly to Miss , with a polite note, saying it was some slight acknow- ledgment of the delight with which he witnessed her exquisite act- ing, etc. etc. etc. This, his friend assured him, must call forth an answer of some sort or other, which would lead to another — and another — and another — and so on. He was right. A twopenny post letter was put into Mr Warningham's hands the next morning before he rose, which was from Miss , elegantly written, and thanked him for the " tasteful present " he had sent her, which she should, with great pleasure, take an early opportunity of grati- fying him by wearing in public. There never yet lived an actress, I verily believe, who had forti- tude enough to refuse a present of jewelry ! ^Ybat was to be done next ? He did not exactly know. But hav- ing succeeded at last in opening an avenue of communication with her, and induced her so easily to lie under an obligation to him, he felt convinced that his way was now clear. He determined, therefore, to call and see her that very afternoon ; but his medical friend, seeing the state of feverish excitement in which he continued, absolutely interdicted him from leaving the house. The next day he felt considerably better, but was not allowed to leave the house. He could, therefore, find no other means of consoling himself, than writing a note to Miss , saying he had " something important " to communicate to her, and begging to know when she would per- mit him to wait upon her for that purpose. What does the reader imagine this pretext of " something important" was? To ask her to sit for her portrait to a young artist ! His stratagem succeeded ; for he received, in the course of the next day, a polite invitation to breakfast with Miss on the next Sunday morning ; with a hint that he might expect no other company, and that Miss was "curious " to know what his particular business with her was. Poor Mr Warningham ! How was he to exist in the interval between this (lav and Sundav? He would fain have annihilated it. 72 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. Sunday morning at last arrived ; and about nine o'clock he sallied from his hotel, the first time he had left it for several days, and drove to the house. With a fluttering heart he knocked at the door, and a maid-servant ushered him into an elegant apartment, in which breakfast was laid. An elderly lady, some female relative of the actress, was reading a newspaper at the breakfast table ; and Miss herself was seated at the piano practising one of those exquisite songs which had been listened to with breathless rapture by thousands. She wore an elegant morning dress ; and though her infatuated visitor had come prepared to see her to great disad- vantage, divested of the dazzling complexion she exhibited on the stage, her pale, and somewhat sallow, features, which wore a pen- sive and fatigued expression, served to rivet the chains of his admiration still stronger, with the feelings of sympathy. Her beau- tiful eyes beamed on him with sweetness and affability ; and there was an ease, a gentleness in her manners, and a soft animating tone in her voice, which filled Mr Warningham with emotions of inde- scribable tenderness. A few moments beheld them sealed at the breakfast table; and when Mr Warningham gazed at his fair hostess, and reflected on his envied contiguity to one whose beauty and talents Avere the theme of universal admiration — listened to her lively and varied conversation, and perceived a faint crimson steal for an instant over her countenance, when he reminded her of his exclamation at the theatre — he felt a swelling excitement which would barely suffer him to preserve an exterior calmness of de- meanour. He felt, as he expressed it — (for he has often recounted these scenes to me) — that she was maddening him ! Of course, he exerted himself in conversation to the utmost; and his observations on almost every topic of polite literature were met with equal spirit and spi ightliness by Miss . He found her fully capable of appreciating the noblest passages from Shakspeare, and some of the older English dramatists, and that was sufficient to lay enthusi- astic Mr Warningham at the feet of any woman. He was reciting a passionate passage from Romeo and Juliet, to which Miss was listening with an apparent air of kindling enthusiasm, when a phae- ton dashed up to the door, and an impetuous thundering of the knocker announced the arrival of some aristocratical visitor. The elderly lady, who was sitting with them, stalled, coloured, and exclaimed — M Good God ! will you receive the man this morning?" " Oh, it's only Lord ," exclaimed Mitt , with an air of indifference, after having examined the equipage through the win- dow-blinds, " and I won't see the man— that's fiat. He pesters me INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 73 to death," she continued, turning to Mr Warningham, with a pretty, peevish air. It had its effect on him. What an enviable fellow I am, to be received when Lords are refused! thought Mr Warningham. '•Not at home!" drawled Miss , coldly, as the servant brought in Lord 's card. "You know one can't see every body" Mr Warningham," she said, with a smile. " Oh, Mr Warn- ingham !— lud, hid!— don't goto the window till the man is gone!" she exclaimed: and her small white hand, with his emerald ring glistening on her second finger, was hurriedly laid on his shoulder, to prevent his going to the window. Mr Warningham declared to me, he could that moment have settled his whole fortune on her! After the breakfast things were removed, she sat down, at his request, to the piano— a very magnificent present from the Duke of , Mrs assured him— and sang and played whatever he asked. She played a certain well-known arch air, with the most bewitching simplicity ; Mr Warningham could only look his feel- ings. As she concluded it, and was dashing off the symphony in a careless, but rapid and brilliant style, Mrs , the lady once or twice before mentioned, left the room ; and Mr Warningham, scarce knowing what he did, suddenly sank on one knee, from the chair on which he was sitting by Miss , grasped her hand, and uttered some exclamation of passionate fondness. Miss turned to him a moment, with a surprised air, her large, liquid, blue eyes, almost entirely hid beneath her half-closed lids, her features relaxed into a coquettish smile, she disengaged her hand, and went on play- ing and singing, — " He sighs — * Beauty ! I adore thee, See me fainting thus before thee;' But I say— Fal, lal, lal, la! Fal, lal, lal, la! Fal, lal," etc. "Fascinating, angelic woman!— glorious creature of intellect and beauty, I cannot live but in your presence ! " gasped Mr Warn- ingham. "Oh! Lord, what an actor you would have made, Mr Warning- ham— indeed you would ! Only think how it would sound— 'Ro- meo, Mr Warningham /'— Lud, lud!— the man would almost per- suade me that he was in earnest!" replied Miss , with the most enchanting air, and ceased playing. Mr Warningham con- W INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. tinued addressing her in the most extravagant manner; indeed, he afterwards told me, he felt "as though his wits were slipping from him every instant." "Why don't you go on the stage, Mr Warningham?" inquired Miss , with a more earnest and serious air than she had hitherto manifested, and gazing at him with an eye which ex- pressed real admiration, — fur she was touched by the winning, persuasive, and passionate eloquence with which Mr Warningham expressed himself. She had hardly uttered the words, when a loud and long knock was heard at the street door. Miss sud- denly started from the piano, turned pale, and exclaimed in a hurried and agitated tone— "Lord, Lord, what's to be done? — Captain ! — what ever can have brought him up to town — oh! my ." "Good God! Madam, what can possibly alarm you in this man- ner?" exclaimed Mr Warningham, with a surprised air. " What in the earth can there be in this Captain to startle you in this manner? What can the man want here if his presence is disa- greeable to you? Pray, Madam, give him the same answer you gave Lord !"— "Oh, Mr Warn— dear, dear! the door is opened — what will become of me if Captain sees you here ? Ah! I have it, you must — country manager — provincial enga — " hurriedly muttered Miss , as the room-door opened, and a gen- tleman of a lofty and military bearing, dressed in a blue surtout and while trowsers, with a slight walking cane in his hand, entered, and without observing Mr Warningham, who at the moment happened to be standing rather behind the door, hurried towards Miss , exclaiming with a gay and fond air, " Ila, my charming De Medici, how d'ye do? — Why, who have we here:'" he inquired, suddenly breaking off, and turning with an astonished air towards MrWarn- inghaiu. " What possible business can this person have here, Miss ?" Enquired the Captain with a cold and angry air, letting fall her hand, which lie had grasped on entering, and eyeing Mr Warning- li.iin with a furious scowl. Miss muttered something indis- tincllv about business — a provincial engagement — and looked ap- pealing! v low aids Mi- Warningham, as if beseeching him to take llie ewe, and assume the character of a country manager. Mr Warningham. however, was not experienced enough in matters of this kind to lake the hint. "My good Sir — I beg pardon, Captain" — said he, buttoning his coal, and speaking in a voice almost choked with fury—" what is INTRIGUING AND MADNESS 58 the meaning of all this? What do you mean, Sir, by this insolent bearing towards me 9 " " Good God! Do you know, Sir. whom you are speaking to?" inquired the Captain, with an air of wonder. k4 1 care as tittle as I know, Sir; but this I know— I shall give you to understand, that, whoever you are, I won't be bullied by you." "The devil!" exclaimed the Captain, slowly, as if he hardly comprehended what was passing. Mia , pale as a statue, and trembling from head to foot, leaned speechless against the corner of the piano, apparently stbptfied by the scene that was passing. " Oh, by 1 this will never do," at length exclaimed the Cap- tain, as he rushed up to Mr Warningham, and struck him furiously over the shoulders with his cane. He was going to seize Mr War- ningham's collar with his left hand, as if for the purpose of inilict- ing further chastisement, when Mr Warningham, who was a very muscular man. shouk him off, and dashed his right hand full into the face of the Captain. Miss shrieked for assistance — while the Captain put himself instantly into attitude, and, being a first- rate " miller," as the phrase is. before Mr Warningham could pre- pare himself for the encounter, let fall a sudden shower of blows about Mr Warnimdiam's head and breast, that fell on him like the strokes of a sledge-hammer. He was, of course, instantly laid pros- trate on the floor in a state of insensibility, and recollected nothing farther till he found himself lying in his bed at the Hotel, about the middle of the night, faint and weak with the loss of I his head bandaged, and amid all the desagrenien* and attendance of a sick man's chamber. How or when he had been conveyed to the hotel he knew not, till he was informed, some weeks afterwards, that Captain , having learned his residence from Miss , had brought him in his carriage, in a state of stupor. All the cirenm- stanees above related combined to throw Mr Warningham into a fever, which increased upon him; the state of nervous excitement in which he had lived for the last few days, aggravated the other symptoms — and delirium at last deepened into downright madness. The medical man, who has been several times before mentioned, as a friendly attendant of Mr Warningham, finding that matters grew so sei'ious, and being unwilling any longer to bear the sole responsibility of the case, advised Mr Warningham's friends, who had been summoned from a distant county to his bedside, to call me in; and this was the stain quo of affairs when 1 paid my first visit. On entering the room, I found a keeper silting on each side of 76 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. the bed on which lay Mr Warningham, who was raving fearfully, gnashing his teeth, and imprecating the most frightful curses upon Captain . It was with the utmost difficulty that the keepers could hold him down, even though my unfortunate patient was suf- fering under the restraint of a strait waistcoat. His countenance, which I think I mentioned was naturally very expressive, if not handsome, exhibited the most ghastly contortions. His eyes glared into every corner of the room, and seemed about to start from their sockets.— After standing for some moments a silent spectator of this painful scene, endeavouring to watch the current of his malady, and, at the same time, soothe the affliction of his uncle, who was standing by my side, dreadfully agitated, I ventured to approach nearer, observing him almost exhausted, and relapsing into silence — undisturbed but by heavy and stertorous breathing. He lay with his face buried in the pillow; and, on my putting my fingers to his temples, he suddenly turned his face towards me. " God bless me — Mr Kean!" said he, in an altered lone — " this is really a very unexpected honour!" He seemed embarrassed at seeing me. I determined to humour his fancy — the only rational method of dealing with such patients. I may as well say, in passing, that some persons have not unfrequently found a resemblance — faint and slight, if any at all — between my features and those of the ce- lebrated tragedian for whom I was on the present occasion mistaken. "Oh, yours are terrible eyes, Mr Kean — very, very terrible! Where did you get them? What fiend touched them with such un- natural lustre? They are not human, — no, no ! What do you think I have often fancied they resembled ?" "Really, I can't pretend to say, Sir," I replied, with some cu^ riosity. " Why, one of the damned inmates of hell — glaring through the fiery bars of his prison," replied Mr Warningham, with a shudder. *' Is not that a ghastly fancy?" he inquired. " 'Tis horrible enough, indeed," said I, determined to humour him. " Ha, ha, ha!— Ha, ha, ha ! " roared the wretched maniac, with a laugh which made us all quake round his bedside. "I can say belter things than that, — though it is good ! It's nothing like the way in which I shall talk to-morrow morning — ha, ha, ha! — for I am going down to hell, to learn some of the fiend's talk ; and when 1 come back, I'll give you a lesson, Mr Kean, shall be worth two thousand a-year to you— ha, ha, ha!— What d'ye say to that, Othello?" He paused, and continued mumbling something to him- INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 11 self, in a strangely different tone of voice from that in which he had just addressed me. " Mr Kean, Mr Kean,"said he, suddenly, "you're the very man I want ; I suppose they had told you I had been asking for you, eh?" "Yes, certainly, I heard" "Very good — 'twas civil of them; but, now you are here, just shade those basilisk eyes of yours, for they blight my soul within me." I did as he directed. "Now, I'll tell you what I've been thinking. — I've got a tragedy ready, very nearly at least, and there's a magnificent character for you in it — expressly written for you — a compound of Richard, Shylock, and Sir Giles — your mas- terpiece — a sort of quartern quiddam — eh — you hear me, Mr Kean? " "Ay, and mark thee, too, Hal," I replied, thinking a quotation from his favourite Shakspeare would soothe and flatter his inflam- ed fancy. "Ah— aptly quoted— happy, happy!— By the way, talking of that, I don't at all admire your personation of Hamlet — I don't, Mr Kean, I don't. Tis utterly misconceived — wrong from begin- ning to end ; it is really. You see what an independent, straight- forward critic I am — ha, ha, ha ! " — accompanying the words with a laugh, if not as loud, as fearful as his former ones. I told him, I bowed to his judgment. "Good," he answered ; " genius should always be candid. Mac- ready has a single whisper, when he inquires, 'Is it the King?' which is worth all tjour fiendish mutterings and gaspings, ha, ha! 'Does the galled jade wince? Her withers are unwrung.' — Mr Kean, how absurd you are, iil-mannered — pardon me for saying it — for interrupting me," he said, after a pause ; adding, with a puzzled air, " What was it I was talking about when you inter- rupted me?" "Do you mean the tragedy?" (I had not opened my lips to interrupt him.) "Ha— the tragedy. The play, the play's the thing, Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. Ah — the tragedy was it I was mentioning? Rem acu — acu tetigisti — that's Latin, Mr Kean! Did you ever learn Latin and Greek, eh ?" —I told him I had studied them a little. "What can you mean by interrupting me thus unmannerly? — Mr Kean, I won't stand it. Once more— v:hat was it I was talking 78 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. about a few minutes ago? " He had again let slip the thread of his thoughts. "A digression this, Mr Kean; I must be mad— indeed I must ! " he continued, with a shudder, and a look of sudden sa- nity, " I must be mad, and I can't help thinking what a profound knowledge of human nature Shakspeare shows when he makes memory the test of sanity — a vast depth of philosophy in it, — eh? D'ye recollect the passage, — eh, Kean?" 1 said I certainly could not call it to mind. " Then it's infamous ! — a shame and disgrace to you. It's quite true what people say of you— you are a mere tragedy hack ! Why won't you try to get out of that mill-horse round of your hack- neyed characters? Excuse me ; you know I'm a vast admirer of yours, but an honest one ! — Curse me," after a sudden pause, add- ing with a bewildered and angry air, "what was it I was going to say? — I've lost it again! — oh, a passage from Shakspeare — me- mory — test of Ah, now we have him ! Tis this : mark and remember it ! — 'tis in King Lear — Bring me to the test, And I t he matter will re-word, which madness Would gamble from. Profoundly true — isn't it, Kean?" — Of course I acquiesced. "Ah," he resumed, with a pleased smile, "nobody now can write like that except myself — Go it, Harry — ha, ha, ha ! — Who — oo — o ! " uttering the strangest kind of revolting cry I ever heard. "Oh, dear, dear, me, what was it ] was saying? The thought keeps slipping from me like a lithe eel ; I can't hold it. Eels, by the way, are nothing but a sort of water snake — 'tis brutal to eat them ! What made me name eels, MrKean?" I reminded him. "Ah, there must be a screw loose — something wrong here," shaking his head ; "it's all upside down — ha ! what was it now?" I once more recalled it to his mind, for I saw he was fretting himself with vexa- tion at being unable to take up the chain of his thoughts. " Ah !— well, now, once more— I said I'd a character for you— good ; do it justice — or, by my life, I'll hiss you like a huge boa, coiled in the middle of the pit ! There's a thought for you, by the way !— Slay— I'm losing the thought again— hold it— hold it" "The tragedy, Sir," "Ah, to bo sure— I've another character for Miss (naming the actress before mentioned) — magnificent queen of beauty — nightingale of song — radiant — peerless — Ah, lady, look on me! — look on mo'" and ho suddenly burst into one of (he mosi tiger-like INTRIGUING AM) MADNESS. 7D MADNESS. been loudly complained of. Seeing the reasonableness of this, my patient was, with my sanction, conveyed, that evening, to airy and genteel lodgings in one of the adjoining streets. The three or four following visits I paid him, presented scenes little varying from the one I have above been attempting to describe. They gradually, however, abated in violence. I shall not be guilty of extravagance or exaggeration, if I protest, that there was sometimes a vein of sublimity in his ravings. He really said some of the very finest things I ever heard. This need not occasion wonder, if it be recollected, that "out of the fulness of the heart, the mouth speaketh ; " and Mr Warningham's naturally powerful mind was filled with accumulated stores, acquired from almost every region of literature. His fancy was deeply tinged with Germanism — with diablerie — and some of his ghostly images used to haunt and creep after me, like spirits, gibbering and chat- tering the expressions with which the maniac had conjured them into being. To me, nothing is so affecting — so terrible — so humiliating, as to see a powerful intellect, like that of Mr Warningham, the prey of insanity, exhibiting glimpses of greatness and beauty, amid all the chaotic gloom and havoc of madness ; reminding * one of the mighty fragments of some dilapidated structure of Greece or Rome, mouldering apart from one another, still displaying the ex- quisite moulding and chiselling of the artist, and enhancing the beholder's regret that so glorious a fabric should have been de- stroyed by the ruthless hand of lime. Insanity, indeed, makes the most fearful inroads on an intellect distinguished by its activity; and the flame is fed rapidly by the fuel afforded from an excitable and vigorous fancy. A tremendous responsibility is incurred, in such cases, by the medical attendants. Long experience has con- vinced me, that the only successful way of dealing with such pa- tients as Mr Warningham, is, chiming in readily with their various fancies, without seeming in the slightest degree shocked or alarmed by the most monstrous extravagancies. The patient must never be startled by any appearance of surprise or apprehension from those around him — never irritated by contradiction, or indications of impatience. Should this be done by some inexperienced at- tendant, the mischief may prove irremediable by any subsequent treatment ; the flame will blaze out with a fury which will consume 'Two newspapers have charpctl the writer with DOffOU iog this imaui invisible sin,:,*-. She said scarcely any thing, but often ut- tered a low, moaning, indistinct sound, and whispered at intervals, 'Yes — shortly, Charles, shortly — to-morrow." There was no 1HE BUOk.E> HEART. 87 rousing her by conversation ; she noticed no one, and would an- swer no questions. I suggested the propriety of calling in addi- tional medical assistance ; and. in the evening, met two eminent brother physicians in consultation at her bedside. We came to the conclusion, that she was sinking rapidly, and that, unless some mi- racle intervened to restore her energies, she would continue with us but a very little longer. After my brother physicians had left, I returned to the sick-chamber, and sat by Miss 's bedside for more than an hour. My feelings were much agitated at witnessing her singular and affecting situation. There was such a sweet and sorrowful expression about her pallid features, deepening, occa- sionally, into such hopelessness of heart-broken anguish, as no one could contemplate without deep emotion. There was, besides, something mysterious and awing — something of what in Scotland is called second tight — in the circumstances which had occasioned her illness. '•Gone — gone!" she murmured, with closed eyes, while I was sitting and gazing in silence on her, "gone — and in glory ! I shall see the young conqueror — I shall! How he will love me ! Ah ! I recollect,"" she continued, after a long interval, " it was ' The Banks of Allan Water' those cruel people made me sing — and my heart breaking the while ! — What was the verse I was singing when I saw"— she shuddered — "oh! — this, — For his bride a soldier sought her, And a winning tongue had he — On the banks of Allan "Water None so gay as she ! But the summer grief had brought her.. And the soldier— false was he— Oh, no, no, never— Charles— my poor murdered Charles— never ! " she groaned; and spoke no more that night. She continued ut- terly deaf to all that was said in the way of sympathy or remon- strance; and, if her lips moved at all, it was only to utter faintly some such words as "Oh, let me— let me leave in peace ! " During the two next days, she continued drooping rapidly. The only cir- cumstance about her demeanour particularly noticed, was, that she once moved her hands for a moment over the counterpane, as though she were playing the piano — a sudden flush overspread her features— her eyes stared, as though she were startled by the ap- pearance of some phantom or other, and she gasped, "There, there ! "—after which she relapsed into her former state of stupor. 88 THE BROKEN HEART. Now, will it be credited, that on the fourth morning of Miss r s illness, a letter was received from Paris by her family, with a black seal, and franked by the noble Colonel of the regiment in which Charles had served, communicating the melancholy intelli- gence, that the young Captain had fallen towards the close of the battle of Waterloo ; for while in the act of charging at the head of his corps, a French cavalry officer shot him with his pistol right through the heart! The whole family, with all their acquaintance, were unutterably shocked at the news, and almost petrified with amazement at the strange corroboration of Miss 's prediction. How to communicate it to the poor sufferer was now a serious question ; or whether to communicate it at all at present ? The fa- mily, at last, considering that it would be unjustifiable in them any longer to withhold the intelligence, intrusted the painful duty to me. I therefore repaired to her bedside alone, in the evening of the day on which the letter had been received : that evening was the last of her life ! I sat down in my usual place beside her, and her pulse, countenance, breathing, cold extremities, together with the fact, that she had taken no nourishment whatever since she had been laid on her bed, convinced me that the poor girl's sufferings were soon to terminate. I was at a loss for a length of time how to break the oppressive silence. Observing, however, her fading eyes fixed on me, I determined, as it were accidentally, to attract them to the fatal letter which I then held in my hand. After a while she observed it; her eye suddenly settled on the ample co- roneled seal, and the sight operated something like an electric shock. She seemed struggling to speak, but in vain. I now wished to Heaven 1 had never agreed to undertake the duty which had been imposed upon me. I opened the letter, and, looking steadfastly at her, said, in as soothing tones as my agitation could command, — "My dear girl — now, don't be alarmed, or I shall not tell you what I was going to tell you." — She trembled, and her sensibilities seemed suddenly restored ; for her eye assumed an ex- pression of alarmed intelligence, and her lips moved about like those of a person who feels them parched with agitation, and en- deavours to moisten them. "This letter has been received to-day from Paris," I continued; "it is from Colonel , and brings word that — that — that" — I felt suddenly choked, and could not bring out ihe words. "That my Charles is dead — I know it. Did I not tell you so?" said Miss , interrupting me, with as clear and distinct a tone of voice as she ever had in her life. 1 felt confounded. Had the THE BROKEN HEART. 89 unexpected operation of the news I brought been able to dissolve the spell which had withered her mental energies, and afford pro- mise of her restoration to health? Has the reader ever watched a candle, which is flickering and expiring in its socket, suddenly shoot up into an instantaneous brilliance, and then be utterly extinguished? I soon saw it was thus with poor Miss . All the expiring energies of her soul were suddenly collected to receive this corroboration of her vision —if such it may be called— and then she would, Like a lily drooping, Bow her head, and die. To return : She begged me, in a faltering voice, to read her all the letter. She listened with closed eyes, and made no remark, when I had concluded. After a long pause, I exclaimed— " God be praised, my dear Miss , that you have been able to receive this dreadful news so firmly ! " "Doctor, tell me, have you no medicine that could make me Yv ee p?_Oh, give it me, give it me! It would relieve me, for I feel a mountain on my breast— it is crushing me," she replied feebly, uttering the words at long intervals. Pressing her hand in minei I begged her to be calm, and the oppression would soon dis- appear. "Oh— oh— oh, that I could weep. Doctor!" She whispered something else, but inaudibly. I put my ear close to her mouth, and distinguished something like the words— "Jane!— I am— call her— hush"— accompanied with a faint, fluttering, gurgling sound. Alas, I too well understood it! With much trepidation I ordered the nurse to summon the family into the room instantly. Her sister Jane was the first that entered, her eyes swollen with weep- ing, and seemingly half suffocated with the effort to conceal her emotions. " Oh, rav darling, precious, — my own sister Anne! " she sobbed, and knelt down at the bedside, flinging her arms round her sister's neck, kissing the gentle sufferer's cheeks and mouth. "Anne!— love!— darling!— don't you know me?" She groaned, kissing her forehead repeatedly. Could 1 help weeping? All who had entered were standing around the bed, sobbing, and in tears. I kept my fingers at the wrist of the dying sufferer; but could not feel whether or not the pulse beat, which, however, I attributed to my own agitation. " Speak— speak— my darling Anne! speak to me; I am your so CONSUMPTION. poor sisler Jane! " sobbed the agonized girl, continuing fondly kiss- ing her sister's cold lips and forehead. She suddenly started— exclaimed, "0 God, she's dead!" and sank instantly senseless on the lloor. Alas, alas! it was too true; my sweet and broken- hearted patient was no more! CHAPTER I\. CONSUMPTION. Consumption !— Terrible, insatiable tyrant!— Who can arrest ihv progress, or number thy victims? Why dost thou attack al- most exclusively the fairest and loveliest of our species ? Why se- lect blooming and beautiful youth, instead of haggard and exhaust- ed age? Why strike down those who are bounding blithely from Lhe starting-post of lite, rather than the decrepit beings tottering towards its goal? By what inlernaf sublilty hast thou contrived hitherto to baffle the profoundest skill of science, to frustrate ut- teriy the uses of experience, and disclose thyself only when thou hast irretrievably secured thy victim, and thy fangs are crimsoned with its blood? Destroying angel! why art thou commissioned thus to smite down the first-born of agonized humanity? What are the strange purposes of Providence, that thusleltcth thee loose upon the objects of its infinite goodness! Alas! how many aching hearts have been agitated with these un- answerable questions, and how many myriads are yet to be wrung and tortured by them ! Let me proceed to lay before the reader a short and simple statement of one of the many cases of consump- tion, and all its attendant broken-heartedness, with which a toler- ably extensive practice has, alas! crowded my memory. The one immediately following has been selected, because it seemed to me, though destitute of varied and stirring incident, calculated, on va- rious accounts, to excite peculiar interest and sympathy. Possibly there are a lew ■who ma\ consider the ensuing pages pervaded by i tone of exaggeration. Indeed it is not so. My heart has really ached under the task of recording the bitter, premature fate of one of the mns! lovely and accomplished young women lever knew: CONSUMPTION 91 and the vivid recollection of her sufferings, as well as those of her anguished relatives, may have led me to adopt strong language, — but not strong enough adequately to express my feelings. Miss Herbert lost both her father and mother before she had at- tained her tenth year ; and was solemnly committed by each to the care of her uncle, a Baronet, who was unmarried, and, through disappointment in a first attachment, seemed likely to continue so to the end of his life. Two years after his brother's death, he was appointed to an eminent official situation in India, as the fortune attached to his baronetcy had suffered severely from the extrava- gance of bis predecessors. He was for some time at a loss how to dispose of his little niece. Should he take her with him to India, accompanied by a first-rate governess, and have her carefully edu- cated under his own eye ; or leave her behind in England, at one of the fashionable boarding-schools, and trust to the general sur- veillance of a distant female relative i He decided on the former course; and, accordingly, very shortly after completing her twelfth year, this little blooming exotic was transplanted to the scorched soil, and destined to " waste its sweetness" on the sultry air of India. A more delicate and lovely little creature than was Eliza Her- bert, at this period, cannot be conceived. She was the only bud from a parent stem of remarkable beauty ; but, alas ! that stem was suddenly withered by consumption. Her father, also, fell a victim to the fierce typhus fever only half a year after the death of his wife. Little Eliza Herbert inherited, with her mother's beauty, her constitutional delicacy. Her figure was so slight, that it al- most suggested to the beholder the idea of transparency ; and there was a softness and languor in her azure eyes, beaming through their long silken lashes, which told of something too refined for hu- manitv. Her disposition fully comported with her person and ha- bits,— arch, mild, and intelligent, with a little dash of pensiveness. She loved the shade of retirement. If she occasionally flitted for a moment into the world, its glare and uproar seemed almost to stun her gentle spirit, and fright it back into congenial privacy. She was, almost from infancy, devotedly fond of reading; and sought with peculiar avidity books of sentiment. Her gifted preceptress — one of the most amiable and refined of women — soon won her entire confidence, and found little difficulty in imparting to her apt pupil all the stores of her own superior and extensive accomplish- ments. Not a day passed over her head, that did not find Eliza Herbert rivetted more firmlv in the hearts of all who came near M CONS MPTI09. ber, from ber doating uncle, down to the most distant domestic. Every luxury thai wealth and power could procure, was, of course, always at her command; but ber own innate propriety and just taste prompted ber to prefer simplicity in all things, flattery of all kinds she abhorred — and forsook the house of a rich old English lady, who once told her to her lace she was a beautiful little an- gel ! In short, a more lovely and amiable being than Eliza Herbert .surely never adorned the ranks of humanity. The only fear which ttntly haunted those around her, and kept Sir in a fe- verish flutter of apprehension everyday of his life, was, that his niece was, in his own words, "too good— too beautiful, for this world;" and that unseen messengers from above were already flitting aruund her, ready to claim her suddenly lor the skies. He has often described to me his feelings on this subject. He seemed conscious that he had no right to reckon on the continuance of her life ; he felt, whenever he thought of her, an involuntary appre- hension that she would, at no distant period, suddenly fade from lit . he was afi aid, he said, to let out the whole of his heart's :^ns on her. Like the Oriental merchant, who trembles while freighting "one bark— one little fragile bark," with the dazzling of his immense all, and committing it to the capricious dominion of wind and waves; so Sir often declared, that, at the period I am alluding to, he experienced cruel misgivings, that if he embarked the whole of his soul's loves on little Eliza Her- bert, they were fated to be shipwrecked. Yet be regarded her ever) day with feelings which soon heightened into absolute idol- atry ! His fund anxieties soon suggested to him, that so delicate and fragile a being as hi- niece, supposing for a momenl the existence of any real groun Is "1 apprehension thai ber constitution bore an hereditary taint, could not be thrown into a directer path for her grave, than in India: thai any latent tendency to consumption would be Quickened and developed with fatal rapidity in the burning at* Biosphere she wa> then breathing. UK mind, once thoroughly suffused with alarms <»i this sort, could not ever aft erw a rds be dia- possessed "! ill on; and !)«• accordingly determined toieanqmsh bis situation in India, the instant be should have realized, from one quarter or another, sufficient to enable him to return to England, and rapport an establishment suitable to his station in society. About five years bad elapsed since bis arrival in India, during which be bad contrived i<> save a large portion «•! hi^ very ample income, when Dews reached him thai a considerable fortune had fallen i" CONSUMPTION. 93 him, through the death of a remote relative. The intelligence made him, comparatively, a happy man. He instantly set on loot ar- rangements for returning to England, and procuring the immediate appointment of his successor. Unknown to his niece, about a year alter his arrival in India, Sir had confidentially consulted the most eminent physician on the spot. In obedience to the injunctions of the Baronet, Dr C was in the habit of dropping in frequently, as if accidentally, to dinner, for the purpose of marking Miss Herbert's demeanour, and ascertaining whether there was, so to speak, the very faintest adumbration of any consumptive tendency. But no — his quick and practised eye detected no morbid indications ; and he repeatedly gladdened the Baronet's heart, by assuring him, that, for anv pre- sent evidence to the contrary, little Miss Herbert bade as fair fur long and healthy life as any woman breathing, especially if she soon returned to the more salubrious climate of England. Though Dr C had never spoken professionally to her, Eliza Herbert was too quick and shrewd an observer, to continue unapprized of the object of his frequent visits to her uncle's house. She had not failed to notice his searching glances; and knew well that he watched almost every mouthful of food she ate, and scrutinized all her movements. He had once also ventured to feel her pulse, in a half-in-earnest half-in-joke manner, and put one or two questions to the governess about Miss Herbert's general habits, which that good, easy, communicative creature unfortunately told her inqui- sitive little pupil! Now there are few things more alarming and irritating to young people, even if consciously enjoying the most robust health, than suddenly to find that they have long been, and still are, the objects of anxious medical surveillance. They begin naturally to suspect that there must be very good reason for it — and especiallv in the case of nervous, irritable temperaments; their peace of mind is thenceforward destroyed by torturing apprehensions that they are the doomed victims of some insidious, incurable malady. Of this I have known very many illustrations. Sir , also, was aware of its ill consequences, and endeavoured to avert even the shadow of a suspicion from his niece's mind as to the real object of Dr C 's visits, by formally introducing him, from the first, as one of his own intimate friends. He therefore flattered himself that his niece was profoundly ignorant of the existence of his anxieties con- cerning her health: and was not a little startled one morning by Miss Herbert's abruptly entering his study, and, pale, with ill- [H CONSUMPTION. disguised anxiety, inquiring if there was "anything the matter with her?" Was she unconsciously falling into a decline? she asked, almost in so many words. Her uncle was so confounded by the suddenness of the affair, that lie lost his presence of mind, changed colour a little, and, with a consciously embarrassed air, assured her that it was "no such thing," — " quite a mistake" — a "verv ridiculous one" — a "childish whim," etc. etc. etc. He was so very earnest and energetic in his assurances that there was no earthly ground for apprehension, and, in short, concealed his alarm so clumsily, that his poor niece, though she left him with a kiss and a smile, and affected to be satisfied, retired to her own room, and from that melancholy moment resigned herself to her grave. Of this, she herself, three years subsequently, in England, assured me. She never afterwards recovered that gentle buoy- ancy and elasticity of spirits which made her burst upon her few friends and acquaintance like a little lively sunbeam of cheerfulness and gaielv. She felt perpetually haunted by gloomy, though vague suspicions, that there was something radically wrong in her constitution — that it was from her birth sown with the seeds of death — and that no earthly power could eradicate them. Though she resigned herself to the dominion of such harassing thoughts as these while alone, and even shed tears abundantly, she succeeded in banishing to a great extent her uncle's disquietude, by assuming even a greater gaiety of demeanour than before. The Baronet took occasion to mention the little incident above related to Dr C ; and was excessively agitated to see the physician assume a very serious air. " This may be attended with more mischief than you are aware f ? gj r 9 he replied. "1 feel it my duty to tell you how miser- ablv unfortunate for her it is, that Miss Herbert has at last detected your restless uneasiness about her health, and the means you have taken to watch her constitution. Henceforward she may appear satis- fied — i) U i mark me if she can ever forget it. You will find her fail frequently into momentary fits of absence and thoughtfulness. She will brood over il," continued Dr G . " Why, good God ! Doctor," replied the Baronet, "what's the used frightening one thus? Do you think my niece is the first girl w li. . has known that her friends are anxious about her health? I! she h really, M you tell her, free from disease— why, in the name of common tense! can she fancy herself into a consumption?" " No, DO, Sir ; but incessant alarm may accelerate the evil you dread, and predispose her to sink — her energies to droop — CONSUMPTION 95 under the blow, however lightly it may at first fall, which has been so long impending. And, besides, Sir , I did not say she was free from disease, but only that 1 had not discerned any present symptoms of disease." "Oh, stuff, stuff, Doctor! nonsense!" muttered the Baronet, rising and pacing the room with excessive agitation. "Can't the girl be laughed out of her fears?" It may be easily believed that Sir spent every future mo- ment of his stay in India in an agony of apprehension. His fears exaggerated the slightest indication of his niece's temporary indis- position into a symptom of consumption. Any thing like a cough from her would send him to a pillow of thorns; and her occasional refusal of food at meal-times was received with undisguised trepi- dation on the part of her uncle. If he overtook her at a distance, walking out with her governess, he would follow unperceived, and strain his eye-sight with endeavouring to detect any thing like feebleness in her gait. These incessant, and very natural anxieties about the only being he loved in the world, enhanced by his efforts to conceal them, sensibly impaired his own health and spirits. He grew fretful and irritable in his demeanour towards every member of his establishment, and could not completely lix his thoughts for the transaction of his important official business. This may be thought an overstrained representation of Sir 's state of mind respecting his niece ; but by none except a young, thoughtless, or heartless reader. Let the thousand — the million — heart-wrung parents, who have mourned, and are now mourning, over their consumptive offspring — let them, I say, echo the truth of the sentiments I am expressing. Let those whose bitter fate it is to see The bark, so richly freighted with their love, gradually sinking, shipwrecked before their very eyes — let them say, whether the pen or tongue of man can furnish adequate words to give expression to their anguished feelings ! Eighteen years of age — within a trifle — was Miss Herbert, when she again set foot on her native land, and the eyes and heart of her idolizing uncle leaped for joy to see her augmented health and love- liness, which he fondly flattered himself might now be destined to Grow with her growth, and strengthen with her strength. The voyage— though long and monotonous as usual— with its fresh breezy balminess, had given an impetus to her animal spirits ; 96 CONSUMPTION. and as her slight figure stepped down the side of the gloomy co- lossal Indiaman which had brought her across the seas, her blue eye was bright as that of a seraph, her beauteous cheeks glowed with a soft and rich crimson, and there was a lightness, ease, and elasticity in her movements, as she tripped the short distance be- tween the vessel and the carriage, which was in wailing to convey them to town, that filled her doatjng uncle with feelings of almost frenzied joy. " God Almighty bless thee, my darling ! — Bless thee — bless thee for ever, my pride! my jewel! — Long and happy be thy life in merry England!" sobbed the Baronet, folding her almost con- vulsively in his arms, as soon as they were seated in the carriage, and giving her the first kiss of welcome to her native shores. The second day after they were established at one of the hotels, while Miss Herbert and her governess were riding the round of fashionable shopping, Sir drove alone to the late Dr Baiilie. In a long interview (they were personal friends) he communicated all his dis- tressing apprehensions about his niece's slate of health, imploring him to say whether he had any real cause of alarm whatever — im- mediate or prospective — and what course and plan of life he would recommend for the future. Dr Baiilie, after many and minute inquiries, contented himself with saying, that he saw no grounds for present apprehensions. "It certainly did sometimes happen," he said, ' ' that a delicate daughter of a consumptive parent, inherited her mother's tendencies to disease." — " As for her future life and habits, there was not the slightest occasion for medicine of any kind ; she must live almost entirely in the country, lake plenty of fresh dry air and exercise — especially eschew late hours and com- pany;" and he hinted, finally, the advantages, and almost ne- cessity, of an early matrimonial engagement. It need hardly be said, that Sir resolved most religiously to follow this advice lo the letter. "I'll come and dine with you in Dover Street, at seven to-day," said Dr Baiilie, "and make my own observations." "Thank you, Doctor— but — bul we dine out to-day," muttered the Baronet, rather faintly, adding, inwardly, "No, no! — no more medical espionage — no, no!" Sir purchased a very beautiful mansion, which then hap- pened lobe for sale, situated within tea or twelve miles of London; and thither he removed, ;•* soon as ever the preliminary arrange- ments could l»e completed. The shrine, and its divinity, were worthy of each oilier. CONSUMPTION. 97 Hall was one of the most charming picturesque residences in the county, It was a fine antique semi-Gothic structure, almost ob- scured from sight in the profound gloom of forest shade. The delicious velvet greensward, spread immediately in front of the house, seemed formed for the gentle footsteps of miss Herbert. When you went there, if you looked carefully about, you might discover a little white tuft glistening on some part or other of the "smooth soft-shaven lawn ;" it was her pet lamb,— sweet emblem of its owner's innocence ! — cropping the crisp and rich herbage. Little thing ! it would scarcely submit to be fondled by any hand but that of its indulgent mistress. She, also, might, occasionally, be seen there, wandering thoughtfully along, with a book in her hand— Tasso, probably, or Dante— and her loose light hair stray- ing from beneath a gipsy bonnet, commingling in pleasant con- trast with a saffron-coloured riband. Her uncle would sit for an hour together, at a corner of his study window, overlooking the lawn, and never remove his eyes from the figure of his fair niece. Miss Herbert was soon talked of every where in the neighbour- hood, as the pride of the place— the star of the county. She bud- ded forth almost visibly ; and though her exquisite form was developing daily, till her matured womanly proportions seemed to have been cast in the mould of the Venus de Medici, though on a scale of more slenderness and delicacy, it was, nevertheless, out- stripped by the precocious expanding of her intellect. The sym- pathies of her soul were attuned to the deepest and most refined sentiment. She was passionately fond of poetry ; and never wandered without the sphere of what was first-rate. Dante and Milton were her constant companions, by day and night ; and it was a treat to hear the mellifluous cadences of the former uttered by the soft and rich voice of Miss Herbert. She could not more satisfactorily evidence her profound appreciation of the true spirit of poetry, than by her almost idolatrous admiration of the kindred genius of Handel and Mozart. She was scarcely ever known to play any other music than theirs ; she would listen to none but the "mighty voices of those dim spirits." And then she was the most amiable and charitable creature, that sure ever trode the earth ! How many colds— slight, to be sure, and evanescent— had she caught, and how many rebukes from the alarmed fondness of her uncle had she suffered in consequence, through her fi equent visits, in all weathers, to the cottages of the poor and sick ! — "Yon are describing an Ideal being, and investing it with all the graces and virtues— one that never really existed," perhaps exclaims one 7 M8 CONSUMPTION of my readers. There are not a few now living, who could answer for the truth of my poor and faint description, with anguish and regret. Frequently, on seeing such instances of precocious de- velopment of the powers of both mind and body, the cuit and forcible expression of Ouintilian has occurred to my mind with painful i'nict — "Ouod observation fere est, celerius occidere fcsti- natrnn malwritatem,"* aptly rendered by the English proverb, 44 Soon ripe, soon rotten/ 1 The latter part of Dr Baillie's advice was anxiously kept in view by Sir : and soon after Miss Berber! had completed her twen- tieth year, he had the satisfaction of seeing her encourage the attentions of a Captain , the third son of a neighbouring noble- man, lie was a remarkably line and handsome young man, of a very superior spirit, and fully capable of appreciating the value of her whose hand he sought. Sir was delighted, almost to ecstasy, when he extracted from the trembling, blushing girl, a confession that Captain 's company was any thing but disagree- able to her. The young military hero was, of course, soon recog- nised as her suitor; and a handsome ceuple, people said, they would make. Miss Herbert's health seemed more robust, and her spirits more buoyant, than ever. How, indeed, could it be otherwise, when she was daily riding in an open carriage, or on horseback, over a fine, breezy, champaign country, by the side of the gay, handsome, fascinating Captain ? The Baronet was silting one morning in his study, having the day e returned from a month's visil i<» some friends in Ireland, and engaged with some important letters from India, when MissB . his niece's governess, sent a message, requesting to speak in pri- vate with him. When she entered, her embarrassed, and some- what flurried manner, not a little surprised Sir- — . " Bow is Eliza? — I low is Bhsa, MissB ?*' he inquired hastily, laying aside his readingglasses, "Very well," she replied, "very ; " and, after a little fencing about tin- necessity of making allowance for the exaggeration of alarm and anxiety , she proceeded t<> inform him. mai Miss Herbert had latterly passed restless nights— thai ber sleep was net unfrequently broken by a cough — ;i sort of faint < Imn lniunl COUgb, she Said, it seemed — which had DOt been noticed for some time, till it was accompanied by oilier symptoms.-— "Gra- cious God! Madam, how was this not t<»!d me before v — Why — Why did you not write t<> me in Ireland about it!" inquired • i>. i ri Oral, I. it). i\ . In I'lMciniH CONSUMPTION. 9!) Sir , with excessive trepidation. He could scarcely sit in his chair, and grew very pale ; while Miss B , herself equally agi- tated, went on to mention profuse night-sweats — a disinclination for food — exhaustion from the slightest exercise — a feverishness every evening — and a faint hectic flush "Oh, plague-spot !" groaned the Baronet, almost choked, letting fall his reading glasses. He tottered towards the bell, and the valet was directed to order the carriage for town immediately. "What — what possible excuse can I devise for bringing Dr Baillie here?" said he to the governess, as he was drawing on his gloves. " Well — well — I'll leave it to you — do what you can. For God's sake, Madam, prepare her to see him somehow or another, for the Doctor and I shall certainly be here together this evening. — Oh! say I'm called up to town on sudden business, and thought I might as well bring him on with me, as he is visiting a patient in the neigh- bourhood—Oh ! any thing, Madam— any thing ! " He hardly knew what he was saying. Dr Baillie, however, could not come, being himself at Brighton, an invalid, and the Baronet was, therefore, pleased, though with ill-disguised chagrin, to summon me to supply his place. On my way down, he put me in possession of most of the (acts above narrated. He implored me, in tenderness to his agitated feelings, to summon all the tact I had ever acquired, and alarm the object of my visit as little as possible. I was especially to guard against appearing to know too much ; I was to beat about the bush — to extract her symptoms gradually, etc. I never saw the fondest, the most doat- ing father or mother more agitated about an only child than was Sir about his niece. He protested that he could not survive her death — that she was the only prop and pride of his declining years — and that he must fall if he lost her ; and made use of many similar expressions. It was in vain that I besought him not to allow himself to be carried so much away by his fears. He must let me see her, and have an opportunity of judging whether there were any real cause of alarm, I said ; and he might rely on my honour as a gentleman, that I would be frank and candid with him, to the very utmost— I would tell him the worst. I reminded him of the possi- bility that the symptoms he mentioned might not really exist ; that they might have been seen by Miss B through the distorting and magnifying medium of apprehension ; and that, even if they did really exist — why, that — that — they were not always the pre- cursors of consumption, I stammered, against my own convictions. It is impossible to describe the emotions excited in the Baronet, by 100 CONSUMPTION. my simply uttering the word "consumption."' He said it stabbed him to the heart ! On arriving at Hall, the Baronet and I instantly repaired to the drawing-room, where Miss Herbert and her governess were sitting at lea. The sad sunlight of September shone through the Gothic window near which they were silting. Miss Herbert was dressed in white, and looked really dazzlingly beautiful ; but the first transient glance warned me that the worst might be appre- hended. I had that very morning been at the bedside of a dying young lady, a martyr to that very disease, which commences by investing its victim with a tenfold splendour of personal beauty, to be compensated for by sudden and rapid decay ! Miss Herbert's eyes were lustrous as diamonds ; and the complexion of her cheeks, pure and fair as that of the lily, was surmounted with an intense circumscribed crimson flush,— alas, alas! the very plague-spot of hectic — of consumption. She saluted me silently, and her eyes glanced hurriedly from me to her uncle, and from him again to me. His disordered air defied disguise. She was evidently apprized of my coming, as well as of the occa- sion of my visit. Indeed, there was a visible embarrassment about all four of us, which I felt I was expected to dissipate, by intro- ducing indifferent topics of conversation. This I attempted, but with little success. Miss Herbert's tea was before her on a little ebony stand, untouched; and it was evidently a violent effort only that enabled her to continue in the room. She looked repeatedly at Miss B , as though she wished to be gone. After about half an hour's time, I alluded complimentary to what I had heard of her performance on the piano. She smiled coldly, and rather con- temptuously, as though she saw the part I was playing. Nothing daunted, however, I begged her to favour me with one of Haydn's sonatas ; and she went immediately to the piano, and played what { asked— 1 need hardly say, exquisitely. Her uncle then withdrew for the alleged purpose of answering a letter, as had been arranged between as; and I was left alone with tin* two ladies. 1 need not fatigue the reader with a minute description of all that passed. I introduced tin- object of my visit as casually and gently as I could, and succeeded more easily than I had anticipated in quieting her alarms. The answers she gave t<> my questions amply corro- borated the truth of the account given by Miss B to the Baronet Her feverish accelerated pulse, also, told of the hoi blighting breath- ings o! thedestroying angel, who was already hovering close around his victim !— I was compelled to smile with an assumed airof gaiety CONSUMPTION. 101 and nonchalance, while listening to the poor girl's unconscious dis- closures of various little matters which amounted to infallible evi- dence that she was already beyond the reach of medicine. I bade her adieu, complimenting her on her charming looks, and ex- pressing my delight at finding so little occasion for my professional services ! She looked at me with a half-incredulous, half-confiding eye, and with much girlish simplicity and frankness, put her hand into mine, thanking me for dispersing her fears, and begging me to do the same for her uncle. I afterwards learned, that as soon as I left the room, she burst into a flood of tears, and sighed and sobbed all the rest of the evening. With Sir 1 felt it my duty to be caudid. Why should 1 conceal the worst from him, when I felt as certain as I was of my own existence, that his beautiful niece was already beginning to wither away from before his eyes? Convinced that " hope de- ferred maketh sick the heart," 1 have always, in such cases, warn- ed the patient's friends, long beforehand, of the inevitable fate awaiting the object of their anxious hopes and fears, in order that resignation might gradually steal thoroughly into their broken hearts. To return ; I was conducted to the Baronet's study, where he was standing with his hat and gloves on, ready to accompany me as far as the high-road, in order that I might await the arrival of a London coach. T told him, in short, that I feared I had seen and heard too much to allow a doubt that his niece's present symp- toms were those of the commencing stage of pulmonary consump- tion ; and that though medicine and change of climate might pos- sibly avert the evil day for a time, it was my melancholy duty to assure him, that no earthly power could save her. 1 ' Merciful God ! " he gasped, loosing his arm from mine, and lean- ing against the park gate, at which we had arrived. I implored him to be calm. He continued speechless for some time, with his hands clasped. "Oh, Doctor, Doctor ! " he exclaimed, as if a gleam of hope had suddenly flashed across his mind, " we've forgot to tell you a most material thing, which perhaps will alter the whole case — oh ! how could we have forgotten it?" he continued, growing heated with the thought ; " my niece eats very heartily — nay, more heartily than any of us, and seems to relish her food more." Alas ! 1 was obliged, as I have hundreds of times before been obliged, to dash the cup from his lips, by assuring him than an almost ravenous ap- petite was as invariably a forerunner of consumption as the pilot fish of the shark ! 102 CONSUMPTION. " Oh, great God ! what will become of me ? What shall I do?" he exclaimed, almost frantic, and wringing his hands in despair. Be had lost every vestige of self-control. "Then my sweet angel must die! Damning thought ! Oh, let me die too! 1 cannot— I will not — survive her! — Doctor, Doctor, you must give up vour London practice, and conic and live in my house — you must! Oh, come, come, and I'll fling my whole fortune at your feet! Only save her, and you and yours shall roll in wealth, if I go bach to India to procure it! — Oh, whither — whither shall I go with my darling? To Italy— to France ? My God ! What shall I do when she is gone — for over! " he exclaimed, like one distracted. I en- treated him to recollect himself, and endeavour to regain his self- possession before returning to the presence of his niece. He start- ed. "Oh, mockery, Doctor, mockery ! How can I ever look on the dear — the doomed girl again? She is no longer mine; she is in her grave— she is ! " Remonstrance and expostulation, I saw, were utterly useless, and worse, for they served only to irritate. The coach shortly after- wards drew up ; and wringing my hands, Sir extorted a pro- mise that I would see his niece the next day, and bring Dr Baillie with me, if he should have returned to town. I was as good as my word, except that Dr Baillie could not accompany me, being still at Brighton. My second interview with Miss Herbert was long and painfully interesting. W f e were alone. She wept bitterly, and recounted the incident mentioned above, which occurred in India, and occasioned her first serious alarm. She felt convinced, she told me, that her case was hopeless; she saw, too, that her uncle possessed a similar conviction, and sobbed agonizingly when .she alluded to his altered looks. She bad fek a presentiment, she said, for some months past, which, however, she had never mentioned till then, tliai her days were numbered, and attributed, too truly, her accelerated illness to the noxious climate of India. She des- cribed her sensations' to be thai of a constant void within, as if there were ;i something wanting — an unnatural hollowness — a dull, ; SUMPTION. 103 "Is it likely that I shall have to endure much pain?" she asked with increasing trepidation. I could reply only, that I hoped not — that there was no ground for immediate apprehension — and I falter- ed, that possibly a milder climate, and the skill of medicine, might yet carry her through. The poor girl shook her head hopelessly, and trembled violently from head to foot. "Oh, poor uncle! — Poor, poor Edw ." She faltered, and fell fainting into my arms ; for the latter allusion to Captain had completely overcome her. Holding her senseless sylphlike fi- gure in my arms, I hurried to the bell, and was immediately joined by Sir , the governess, and one or two female attendants. I saw the Baronet was beginning to behave like a madman, by the increasing boisterousness of his manner, and the occasional glare of wiidness that shot from his eye. With the utmost difficulty I succeeded in forcing him from the room, and keeping him out till Miss Herbert had recovered. 4 'Oh, Doctor, Doctor!" he muttered hoarsely, after staggering to a seal, " this is worse than death! I pray God to take her and me too, and put an end to our misery! " I expostulated with him rather sternly, and represented to him the absurdity and impiousness of his wish. " ," he thundered, starting from his chair, and stamping furiously to and fro across the room, " what do you mean by dri- velling in that way, Doctor? Can I see my darling dying — abso- lutely dying by inches — before my very eyes, and yet be cool and unconcerned? I did not expect such conduct from you, Doctor." He burst into tears. " Oh ! I'm going mad ! — I'm going mad ! " he groaned, and sank again into his seat. From one or two efforts he made to force down the emotions which were swelling and dilating his whole frame, I seriously apprehended either that he would fall into a fit, or go raving mad. Happily, however, I was mistaken. His excitement gradually subsided. He was a man of remarkably strong and ardent feelings, which he had never been accustomed to control, even in the moments of their most violent manifesta- tions ; and on the present occasion the maddening thought that the object of his long, intense, and idolizing love and pride was about to be lost to him irretrievably — for ever— was sufficient to overturn his shaken intellects. I prevailed upon him to continue where he was, till 1 returned from his niece, for I was summoned to her chamber. I found her lying on the bed, only partially un- dressed. Her beautiful auburn hair hung disordered over her neck and shoulders, partially concealing her lovely marble-hued features. 10-i CONSUMPTION. Her left hand covered her eyes, and her right clasped a little locket, suspended round ber neck by a plain Mack riband, containing a little of Captain 's hair. Miss B , her governess, her maid, and the housekeeper, with tears and sobs, were engaged in ren- dering various little services i«» their unfortunate young mistress; and my heart ached to think of the little — the nothing — / could do for her. Two days afterwards, Dr Baillie, another physician, and myself, went down to see Miss Herbert; for a note from Miss B in- formed me that her ward had suffered severely from the agitation experienced at the last visit I had paid her, and was in a low ner- vous fever. The consumptive symptoms, also, were beginning to gleam through the haze of accidental indisposition with fearful dis- tinctness! Dr Baillie simply assured the Baronet that my predic- tions were but loo likely to be verified ; and that the only chance of averting the worst form of consumption ia galloping onei would be an instant removal to Italy, that the fall of the year, and the winter season, might be spent in a more genial and fostering cli- mate. We, at the same time, frankly assured Sir , who lis- tened with a sullen, despairing apathy of manner, that the utmost he had to expect from a visit to Italy, was the chance of a tempo- rary suspension of the fate which hovered over his niece. — In a few- weeks, accordingly, they were all settled at Naples. But what have I to say, all this time, the reader is possibly ask- ing, about the individual who was singled out by fate for the first and heaviest stroke inflicted by Miss Herbert's approaching disso- lution? Where was the lover? Where was Captain ? I have avoided allusions to him hitherto, because his distress and agitation transcended all my powers of description. Be loved Miss Herbert with all the passionate romantic fervour of a first attachment ; ami the reader must ask his own heart, what were the feelings by which that of Captain was lacerated. I shall content myself with recording one little incident which occui inl before ili<- family of Sir left for Italy. 1 was retiring orn- ni;;lit tO rest, about l\\el\e o'clock, when the Startling sum- mons of the night-bell brought me again down stairs, accompanied l»\ a servant. Thrice the beU rang with impatient violence before tin- door could possibly be opened, and 1 heard the steps ,,i some vehicle N't down hastily. "IsDr at home? "inquired a groom, and being answered in the affirmative, in a second or two a gentleman leaped from a chariot standing at the do >r. ami hurried into the room, whither I CONSUMPTION 105 had retired to await him. He was in a sort of half military tra- velling dress. His face was pale, his eye sunk, his air disordered, and his voice thick and hurried. It was Captain , who had been absent on a shooting excursion in Scotland, and who had not received intelligence of the alarming symptoms disclosed by Miss Herbert, till within four days of that which found him at my house, on the present occasion, come to ascertain from me the reality of the melancholy apprehensions so suddenly entertained by Sir and the other members of both families. " Gracious God ! Is there no hope, Doctor! " he inquired faint- ly, after swallowing a glass of wine, which, seeing his exhaustion and agitation, I had sent for. I endeavoured to evade giving a di- rect answer— attempted to divert his thoughts towards the pro- jected trip to the Continent— dilated on the soothing, balmy climate she would have to breathe — it had done wonders for others, etc. — and, in a word, exhausted the stock of inefficient subterfuges and palliatives to which all professional men are, on such occasions, compelled to resort. Captain listened to me silently, while his eye was fixed on me with a vacant, unobserving stare. His ut- ter wretchedness touched me to the soul ; and yet, what consolation had I to offer him! After several profound sighs, he exclaimed, in a flurried tone, " I see how it is. Her fate is fixed— and so is mine! Would to God — would to God, I had never seen or known Miss Herbert ! — What will become of us ! " He rose to go. " Doc- tor, forgive me for troubling you so late, but really I can rest nowhere! I must go back to Hall." I shook hands with him, and in a few moments the chariot dashed off. Really I can scarcely conceive of a more dreadful state of mind than that of Captain , or of any one whose "heart is in the right place." to use a homely but apt expression, when placed in such wretched circumstances as those above related. To see the death-wan ant sealed of her a man's soul doates on — who is the ido- lized object of his holiest, fondest, and possibly first affections ! Yes, to see her bright and beautiful form suddenly snatched down into " utter darkness" by the cold relentless grasp of our common foe — " the desire of our eyes taken away as with a stroke" — may well wither one. That mans soul which would not be palsied — prostrated, by such a stroke as this, is worthless, and worse — it is a libel on his kind. He cannot love a woman as she should and must be loved. But why am I so vehement in expressing my feel- ings on this subject ? Because, in the course of my professional intercourse, my soul has been often sickened with listening to the 106 CONSUMPTION. expression of opposite sentiments. The poor and pitiful philosophy —that the word should ever have been so prostituted !— which is now sneak in;; in among us, fostered by foolish lads, and men with hollow hearts and barren brains, for the purpose of weeding out from Hi" soul's garden its richest and choicest flowers, sympathy and sentiment— this philosophy may possibly prompt some reader to sneer over the agonies 1 have been attempting to describe; but, reader! do you eschew it— trample on it whenever, wherever you find it, for the reptile, though very little, is very venomous. Captain *s regiment was ordered to Ireland, and as he found it impossible to accompany it, he sold out, and presently followed the heart-broken Baronet and his niece to Italy. The delicious cli- mate sufficed to kindle and foster for a while that deceitful ignis faluus — hope which always Hits before in the gloomy horizon of consumptive patients, and leads them and their friends on— and on — and on— till it suddenly sinks quivering into their grave ! They staid at Naples till the month of July. Miss Herbert was sinking, and that with fearful accelerated rapidity. Sir 's health was much impaired with incessant anxiety and watching; and Cap- tain had been several times on the very borders of madness. His love for the dear being who could never be his, increased ten thousand fold when he found it hopeless! — Is it not always so? Aware that her days were numbered, Miss Herbert anxiously importuned her uncle to return to England. She wished, she said, to breathe her last in her native isle— among the green pastures and hills of shire, and to be buried beside her father and mother. Sir listened to the utterance of these sentiments with a break- ing heart. He could see no reason for refusing a compliance with her request; and, accordingly, the latter end of August beheld the unhappy family once more at Ball. 1 once saw a very beautiful lily, of rather more than ordinary stateliness, whose stem had been snapped by the storm over-night; and on entering my garden in the morning, there, alas! alas! lay the pride of all chaste flowers, pallid and prostrate on the very bed where it had a short while before bloomed so sweetly! This little circumstance was forcibly recalled t<» my recollection, on seeing Mi^> Herbert for the first lime after her return from the Continent. It was in the spacious drawing-room -it Hall, where I had be- fore Been her, in the evening; and she was reclining on an ottoman, which bad been drawn towards the large fretted Gothic window formerly mentioned. I sioic towards ii with noiseless footsteps; for the hushing, cantioning movements of those present warned me CONSUMPTION. 107 that Miss Herbert was asleep. I stood and gazed in silence for some moments on the lovely unfortunate— almost afraid to disturb her, even by breathing. She was wasted almost to a shadow,— attenuated to nearly ethereal delicacy and transparency. She was dressed in a plain white muslin gown, and lying on an Indian shawl, in which she had been enveloped for the purpose of being brought down from her bed-chamber. Her small fool and ankle were con- cealed beneath while silk stockings, and satin slippers— through which it might be seen how they were shrunk from the full dimen- sions of health. They seemed, indeed, rather the exquisite chi- selling of Canova, the representation of recumbent beauty, than flesh and blood, and scarcely capable of sustaining even the slight pressure of Miss Herbert's wasted frame. The arms and hands were enveloped in long white gloves, which filled very loosely; and her waist, encircled by a broad violet-coloured riband, was rather that of a young girl of twelve or thirteen, than a full grown woman. But it was her countenance— her symmetrical features, sunk, faded, and damp with death-dews, and her auburn hair falling in rich matted careless clusters down each side of her alabaster temples and neck ; it was all this which suggested the bitterest thoughts of blighted beauty, almost breaking the heart of the beholder. Per- fectly motionless and statue-like lay that fair creature, breathing so imperceptibly, that a rose-leaf might have slept on her lips unflul- tered ! On an easy-chair, drawn towards the head of the ottoman, sat her uncle, Sir , holding a white handkerchief in his hand, with which he from lime to time wiped off the dews which started out incessantly on his niece's pallid forehead. Il was affecting to see his hair changed to a dull iron gray hue; whereas, before he had left for the Continent, it was jet black. His sallow and worn fea- tures bore the traces of recent tears. And where noiv is the lover? Where is Captain — — ? again inquires the reader. He was then at Milan, raving beneath the tortures and delirium of a brain fever, which flung him on his sick-bed only the day before Sir 's family set out for England. Miss Herbert had not been told of the circumstance till she arrived at home ; and those who communicated the intelligence will never undertake such a duty again ! After some lime, in which we around had maintained perfect silence, Miss Herbert gently opened her eyes ; and seeing me sit- ting opposite her uncle, by her side, gave me her hand, and, with a faint smile, whispered some words of welcome which I could not distinguish. 108 CONSUMPTION. "Am I much altered, Doctor, since you saw me last?" she pre- sently inquired, in a more audible tone.* I said I regretted to see her so feeble and emaciated. "And does not my poor uncle also look very ill?" inquired the poor girl, eyeing him with a look of sorrowful fondness. She feebly extended her arms, as if for the purpose of putting them round his neck, and he seized and kissed them with such fervour, that she burst into tears. " Your kindness is killing me— oh ! don't, don't ! " she murmured. He was so overpowered with his emotions, that he abruptly rose and left the room. I then made many mi- Date inquiries about the state of her health. I could hardly detect any pulsation at the wrist, though the blue veins, and almost the arteries, I fancied, might be seen meandering beneath the transpa- rent skin. ******* My feelings will not allow me, nor would my space, to describe every interview I had with her. She sank very rapidly. She ex- hibited all those sudden deceitful rallyings, which invariably agonize consumptive patients and their friends with fruitless hopes of re- covery. Oh, how they are clung to! how hard to persuade their fond hearts to relinquish them ! with what despairing obstinacy will they persist in "hoping against hope!" I recollect one evening, in particular, that her shattered energies were so unaccountably revived and collected, her eye grew so full and bright, her cheeks were suffused with so rich a vermilion, her voice soft and sweet as ever, and her spirits so exhilarated, that even / was staggered for a moment; and poor Sir got so excited, that he said to me in a sort of ecstasy, as he accompanied me to my carriage, "Ah, Doc- tor, a phoenix /—Doctor, a phoenix ! She's rising from her ashes— ah ! ha ! She'll cheat you for once— darling ! " and he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, for they were overflowing. "Doctor, you're fond of music, I believe; you won't have any objectiori to listen to a little now, will you?— I'm exactly in the mood for it, and it's almost the only enjoyment I have left, and Miss B plays enchanlingly. Go, love, please, and play a mass from Mozart— the one we listened to last night," said Bliss Herbert, on one occasion, about a week after the interview last mentioned. Miss I> , who was in tears, immediately rose, and took her seat at the piano. She played exquisitely. I held one of my sweet pa- tient's hands in mine, as she lay on the sofa, with her face turned towards the wmdow, through which the retiring sunlight was CONSUMPTION. 109 streaming in tender radiance on her wasted features, after tint- ing richly the amber-hued groves which were visible through the window. I need not attempt to characterise the melting music which Miss B was pouring from the piano. I have often thought that there is a sort of spiritual character about some of the masses of Mozart, which draws out the greatest sympathies of one's nature, striking the deepest and most hidden chords of the human heart. On the present occasion, the peculiar circumstances in which I was placed,— the time, the place, the dying angel whose hand was clasped in mine,— disposed me to a more intense appre- ciation of Mozart's music than I had ever known before. The soft, soothing, solemn, swelling cadences undulated one after another into my full heart, till they forced the tears to gush from my eyes. I was utterly overcome. Oh, that languishing, heart-breaking music I can never forget ! The form of Eliza Herbert flits before me to this day when I hear it spoken of. I will not listen to any one play it now— though I have often wept since on hearing it from Miss B , to whom Miss Herbert bequeathed her piano. But, to re- turn : My tears flowed fast ; and I perceived also the crystal drops oozing through the closed eyelids of Miss Herbert. "Heart-break- ing music, is it not, Doctor?" she murmured. I could make her no reply. I felt at that moment as if I could have laid down my life for her! After a long pause, Miss B continuing all the while playing, Miss Herbert sobbed— "Oh, how I should like to be buried while the organ is playing this music ! And he— he was fond of it, too ! " she continued, with a long shuddering sigh. It was echoed, to my surprise, but in a profounder tone, from that quarter of the room where the grand piano was placed. It could not have been from Miss B , I felt sure; and, looking towards her, I beheld the dim outline of Sir 's figure leaning against the piano, with his face buried in his white handkerchief. He had stolen into the room unperceived; for he had left it half an hour before, in a fit of sudden agitation, and, after continuing about five minutes, was compelled, by his feelings, again to retire. His sigh, and the noise he made in withdrawing, had been heard by Miss Herbert. " Doctor— Doctor ! " she stammered faintly, turning as white as ashes, " who— who is that ?— what was it?— Oh dear ! it can never be— no— no— it cannot"— and she suddenly fainted. She con- tinued so long insensible, that I began to fear it was all over. Gra- dually, however, she recovered, and was carried up to bed, which she did not leave again for a week. I mentioned, I think, in a former part of this narrative, Miss 110 CONSUMPTION. Herbert's partiality for poetry, and that her readings were confined to that which was of the highest order. Among the MSS. found in her desk, pour girl, after her decease, were many extracts from the poets, copied in a beautiful hand, and evincing true taste in their selection. She was particularly partial to " Thomson's Seasons," especially "Winter," from which she transcribed largely. There are also a few unpretending sonnets and stanzas of her own ; which, if not of first-rate excellence, breathe, nevertheless, the sweetest sentiments of virtue, simplicity, and delicacy. If I had been per- mitted, I should have liked to lay before the reader a little "Sonnet to a Dead Robin," and " To a Moss Rose." I have also often heard her, while sitting by her bedside, utter very beautiful thoughts, suggested by the bitterness of her own premature fate. All — all are treasured in my heart ! I have not attempted to describe her feelings with reference to Captain , simply because I cannot do them justice, without, perhaps, incurring the reader's suspicions that I am slipping into the character of the novelist. She did not know that Captain continued yet at death's door at Milan, for we felt bound to spare her feelings. We fabricated a story that he had been summoned into Egypt, to inquire after the fate of a brother who had travelled thither, and whose fate, we said, was doubtful. Poor girl! she believed us at last — and seemed rather inclined to accuse him of unkindness for allowing any thing to withdraw him from her side. She never, however, said any thing directly of this kind. It is hardly necessary to say, that Captain never knew of the fic- tion. I have never, to this day, entirely forgiven myself for the part I took in it. I found her one morning, within a few days of her death, wretch- edly exhausted both in mind and body. She had passed, as usual, a restless night, unsoolhed even by the laudanum, which had been administered to her in much larger quantities than her medical at- tendants had authorized. It had stupified, without at the same time composing and calming her. Poor — poor girl! almost the last remains of her beauty had disappeared. There was a fearful hollownessin her once lovely and blooming cheeks ; and her eyes — those bright orbs which had a short while ago dazzled and delighted all they shone upon — were now sunk, quenched, and surrounded b\ dai k haloes ! She lay with her head buried] deep in the pillow, and Ii:t hair folded back, matted with perspiration. Her hands — but I cannot attempt i<> describe her appearance an\ farther. Sir- sat by her bedside, as he had sat all through her illness, CONSUMPTION. HI and was utterly worn out. I occupied the chair allotted to Miss B , who had just retired to bed, having been up all night. After a long silence, Miss Herbert asked very faintly for some tea, which was presently brought her, and dropped into her mouth by spoon- fuls. Soon after, she revived a little, and spoke to me, but in so low a whisper that I had great difficulty in distinguishing her words. The exertion of utterance, also, was attended with so much evident pain, that I would rather she had continued silent. " Laudanum — laudanum — laudanum, Doctor! Thev don't give me enough of laudanum! " she muttered. We made her no reply. Presently she began murmuring at intervals somewhat in this strain : "Ah — among the Pyramids — looking at them — sketching — ascending them, perhaps— oh ! what if they should fall and crush him? Has he found his brother? On his way— home— sea — ships— ship." Still we did not interrupt her, for her manner in- dicated only a dim dreamy sort of half-consciousness. About an hour afterwards (why did I linger there, it may be asked, when I could do nothing for her, and could ill spare the time? I know- not — I could not leave her) she again commenced in a low moaning, wandering tone—" Uncle ! What do you think? Chatterton— poor melancholy Chatterton, sat by my side all night long, in that chair where Dr is sitting. He died of a broken heart— or of my disease, didn't he? Wan— wan— sad— cold— ghostly— but so like a poet! Oh, how he talked ! — no one earthly like him! His voice was like the mysterious music of an Eolian harp — so solemn — soft —stealing! * * He put his icy fingers over my heart, and said it must soon be as cold ! But he told me not to be afraid, nor weep, because I was dying so young— so early. He said I was a young rose-tree, and would have the longer to bloom and blossom when he came for me." She smiled faintly and sadly. "Oh, dear, dear!— I wish I had him here again! But he looks very cold and ghostly — never moves — nothing rustles — I never hear him come, or go — but I look, and there he is ! And I'm not at all frightened, for he seems gentle; but I think he can't be happy— happy— never smiles, never! * Dying people see and hear more than others!" This, T say, is the substance of what she uttered. All she said was pervaded by a sad romance, which showed that her soul was deeply imbued with poetry. 1 ' Toll ! — toll ! — toll ! — How solemn ! — White plumes ! — white scarfs!— Hush!— 'Earth to earth'— dreadful! It is crumbling on my heart ! They all go — they leave me all — poor, poor Eliza ! 112 CONSUMPTION. — they leave me all alone in the cold church. He'll often walk in the church by himself — his tears will fall on the pavement — but I shall not hear him — dot see him ! lie will ne — ver see me ! Will the organ play, I wonder ? It may wake me from sleep for a while ! " I listened to all this, and was fit for nothing the rest of the day. Again — again I saw her, to let fall tears over the withered petals, the blighted blossoms, of early beauty ! It wrung my heart to see her little more than a breathing corpse. Oh, the gloom— anguish — desolation, diffused through Hall! It could be fell; it op- pressed you, on entering ! * On Saturday morning, (the — day of November, 18 — ,) I drove down early, having the preceding evening promised to be thereas soon as possible the next day. It was a scowling November morning, and my heart sank within me as my chariot rattled rapid- ly along the hard highway towards Hall. But I was too late. The curtain had fallen, and hid poor Eliza Herbert from this world, for ever! She had expired about half an hour before my arrival. As I was returning to town, after attending the funeral of Miss Herbert, full of bitter and sorrowful thoughts, I met a travelling carriage and four thundering down the road. It contained poor Captain , his valet, and a young italian medical attendant — all just returned from the Continent. He looked white and wasted. The crape on my hat — my gloves — weepers — mourning suit, told all instantly. I was in a moment at his side— for he had swooned. As for the disconsolate Baronet, little remains to be said. He disposed of Hall; and, sick of England — ill and irritable — he attempted t<> regain his Indian appointment, but unsuccessfully; so he betook himself to a solitary house belonging to the family in shire; and, in the touching language of one of old, " Went on mourning to the end of his days." THE SPECTRAE DOG 115 CHAPTER X. THE SPECTRAL DOG. AN ILLUSION. The age of ghosts and hobgoblins is gone by, says worthy Dr Hibbert; and so, after him, says almost every body now-a-days. These mysterious visitants are henceforth to be resolved into mere optical delusions, acting on an excitable fancy — an irritable nervous temperament ; and the report of a real bona fide ghost, or appari- tion, is utterly scouted. Possibly this may not be going too far, even though it be in the teeth of some of the most stubborn facts that are on record. One, or possibly two, of this character, I may perhaps present to the reader on a future occasion ; but at present I shall content myself with relating a very curious and interesting case of acknowledged optical delusion ; and I have no doubt that many of my medical readers can parallel it with similar occurrences within the sphere of their own observation. Mr D was a clergyman of the Church of England, educated at Oxford, — a scholar, " a ripe and good one," — a man of remark- ably acute and powerful understanding; but, according to his own account, destitute of even an atom of imagination. He was also an exemplary minister; preached twice, willingly, every Sunday, and performed all the other duties of his office with zealous fidelity, and to the full satisfaction of his parishioners. If any man is less likely to be terrified with ghosts, or has less reason to be so, than another, surely it was such a character as Mr D . He had been officiating one Sunday evening for an invalid friend, at the latter's church, a few miles distant from London, and was walking homewards, enjoying the tranquillity of the night, and en- livened by the cheerful beams of the full moon. When at about three miles' distance from town, he suddenly heard, or fancied he heard immediately behind him, the sound of gasping and panting, as of a dog following at his heels, breathless with running. He looked round, on both sides ; but seeing no dog, thought he must have been deceived, and resumed his walk and meditations. The 8 H4 THE SPKCTRAL D0(,. sound was presently repeated. Again he looked round, but with no belter success than before. After a little pause, thinking there was something rather odd about it, it suddenly struck him, that what he had heard was nothing more than the noise of his own hard breathing, occasioned by the insensibly accelerated pace al which he was walking, intent upon some subject which then parti- cularly occupied his thoughts. He had not walked more than ten paces farther, when he again heard precisely similar sounds ; but with a running accompaniment — if I may be allowed a pun — of the pit-pit-paltering of a dog's feet, following close behind his leftside. "God bless me ! " exclaimed Mi- D aloud, stopping for the third time, and looking around in all directions, far and near ; " why really, that's very odd — very ! — Surely I could not have been mistaken again ? " He continued standing still, wiped his forehead, replaced his hat on his head, and, with a little trepidation, resumed his walk, striking his stout black walking-stick on the ground with a certain energy and resoluteness, which sufficed in re-assuring his own Hurried spirits. The next thirty or forty paces of his walk, Mr D passed over ereclis auribus, and hearing nothing similar to the sounds which had thrice attracted his attention, was relaps- ing into his meditative mood, when, in a few moments, the noise was repeated, apparently from his right hand side ; and he gave something like a start from the path side into the road, on feeling the calf of his leg brushed past-— as he described it— by the shaggy coat of his invisible attendant. He looked suddenly down, and, to his very great alarm and astonishment, beheld the dim outline of a large Newfoundland dog — of a blue colour ! He moved from the spot where he was standing — the phantom followed him — he rubbed his eyes with his hands, shook his head, and again looked ; but there it still was, large as a young calf, do which he himself compared it., and had assumed a more distinct and definite form. The colour, however, continued the sames — faint blue. He observed, too, its eyes — like dim -decaying lire-coals, as it looked composedly up in his face, lie poked about his walking-stick, and moved it repeat- edly through and through the form of the phantom; but there it continued — indivisible — impalpable — in shun, as much a dog as 0V8P, and \et the stick lra\ersin;; its form in every direction, from the tail to the tip of the nose! Mr I) hurried on a lew steps, and again looked, — there was the dog! — Now ii is lit the reader should be informed, that Mr D was a remarkably temperate man, and had, that evening, contented himself with a solitary glass of port by the bedside of his sick brother; so that there was no THE SPECTRAL D0(.. 1 I . v ; room for supposing his perceptions to have been disturbed with liquor. " What am it be?" thought he, while his heart knocked rather harder than usual against the bars of its prison — Oh, it must be an optical delusion — oh, 'tis clenrly so ! nothing in the world else ! that's all. How odd ! " — and he smiled, he thought very unconcernedly ; but another glimpse of the phantom standing by him in blue dis- tinctness instantly darkened his features with the hue of apprehen- sion. If it really was an optical delusion, it was the most fixed and pertinacious one he ever heard of ! The best part of valour is dis- cretion, says Shakspeare, — and in all things; so, observing a stage passing by at that moment, to put an end to the matter, Mr D , with a little trepidation in his tone, ordered it to stop ; there was just room for one inside: and in stepped Mr D , chuckling at the cunning fashion after which he had succeeded in jockeying his strange attendant. >~ot feeling inclined to talk with the fat woman who sat next him, squeezing him most unmercifully against the side of the coach, nor with the elderly grazier-looking man fronting him, whose large dirty top-boots seriously incommoded him, he shut his eyes, that he might pursue his thoughts undisturbed. After about five minutes' riding, he suddenly opened his eyes— and the first thing that met them was the figure of the blue dog, lying stretched, in some unaccountable manner, at his feet, half under the seat. "I — I — hope the dog does not annoy you, Sir?" inquired Mr D , a little flustered, of the man opposite, hoping to discern whether the dog chose to be visible to any one else. " Sir !" exclaimed the person he addressed, starting from a kind of dose, and staring about in the bottom of the coach. " Lord, Sir ! " echoed the woman beside him. " A dog, Sir, did you say? " inquired all in a breath. "Oh,— nothing— nothing, I assure you. Tis a little mistake,'' replied Mr D , with a faint smile; "I— I thought— in short, I find I've been dreaming; and I'm sure I beg pardon fordisturbing you." Every one in the coach laughed, except Mr D , whose eyes con- tinued rivelled on the dim blue outline of the dog, lying motionless at his feet. He was now certain that he was suffering from an op- tical illusion of some sort or other, and endeavoured to prevent his thoughts from running into an alarmed channel, by striving to en- gage his faculties with the philosophy of the thing. He could make nothing out, however; andtheQ.E.D. of his thinkings startled him not a little, when it came in the shape of the large blue dog, leap- ing at his heels out of the coach, when he alighted. Arrived 116 THE SPECTRAL DOG. at home, he lost sight of the phantom during the time of supper and the family devotions. As soon as he had extinguished his bed- room candle, and got into bed, he was nearly leaping out again, on feeling a sensation as if a large dog had jumped on that part of the bed where bis fed lay. He fell its pressure! lie said he was in- clined to rise, and make it a subject of special prayer to the Deity ! Mrs I) asked him what was the matter with him ? for he be- came very cold, and shivered a little. He easily quieted her with saying he felt a little chilled ; and, as soon as she was tairly asleep, he got quietly out of bed, and walked up and down the room. Wherever he moved, he beheld, by the moonlight through the win- dow, the dim dusky outline of the dog, following wherever he went ! Mr D opened the windows, he did not exactly know why, and mounted the dressing-table for that purpose. On looking down before he leaped on the lloor, there was the dog waiting for him, squatting composedly on his haunches ! There was no standing this anv longer, thought Mr D , delusion or no delusion ; so he ran to the bed— plunged beneath the clothes, and, thoroughly frightened, dropt at length asleep, his head under cover all night ! On waking in the morning, he thought it must have been all a dream about the dog, for it had totally disappeared with the day- light. When an hour's glancing in all directions had convinced him that the phantom was really no longer visible, he told the whole to 31 rs I) , and made very merry with her fears — for she would have it, that it was "something supernatural," and, good ladv ! "Mr D might depend upon it, the thing had its errand ! ' ' Four tinii o subsequent to this did Mr D see the spectral visitant — nowise altered either in its manner, form, or colour. It was always late in the evenings when he observed it, and generally when he was alone. — He was a man extensively acquainted with physiology ; hut fell utterly at a loss to what derangement of what part of the animal economy to refer it. So, indeed, was I — for he came to con- sult me about it. He was with me once during the presence of the phantom. 1 examined his eyeswith a candle, io see whether the inter- rupted motions of the irides indicated any sudden alteration of the functions of the optic nerve: but the pupils contracted and dilated with pei fee; regularity. <>ne thing, however, was certain, — his stomach liad been latterly a little out of order ; and everybody knows the intimate connexion between its Functions and the nervous system. Hal why he should see spectra — why they should assume and retain the figure of* dog, and of such an micanine colour loo — and why it should BO pertinaciously attach il^ell t(» him, and be seen pre- THE SPEC LEAL DOC. H7 ciselv the same, at the various intervals after which it made its ap- pearance— and why he should hear, or imagine he heard it utter sounds,— all these questions I am as unable to answer as Mr D was, or as, possibly, the reader will be. He may account for it in whatever way his ingenuity may enable him. I have seen and known other cases of spectra, not unlike the one above related ; and great alarm and horror have they excited in the breasts of persons blessed with less firmness and good sense than Mr D displayed. A perusal of the foregoing narrative occasioned its corroboration, fey the following account of a similar spectrum, seen by one of my scientific friends. As the reader will doubtless consider it inter- esting, I here subjoin the letter from my friend. Blac&heath, December 1830. Mv dear Sir,— Though the u Spectral Dog" is somewhat laugh- able, in qualitv of tailpiece to the melancholy— the truly sorrowful narrative immediately preceding it, I have read it with nearly equal interest, because it forcibly reminds me of a similar incident in my own life. In mv earlv davs, I was, as you have often heard me say, an in- fatuated searcher after the philosopher's stone! I then resided near Bristol ; and had a back parlour fitted up according to my fancv, in a very gloomy style. I soon filled it with the apparatus of mv craft,— crucibles, furnace, retorts, etc. etc. etc. without end. I never allowed the light of day to dissipate the mysterious gloum which pervaded my laboratory; but had an old Roman lamp, sus- pended from the ceiling, kept continually burning, night and day. I had three different locks on the door; and took such precautions as enabled me to satisfy myself, that no one ever entered the room for nearlv three vears, except a singular and enthusiastic old man, who first inspired me with my madness, as I may well call it. — Yuu know too well, my dear Sir, how much of my little fortune was frittered away in running after that ridiculous Will o* the ^Yisp. But to my tale. One Sunday evening, after dining hastily at five o'clock, I took my candle in my hand, and hurried back to my laboratory, which I had quitted only half an hour before, for dinner. On unlocking the dour, and entering, to my equal alarm and astonishment, I dis- tinctly saw the figure of a little old stooping woman, in a red cloak, and with a very pale face. She stood near the fire-place, and US THE SPECTRAL DOG. leaned with both hands on a walking-slick. 1 was nearly letting fall the candlestick 1 held. However, I connived to set it down pretty steadily on Ihe table, which stood between my mysterious guest and me, and spoke to her. 1 received no answer. The fi- gure did not move — nay, it did not even look at me. I stamped with mv lout — 1 knocked my knuckles on the table — I shook it with both my hands — I called out to the old woman,— but in vain ! A bottle of spirits — brandy, if 1 recollect right— and a wine glass, stood on a shelf of the cupboard, which was close at my elbow. I poured out a glassful, and drank it. Still the figure continued there, standing before me as distinct, as motionless as ever. I began to suspect it was merely an ocular spectrum. I rubbed my eyes, I pushed them inward with my fingers, till confiscations of light seemed to flash from them. But when I directed them again towards the spot where the apparition had stood, there it still was! 1 walked up lo her somewhat falteringly. She stood exactly in the way of my arm-chair, as though she were on the point of sitting down upon it. 1 actually walked clean through the figure, and sat down. After a few moments, 1 opened my eyes, | which I had closed on sitting down, i and behold, the figure stood fronting me, about six. feet off! I rose — it moved farther off; 1 lifted up my light arm in a threatening maimer — so did the figure; I raised my other aim — so did the old woman ; 1 moved towards her — she re- treated, all the while never once looking at me. She got towards the spot where I had formerly stood ; and so the table was once more between us. I got more agitated than ever ; but, when the figure began to approach me in a direct line, walking apparently right through the tabic, even as the Israelites through the Red Sea, 1 quite lust my presence of mind. A giddiness, or sickness, came over me, and, sinking into my seat, 1 fainted. When I recovered, the spectre had disappeared. 1 have never since seen it, nor any thing similar. Such spectra are by no means rare among studious men, il of an irritable, ner- vous temperament, and an imaginative turn. I know a learned f>a- ronet, who has his study sometimes crowded with them; and he never feels no much at home, as when surrounded by the.se airy spirits '. Ymi may make any use you like of this letter. I am, my dear Sii . ever faithfully yours, W. (.. THE FORGER. 119 CHAPTER XI. THE FORGER. A groom, in plain livery, left a card at my house, one afternoon, during my absence, on which was the name, "Mr Gloucester, J|Jp. — , Rege>t Street ;" and in pencil, the words — " Will thank Dr to call this evening." As my red book was lying on the table at the time, I looked in it, from mere casual curiosity, to see whether the name of "Gloucester" appeared there— but it did not. I concluded, therefore, that my new patient must be a recent comer. About six o'clock that evening, 1 drove to Regent Street, sent in my card, and was presently ushered by the man-servant into a spacious apartment, somewhat showily furnished. The mild retiring sunlight of a July evening was diffused over the room; and ample crimson window-curtains, half drawn, mitigated the glare of the gilded picture-frames which hung in great numbers round the walls. There was a large round table in the middle of the'room, covered with papers, magazines, books, cards, etc. ; and, in a word, the whole aspect of things indicated the residence of a person of some fashion and fortune. On a side-table lay several pairs of box- ing-gloves, foils, etc. The object of my visit, Mr Gloucester, was seated on an elegant ottoman, in a pensive posture, with his head leaning on his hand, which rested on the table. He was engaged with the newspaper when I was announced. He rose, as I entered, politely— I should rather say obsequiously— handed me to a chair, and then resumed his seat on the ottoman. His countenance was rather pleasing, fi esh-coloured, with regular features, and very light auburn hair, which was adjusted with a sort of careless fa- shionable negligence. I may perhaps be laughed at by some for noticing such an apparently insignificant circumstance; but the ob- servant humour of my profession must sufficiently account for my detecting the fact, that his hands were not those of a bom and bred gentleman— of one who, as the phrase is, "has never none any tiling" in his life; but they were coarse, large, and clumsy looking. As for his demeanour also, there was a constrained and overt |$0 THE FORGER. anxious display of politeness— an assumption of fashionable ease and indifference, that sat ill on him, like a court dress fastened on a vulgar fellow, lie spoke with a would-be jaunty, free-and-easy, small swagg* r sort of air, and changed at times the tones of his voice to an offensive cringing softness, which, 1 daresay* he took to be vastly insinuating. All these little circumstances, put together, prepossessed me with a sudden feeling of dislike to the man. These sort of people are a great nuisance to one ; since there is no knowing exactly how io treat them. After some hurried expres- sions of civility, Mr Gloucester informed me that he had sent for me on account of a deep depression of spirits, to which he was lat- terly subject. He proceeded to detail many of the symptoms of a disordered nervous system. He was tormented with vague appre- hensions of impending calamity ; could not divest himself of an un- accountable trepidation of maimer, which, by attracting observation, mm iouslv disconcerted him on many occasions ; felt incessantly templed to the commission of suicide; loathed society; disrelished his former scenes of amusement; had lost his appetite; passed rest- less nights ; and was disturbed with appalling dreams. His pulse, tongue, countenance, etc. corroborated the above statement of his symptoms. I asked him whether any thing unpleasant had oc- curred in his family?— nothing of the kind. Disappointment in an affaire du cvur ?—( Mr, no. Unsuccessful at play ?— By no means- he did not play. Well— had he any source of secret annoyance which could account for his present depression? He coloured, seemed embarrassed, and apparently hesitating whether or not he should communicate to me what weighed on his spirits. He, how- ever, seemed determined to keep me in ignorance; and with some alteration of manner, said suddenly, that it was only a constitu- tional nervousness— his family Were all so; and he wished to know whether it was in the power of medicine in relieve him. 1 replied, that 1 would Certainly do all that lay in my power; but that he must noi expect an) sudden and miraculous effect from the medicines I might prescribe} ilia! 1 saw dearly he had something on his mind which 0| pressed his spirits; that he ought to go into cheerful so- ( .j,.jy_l„. siehed ; seek change of air— that, he said, was, under circumstances, impossible. 1 rose to go; He nave me tw<» guineas, and b ,;;;••'! me : i rail the next evening. I left, no( knowing what to make of him. To tell the plain truth, I began l<» suspect that he was neither more nor less than a systematic London sharper— a gamester-^ a hanger-on about town— and that he had sent for me m consequence <»t some <>( those sodden alternations of fortune to THE FORGER 12 t which the lives of such men are subject. I was by no means anxious for a prolonged attendance on him. About the same time next evening I paid him a second visit. He was stretched on the ottoman, enveloped in a gaudy dressing-gown, with his arms folded on his breast, and his right foot hanging over the side of the ottoman, and dangling about, as if in search of a stray slipper. I did not like this elaborately careless and conceited posture. A decanter or two, with some wine glasses, stood on the table. He did not rise on my entering, but, with a languid air, begged me to be sealed in a chair opposite to him. 4 * Good even- ing, Doctor—good evening," said he, in a low and hurried tone; I'm glad you are come, for if you had not, I'm sure I don't know what I should have done. I'm deucedly low to-night." " Have vou taken the medicines I prescribed, Mr Gloucester?" 1 inquired/feeling his pulse, which fluttered irregularly, indicating a high degree of nervous excitement. He had taken most of the physic I had ordered, he said, but without perceiving any effect from it. " In fact, Doctor," he continued, starting from his recum- bent position to his feet, and walking rapidly three or four paces to and fro— 4 ' d— n me if I know what's come to me. I feel as if I could cut my throat." I insinuated some questions, for the pur- pose of ascertaining whether there was any hereditary tendency to insanity in his family ; but it would not do. " He saw," he said, " what 1 was driving at" but I was "ona wrong scent." " Come, come, Doctor ! after all there's nothing like wine for low spirits, is there? D e, Doctor, drink, diink. Only taste that claret; "—and, after pouring out a glass for me, which ran over the brim on the table— his hand was so unsteady— he instantly gulped down two glasses himself. There was a vulgar offensive familiarity in his manner, from which I felt inclined to stand off ; but ! thought it better to conceal my feelings. I was removing my glove from my right hand, and putting my hat and stick on the table, when, seeing a thin slip of paper lying on the spot where 1 intended to place them— apparently a bill or promissory- note— I was going to hand it over to Mr Gloucester ; but, to my astonishment, he suddenly sprang towards me, snatched from me the paper, with an air of ili-Gisgui^ed alarm, and crumpled it up into his pocket, saying hur- ric-dly— " i{ a> ha, Doctor!— this same little bit of paper— didn't see the name, eh ? Tis the bill of an extravagant young friend of mine, whom I've just come down a cool hundred or two for; audit wouldn't be the handsome thing to let his name appear— ha— you understand?" He stammered confusedlv, directing to me as 1-22 THE FORGER. anxious, sudden, and penetrating a glance as I ever encountered. I felt excessively uneasy, and inclined to take my departure in- stantly. My suspicions were now confirmed — 1 was sitting fami- lial ly with a swindler — a gambler — and the bill he was so anxious to conceal, was evidently wrung from one of his ruined dupes. My demeanour was instantly frozen over with the most distant and frigid civility. I begged him to be reseated, and allow me to put a very few more questions to him, as 1 was in great haste. 1 was thus engaged, when a heavy knock was heard at the outer door. Though there was nothing particular in it, Mr Gloucester started, and turned pale. In a lew moments 1 heard the sound of altercation — the door of the room in which we sat was presently opened, and two men entered. Recollecting suddenly a similar scene in my own early history, I felt faint. There was no mistaking the character or errand of the two fellows, who now walked up to where we were sitting : they were two sullen Newgate myrmidons, and — gracious God ! — had a warrant to arrest Mr Gloucester, for Forgery ! 1 rose from my chair, and staggered a few paces, I knew not whither. I could scarcely preserve myself from falling on the floor. Mr Glou- cester, as soon as he caught sight of the officers, fell back on the ottoman — suddenly pressed his hand to his heart — turned pale as death, and gasped, breathless with horror. "Gentlemen — what — what — do you want here?" "Isn't your name E T V asked the elder of the two, coolly and unconcernedly. " N — o — my name isGlou — ces — ter," stammered the wretched young man, almost inaudibly. " Gloucester, eh? — oh, ho ! — none of that there sort of blarney ! Gome, my kiddy — caged at last, eh? We've been long arter you, and now you must be off with us directly. Here's your passport," said one of the officers, pointing to the warrant. The young man Uttered a deep groan, and sank senseless on the sola. One of the officers, 1 cannot conceive how, was acquainted with my person ; and, taking oil his hat, said, in a respectful tone, — " Doctor, you'll bring him to his wits again, an't please you— We must have him off dircclK !" Though myself but a trifle removed from the stale in which he lav stretched before me, 1 did what 1 could to restore him. and lucceeded at length* I unbuttoned his shin-collar, dashed in his face sonic water brought bv his man-si -ivanl. who now stood baking on shivering with affright — and endearoured i<> calm his agitation by such soothing expressions as I could command. "Oh, Doctor, Doctor! what a horrid dream it was! — Arc the\ THE FORGER. 123 /junc?— are they?" lie inquired, without opening his eyes, and clasping my hand in his, which was cold as lhat of a corpse. "Come, come — none of these here tantrums — you must o//at once— that's the long and short of it," said an officer, approaching, and taking from his coat-pocket a pair of handcuffs, at sight of which, and of a large horse-pistol projecting from his breast-pocket, my very soul sickened. " Oh, Doctor, Doctor!— save me! save me!" groaned their pri- soner, clasping my hands with convulsive energy. " Come — curse your cowardly snivelling! — Why can't you be- have like a man, now, eh ?— Come !— Off with this peacock's cover- ing of yours — it was never made for the like of you, I'm sure — and put on a plain coat, and off to cage like a sensible bird," said one of the two, proceeding to remove the dressing-gown very roughly. " Oh ! my God — oh ! my God — have mercy on me! — Oh, strike me dead at once ! " nearly shrieked their prisoner, falling on his knees on the floor, and glaring towards the ceiling with an almost maniac eye. " I hope you'll not treat your prisoner with unnecessary sever- ity," said I, seeing them disposed to be very unceremonious. " No — not by no manner of means, if as how he behaves him- self," replied one of the men, respectfully. Mr Gloucester's dress- ing-gown was quickly removed, and his body-coat — himself per- fectly passive the while — drawn on by his bewildered servant, assisted by one of the officer*, It was nearly a new coat, cut in the very extreme of the latest fashion, and contrasted strangely with the disordered and affrighted air of its wearer. His servant placed his hat on his head, and endeavoured to draw on his gloves — showy skv-coloured kid. He was standing with a stupified air, gazing vacantly at the officers, when he started suddenly to the window, manifestly with the intention of leaping out. " Ha, ha! that's your game, my lad, is it?" coolly exclaimed one of ihe officers, as he snatched him back again with a vice-like grasp of the collar. "Now, since that's the sport you're for, why, you must be content to wear these little bracelets for the rest of your journey. It's your own seeking, my lad ; for I didn't mean to have used them, if as how you'd only behaved peaceably ; " and in an in- stant the young man's hands were locked together in the handcuffs. It was sickening to see the frantic efforts — as if he would have se- vered his hands from the wrists — he made to burst the handculfs. "Take me — to Hell, if you choose!" he gasped, in a hoarse, hollow lone, sinking into a chair, utterly exhausted, while one of the 124 THE FORGER. officers was busily engaged rummaging the drawers, desks, etc. in search of papers. When lie had concluded his search, filled his pockets, and buttoned his coat, the two approached, and told him to rise and accompany them. "Now, covey! are you lor a rough or a quiet passage, eh?" said one of them, seizing him not very gently by the collar. He received no answer. The wretched prisoner was more dead than alive. "1 hope you have a hackney-coach in waiting, and don't intend to drag the young man through the streets on foot ?" I inquired. " Why, true, true, Doctor — it might be as well for us all; but who's to slump up for it?" replied one of the officers. 1 gave him five shillings, and the servant was instantly despatched for a hack- ney-coach. While they were waiting its arrival, conceiving I could not be of any use to Mr Gloucester, and not choosing to be seen leaving the house with two police-officers and a handcuffed pri- soner, I look my departure, and drove home in such a state of agitation as I have never experienced before or since. The papers of the next morning explained all. The young man "living in Regent Street, in first-rate style," who had summoned me to visit him, had committed a series of forgeries, for the last eighteen months, to a great amount, and with so much secrecy and dex- terity, as to have, till then, escaped detection ; and had for the last few months, been enjoying the produce of his skilful villany in the style I witnessed, passing himself off, in the circles where he associated, under the assumed name of Gloucester. The imme- diate cause of his arrest was forging the acceptance of an emi- nent mercantile house to a bill of exchange for 4j/. Poor fellow ! it was short work with him afterwards, lie was arraigned at the nex I September sessions of the Old Bailey — the case clearly proved against him — he offered do defence — was found guilty, and senten- ced to death. Shortly after this, while reading the papers one Sa- turday morning, at breakfast, my eye lit on the usual gloomy an- nunciation of the Recorder's visit to Windsor, and report to the King in Council of the prisoners found guilty at the last Old Bailey Sessions—" all of whom," the paragraph concluded, " his Majesty ■i graciously pleased to respite during his royal pleasure, except E T ,on whom the law is left to take its course, next Tues- day morning." Transient and an) thing but agreeable as had been my intimacy with this miserable young man, 1 could not read this intelligence vmiIi indifference. He whom I had so very lately Been surrounded THE FORGER. *, fvj with the life-bought luxuries of a man of wealth and fashion, was now shivering the lew remaining hours of his life in the condemned cells of Newgale ! The next day Sunday I entertained a party of friends at my house to dinner; to which I was just sitting down when one of the servants put a note into my hand, of which the fol- lowing is a copy : — "The Chaplain of Newgate has been earnestly requested by E T , the young man sentenced to suffer for forgery next Tuesday morning/) to present his humble respects to Doctor , and solicit the favour of a visit from him in the course of to-morrow (Monday i . The unhappy convict, Mr believes, has something on his mind, which he is anxious to communicate to Dr . "Newgatej September 28, 182 — ." I felt it impossible, after perusing this note, to enjoy the company I had invited. What on earth could the culprit have to say to me? — what unreasonable request might he put me to the pain of re- fusing?— ought I to see him at all? — were questions which I inces- santly proposed to myself during the evening, but felt unable to answer. I resolved, however, at last, to afford him the desired interview, and be at the cell of Newgate in the course of the next evening, unless my professional engagements prevented me. About six o'clock, therefore, on Monday, after fortifying myself with a few extra glasses of wine — for why should I hesitate to acknow- ledge, that I apprehended much distress and agitation from wit- nessing so unusual a scene? — I drove to the Old Bailey, drew up opposite the Governor's house, and was received by him verv po- litely. He despatched a turnkey to lead me to the cell where my late patient, the soi-disant Mr Gloucester, was immured in chilling expectancy of his fate. Surely Horror has appropriated those gloomy regions for her peculiar dwelling-place ! Who that has passed through them once, can ever forget the long, narrow, lamp-lit passages — the sepulchral silence, save where the ear is startled with the clangour of iron doors closing harshly before and behind — the dimly seen spectral figure of the prison patrol gliding along with loaded blunderbuss— and the chilling consciousness of being surrounded by so many fiends in human shape — inhaling the foul atmosphere of all the concentrated misery and guilt of the metropolis ! My heart leaped within me to listen even to my own echoing footfalls : and I felt several limes inclined to return without fulfilling the purpose of my visit. My vacillation, however, was abruptly put an end to by my guide ex- claiming, "Here we are, Sir." While he was unbarring the cell 12G THE FORGER. door, I begged him to continue at the outside of the door during the few moments of my interview with the convict. "Holloa! young man!— Within there!— Here's Dr come to see you ! " said the turnkey, hoarsely, as he ushered me in. The cell was small and gloomy; and a little lamp, lying on the table, barely sufficed to show me the persons of the culprit, and an el- derly, respectable-looking man, muffled in a drab great-coat, and sitting gazing in stupified silence on the prisoner. Great God, it was his Father! He did not seem conscious of my entrance ; but his son rose, and feebly asked me how I was, muttered a few words of thanks, sank again— apparently overpowered by his feelings— into his seat, and fixed his eyes on a page of the Bible, which was lying open before him. A long silence ensued ; for none of us seemed either able or inclined to talk. I contemplated the two with feelings of lively interest. How altered was the young culprit be- fore me, from the gay "Mr Gloucester," whom I had visited in Regent Street ! His face had now a ghastly, cadaverous hue ; his hair was matted, with perspiration, over his sallow forehead ; his eyes were sunk and bloodshot, and seemed incapable of distinguish- ing the print to which they were directed. He was dressed in a plain suit of mourning, and wore a simple black stock round his neck. How I shuddered, when I thought on the rude hands which were soon to unloose it ! Beside him, on the table, lay a white pocket-handkerchief, completely saturated, either with tears, or wiping the perspiration from his forehead, and a glass of water, with which he occasionally moistened his parched lips. I knew not whether he was more to be pitied than his wretched, heart-broken father. The latter seemed a worthy, respectable person, (he was an industrious tradesman in the country,) with a few thin grey hairs scattered over his otherwise bald head, and sat with his hands closed together, resting on his knees, gazing on his doomed son with a lack-lustre eye, which, together with his anguish-worn fea- tures, told eloquently of his sufferings! " Well, Doctor!" exclaimed the young man, at length, closing the Bible, "I have now read that blessed chapter to the end; and, I thank God, I think I feci it.— But now, let me thank you, Doctor, for your good and kind attention to my request. I have something particular to say to you, but it must be in private," he continued, looking significantly at his father, as though he wished him to take the hint, and withdraw for a few moments. Alas! the heart- broken parent understood him not, but continued with his eyes rivetted, vacantlv, as before. THE FORGER. 127 " We must be left alone for a moment," said the young man, ris- ing and stepping to the door. He knocked, and when it was opened, whispered the turnkey to remove his father gently, and let him wail outside for an instant or two. The man entered for that pur- pose, and the prisoner took hold tenderly of his father's hand, and said, "Dear— dear father!— you must leave me for a moment, while I speak in private to this gentleman ;" at the same time en- deavouring to raise him from the chair. " Oh ! yes— yes— What?— Of course," stammered the old man, with a bewildered air, rising ; and then, as it were with a sudden gush of full returning consciousness, flung his arms round his son, folded him convulsively to his breast, and groaned— "Oh, my son, my pour sun ! " Even the iron visage of the turnkey seemed dark- ened with a transient emotion, at this heart-breaking scene. The next moment we were left alone; but it was some time before the culprit recovered from the agitation occasioned by the sudden ebul- lition of his father's feelings. "Doctor," he gasped at length, "we've but a few— very few moments, and I have much to say. " God Almighty bless you," squeezing my hands convulsively, " for this kindness to a guiltv, unworthy wretch like me ; and the business I wanted to see you about is sad, but short. I have heard so much of your goodness, Doctor, that I'm sure you won't deny me the only favour I shall ask." " Whatever is reasonable and proper, if it lie in my way, I shall certainly " — said I, anxiously waiting to see the nature of the com- munication he seemed to have to make to me. " Thank you, Doctor ; thank you. It is only this— in a word- guilty wretch that I am!— I have"— he trembled violently—" se- duced a lovely, but poor girl !— God forgive me !— And— and— she is now— nearly on the verge of her confinement!" He suddenly covered his face with his handkerchief, and sobbed bitterlv for some moments. Presently he resumed— " Alas! she knows me not by my real name; so that, when she reads the account of— of —my execution in the papers of Wednesday— she won't know it is her Edward ! Nor does she know me by the name 1 bore in Regent Street. She is not at all acquainted with my frightful situation ; but she must be, when all is over ! Now, dear kind, good Doctor,' ' he continued, shaking from head to fool, and grasping my hand, " do, for the love of God, and the peace of my dying moments, promise me that you will see her, (she lives at ; visit her in her confinement, and gradually break the news of my death to her ; and say my last prayers will be for her, and that my Maker mav for- 128 Tilt FORGER. give me for her ruin ! You will find in this little bag a sum of 50/., —the last I have on earth. I beg you will take live guineas for your own fee, and give the rest to my precious — my ruined Mary ! " He fell down on his knees, and folded his arms round mine, in a sup- plicating attitude. My tears fell on him, as he looked up at me. "Oh, God be thanked for these blessed tears ! — they assure me you will do what 1 ask — may I believe you will?" " Yes — yes — yes, young man," I replied with a quivering lip; " it is a painful task; but I will do it — give her the money, and add ten pounds to the thirty, should it be necessary." — " Oh, Doctor, depend on it, God will bless you and yours for ever, for this noble conduct ! — And now I have one thing more to ask — yes — one thing" — he seemed choked — "Doctor, your skill will enable you to inform me — I wish to know — is — the death I must die to-morrow" — he put his hand to his neck, and shaking like an aspen leaf, sank down again into the chair from which he had risen — "is hanging — a painful — a tedious" He could utter no more, nor could I answer him. "Do not," I replied, after a pause, " do not put me to the tor- ture of listening to questions like these. Pray to your merciful God ; and, rely on it, no one ever prayed sincerely in vain. The thief on the cross" — I faltered ; then feeling, that if I continued in the cell a moment longer, 1 should faint, I rose, and shook the young man's cold hands ; he could not speak, but sobbed and gasped con- vulsively — and in a few moments I was driving home. As soon as I was seated in my carriage, I could restrain my feelings no longer, but burst into a flood of tears. I prayed to God I might never be called to pass through such a bitter and articling scene again, to the latest hour I breathed ; I ought to have visited several pa- tients that evening, but finding myself utterly unfit, I sent apologies and went home. My sleep in the night was troubled ; the distorted image of the convict I had been visiting flitted in horrible shapes round my bed all night long. An irresistible and most morbid restlessness and curiosity took possession of me, to witness the end of this young man. The first time the idea presented itself, it sick- ened me ; I revolted from it. How my feelings changed, 1 know not ; but I rose at seven o'clock, and, without hinting it to any one, put on a great-coat, slouched my hat over my eyes, and directed my harried ^icps towards the Old Bailey. 1 got into one of the houses immediately opposite tin* gloomy gallows, and look my sta- tion, with several other visitors, at the window. They were con- versing on the subject of the execution, and unanimously execrated the sanguinary severity of the laws which could deprive a young THE FORGER. 129 man, such as they said E T was, of his life, for an offence of merely civil criminality. Of course, I did not speak. It was a wretched morning ; a drizzling shower fell incessantly. The crowd was not great, but conducted themselves most indecorously. Even the female portion— by far the greater— occasionally vociferated joyously and boisterously, as they recognised their acquaintance among the crowd. At length, St Sepulchre's bell tolled the hour of eight — gloomy herald of many a sinner's entrance into eternity ; and as the last chimes died away on the ear, and were succeeded by the muffled tolling of the prison bell, which I could hear with agon- izing distinctness, I caught a glimpse of the glistening gold-tipped wands of the two under-sheriffs, as they took their station under the shed at the foot of the gallows. In a few moments, the Ordi- nary, and another grey-haired gentleman, made their appearance ; and between them was the unfortunate criminal. He ascended the steps with considerable firmness. His arms were pinioned before and behind ; and when he stood on the gallows, I could hear the exclamations of the crowd — " Lord, Lord ! what a fine young man ! Poor fellow ! " He was dressed in a suit of respectable mourning, anil wore black kid gloves. His light hair had evidently been ad- justed with some care, and fell in loose curls over each side of his temples. His countenance was much as I saw it on the preceding evening — fearfully pale ; and his demeanour was much more com- posed than I had expected, from what I had witnessed of his agita- tion in the condemned cell. He bowed twice very low, and rather formally, to the crowd around — gave a sudden and ghastly glance at the beam over his head, from which the rope was suspended, and then suffered the executioner to place him on the precise spot which he was to occupy, and prepare him for death. I was shocked at the air of sullen, brutal indifference, with which the hangman loosed and removed his neckerchief, which was white, and tied with neatness and precision — dropped the accursed noose over his head, and adjusted it round the bare — the creeping neck — and could stand it no longer. I staggered from my place at the window to a distant part of the room, dropped into a chair, shut my eyes, closed my tingling ears with my fingers, and, with a hurried aspira- tion for God's mercy towards the wretched young criminal, who. within a very few yards of me, was perhaps that instant surren- dering his life into the hands which gave it, continued motionless for some minutes, till the noise made by the persons at the window, in leaving, convinced me all was over. I rose and folloAved them down stairs ; worked my way through the crowd, without daring to 9 130 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. elevate inv eyes, lest ihey should encounter the suspended corpse ; threw myself into a coach, and hurried home. I did not recover the agitation produced by this scene for several days.— This was the end of a Forger ! In conclusion, I may just inform the reader, that I faithfully exe- cuted the commission with which he had intrusted me, and a bitter, heart-rending business it was! CHAPTER XII. A MAN ABOUT TOWN. [The London Medical Gazette having, in somewhat uncourtly terms, preferred an accusation of plagiarism against the original writer of this Diary— with reference to the citation (in the case "Intriguing and Madness") of the passage from Shakspeare, af- firming memory to be the test of madness, ("Bring me to the test," etc. ; )— asserting, in downright terms, that the illustration in question was "borrowed without scruple or acknowledgment, from Sir Henry Halford,"— and was " truly a little too barefaced ; " —the Editor of these passages simply assures the reader, that, from circumstances, this is impossible; and the reader would know it to be so, could these circumstances be communicated consist- ently with the Editor's present purposes. And farther, the Editor immediately .wrote to Sir Henry Halford, displaying the truth of the assertion in the Medical Gazette, and has received a note from Sir Henry, stating his "perfect satisfaction" with the explanation given. The Other allegations contained in the article in question, are not such as to require an answer. I.oM)u> . yornnhir 12. 1839. | I ii mi. humbug, and would eschew that cant and fanaticism which are at present tainting extensive portions of society, as sin- cerely as I venerate and wish to cultivate a spirit of sober, manly, and rational piety. It is not, therefore, to pander to the morbid tastes of overweening saintliness, to encourage its arrogant assump- A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 131 tions, sanction its baleful, selfish exclusiveness, or advocate that spirit of sour, diseased, puritanical seclusion from the innocent gaieties and enjoyments of life, which has more deeply injured the interests of religion than any of its professed enemies ; it is not, I repeat, with any such unworthy objects as these that this melan- choly narrative is placed on record. But it is to show, if it ever meet their eyes, your " men about town," as the elite of the rakish fools and flatterers of the day are significantly termed, that some portions of the page of profligacy are black — black with horror, and steeped in the tears— the blood, of anguish and remorse, wrung from ruined thousands ! — That often the "iron is entering the very soul" of those who present to the world's eye an exterior of glaring gaiety and recklessness — that gilded guilt must, one day, be strip- ped of its tinselry, and flung into the haze and gloom of outer dark- ness : these are the only objects for which this black passage is laid before the reader ; in which I have undertaken to describe pains and agonies, which these eyes witnessed, and that with all the true (rightfulness of reality. It has, indeed, cost me feelings of little less than torture to retrace the leading features of the scenes with which the narrative concludes. "Hit him— pilch it into him! Go it, boys— go it! Right into your man each of you, like good'uns! — Top sawyers these! — Hurra ! Tap his claret cask — draw his cork ! — Go it — go it — beat him, big one!— lick him, little one! Hurra— Slash, smash— fib away— right and left!— Hollo !— Clear the way there!— Ring! ring ! " These, and many similar exclamations, may serve to bring be- fore the reader one of those ordinary scenes in London — a street row ; arising, too, out of circumstances of equally frequent re- currence. A gentleman (!) prowling about Piccadilly, towards nightfall, in the month of November, in quest of adventures of a certain description, had been offering some impertinence to a fe- male of respectable appearance, whom he had been following for some minutes. He was in the act of putting his arm round her waist, or taking some similar liberty, when he was suddenly seized by the collar from behind, and jerked off the pavement so violently, that he fell nearly at full length in the gutter. This feat was per- formed by the woman's husband, who had that moment rejoined her, having quitted her only a very short time before, to leave a message at one of the coach-offices, while she walked on, being in \r,-2 V MA> Vf.nl I rOWN baste. No man of ordinal y spa it could endure such roagli hand- ling tamely. Hie in>tant, therefore, that the prostrate man had rered an footing, be Bprimg towards his assailant, and struck him furiously over the bee with his umbrella. For a moment the man seemed disinclined to return the Mow. owing to the passionate dissuasions of bis wife ; bul it was atr-lfm hio Enghsfa Mood began l under the idea of submitting to a blow, and. hurriedly ex- daiming, "Wah a moment, Sir/*— he pnshed bis wife into the shop adjoining, telling ber to stay till h • retarned. A small crowd stood round. "Now, l»y , Sir, we shall see which is the better man!" said he, again making hat-appearance, and putting himself into a boxing attitude. There was much disparity between the destined combatants, in pohrt both of skill and site. The man last named was short in stature, bul of a square iron build ; and it needed only a (jlancc at his posture t«. sec he was a scientific, per- haps a thoroughbred, bruiser. His antagonist, on the contrary, was a tall, handsome, well-proportioned, gentlemanly man. appa- rently nol more than twenty-eigbl or thirty yearj old. Giving his umbrella into the hands of I bystander, and hurriedly drawn his gloves, be addressed himself to IbeenoOunterwith an unguarded impetuosity, which left him wholly at the mercy of his cool and practised opponent. The bitter seemed evidently inclined to play a while with his man, and contented himself with stopping several heavily dealt Unv>x. w\\h so much quickness and precision, that every one saw "the hi;; one had (luujht l Tartar' in the man he had provoked. Watching his opportunity, like a tiger crouching n oiselessl y in pre* paration for the fatal spring, the short man delivered such a slaugh- tering left-handed hit lull in the face of hia tall adversary, accom- panied l'\ a tremendous M doublin;;-up" body-Mow, as in an instant brought bimsenseless loth* ground. Be who now brj stunned and U L-smeared on the pavement, surrounded bj a rabble jeer- ing the fatten u swell/ 1 and exulting at seeing the punishment be bid received for bhi inapertmence, was, as the conqueror pkhirj told them, standing over his prostrate foe, tie' Bnnonrable St John Henry Effingstow . presumptive heir loa inarquisate; and the rictor, who walked 0OOU3 awav as il nothing had happened, was Tom j the prizefighter. Such .ion of m\ first introduction i<> Mr Effingatone ; for 1 was driving b> ai the time this occurrence took place; and ,,, N coachman, !» in{j ill 1 rowd, slackened the pace "i ins 1,, and I desired him to slop. Hearing tome voices a j . M lake him A MAN ABOUT TOWN 155 lo a doctor," I let myself out, announced my profession, and, seeing a man of very gentlemanly and superior appearance, covered with blood, and propped against the knee of one of the people round, I had him brought into my carriage, saying I would drive him to his residence close by, which his card showed me was in Street. Though much disfigured, and in great pain, he had not received any injury likely to be attended with danger. He soon recovered ; but an infinitely greater annoyance remained after all the other symptoms had disappeared — his left eye was sent into deep mourn- ing, which threatened to last for some weeks; and could any thing be more vexatious to a gay man about town? for such was Mr Ef- fingstone — but no ordinary one. He did not belong lo that crowded class of essenced fops, of silly- coxcombs, hung in gold chains, and bespangled with a profusion of rings, brooches, pins, and quizzing-glasses, who are to be seen in tine weather glistening about town, like fire-flies in India. He was no walking advertisement of the superior articles of his tailor, mercer, and jeweller. No — Mr Effingstone was really a man about town, and yet no puppy. He was worse— an abandoned profligate, a systematic debauchee, an irreclaimable reprobate. He stood pre- eminent amidst the throng of men of fashion — a glaring tower of guilt, such as Milton represents Satan, In shape and gesture proudly eminent, among his gloomy battalions of fallen spirits. He had nothing in common with the set of men I have been alluding to, but that he chose to drink deeper from the same foul and maddening cup of dissipation. Their minor fooleries and " naughtiness," as he term- ed them, he despised. Had he not neglected a legitimate exercise of his transcendent talents, he might have become, with little effort, one of the first men of his age. As for knowledge, his powers of acquisition seemed unbounded. Whatever he read he made his own ; good or bad, he never forgot it. He was equally intimate with ancient and modern scholarship. His knowledge of the varie- ties and distinctions between the ancient sects of philosophers was more minutely accurate, and more successfully brought to bear upon the modern, than I am aware of having ever known in an- other. Few, very few, that I have been acquainted with, could make a more imposing and effective display of the " dazzling fence of logic." Fallacies, though never so subtle, so exquisitely mit- semblani — so "twin-formed to truth" — and calculated to evade the very ghost of Aristotle himself, melted away instantaneously 154 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. before the first glance of his rye. His powers were acknowledged and feared by all who knew him — as many a discomfited sciolist now living CSJI bear testimony. His uculeness ot perception was not less remarkable. He anticipated all you meant to convey, be- fore you bad uttered more than a word or two. It was useless to kick or wince under such treatment — to find your own words thrust back again down your own throat as useless, than which icw things are more provoking to men with the slightest spice of petulance. A conviction of his overwhelming power kept you passive beneath his grasp! He had, as it were, extracted and devoured the kernel, while you were attempting to decide on the best method of break- ing the shell. His wit was radiant, and, fed by a fancy both lively and powerful, it Hashed and sparkled on all sides of you like light- ning. He had a strong bent towards sarcasm, and that of the bit- terest and fiercest kind. If you chanced unexpectedly to become its subject, you sneaked away consciously seared to your very centre. If, however, you really wished to acquire information from him, no one was readier to open the storehouses of his learning. You had but to start a topic requiring elucidation of any kind, and presently you saw, grouped around it, numerous, appropriate, and beautiful illustrations, from almost every region of knowledge. But then you could scarcely fail to observe the spirit of pride and ostentation which pervaded the whole. If he failed anywhere — and who living is equally excellent in all things? — it was in phy- sics. Yes, here he was foiled. He lacked the patience, persever- ance, and almost exclusive attention, which the cold and haughty goddess presiding over them invariably exacts from her suitors. Still, however, he had that showy general intimacy with its outlines, and some of its leading features, which earned him greater applause than was doled out reluctantly and suspiciouslv l<> the profoundest masters of science. Fel Mr E^fingstone, though such ;is I have described him, gain- ed no distinctions al Oxford; and why? because he knew that all acknowledged Ins intellectual supremacy ; that he had but i«> extend his foot, and stand on llie proudest pedestal ol academical eminence. I his s. ili-lieil him. And another reason lor his conduct once slip- ped out in the course of my intimacy With him : His overweening! I may say, almost unparalleled pride, could not brook the idea of the remotes! chance of failure I Hie same thing accounted for another manifestation of his peculiar character : .No one could con- i . i\e how, when, or \n here, he came l>\ his wonderful knowledge. He never \um$d to be doing anj thing; no one ever s, " r aim read- A MAN ABOUT TOWfl 136 ing or writing, and yet he came into society au fait at almost every thing ! AH this was attributable to his pride, or, I should say more correctly, his vanity. " Results, not processes, are for the public uxv," fee was fond or' saying. In plain English, he would shine be- fore men, but would not that they should know the pains and ex- pense with which his lamp was fed. And this highly gifted indi- vidual it was who chose to track the waters of dissipation, to career among their sunk rocks, shoals, .and quicksands, even till he sank and perished in them! By some strange omission in his moral conformation, his soul seemed utterly destitute of any sympathies for virtue; and whenever 1 looked at him, it was with feelings of concern, alarm, and wonder, akin to those with which one might contemplate the frightful creature brought into being by Franken- stein. Mr Effingstone seemed either wholly incapable of appreciat- ing moral excellence, or wilfully contemptuous of it. While re- flecting carefully on his uWvppwia, which several years' intimacy gave me many opportunities of doing, and endeavouring to account for his fixed inclination towards vice, and that in its most revolting form, and most frantic excesses, at a time when he was consciously possessed of such capabilities of excellence of every description- it has struck me that a little incident, which came to my knowledge casually, afforded a clew to the whole— a key to his character. He one day chanced to overhear a distinguished friend of his father's lamenting that a man " of Mr St John's vast powers" could pro- stitute them in the manner he did ; and the reply made by his father was, with a sigh, that " St John was a splendid sinner, and he knew it." From that hour, the key-stone was fixed in the arch of his unalterable, irreclaimable depravity. He felt a satanic satisfaction in the consciousness of being an object of regret and wonder among those who most enthusiastically acknowledged his intellectual supre- macy. How infinitely less stimulating to his morbid sensibilities would be the placid approvals of virtue — a common-place acquies- cence in the ordinary notions of virtue and religion ! He wished rather to stand out from the multitude— to be severed from the herd. " Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven," he thought ; and he was not long in sinking many fathoms lower into the abvss of atheism. In fact, he never pretended to the possession of reli- gious principle; he had acquiesced in the reputed truths of Chris- tianity like his neighbours ; or, at least, kept doubts to himself, till he fancied his reputation required him to join the crew of fools, who blazon their unbelief. This was "damned fine." Conceive, now, such a man as I have truly, but, perhaps imper- 136 A. MAN ABOUT TOWN. fectly, described Mr Efiingstone— in the possession of 5000/. a- year — perfectly his own master — with a fine person and most fascinating manners — capable of acquiring with ease every fashion- able accomplishment — the idol, the dictator of all he met — and with a dazzling circle of friends and relatives; — conceive, for a mo- ment, such a man as this let loose upon loivn! Will it occasion wonder, if the reader is told how soon nocturnal studies, and the ambition of retaining his intellectual character which prompted them, were supplanted by a blind, absorbing, reckless devotion — for he was incapable of any thing but in extremes — to the gaming- table—the turf, the cockpit, the ring, the theatres, and daily and nightly attendance on those haunts of detestable debauchery, which I cannot foul my pen with naming?— that a two or three years' intimacy with such scenes as these, had conduced, in the first in- stance, to shed a haze of indistinctness over the multifarious ac- quirements of his earlier and better days, and finally to blot out large portions with blank oblivion? — that his soul's sun shone in dim discoloured rays through the fogs — the vault-vapours of pro- fligacy? — that prolonged desuetude was gradually, though un- heededly, benumbing and palsying his intellectual faculties? — that a constant "feeding on garbage" had vitiated and depraved his whole system, both physical and menial? — and that, to conclude, there was a lamentable, and almost incredible, contrast between the glorious being, Mr Effingslone, at twenty-one, and that poor faded creature, that prematurely superannuated debauchee, Mr Kilingstone, at twenty-seven? I feel persuaded I shall not be accused of travelling out of the legitimate sphere of these "Passages," — of forsaking the track of professional detail,— in having thus attempted to give the reader some faint idea of the intellectual character of one of the most ex- traordinary young men, that have ever flashed, meteor-like, across the sphere of my own observation. Nol that, in the ensuing pages, it will be in my power to exhibit him such as he has been describ- ed, doing and uttering things worthy of his great powers. Alas, alas! Ik- was "fallen, fallen, fallen" from that altitude long before it became my province to know him professionally. His decline and fill are alone what remain for me to describe. I am painting from the life, and those are living who knew it, — thai I am describ- ing the character and career of him who once lived, but who'dcli- heiaieiy immolated himself before the shrine of debauchery, — and ih<\ can, with a quaking heart, attest the truth of the lew bitter and black passages of his remaining history, which here follow. A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 137 The reader is acquainted with the circumstances attending my firsl professional acquaintance with Mr Effingstone. Those of the second are in perfect keeping. He had been prosecuting an enter- prise of seduction, the interest of which was, in his eyes, enhanced a thousand-fold, on discovering that the object of his illicit atten- tions was married. She was, 1 understood, a very handsome, fashionable woman; and she fell — for Mr Effingstone was irre- sistible! He was attending one of their assignations one night, which she was unexpectedly unable to keep ; and he waited so long at the place of meeting, but slightly clad, in the cold and inclement weather, that when he returned home at an early hour in the morning, intensely chagrined, he began to feel ill. He could not rise to breakfast. He grew rapidly worse; and when I was sum- moned to his bedside, he exhibited all the symptoms of a very se- vere inflammation of the lungs. One or two concurrent causes of excitement and chagrin aggravated his illness. He had been very unfortunate in betting on the Derby ; and was threatened with an arrest from his tailor, whom he owed some hundreds of pounds, which he could not possibly pay. Again, — a wealthy remote mem- ber of the family, his godfather, having heard of his profligacy, altered his will, and left every farthing he had in the world, amounting to upwards of fifty or sixty thousand pounds, to a cha- ritable institution, the whole of which had been originally destined to Mr Effingstone. The only notice taken of him in the old gentle- man's will was, "To St John Henry Effingstone, my unworthv godson, I bequeath the sum of five pounds sterling, to purchase a Bible and Prayer-book, believing the time may yet come when he will require them." — These circumstances, I say, added to one or two other irritating concomitants, such as will sometimes succeed in slinging even your men about town into something like reflection, brief, bitter, and futile though it be, contributed to accelerate the inroads of his dangerous disorder. We were compelled to adopt such powerful antiphlogistic treatment as reduced him to within an inch of his life. Previous to, and in the course of, this illness, he exhibited one or two characteristic traits. " Doctor — is delirium usually an attendant on this disor- der?" he inquired one morning. I told him it was — very fre- quently. "Ah ! then, I'd better become cryWroc, with one of old, and bite out my tongue ; for, God knows ! my life won't bear ripping up ! 1 shall say what will horrify you all! Delirium blackens a poor fellow sadly among his friends, doesn't it? Babbling devil—what i:>.S \ M\% ABOUT TOWN can silence it? If you should hear me beginning to let out, suffo- cate me,— do, Doctor." "Any chance of my giving the great cut this time, Doctor, eh?" he inquired the same evening, with great apparent noncha- lance. Seeing my puzzled air — for I did nut exactly comprehend the expression, "great cut," — he asked quickly, "Doctor, shall I die, dye think ? " I told him 1 certainly apprehended great danger, for his symptoms began to look very serious. "Then the ship must be cleared for action. What is the best way of ensuring recovery, provided it is to be'?" I told him that, among other things, he must be kept very quiet — must not have his mind excited by visitors. " Nurse, ring the bell for George," said he, suddenly interrupt- ing me. The valet in a few moments answered the summons. " George, d'ye value your neck, eh?" The man bowed. "Then, harkee, see you don't let in a living soul to see me, except the me- dical people. Friends, relatives, mother, brothers, sisters, harkee, sirrah! shut them all out— And, duns — mind — duns especially. If should come, and get inside the door, kick him out again; and if comes, and , and , tell them, that if they don't mind what they are about, I'll die, if it's only to cheat them." The man bowed and retired. "And — and — Doctor, what else? " "If you should appear approaching your end, Mr Effingstone, you would allow us, perhaps, to call in a clergyman to assist you in your devo" " What— eh— a parson? Oh, it ! no, no— out of the ques- tion — non ail rem, I assure you," he replied hastily. " D'ye think I can't roll down to hell fast enough, without having my wheels oiled by their hypocritical humbug? Don't name it again, Doctor, on any account, I beg." He grew rapidly worse, but ultimately recovered. His injunctions were obeyed to the letter; for his man George idolized his master, and tinned a deaf ear to all applications for admission fto his master's chamber. It was well there was no one of his friends or relatives present to listen to his ravings; for the dis- gorgings of his polluted soul were horrible. His progress towards convalescence was by very slow steps; for the energies of both mind and bod] had been dreadfully shaken. His illness, however, had worked kittle <>r no alteration in his moral sentiments — or, if any thing, for the worse. "It won't do at all, will it, Doctor?" said Mr Effingstone, when I was \isiiin;; him, <,n<- morning, at the house of a titled relation in A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 139 Square, whither he had been removed to prepare for a jaunt to the Continent. "What do you allude to, Mr Effingstone? — What won't do?" I asked, for I knew not to what he alluded, as the question was the first break of a long pause in our conversation, which had been quite of a miscellaneous character. " What wont do? Why, the sort of life I have been leading about town these two or three last years," he replied. "Egad ! Doctor, it has nearly wound me up, has not it?" "Indeed, Mr Effingstone, I think so. You have had a very, very narrow escape— have been within a hair's breadth of your grave.'— "Ay," he exclaimed, with a sigh, passing his hand ra- pidly over his noble forehead, "'twas a complete toss up whether I should go or stay ! I look somewhat shaken — une roue qui se de- rate — do I not, faith? — But come, come, the good ship has wea- thered the storm bravely, though she lias been battered a little in her timbers! " said he, striking his breast ; and she's fit for sea again already,— with a little caulking, that is. Heigho! what a fool ill- ness makes a man ! I've had some of the strangest, oddest Iwing- ings— such gleams and visions!— What d'ye think, Doctor, I've had dinging in my ears night and day, like a dismal church bell ? Why, a passage from old Persius, and this is it, (you know I was a dab at Latin, once, Doctor,) rotunda ore, — Magne Pater divum ! saevos punire tyrannos. Haud alia ratione velis, quum dira libido Movent ingenium, ferventi tincta veneno; — Yirtutem yideant— intabescantque relicta ! * True and forcible enough, isn't it?" "Yes," I replied; and expressed my satisfaction at his altered sentiments. " He might rely on it," I ventured to assure him, "that the paths of virtue, of religion" 1 was getting on too fast! "Pho, pho, Doctor! No humbug, I beg— come, come, no humbug— no nonsense of that sort ! I meant nothing of the kind, I can assure you! I'm a better Bentley than you, I see! What d'ye think is my reading of ■ viriutem Meant? '—Why, let them get wives when they're worn out, and want nursing— ah, ha!— Curse me ! I'd go on raking— ay, I would, stern as you look about it !— but I'm too much the worse for wear at present — I must recruit a little." * Pers. Sat. iii. 140 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. " Mr Efh'ngstone, I'm really confounded at hearing you talk in so light a strain ! Forgive me, my dear Sir, but " " Fiddle-de-dee, my dear Doctor! Of course, I'll forgive you, if vou won't repeat the offence. Tis unpleasant — a nuisance — 'tis, upon my soul ! Well, however, what do you think is the upshot of the whole — the practical point — the winding up of affairs — the balancing of the books" — he delighted in accumulations of this sort — " the shutting up of the volume, eh? I'm going to get married — I am, by ! I'm at dead-low watermark in money matters; and, in short, I repeat it, I intend to marry — a gold bag ! A good move, isn't it? But, to be candid, I can't take all the credit of the thing to myself either, having been a trifle bored, bullied, badgered into it by the family. They say the world cries shame on me ! Simpletons, why listen to the world ! — I only laugh, ha, ha, ha ! and cry, curse on the world ; and so we are quits with one another * ! — By the way, the germ cf that's to be found in that worthy old fellow Plaulus ! " All this, uttered with Mr Effingstone's characteristic emphasis and rapidity of tone and manner, conveyed his real sentiments ; and it was not long before he carried them into effect. He spent two or three months in the south of France; and not long after his return to England, with restored health and energies, he singled out from among the many, many women who would have exulted in being an object of the attentions of the accomplished, the distingue Ef- fingstone, Lady E , the very flower of English aristocra- lical beauty, daughter of a distinguished peer, and sole heiress to the immense estates of an aged Baronet in shire. The unceasing exclusive attentions exacted from her suitor by this haughty young beauty, operated for a while as a salutary check upon Mr Effingstone's reviving propensities to dissipation. So long as there was the most distant possibility of his being rejected, he was her willing slave at all hours, on all occasions, yielding implicit obedience, and making incessant sacrifices of his own personal con- veniences. As soon, however, as he had "run down the game," as be called it, and the lady was so far compromised in the eyes of the * [ " vs ii.it are the thousand! thai bare been laughing at as, bul company l" — "Land, mj dear," returned be >.% i 1 1 • tbegreatesl good humour, " yon teem im- menserj chagrined ; bul 1> 1 mc ! — vh< n tin world laughs ai wu . I laugh «t all tin world audio we are even, " Cmstn or ratWoatD Letter lit. t: is s;iid thai the germ <>i the observation in the text, is " to be Bound in Plou- lus. " i do not recoiled it there . i>h Efflngstone had boom indistinct recol- lection of this passage from Goldsmith* — En.] A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 141 world, as to render retreat next to impossible, he began to slacken in his attentions ; not, however, so palpably and visibly as to alarm either her ladyship or any of their mutual relations or friends. He compensated for the attentions he was obliged to pay her by day, by the most extravagant nightly excesses. The pursuits of intellect, of literature, and philosophy, were utterly, and apparently finally, discarded— and for what? For wallowing swinishly in the foulest sinks of depravity, herding among the acknowledged outcasts, commingling intimately with the very scum and refuse of society, battening on the rottenness of obscenity, and revelling amid the hellish orgies celebrated nightly in haunts of nameless infamy. Gambling, gluttony, drunkenness, harlotry, blasphemy ! [I cannot bring myself to make public the shocking details with which the following five pages of Dr 's Diary are occupied. They are loo revolting for the columns of this distinguished Maga- zine, and totally unfit for the eyes of its miscellaneous readers. If printed, they would appear to many absolutely incredible. They are little else than a corroboration of what is advanced in the sen- tences immediately preceding this interjected paragraph. What follows must be given only in a fragmentary form — the cup of hor- ror must be poured out before the reader, only -/a-ra or^/ova. * Mr Effingstone, one morning, accompanied Lady E and her mother to one of the fashionable shops, for the purpose of aiding the former in her choice of some beautiful Chinese toys, to com- plete the ornamental department of her boudoir. After having purchased some of the most splendid and costly articles which had been exhibited, the ladies drew on their gloves, and gave each an arm to Mr Effingstone to lead them to the carriage. Lady E was in a flutter of unusually animated spirits, and was compliment- ing Mr Effingstone, in enthusiastic terms, on the taste with which he had guided their purchases. They had left the shop door, and the footman was letting down the carriage steps, when a very young woman, elegantly dressed, who happened to be passing at that mo- ment, seemingly in a state of deep dejection, suddenly started on seeing and recognising Mr Effingstone, placed herself between them and the carriage, and, lifting her clasped hands, exclaimed, in piercing accents, "Oh, Henry, Henry, Henry! how cruelly you have deserted your poor ruined girl ! What have I done to deserve it? I'm broken-hearted, and can rest nowhere! I've been walk- ing up and down 31 Street nearly three hours this morning to * Alex, in Aphrodisio. 142 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. get a sight of you, but could not ! Ob, Henry, how differently you said you would behave before you brought me up from shire !" All this was uttered with the impassioned vehemence and rapidity of highly excited feelings, and uninterruptedly; for both Lady E and her mother seemed perfectly petrified, and stood pale and speechless. Mr Effingstone, too, was for a moment thunder- struck ; but an instant's reflection showed him the necessity of act- ing with decision one way or another. Though deadly pale, he did not disclose any other symptoms of agitation ; and, wilh an assumed air of astonishment and Precognition, exclaimed, concernedly, " Poor creature ! unfortunate thing ! Some strange mistake this ! " —"Oh, no, no, no, Henry, it's no mistake! You know me well enough — I'm your own poor Hannah ! " " Pho, pho ! nonsense, woman ! I never saw you before." " Never saw me ! never saw me ! " almost shrieked the girl ; "and is it to come to this?" "Woman, don't be foolish— cease, or we must give you over to an officer as an impostor," said Mr Effingstone, the perspiration bursting from every pore. "Come, come, your ladyships had better allow me to hand you into the carriage. See, there's a crowd collecting." "No, Mr Effingstone," replied Lady E 's mother, with ex- cessive agitation; "this very singular— strange affair— if it is a mistake— had better be set right on the spot. Here, young woman, can you tell me what is the name of this gentleman?" pointing to Mr Effingstone. "Effingstone— Effingstone, to be sure, Ma'am," sobbed the girl, looking imploringly at him. The instant she had uttered his name, the two ladies, dreadfully agitated, withdrew their arms from his, and, wilh the footman's assistance, stepped into their carriage, and drove off rapidly, leaving Mr Effmgslone bowing, kissing his hand, and assuring them that he should "soon settle this absurd affair," and be at Street before their ladyships. They heard him not, however ; for the instant the carriage had set off, Lady E fainted. "Young woman, you're quite mistaken in me— I never saw you before. Here is my card— come to meat eight to-night," he added, in an under tone, so as to be heard by none but her he addressed. She took the hint, appeared pacified, and each withdrew different wavs — Mr Effingstone almost suffocated with suppressed execra- tions. He Hung himself into a hackney-coach, and ordered it to Street, intending i<> assure Lady E , with a smile, ihat he A MAN ABOUT TOWN. |43 had "instantly put an end to the ridiculous affair."' His knock, however, brought him a prompt "Not at home," though their car- riage had but the instant before driven from the door. He jumped again into the coach, almost gnashing his teeth with furv, drove home, and despatched his groom with a note, and orders to wait an answer. He soon brought it back, with the intelligence that Lord and Lady had given their porter orders to reject all letters or messages from Mr Effingstone! So there was an end of all hopes from that quarter. This is the history of what was 'mysteriously' hinted at in one of the papers of the day, as a strange occurrence in high life, which would ' probably break off a matrimonial affair long considered as settled.' — But how did Mr Effingstone receive his ruined dupe at the appointed hour of eight? He answered her expected knock himself. "Now, look, !" said he, fiercely, extending his arm with clenched fist towards her, "if ever you presume to darken my doors again, by , I'll murder you ! I give you fair warning. You've ruined me — you have, you accursed ! " "Ob, my God ! What am 1 to do to live ? What is to become of me?" groaned the victim. " Do? Why, go and be ! And here's something to help you on your way — there!" and flinging her a check for 50/., he shut the door violently in her face. Mr Effingstone now plunged into profligacy with a spirit of al- most diabolical desperation. Divers dark hints — stinging inuendoes — appeared in the papers of his disgraceful notoriety in certain scenes of an abominable description. But he laughed at them. His family at length cast him off, and refused to recognise him till he chose to alter his courses — to make the 'amende' to society. Mr Effingstone was boxing one morning with Belasco — I think it was — at the latter's rooms; and was preparing to plant a hit which the fighter had defied him to do, when he suddenly dropt his guard, turned pale, and, in a moment or two, fell fainting into the arms of the astounded boxer. He had, several days previously, suspected himself the subject of indisposition — how could it be otherwise, keeping such hours, and living such a life as he did — but not of so serious a nature as to prevent him from going out as usual. As soon as he had recovered, and swallowed a few drops of spirits and water, he drove home, intending to have sent imme- diately for Mr , the well-known surgeon ; but on arriving at his rooms, he found a travelling carriage-and-four waiting before \U A MAN ABOUT TOWN. the door, for the purpose of conveying him instantly to the bedside of his dying mother, in a distant part of England, as she wished personally to communicate to him something of importance before she died. This he learnt from two of his relatives, who were up stairs giving directions to his servant to pack up his clothes, and make other preparations for his journey, so that nothing might de- tain him from setting off the instant he arrived at his rooms. He was startled — alarmed — confounded at all this. Good God! he thought, what was to become of him ? He was utterly unfit to un- dertake a journey, requiring instant medical attendance, which had been loo long deferred ; for his dissipation had already made rapid inroads on his constitution. Yet what was to be done ? His situa- tion was such as could not be communicated to his relatives, for he did not choose to encounter their sarcastic reproaches. He had nothing for it but to get into the carriage with them, go down to shire, and, when there, devise some plausible pretext for re- turning instantly to town. That, however, he found impracticable. His mother would not trust him out of her sight one instant, night or day, but kept his hand close locked in hers ; he was also sur- rounded by the congregated members of the family, and could literally scarce stir out of the house an instant. He dissembled his illness with tolerable success, till his aggravated agonies drove him almost beside himself. Without breathing a syllable to any one but his own man, whom he took with him, he suddenly left the house, and, without even a change of clothes, threw himself into the first London coach ; and, by two o'clock the next day, was at his own rooms in M Street, in a truly deplorable condition, and attended by Sir and myself. The consternation of his family in shire maybe conceived. He coined some story about being obliged to stand second in a duel,— but his real state was soon discovered. Nine weeks of unmitigated agony were passed by Mr Eflingstone — the virulence of his disorder for a long time setting at deliance all that medicine could do. This illness, also, broke him down sadly, and we recommended to him a second sojourn in the south of France — for which he set out the instant he could undertake the journey with safety. Much of his peculiar character was developed in this illness; that haughty reckless spirit of de- fiance,— thai contemptuous disregard of the sacred consolations of religion, — that sullen indifference as to the event which might await him,— which his previous character would have warranted me in predicting. A MAN ABOUT TOWN. |*g About seven months from the period last mentioned, I received, one Sunday evening, a note, written in hurried characters ; and a hasty glance at the seal, which bore Mr Effingstone's crest, filled me with sudden vague apprehensions that some misfortune or other had befallen him. This was the note : — "Dear Doctor,— For God's sake, come and see me immediately, for I have this day arrived in London from the Continent, and am suffering the tortures of the damned both in mind and body. Come, come — in God's name, come instantly, or I shall go mad, or destroy myself. Not a word of my return lo any one till I have seen you. You will find me — in short, my man will accompanv you. Yours in agony, "St. J. H. Effingstoxe. " Sunday evening, November, 18 — ." Tongue cannot utter the dismay with which this note filled me. His unexpected return from abroad — the obscure and distant part of the town (St George's in the East I where he had established him- self— the dreadful terms in which his note was couched, revived, amidst a variety of vague conjectures, certain fearful apprehen- sions for him which I had begun to entertain before he quitted Eng- land. I ordered out my chariot instantly ; his groom mounted the box to guide the coachman, and we drove down rapidly. A sudden recol- lection of the contents of several of the letters he had sent me latterl v from the Continent, at my request, served to corroborate my worst fears. I had given him over for lost, by the time my chariot drew up opposite the house where he had so strangely taken up his abode. The street and neighbourhood, though not clearly discern- ible through the fogs of a November evening, contrasted slrangelv with the aristocratical regions to which my patient had been accus- tomed. Row was narrow, and the houses were small, vet clean and creditable looking. On entering No. — , the landladv, a person of quite respectable appearance, told me that .1/r Hardy — for such, it seems, was the name he chose to go by in these parts — had just retired to rest, as he felt fatigued and poorly, and she was just going to make him some gruel. She spoke in a tone of flurried excitation, and with an air of doubt, which were easily attributable to her astonishment at a man of Mr Effingstone's appearance, and attendance, with such superior travelling equipments, dropping into such a house and neighbourhood as hers. I repaired to his bed- chamber immediately. It was a small comfortably furnished room ; the fire was lit, and two candles were burning on the drawers. On the bed, the plain chintz curtains of which were only half drawn, 10 146 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. lay St John Henry Effingstone. I must pause a moment to describe- his appearance, as it struck me on first looking at him. It may be thought rather far-fetched, perhaps, but I could not help comparing him, in my own mind, to a gem set in the midst of faded tarnished embroidery. The coarse texture of the bed-furniture, the ordi- nary style of the room, its constrained dimension, contrasted strik- ingly with the indications of elegance and fashion afforded by the scattered clothes, toilet, and travelling equipment, etc.— together with the person and manners— of its present occupant, who lay on abed all tossed and tumbled, with only a few minutes' restless- ness. A dazzling diamond ring sparkled on the little finger of his left hand, and was the only ornament he ever wore. There was something, also, in the snowiness, simplicity, and fineness of his linen, which alone might have evidenced the superior consideration of its wearer, even were that not sufficiently visible in the noble, commanding outline of his features, faded though they were, and shrinking beneath the inroads of illness and dissipation. His fore- head was white and ample ; his eye had lost none of its fire, though it gleamed with restless energy ; in a word, there was that ease and loftiness in his bearing— that indescribable manure d'etre— which are inseparable from high birth and breeding. So much for the appearance of things on my entrance. ''How are you, Mr Effingslone— how are you, my dear Sir!" said I, sitting down by the bedside. "Doctor— the pains of hell have got hold upon me. lam un- done," he replied gloomily, in a broken voice, and extended to me a hand as cold as marble. " Is it as you suspected in your last letter to me from Rouen, Mr Effingslone? " I inquired, after a pause. He shook his head, and covered his face with both hands, but made me no answer. Think- ing he was in tears, I said, in a soothing tone,— " Come, come, my dear Sir, don't be carried away : don't" " Faugh ! Do vou take me for a puling child, or a woman, Doc- tor? Don't suspect me again of such contemptible pusillanimity, low as I am fallen," he replied, with startling sternness, removing his hands from his face. " I hope, alter all, that matters are not so desperate as your fears would persuade you," said I, feeling his pulse. "Doctor, donl delude me ;»tt is over, I know it is. A horrible death is before me] bUI 1 shall meet it like a man. I have made ids bed, and must lie upon it. I have not only strewn, but lit, the pile of my own immolation ! " — A MAN ABOUT TOWN H7 "Come, come, Mr Effingstone, dont be so gloomy— so hope- less; the exhausted powers of nature may yet be revived," said I, after having asked him many questions. " Doctor , 111 soon put an end to that strain of yours. 'lis absurd— pardon me— but it is. Reach me one of those candles, please." I did so. V Now, I'll show you how to translate a pas- sage of Persius : Tentemus fauces :— tenero latet ulcus in ore Putre, quod haud deceat plebeia radere beta ! Eh, you recollect it ? Well, look !— What say you to this? isn't it frightful?" he asked bitterly, raising the candle that I might look into his mouth. It was, alas, as he said ! In fact, his whole con- stitution had been long tainted, and exhibited symptoms of soon breaking up altogether. I feared, from the period of my attend- ance on him during the illness which drove him last to the Con- tinent, that it was beyond human power to dislodge the harpy that had fixed his cruel fangs deeply, inextricably, in his vitals. Could it be wondered at, even by himself? Neglect, in the first instance, added to a persevering course of profligacy, had doomed him, long, long before, to premature and horrible decay ! And though it can scarcely be credited, it is nevertheless the fact,— that even on the Continent, in the character of a shattered invalid, the infatuated man resumed those dissolute courses which in England had already hurried him almost to death's door ! " My good God, Mr Effingstone," I inquired, almost paralyzed with amazement at hearing him describe recent scenes in which he had mingled, which would have made even satyrs skulk ashamed into the woods of old, " how could you have been so insane— so stark staring mad, to say nothing else of it? " " Bv instinct, Doctor— by instinct! The nature of the beast!" he replied, through his closed teeth, and with an unconscious clenching of his hands. Many inquiries into his past and present symptoms forewarned me that his case would probably be marked by more appalling features than any that had ever come under my care ; and that there was not a ray of hope that he would survive the long, lingering, and maddening agonies, which were "measured out to him from the poisoned chalice," which he had "commended to his own lips." At the time I am speaking of— I mean when I paid him the visit above described— his situation was not far from that of Job, described in chap. xx. U8 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. He shed no tears, ami repeatedly strove, but in vain, to repress sighs with which his breast heaved, nearly to bursting, while I pointed out, in obedience to his determination to know the worst, some portions of the dreary prospect before him. "Horrible! hideous!" he exclaimed, in a low broken tone, his flesh creeping from head to foot. "How shall I endure it? — 0, Epictetus, how ? " He relapsed into silence, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and his hands joined over his breast, and pointing up- wards, in a posture which I considered supplicatory. I rejoiced to see it, and ventured to say, after much hesitation, that I was delighted to see him at length looking to the right quarter for sup- port and consolaiion. "Bah!" he exclaimed impetuously, removing his hands and eyeing me with sternness, almost approaching fury, " why will you persist in pestering your patients with twaddle of that sort? — camdem semper eanens cantilenam , ad nauseam usque — as though you carried a psalter in your pocket? When 1 want to listen to any thing of that kind, why, I'll pay a parson! Haven't I a tide enough of horror to bear up against already, without your bringing a sea of superstition upon me? No more of it — no more — 'tis foul." I felt roused myself, at last, to something like correspond- ent emotion; for there was an insolence of assumption in his lone which I could not brook. "Mr Elfingstone," said I, calmly, "this silly swagger will not do. Tis unworthy of you — unscholarly — ungentlemanly. You foree me to say so. I beg I may hear no more of it, or you and I must part. I have never been accustomed to such treatment, and I cannot now learn how to endure it from you. From what quarter can you expect support or fortitude," said I, in a milder tone, seeing him startled and surprised at my tone and manner, "except the despised consolations of religion? '' "Doctor, you are too. superior to petty feelings not to overlook a little occasional petulance in such a wretched fellow as 1 am ! You ask me whither I look for support? 1 reply, to the energies of my own mind — toe tried disciplined energies of my own mind, Doctor— a mind thai never knew whai fear was — thai do disastrous combinations of misfortune could i^rr yet shake from its fortitude! Whai I'm this is it, thai enables me to simi my ears to the whisper- ings of some pitying fiend, who, knowing whai hideous tortures await me, has stepped out ol bell to come and advise me to suicide — eh?" In; inquired, lii^ eye glaring on me with a very fearful ex- pression. "However, as religion, thai is. your Christian religion, A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 149 « is a subject on which you and I can never agree — an old bone of contention between us — why, the less said about it the better. It's useless to irritate a man whose mind is made up. I shall never — I will never — be a believer. May I perish first ! " he concluded, with angry vehemence. The remainder of the interview I spent in endeavouring to per- suade him to relinquish his present unsuitable lodgings, and return to the sphere of his friends and relations— but in vain. He was fixedly determined to continue in that obscure hole, he said, till there was about a week or so between him and death, and then he would return, "and die in the bosom of his family, as the phrase was." Alas, however, I knew but too well, that, in the event of his adhering to that resolution, he was fated to expire in the bed where he then lay ; for I foresaw but too truly that the termination of his illness would be attended with circumstances rendering removal ut- terly impossible. He made me pledge my word that I would not, without his express request or sanction, apprize any member of his family, or any of his friends, that he had returned to England. It was in vain that I expostulated — that I represented the responsibi- lity imposed upon me ; and reminded him, that, in the event of any thing serious and sudden befalling him, the censure of all his rela- tives would be levelled at me. He was immovable. "Doctor, you know well I dare not see them, as well on my own account as theirs," said he, bitterly. He begged me to prescribe him a powerful an- odyne draught, for that he could get no rest at nights — that an in- tense, racking pain was gnawing all his bones from morning to evening— from evening to morning : and what with this and other dreadful concomitants, he " was," he said, " suffering the tortures of the damned, and perhaps worse." I complied with his request, and ordered him also many other medicines and applications, and promised to see him soon in the morning. I was accordingly with him about twelve the next day. He was sitting up, arid in his dress- ing-gown, before the fire, in great pain, and suffering under the deepest dejection. He complained heavily of the intense and un- remitting agony he had endured all night long, and thought, that, from some cause or other, the laudanum draught I ordered, had tended to make him only more acutely sensible of the pain. " It is a peculiar and horrible sensation ; and I cannot give you an ade- quate idea of it," he said : " it is as though the marrow in my bones were transformed into something animated— into blind-worms, writhing, biting, and stinging incessantly"— and he shuddered, as did I also, at the revolting comparison. Fie put me upon a minute 150 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. exposition of the rationale of his disorder : and if ever I was at a loss for adequate expressions or illustrations, he supplied them with a readiness, an exquisite appositeness, which, added to his astonish- ing acuteness in comprehending the most strictly technical details, tilled me with admiration for his great powers of mind, and poi- gnant regret at their miserable desecration. " Well, I don't think you can give me any efficient relief, Doc- tor," said he, " and I am therefore bent on trying a scheme of my own." "And what, pray, may that be?" I inquired, curiously, with a sigh. " I'll tell you my preparations. I've ordered — by ! — nearly a hundred weight of the strongest tobacco that's to be bought, and thousands of pipes; and with these I intend to smoke myself into stupidity, or rather, insensibility, if possible, till I can't undertake to say whether I live or not ; and my good fellow, George, is to be reading me Don Quixote the while." Oh, with what a sorrowful air of forced gaiety was all this uttered ! One sudden burst of bitterness I well recollect. I was saying, while putting on my gloves to go, that I hoped to see him in better spirits the next time I called. " Better spirits ! Ha ! ha ! How the can I be in better spirits — an exile from society — and absolutely rotting away here — in such a contemptible hovel as this, among a set of base-born brutal sa- vages? — faugh ! faugh ! It does need something here — here," press- ing his hand to his forehead, " to bear it— ay, it does ! " I thought his tones were tremulous, and that for the first time I had ever known them so ; and I could not help thinking the tears came into his eves, for he started suddenly from me, and affected to be gaz- ing at some passing object in the street. I saw he was beginning to droop under a consciousness of the bitter degradation into which he had sunk — the wretched prospect of his "sun's going down at noon— and in darkness!" I saw that the Strength of mind to which be clung so pertinaciously for support, was fast disappear- ing, like snow beneath the sunbeam. Then follow the details of his disease, which are so shocking as to In- unfit 1"! any but professional eyes. They represent all the energies of his nature as shaken beyond the possibility of restora- i ion — his constitution thoroughly polluted — wholly undermined. That the remedies resorted to had been almost more dreadful than the disease— and yet exhibited in vain ! In the next twenty pages of the Diary, the shades of horror are represented as gradually A M.V.N ABOUT TOWN. i ol closing and darkening around this wretched victim of debauchery ; and the narrative is carried forward through three months. A few extracts only, from this portion, are fitting for the reader.] Friday, January o. — Mr Effingstone continues in the same de- plorable state described in my former entry. It is absolutely re- volting to enter his room, the effluvia are so sickening— so over- powering. I am compelled to use a vinaigrette incessantly, as well as eau de Cologne, and other scents, in profusion. I found him engaged, as usual, deep in Petronius Arbiter! — He still makes the same wretched show of reliance on the strength and firmness of his mental powers ; but his worn and haggard features — the burn- ing brilliance of his often half-frenzied eyes— the broken, hollow tones of his voice — his sudden starts of apprehension — belie every word he utters. He describes his bodily sufferings as frightful. Indeed, Mrs has often told me, that his groans both disturb and alarm the neighbours, even as far as on the other side of the street ! The very watchman has several times been so much start- led in passing, at hearing his groans, that he has knocked at the door to inquire about them. Neither Sir nor I can think of any thing that seems likely to assuage his agonies. Even laudanum has failed us altogether, though it has been given in unprecedented quantities. I think I can say, with truth and sincerity, that scarce the wealth of the Indies should tempt me to undertake the manage- ment of another such case. I am losing my appetite — loathe ani- mal food— am haunted day and night by the piteous spectacle which I have to encounter daily in Mr Effingstone. Oh! that Heaven would terminate his tortures — surely he has suffered enough ! I am sure he would hail the prospect of death with ecstasy ! Wednesday, 10. — Poor, infatuated, obstinate Effingstone, will not yet allow me to communicate with any of his family or friends, though he knows they are almost distracted at not hearing from him, fancying him yet abroad. Colonel asked me the other day, earnestly, when I last heard from Mr Effingstone! I wonder my conscious looks did not betray me. I almost wish they had. Good God! in what a painful predicament I am placed ! What am I to do? Shall I tell them all about him, and disregard conse- quences? Oh — no — no! — how can that be, when my word and honour are solemnly pledged to the contrary ? Saturday, 20.— Poor Effingstone has experienced a signal in- stance of the ingratitude and heartlessness of mere men of the world. He sent his man, some time ago, with a confidential note to Captain , formerly one of his most intimate acquaintances, 152 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. stating briefly the shocking circumstances in which he is placed, and begging him to call and see him. The Captain sent back a viva voce | .') message, that he should feel happy in calling on Mr Ef- fingstone in a few days' lime, and would then, but that he was busy making up a match at billiards, and balancing his betting-book, etc. etc. etc. ! — This day the fellow rode up to the door, and— left a card for Mr Effingstone, without asking to see him ! Heartless, con- temptible thing ! — I drove up about a quarter of an hour after this gentleman had left. Poor Effingstone could not repress tears, while informing me of the above. " Would you believe it, Doctor," said he, "that Captain was one of my most intimate compa- nions — that he has won very many hundred pounds of my money — and that I have stood his second in a duel? " " Oh, yes — I could believe it all, and much more ! " "My poor man, George," he resumed "is worth a million of such puppies ! Don't you think the good, faithful fellow looks ill? He is at my bed-side twenty limes a night ! Pray try and do some- thing for him ! I've left him a trifling annuity out of the wreck of my fortune, poor fellow ! " and the rebellious tears again glistened in his eyes. His tortures are unmitigated. Friday, i26.— Surely, surely, I have never seen, and seldom heard or read, of such sufferings as the wretched Effingstone's. He strives to endure them with the fortitude and patience of a martyr; or rather, is struggling to exhibit a spirit of sullen, stoical submis- sion to his fate, such as is inculcated in Arrian's Discourses of Epic- tetus, which he reads almost all day \ His anguish is so excruciat- ing and uninterrupted, that I am astonished how he retains the use of his reason. All power of locomotion has disappeared long ago. The only parts of his body he can move now, are his fingers, toes, and head — which latter he sometimes shakes about, in a sudden ecstasy of pain, with such frightful violence as would, one would think, almost suffice to sever it from his shoulders! The flesh of the lower extremities — the flesh * * Horrible ! All sensation bas ceased in them fur a fortnight! — He. describes the agonies about his stomach and bowels, to be as though wolves were raven- ously gnawing and mangling all within. "Though it may be thought far-fetched and improbable, lo represent my patient ingaged in the perusal of each works as are mentioned in the text, l can assure the reader, thai I nave known several men of the world— especially if with any pretension to scholarship endeavouring to steel themselves against the pain and terrors ol the deathbed, i»\ an earoestatad] o/tbeoM stoic philosophy; any thing, pf course, being bean- than the mild and glorious consolations of Christianity. A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 15." Oh, my God! if "men about town," in London, or elsewhere, could but see the hideous spectacle Mr Effingstone presents, surely it would palsy them in the pursuit of ruin, and scare them into the paths of virtue ! 3j rs _ — t his landlady, is so ill with attendance on him— almost poisoned by the foul air in his chamber— that she is gone to the house of a relative for a few weeks, in a distant part of the town, having first engaged one of the poor neighbours to supply her place as Mr Effingstone's nurse. The people opposite, and on each side oi : the house, are complaining again, loudly, of the strange noc- turnal noises heard in Mr Effingstone's room. They are his groanings ! * * Tuesday, 51. — Again I have visited that scene of loathsomeness and horror, Mr Effingstone's chamber. The nurse and George told me he had been raving deliriously all night long. I found him incredibly altered in countenance, so much so, that I should hardly have recognised his features. He was mumbling with his eyes closed, when I entered the room. "Doctor! " he exclaimed in a tane of doubt and fear such as I had never known from him before, "you have not heard me abuse the Bible lately, have you?" "Not very lately, Mr Effingstone," I replied, pointedly. "Good," said he, with his usual decision and energy of manner. "There are awful things in that book— aren't there, Doctor?" "Many very awful things there are indeed," I replied, with a sigh. " I thought so— I thought so. Pray " his manner grew T sud- denly perturbed, and he paused for a moment, as if to recollect himself — "Pray — pray" again he paused, but could not suc- ceed in disguising his trepidation, "do you happen to recollect whether there are such words in the Bible as — as — ' mahy v STRIPES i "Yes, there are; and they form part of a very fearful passage," said I, quoting the verse as nearly as I could. He listened silently. His features swelled with suppressed emotion. There was horror in his eye. " Doctor, what a— a— remark— able— nay, hideous dream I had last night ! I thought a fiend came and took me to a gloomy bel- fry, or some other such place, and muttered ' Many stripes— many stripes,' in my ear; and the huge bell tolled me into madness, for all the damned danced around me to the sound of it ; ha, ha ! " He added, with a faint laugh, after a pause, "There's something cu— 154 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. cur — cursedly odd in the coincidence, isn't there? How it would have frightened some!" he continued, a forced smile flitting over his haggard features as if in mockery. "But it is easily to be ac- counted for — the intimate connexion — sympathy — between mind and matter, reciprocally affecting each other — affecting each ha, ha, ha! — Doctor, it's no use keeping up this damned farce any longer. Human nature won't bear it ! D n! I'm going down to hell ! I am ! " said he, almost yelling out the words. 1 had never before witnessed such a fearful manifestation of his feelings ! I almost started from the chair on which I was sitting. " Why" — he continued, in nearly the same tone and manner, as if he had lost all self-control, "what is it that has maddened me all my life, and left me sober only at this ghastly hour — loo late?" My agitation would not permit me to do more than whisper a few unconnected words of encouragement, almost inaudible to myself. In about five minutes' time, neither of us having broken the silence of the interval, he said in a calmer tone, "Doctor, be good enough to wipe my forehead — will you?" I did so. "You know better, Doctor, of course, than to attach any importance to the nonsensical rantings extorted by deaihbed agonies, eh ? Don't dying people, at least those who die in great pain, almost always express themselves so? How apt superstition is to rear its dismal flag over the pro- strate energies of one's soul, when the body is racked by tortures like mine! Oh,— oh, — oh,— that maddening sensation about the centre of my stomach ! Doctor," — he added, after a pause, with a grim air — " go home, and forget all the stuff you have heard me utter to-day—' Richard's himself again ! ' " Thursday, ""2d February.— On arriving this morning at Row, 1 was shown into the back parlour, where sat the nurse, very sick and faint. She begged me to procure a substitute, for that she was nearly killed herself, and nothing should tempt her to continue in her present situation. Poor thing! 1 did not wonder at it. I told her I would send a nurse from one of the hospitals that even- ing ; and then inquired what sort of a night Mr Efiingslone had d. " Terrible," she said ; " groaning, shaking, and roaring all nightlong,—* Many stripes,' 'Many stripes,' 'Oh, God of mercy!' and inquiring perpetually for you." I repaired to the fatal cham- ber immediately, though latterly my spirits began to fail me when- ever I approached the door. I was going to take my usual scat in the arm-chair by the bedside. " Don't sit there— don't sit there," groaned, or rather gasped, Mi Kliingstone, " for a hideous being sat in that chair all night A MAN ABOUT TOWN. *8!j long," — every muscle in his lace crept and shrunk with horror, — •'muttering;, ' many stripes!' Doctor, order that blighted chair to be taken away, broken up, and burnt, every splinter of it ! Let no human being ever sit in it again ! And give instructions to the people about me never to desert me for a moment — or — or — carry me off! — they will ! My frenzied fancy conjures up the ghastliest objects that can scare man into madness." He paused. "Great God, Doctor! suppose, after all, what the Bible says should prove true! " — he literally gnashed his teeth, and looked a truer image of Despair than I have ever seen represented in pic- tures, on the stage, or in real life. " Why, Mr Effingstone, if it should, it need not be to your sorrow, unless you choose to make it so," said I, in a soothing tone. "Needn't it, needn't it?" with an abstracted air—" Needn't it ? Oh, good!— hope— There, there it sat, all night long— there! I've no recollection of any distinct personality, and yet I thought it sometimes looked like — Of course," he added, after a pause, and a sigh of exhaustion—" of course, these phantoms, or similar ones, must often have been described to you by dying people— eh?" Friday od.— He was in a strangely altered mood to- day ; for though his condition might be aptly described by the words " dead alive," his calm demeanour, his tranquillized fea- tures, and the mild expression of his eye, assured me he believed what he said, when he told me that his disorder had "taken a turn," — that the " crisis was past ; " and he should recover! Alas ! was it ever known that dead mortified flesh ever resumed its life and functions ! To save himself from the spring of a tiger, he could not have moved a foot or a finger, and that for the last week ! Poor, poor Mr Effingstone began to thank me for my attentions to him during his illness; said, he " owed his life to my consummate skill;" and he would "trumpet my fame to the Andes, if I suc- ceeded in bringing him through." " It has been a very horrible affair, Doctor — hasn't it?" said he. "Very, very, Mr Effingstone ; and it is my duty to tell you, there is yet much horror before you ! " " Ah ! well, well! I see you don't want me to be too sanguine — too impatient. It's kindly meant — very ! Doctor, when I leave here, I leave it an altered man I Come, does not that gratify you, eh ? " I could not help a sigh. He would be an altered man, and that very shortly ! He mistook the feelings which prompted the sigh. " Mind — not that I'm going to commence saint — far, oh, very far from it ; but — but — I don't despair of being at some time or other lo6 k MAN ABOUT TOWN. a Christian. 1 don't, upon my honour ! The New Testament is a sublime— a— I believe— a revelation of the Almighty. My heart is quite humbled ; yet— mark me — I don't mean exactly to say I'm a believer— not by any means ; but I can't help thinking that my in- quiries might tend to make me so." I hinted that all these were indications of bettered feelings. I could say no more. " I'm bent on leading a different life to what I have led before, at all events ! Let me see — I'll tell you what I've been chalking out during the night. I shall go to Lord 's villa in , whither I have often been invited, and shall read Lardner and Paley, and get them up thoroughly — I will, by !" " Mi' Effingstone, pardon me" "Ah! I understand— 'twas a mere slip of the tongue; what's bred in the bone, you know" " I was not alluding to the oath, Mr Eflingstone; but — but it is my duty to warn you" " Ah ! that I'm not going the right way to work— eh ? Well, at all events, I'll consult a clergyman. The Bishop of is a distant connexion of our family, you know, — I'll ask his advice ! Oh, Doctor, look at that rich — that blessed light of the sun ! Oh, draw aside the window curtain — let me feel it on me ! What an image of the beneficence of the Deity! — a smile flung from His face over the universe ! " I drew aside the curtain. It was a cold, clear, frosty day, and the sun shone into the room with cheerful lustre. Oh, how awfully distinct were the ravages which his wasted features had sustained ! His soul seemed to expand be- neath the genial influence of the sunbeams; and he again expressed his confident expectations of recovery, " Mr Eflingstone, do not persist in cherishing false hopes ! Once for all," said I, with all the deliberate solemnity I could throw into iiiv manner, "I assure you, in the presence of God, that, unless a miracle takes place, it is utterly impossible for you to recover, or even t o last a week longer ! " 1 thought it had killed him. His features whitened visibly as I concluded ; his eye seen ed to sink, and the eyelids fell. His tips presently moved, but uttered no sound. 1 thought he had received his death-stroke, and was im- ' A provincial critic gravel] says oi this, — " a fine, a noble conceit, it must be owned ; l>ni <>iil\ •in expansion of one o\ Qfoore's, in l.nlhi Hookh, * Twas i bright smilethi JnyeMhrew from Heaven's gate.' " Whatever ma] be the merit of the expression in the text, it cann >t be trot] c lte ged with plagiarism. I nevertead I dlhi Hookk in ni\ tile nor ever saw or heard ol the abine cited passage, till it was pointed mi; b] the Bristol critic. A MAN ABOUT TOWN K',7 measurably shocked at its having been from my hands, even though in the strict performance of my duty. Half an hour's time, how- ever, saw him restored to nearly the same stale in which he had been previously. I begged him to allow me to send a clergyman to him, as the best means of soothing and quieting his mind ; but he shook his head despondingly. I pressed my point, and he said deliberately, "No!" He muttered some such words as, "The Deity has determined on my destruction, and is permitting his devils to mock me with hopes of this sort — let me go, then, to my own place ! " In this awful state of mind 1 was compelled to leave him. I sent a clergyman to him in my chaise — the same whom [ had called to visit Mr , (alluding to the " Scholar's Deathbed;") but he refused to see him, saying, that if he presumed to force him- self into the room, he would spit in his face, though he could not rise to kick him out ! The temper of his mind had changed into something perfectly diabolical since my interview with him. Saturday, itli. — Really my own health is suffering — my spirits are sinking through the daily horrors I have to encounter at Mr Effingstone's apartment. This morning, I sat by his bedside full half an hour, listening to him uttering nothing but groans that shook my very soul within me. He did not know me when J spoke to him, and took no notice of me whatever. At Iengih his groans were mingled with such expressions as these, indicating that his disturbed fancy had wandered to former scenes: — " Oh ! oh !— Pitch it into him, Bob ! Ten to two on Crib ! Hor- rible!— These dice are loaded, Wilmington; by , 1 know they are! Seven's the main! Ha! — done, by ! * * Hector, yes — he was alluding to a favourite race-horse) — won't 'bate a pound of his price ! Your Grace shall have him for six hundred — Fore legs, only look at them!— There, there, go it! away, away! neck and neck — In, in, by ! Hannah ! what the 's become of her? — drowned? No, no, no! What a fiend incar- nate that Bet is! Oh! horror, horror, horror! Rot- tenness ! Oh, that some one would knock me on the head and end me! * Fire, fire! Stripes, many stripes — Stuff! You didn't fire fair. By , you fired before your time — i alluding, I sup- pose, to a duel in which he had been concerned) — Curse your cowardice!" Such was the substance of what he uttered. — It was in vain that I tried to arrest the torrent of vile recollections. "Doctor, Doctor, I shall die of fright! " he exclaimed an hour afterwards — "What do you think happened to me last night? I I S3 k MAN AUDI IT TOWN. was Lying here, with the fire burnt very low, and ihe candles gone out. George was asleep, poor fellow, and the woman gone out to get an hour's rest also. I was looking about, and suddenly saw the dim outline of a table, set, as it were, in the middle of the room. There were lour chairs, faintly visible, and three ghostly figures lami' through that door and sat in them, one by one, leaving one vacant. They began a sort of horrid whispering, more like gasp- ing : they were dkvils, and talked about — my damnation ! The fourth chair was for me, they said, and all three turned and looked me in the face. Oh ! hideous— shapeless — damned ! " He uttered a shuddering groan. [Here follows an account of his interview with his two brothers — the only members of the family — whom he had at last permitted to be informed of his frightful condition — that would come and see him. J He did little else than rave and howl, in a blasphemous manner, all the while they were present. He seemed hardly to be aware of their being his brothers, and to forget the place where he was. He cursed me — -then Sir , and his man George, and charged us with compassing his death, concealing his case from his family, and execrated us for not allowing him to be removed to the west end of the town. In vain we assured him that his removal was utterly impossible— the lime was past— I had offered it once. He gnashed his teeth, and spit at us all ! •■ What ! die — die — Die in this damned hole 9 — 1 won't die here — I will go to Street. Take me off ! — Devils, then do vol come and carry me there ! — Come — out, out, nut upon you ! — ' * — You have killed me, all of you ! — You're throttling me! — You've put a hill of iron on me — I'm dead ! — all my body is dead! — * * — George, you monster! why are you ladling lire upon me? — Where do you get it ? — Out — out — out ! — I'm flooded with lire! — Scorched — Scorched! — ' Now — now for a dance of devils — Ha — I see ! I see ! — There's , and , and . among them! — What! all three of you dead — and damned before me?— W ! where are your loaded dice? — Filled with fire, eh? — * ' — So, voi were the three devils I saw silting at the table, eli ?— Well, I .shall be last— but, by , I'll be the < hid o| you!— I'll be king in hell !— ' '— -What— -what's thai fiery owl sitting at the bottom <>1 the bed for, eh ? — Kick it off — strike it ! — A\\a\— out "ii thee, thou imp of hell!— I shall make thee sing pre- sently ! — Lei in the snakes— let the large serpents in — I love them ! I bear them writhing upstairs — they shall twine about my bed!" He began '<> shake hi^ head violently from side to side, hi^ eyei A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 159 glaring like coals of lire, and his teeth gnashing. 1 never could have imagined any thing half so frightful. What with the highly excited state of my feelings, and the horrible scents of death which were diffused about the room, and to which not the slrongest salts of ammonia, used incessantly, could render me insensible, I was obliged to leave abruptly. 1 knew the last act of the block tragedy was closing that night ! I left word with the nurse, that so soon as Mr Effmgstone should be released from his misery, she should get into a hackney-coach, and come to my house. I lay tossing in bed all night long— my mind suffused with the horrors of the scene of which I have endeavoured to give some faint idea above. Were 1 to record half what I recollect of his hideous ravings, it would scare myself to read it !— T will not ! Let them and their memory perish ! Let them never meet the eye or ear of man ! — I fancied myself lying side by side with the loathsome thing bear- ing the name of Effingstone ; that I could not move away from him ; that his head, shaking from side to side, as I have mentioned above, was battering my cheeks and forehead ; in short, I was almost be- side myself! I was in the act of uttering a fervent prayer to the Deity, that even in the eleventh hour — the eleventh hour — when a violent ringing of the night-bell made me spring out of bed. It was as I suspected. The nurse had come ; and, already, all was over. My heart seemed to grow suddenly cold and motionless. T dressed myself, and went down into the drawing-room. On the sofa lay the woman : she had fainted. On recovering her senses, I asked her if all was over ; she nodded with an affrighted expression ! A little wine and water restored her self-possession. l f When did it occur?" 1 asked. "Exactly as the clock struck three," she re- plied. " George and I, and Mr , the apothecary, whom we had sent for out of the next street, were standing round the bed. Mr Hardy lay tossing his head about for nearly an hour, saying all manner of horrible things. A few minutes before three he gave a loud howl, and shouted, 4 Here, you wretches— why do you put the candles out?— Here— here— I'm dying! ' • ' God's peace be with you, Sir ! — The Lord have mercy on you ! ' — we groaned, like people distracted. " 'Ha, ha, ha'!— D— n you !— D— n you all !— Dying — D— n me! I won't die! — I won't die! — No — No! — D — n me — I won't — won't — won't* he gasped and made a noise as if he was choked. We looked. Yes, he was gone ! " He was interred in an obscure dissenting burying ground in the 160 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. immediate neighbourhood, under the name of Hardy, for his fa- mily refused to recognise him. So lived — so died, a "man about town;" and so, alas! will yet live and die many another man about town! Notwithstanding the scrupulous and anxious care with which the foregoing fearful narrative was prepared for the public eye, so that a lively picture of the horrors of vice might be drawn, at the same time that a veil was thrown over the more ghastly and revolt- ing features, in the particular instance,— the Editor regrets to.state, that loud, and, in some instances, angi ?/ complaints have been made against it, in one or two influential and respectable quarters; and in others, such atrocious misrepresentations of the author's design, accompanied by insulting, nay, beastly, insinuations, as have, he fears, succeeded in exciting suspicion and disgust in the minds of those who did not read the paper till after they read the cruel and lying character fixed upon it. All those with whom the Editor has conversed, have, without, exception, declared they read the paper with feelings of simple unmitigated grief and agony— in the spirit aimed at by the writer. The Editor farther states, that the sketch had in its favour the suffrages of most of the leading prints in town and country, some of whom were pleased to express themselves in terms of such flattering eulogy, as even the writer of the Diary might consider extravagant. Three other such attacks were made upon it by London Journals, as sink their perpetrators beneath the desert of notice. Woe be to those polluted minds and degraded hearts, that could attach sack meanings as would fain have been fastened on certain portions of " the Man about Town ! " Sincerum est nisi vas, quodcumque infundis acescit. A word to those who may think its statements exaggerated: Would to Heaven that he who suspects as much, but once-had been beside the frightful deathbed of Eflingslone ! Talk of exaggera- tion ! — that " the experience of mankind does not, nor ever did, furnish such scenes ! "* Why, the Editor knows of such a tale, as, if told, might make a devil to leap with horror in the fires! — one, that a man might listen to with quaking heart and creeping II. sh, and prayers to God it might be forgotten ! In conclusion, the Editor knows well, that, despite the small ca- ' American paper. DEATH AT THK TOILET. 161 ?3fers above spoken of, this narrative has wrought the most satis- factory effects upon minds and hearts by themselves thought irre- claimably lost : good evidence of which lies now in his escrutoire, and may possibly be appended to some future edition of this work \ And he knows farther, that "The Man about Town" will continue long to be a beacon, warning off from guilt and ruin the " simple- hearted, the unwary, the beguiled." If there were nothing else in these volumes, the thought of writing "The Man about Town" would bring consolation to the deathbed of its writer, as having en- deavoured to render lasting service to society. CHAPTER XIII. DEATH AT THE TOILET. " Tis no use talking to me, mother, I will go to Mrs P 's partv to-night, if I die for it — that's flat! You know as well as I do, thaf Lieutenant N is tu be there, and he's going to leave town to-morrow— so up I go to dress." "Charlotte, why will you be so obstinate? You know how poorlv you have been all the week ; and Dr says, late hours are the worst things in the world for you." " Pshaw, mother ! nonsense, nonsense." "Be persuaded for once, now, I beg ! Oh, dear, dear, what a night it is too — it pours with rain, and blows a perfect hurricane ! You'll be wet, and catch cold, rely on it. Come now, won't you stop and keep me company to-night ? That's a good girl ! " "Some other night will do as well for that, you know ; for now I'll go to Mrs P 's if it rains cats and dogs. So up— up— up I go ! " singing jauntily Oh, she shall dance all dress'd in white, So ladylike. Such were, very nearly, the words, and such the manner, in which Miss J expressed her determination to act in defiance of her mother's wishes and entreaties. She was the only child of her * I ain not at liberty to do so, yet.— Ed. [3d ed.] 1G-2 DEATH AT THE TOILET. widowed mother, and had, but a few weeks before, completed her tventy-sixifc year, with yet no other prospect before her than bleak single blessedness. A weaker, more frivolous, and conceited crea- ture never breathed — the torment of her amiable parent, the nui- sance of her acquaintance. Though her mothers circumstances \\ed about half an boor ago. and her mother supposed she was then engaged at her glass, adjusting her hair, and preparing her complexion. 44 Well, 1 wonder what can inakeCharloitc so verj careful about her dress to-night!" exclaimed Mrs.l , removing hereyes from DEATH AT THE TOILET. 163 the book, and gazing thoughtfully at the fire; "Oh ! it must be be- cause young- Lieutenant N is to be there. Well, 1 was young myself once, and it's very excusable in Charlotte — heigho!" She heard the wind howling so dismally without, that she drew to- gether the coals of her brisk fire, and was laying down the poker, when the clock of church struck the second quarter after nine. 14 Why, what in the world can Charlotte be doing all this while?" she again inquired. She listened — "I have not heard her moving for the last three quarters of an hour ! I'll call the maid and ask.'' She rang the bell, and the servant appeared. " Betty, Miss J is not gone yet, is she?" " La, no, Ma'am," replied the girl, "I took up the curling irons only about a quarter of an hour ago, as she had put one of her curls out; and she said she should soon be ready. She's burst her new muslin dress behind, and that has put her into a way, Ma'am." " Go up to her room, then, Betty, and see if she wants any thing; and tell her it's half-past nine o'clock," said 3Irs J . The ser- vant accordingly went up stairs, and knocked at the bed-room door, once, twice, thrice, but received no answer. There was a dead silence, except when the wind shook the window. Could Miss J have fallen asleep? Oh, impossible! She knocked again, but unsuccessfully, as before. She became a little flustered ; and, after a moment's pause, opened the door, and entered. There was Miss J silting at the glass. "Why, la, Ma'am!" com- menced Betty in a petulant lone, walking up to her, "here have I been knocking for these five minutes, and" Betty staggered, horror-struck, to the bed, and uttering a loud shriek, alarmed Mrs J , whg instantly tottered up stairs, almost palsied with fright. — Miss J was dead ! I was there within a few minutes, for my house was not more than two streets distant. It was a stormy night in March : and the desolate aspect of things without— deserted streets— the dreary howling of the wind, and the incessant pattering of the rain, con- tributed to cast a gloom over my mind, when connected with the intelligence of the awful event that had summoned me out, which was deepened into horror by the spectacle 1 was doomed to wit- ness. On reaching the house, I found Mi s J in violent hyster- ics, surrounded by several of her neighbours, who had been called in to her assistance. I repaired instantly to the scene of death, and beheld what I shall never forget. The room was occupied by a white-curtained bed. There was but one window, and before it uc/vin t\i inn, ikjiljEji was a table, on which stood a looking-glass, hung with a little while drapery ; and various articles of the toilet lay scattered about — pins, brooches, curling-papers, ribands, gloves, etc. An arm-chair was drawn to this table, and in it sat Miss J , stone dead. Her head rested upon her right hand, her elbow supported by the table ; while her left hung down by her side, grasping a pair of curling irons. Each of her wrists were encircled by a showy gill bracelet. She was dressed in a white muslin frock, with a little bordering of blonde. Her face was turned towards the glass, which, by the light of the expiring candle, reflected with frightful fidelity the clammy fixed features, daubed over with rouge and carmine— the fallen lower jaw— and the eyes directed full into the glass, with a cold, dull stare, that was appalling. On examining the counte- nance more narrowly, I thought I detected the traces of a smirk of conceit and self-complacency, which not even the palsying touch of Death could wholly obliterate. The hair of the corpse, all smooth and glossy, was curled with elaborate precision ; and the skinny sallow neck was encircled with a string of glistening pearls. The ghastly visage of Death thus leering through the tinselry of fashion— the " vain show" of artificial joy — was a horrible mock- ery of the fooleries of life ! Indeed, it was a most humiliating and shocking spectacle. Poor creature! struck dead in the very act of sacrificing at the shrine of female vanity ! — She must have been dead for some time, perhaps for twenty minutes, or half an hour, when I arrived, for nearly all the animal heat had deserted the body, which was rapidly stiffening. I attempted, but in vain, to draw a little blood from the arm. Two or three women present proceeded to remove the corpse to the bed, for the purpose of laying it out. What strange passiveness! No resistance offered to them while straightening the bent right arm, and binding the jaws together with a faded white riband, which Miss J had destined for her waist that evening ! On examination of the body, we found that death had been occa- sioned by disease of the heart. Her life might have been pro- tracted possibly for years, had she but taken my advice, and that of her mother. 1 have seen many hundreds of corpses, as well in the calm composure of natural death, as mangled and distorted by violence; but never have I seen so startling a satire upon human vanity, bo repulsive, unsightly, and loathsome a spectacle as a ( orpse dreued for a hull ! 1 HL il k:\EjLi iiraii. CHAPTER XIV. THE TURNED HEAD. Hypochondriasis*, Janus-like, has two faces— a melancholy and a laughable one. The former, though oftener seen in actual life, does not present itself so frequently to the notice of the medi- cal practitioner as the latter ; though, in point of fact, one as im- peratively calls for his interference as the other. It may be safely asserted, that a permanently morbid mood of mind invariably indi- cates a disordered state of some part or other of the physical sys- tem; and which of the two forms of hypochondria will manifest itself in a particular case, depends altogether upon the mental idiosyncrasy of the patient. Those of a dull, phlegmatic tempera- ment, unstirred by intermixture and collision with the bustling activities of life, addicted to sombrous trains of reflection, and by a kind of sympathy, always looking on the gloomy side of things, generally sink, at some period or other of their lives, into the " Slough of Despond "—as old Bunyan significantly terms it— from whence they are seldom altogether extricated. Religious enthusiasts con- stitute by far the largest portion of those afflicted with this species of hypochondria— instance the wretched Cowper ; and such I have never known entirely disabused of their dreadful phantasies. Those, again, of a gay and lively fancy, ardent temperament, and droll, gro- tesque appetencies, exhibit the laughable aspect of hypochondriasis. In such, you may expect conceits of the most astounding absurdity that could possibly take possession of the topsyturvied intellects of a confirmed lunatic ; and persisted in with a pertinacity— a dogged de- fiance of evidence to the contrary— which is itself as exquisitely ludi- crous as distressing and provoking. There is generally preserved an amazing consistency in the delusion, in spite of the incessant rebuttals of sensation. In short, when once a crotchet, of such a sort as that hereafter mentioned, is fairly entertained in the fancy, the patient * Arising, as its name imports, from disease in the hijpochondres (W.b xrfvfyos, ) j . r. the viscera lying under the cartilage of the breast-bone and false ribs, the liver, spleen, etc. wilt not let it go! It is cases of this kind which baffle the adroitest medical tactician. For my own part, I have had to deal with several during the course of my practice, which if described coolly and faithfully on paper, would appear preposterously incredible to a non-professional reader. Such may possibly be the fate of the following. I have given it with a minuteness of detail, in several parts, which I think is warranted by the interesting nature of the case, by the rarity of such narratives, and, above all, by the pecu- liar character and talents of the well-known individual who is the patient ; and I am convinced that no one would laugh more heartily over it than himself— had he not long lain quiet in his grave ! You could scarcely look on N without laughing. There was a sorrv sort of humorous expression inhisoddand ugly features, which suggested to vou the idea that he was always struggling to repel some joyous emotion or other, with painful effort. There was a rich light of intellect in his eye, which was dark and full, you felt when its glance was settled upon you — and there it remained concen- trated at the expense of all the other features; for the clumsy ridge of eye-bone impending sullenly over his eyes — the Pitt-like nose, looking like a tinger-and-ihumb-full of dough drawn out from the pliant mass, with two ill-formed holes inserted in the bulbous ex- tremity — and his large, liquorish, shapeless lips, — looked, alto- gether, any thing but refined or intellectual. He was a man of for- tune — an obstinate bachelor — and educated at Cambridge, where he attained considerable distinction ; and at the period of his intro- duction to the reader, was in his thirty-eighth or fortieth year. If I were to mention his name, it would recall to the literary reader many excellent, and some admirable portions of literature, for the perusal of which he has to thank N . The prevailing complexion of his mind was sombrous ; but played on, occasionally, by an arch humorous fancy, flinging its rays of fun and drollery over the dark surface, like moonbeams on midnight waters. I do believe he considered it sinfnl to smile! There was a puckering up of the corner of the mouth, and a forced corrugation of the eye^brows, the expression of which was set at nought by the comicality — the solemn drollery — of the eyes. Vou saw Rfomus leering out of every glance of them ! lie said many veiv winy things in conversation, and had a knack of uttering the quaintest conceits with something like a whine of compunction in his tone, which ensured him roars of laughter. As for his own laugh — when he did laugh — there i> no describing ii — short, Mid- den, unexpected was it, like a Hash of powder in the dark. Not a trace of real merriment lingered on his features an instant after the noise had ceased. You began to doubt whether he had laughed at all, and to look about to see where the explosion came from. Except on such rare occasions of forgelfulness on his part, his de- meanour was very calm and quiet. He loved to get a man who would come and sit with him all the evening, smoking, and sipping wine in cloudy silence. He could not endure bustle or obstreper- ousness ; and when he did unfortunately fall foul of a son of noise, as soon as he had had "a sample of his quality," he would abruptly rise and lake his leave, saying, in a querulous tone, like that of a sick child, " I'll go ! " | probably these two words will at once re- call him to the memory of more than one of my readers— and he was as good as his word ; for all his acquaintance— and I among the number — knew his eccentricities, and excused them. Such was the man— at least as to the more prominent points of his character— whose chattering black servant presented himself hastily to my notice one morning, as I was standing on my door steps, pondering the probabilities of wet or line for the day. He spoke in such a spluttering tone of trepidation, that it was some time before I could conjecture what was the matter. At length I distinguished something like the words, "Oh, Docta,Docta, com-a, and see-a a Massa ! Com-a ! Him so gashly— him so ill— ver dam bad— him say so— Oh, lorra-lorra-lorra! Come see-a a Massa— him ver orrid ! " "Why, what on earth is the matter with you, you sable, eh? Why can't you speak slower, and tell me plainly what's the mat- ter?" said I impatiently, for he seemed inclined to gabble on in that strain for some minutes longer. "What* the matter with your master, sirrah, eh?" I inquired, jerking his striped morning jacket. "Oh, Docta! Docta! com-a— Massa ver bad ! Him say so!— Him head turned ! Him head turned ! " " Him what, sirrah ?" said I, in amazement. "Him head turned, Docta — him head turned," replied the man, slapping his fingers against his forehead. " Oh, I see how it is, I see ; ah, yes," I replied, pointing to my forehead in turn, wishing him to see that I understood him to say his master had been seized with a fit of insanity. "Iss, iss, Docta — him Massa head turned — him head turned! Dam bad!" "Where is Mr N , Nambo, eh?" "Him lying all 'long in him bed, Massa— him dam bad. But him tickler quiet — him head turned" "Why, Nambo, what makes ijou say your master's head's turned, eh ? What d'ye mean, Sir ? " " Him, Massa, self say so— him did— him head turned. D— m ! " I felt as much at a loss as ever ; it was so odd for a gentleman to acknowledge to his Negro servant that his head was turned. " Ah ! he's gone mad, you mean, eh?— is that it? Hem ! Mad —is it so?" saidl, pointing, with a wink, to my forehead. "No, no, Docta— him head turned!— him head" replied Nam- bo ; and raising both his hands to his head, he seemed trying to twist it round ! I could make nothing of his gesticulations, so I dis- missed him, telling him to take word, that I should make his mas- ter's my first call. I may as well say, that I was on terms of friendly familiarity with Mr N , and puzzled myself all the way I went, with attempting to conjecture what new crotchet he had taken into his odd, and, latterly, I began to suspect, half-addled head. He had never disclosed symptoms of what is generally understood by the word hypochondriasis; but I often thought there was not a likelier subject in the world for it. At length I found myself knock- ing at my friend's door, fully prepared for some specimen of amus- ing eccentricity— for the thought never crossed my mind, that he might be really ill. Nambo instantly answered my summons, and, in a twinkling, conducted me to his master's bed-room. It was partially darkened, but there was light enough for me to discern, that there was nothing unusual in his appearance. The bed was much tossed to be sure, as if with the restlessness of the recumbent, who lay on his back, with his head turned on one side, buried deep in the pillow, and his arms folded together outside the counter- pane. His features certainly wore an air of exhaustion and de- jection, and his eye settled on me with an alarmed expression from the moment that he perceived my entrance. "Oh, dear Doctor !— Isn't this frightful ?— Isn't it a dreadful piece of business?" "Frightful !— dreadful business ! " I repeated with much surprise. "What is frightful? Are you ill— have you had an accident, eh?" "Ah, ah !— you may well ask that ! " he replied; adding, after a pause, "it took place this morning,— about two hours ago !" "You speak in parables, Mr N ! Why, what in the world is the mallei- with you?" "About two hours ago— yes," lie muttered, as if lie bad not heard me. " Doctor, do tell me truly now, for the curiosity of I he thing; what did you think of me on first entering the room, eh?— Teel inclined to laugh, or be shocked— which ?" " Mr N , I really have no lime fur trifling, as I am particu- larly busy to-day. Do, 1 beg, be a little more explicit! Why have you sent for me ? What is the matter with you ?" "Why, God bless me, Doctor ! " he replied, with an air of angry- surprise in his manner which 1 never saw before, "1 think, indeed, it's you who are trifling ! Have you lost your eye-sight this morn- ing? Do you pretend to say that you do not see 1 have undergone one of the most extraordinary alterations in appearance that the body of man is capable of— such as never was heard or read of before?" "Once more, Mr N ," I repeated, in a tone of calm astonish- ment, " be so good as to be explicit. What are you raving about? " " Raving !— Egad, I think it's ijou who are raving, Doctor ! " he answered ; "or you must wish to insult me! Do you pretend to tell me vou do not see that my kead is turned ?" and he looked me in the face steadily and sternly. "Ha, ha, ha ! Upon my honour, N- , I've been suspecting as much for this last five or ten minutes ! I don't think a patient ever described his disease more accurately before." "Don't mock me, Doctor ," replied N , sternly. " 'Pon my soul, I can't bear it ! It's enough for me to endure the horrid sensations I do!" " Mr N , what do you" "Why, confound it, Doctor ! you'll drive me mad! Can't you see that the back of my head is in front, and my face looking backwards ! Horrible ! " I burst into loud laughter. "Doctor , it's time for you and me to part— high time," said he, turning his face away from me. I'll let you know that I'll stand your nonsense no longer ! I called you in to give me your advice, not to sit grinning like a baboon by my bedside ! Once m0 re— finally : Doctor , are you disposed to be serious and ra- tional 9 If you are not, my man shall show you to the door the moment you please." He said this in such a sober, earnest tone of indignation, that I saw he was fully prepared to carry his threat into execution. I determined, therefore, to humour him a little, shrewdly suspecting some temporary suspension of his sanity — not exactly madness— but at least some extraordinary hallucination. To adopt an expression which I have several times heard him use,— "I saw what o'clock it was, and set my watch to the lime." " Oh— well!— I see now how matters siam^— The fact is, I did observe the extraordinary posture of affairs you complain of, im- mediately I entered the room, but supposed you were joking with me, and twisting your head round in that odd way for the purpose of hoaxing me; so I resolved to wait and see which of us could play our parts in the farce longest! Why, good God! how's all this, Mr N ? — Is it then teallij the case? — Are you — in — in earnest — in having yuiir head turned?" " In earnest, Doctor!" replied Mr N , in amazement. " Why, do you suppose this happened bv my own will and agency? —Absurd ! " " Oh, no, no — most assuredly not — it is a phenomenon — hem ! hem !— a phenomenon — not unfrequently attending on the night- mare" I answered, v\ilh as good a grace as possible. "Pho, pho, Doctor!— Nonsense!— You must really think me a child, to try to mislead me with such stuff as that ! I lell you again, I am in as sober possession of my senses as ever I was in my life; and, once more, I assure you, that, in truth and reality, my head is turned — literally so." " Well, well!— So I see!— It is, indeed, a very extraordinary case — a very unusual one; but I don't, by any means, despair of bringing all things round again! — Pray tell me how this singular and ai'llieling accident happened to you?" 11 Certainly," said he, despondingly. "Last night, or rather this morning, I dreamed that I had got to the West Indies— to Bar- badoes — an island where I have, as you know, a little estate, left me by my uncle C ; and that a few moments after I had enter- ed the plantation, for the purpose of seeing the slases at work, there came a sudden hurricane, a more tremendous one than ever was known in those parts, — trees — canes — huts — all were swept before it ! Even the very ground on which we stood seemed whirled away beneath us! I turned my head a moment to look at the di- rection in which things were going, when, in the very act of turn- ing, the blast suddenly caught my head, and — oh, my God! — blew it completely round on my shoulders, till my face looked quite — directly behind me — over my back ! In vain did 1 almost wrench my head oil mv shoulders, in attempting to twist it round again; and what with horror, and— and— altogether— in short, I aw<>ke— and found the frightful reality of my situation!— Oh, gracious Heaven!" continued Mr A , clasping his hands, and looking HDWards, l 'wha( have I done to deserve SUCfa a horrible visitation as this! " Humph ! ii is LD HLAD. his general health, and then proceeded to subject all parts of his neck to a most rigorous examination ; before, behind, on each side, over every natural elevation and depression— if such the usual va- rieties of surface may be termed— did my lingers pass ; he all the while sighing, and cursing his evil stars, and wondering how it was that he had not been killed by the "dislocation ! " This little farce over, I continued silent for some moments, scarcely able, the while, to control my inclination to burst into fits of laughter, as if ponder- ing the possibility of being able to devise some means of cure. " Ah, thank God !" — said I, abruptly,— "I have it, Ihaveit, " " What !— what— eh ?— what is it ? " he inquired with anxiety. 11 I've thought of a remedy, which, if— if— if any thing in the world can bring it about, will set matters right again— will bring back your head to its former position." " Oh, God be praised !— Dear— dear Doctor !— if you do but suc- ceed, I shall consider a thousand pounds but the earnest of what I will do to evince my gratitude ! " he exclaimed, squeezing my hand fervently. " But I am not absolutely certain that we shall suc- ceed," said 1 cautiously. " We will, "however, give the medicine a twenty-four hours' trial ; during all which time you must be in per- fect repose, and consent to lie in utter darkness. Will you abide by my directions ? " " Oh, ves— yes— yes!— dear Doctor!— What is the inestimable remedy? Tell me— tell me the name of my ransomer. Ill never divulge it— never ! " " That is not consistent with my plans at present, Mr N ," 1 replied, seriously; "but, if successful— of which I own I have very sanguine expectations— I pledge my honour to reveal the se- cret to you." « ^Yell — but — at least you'll explain the nature of its operation —eh? is it internal— external— what?" The remedy, I told him, would be of both forms ; the latter, however, the more immediate agent of his recovery ; the former, preparatory— predisposing. I mav tell the reader simply what my physic was to be : three bread- pills the ordinary placebo in such cases) every hour ; a strong lau- danum draught in the evening; and a huge bread-and-water poultice for his neck, with which it was to be environed till the parts were sufficiently mollified to admit of the neck's being twisted back again into its former position !— and, when that was the case— why— to ensure its permanency, he was to wear a broad band of strengthen- ing plaster for a week ! ! This was the bright device, struck out by me— all at a heat ; and which explained to the poor victim, with 1 li r. I l !».> IMJ IlI^lJ. llic utmost solemnity and deliberation of manner — all the wise winks and knowing nods, and hesitating "hems" and "has" of professional usage — sufficed to inspire him with some confidence as to the result. I confess I shared the most confident expectations of success. A sound night's rest — hourly pill-taking — and the clammy saturating sensation about his neck, I fully believed would bring him, or rather his head, round : and, in the full anticipation of seeing him disabused of the ridiculous notion lie had taken into his head, I promised to see him the first thing in the morning, and took my departure. After quitting the house, I could not help laughing immoderately at the recollection of the scene I had just wit- nessed ; and a Mrs M , by the way— who happened to be pass- ing on the other side of the street, and observed my involuntary risibility, took occasion to spread an ill-natured rumour, that I was in the habit of "making myself merry at the expense of my pa- tients ! " [foresaw, that should this "crick in the neck" prove perma- nent, I stood a chance of listening to innumerable conceits of the most whimsical and paradoxical kind imaginable— for I knew IN \s natural turn to humour. It was inconceivable to me how- such an extraordinary delusion could bear the blush of daylight, resist the evidence of his senses, and the unanimous simultaneous assurances of all who beheld him. Though it is little credit to me, and tells but small things for my self-control— I cannot help acknow- ledging, that at the bedside of my next patient, who was within two or three hours of her end, the surpassing absurdity of the " turned head" notion glared in such ludicrous extremes before me, that 1 was near bursting a bloodvessel with endeavours to sup- press a perfect peal of laughter ! About eleven o'clock the next morning, I paid N a second > int. The door was opened as usual by his black servant Nambo ; by whose demeanour I saw that something or other extraordinary awaited me. His sable swollen features, and dancing while eye- balls, showed that he was nearly bursting with laughter. " H< — he— he!" he chuckled, in a sort of souovoce, "him Massa head turned!— Him back in front! Mini waddle!— he— he— he!"— and he twitched his clothes— jerking his jacket and pointing 10 his breeches, inawaj that! did nol understand. On entering the" room where N , with one of his favourite silent smoking friends, ( M 1 the late well known counsel,) were sitting at breakfast, 1 encountered a spectacle which nearly made me expire with laughter. It is almost useless in attempt describing ii <>n paper— yet I wifl THE TURNED HEAD. 17."> try. Two gentlemen sat opposite each oilier at the breakfast tabic, by the lire : the one with his (ace to me was Mi' M ; and N sat with his back towards the door by which I entered. A glance at the former sufficed to shew me, that ho was sitting in tortures of suppressed risibility. He was quite red in the face— his features were swollen and puffy— and his eyes fixed slrainingly on the fire, as though through fear of encountering the ludicrous figure of his friend. They were averted from the lire, for a moment, to wel- come my entrance— and then re-directed thither with such a pain- ful effort— such a comical air of compulsory seriousness— as, added to the preposterous fashion after which poor N had chosen to dress himself, completely overcame me. The thing was irresist- ible; and my utterance of that peculiar choking sound, which indi- cates the most strenuous efforts to suppress one's risible emotions, was the unwitting signal for each of us bursting into a long and loud shout of laughter. It was in vain that I bit my under lip, almost till it brought blood, and that my eyes strained till the sparks Hashed from them, in the futile attempt to cease laughing; for full before me sat the exciting cause of it, in the shape of N , his head supported by the palm of his left hand, with his elbow propped against the side of the arm-chair. The knot of his neckerchief was tied with its customary formal precision — but behind — at the nape of his neck ; his coat and waistcoat were buttoned down his back ; and his trowsers, moreover, to match the novel fashion, buttoned behind, and, of course, the hinder parts of them bulged out ridi- culously in front! Only to look at the coal-collar lilting under the chin, like a stiff military stock— the four tail buttons of brass glist- ening conspicuously before, and the front parts of the coat but- toned carefully over his back — the compulsory handiwork of poor Nambo ! N , perfectly astounded at our successive shouts of laughter — for we found it impossible to stop — suddenly rose up in his chair, and, almost inarticulate with fury, demanded what we meant by such extraordinary behaviour. This fury, however, was all lost on me; I could only point in an ecstasy of laughter, almost border- ing on frenzy, to his novel mode of dress as my apology. He stamped his foot, uttered volleys of imprecations against us, and then ringing his bell, ordered the servant to show us both to the door. The most violent emotions, however, must in time expend their violence, though in the presence of the same exciting cause ; and so it was with Mr M and myself. On seeing how seriously affronted N was, we both sat down, and I entered into ex- 176 THE TURNED HEAD. "Well now ! What do you think of that? " said I triumphantly. " Ah, ah ! " said he, after a puzzled pause, "but you little know the effort it cost me!" He did not persevere long in the absurd way of putting on his clothes which I have just described ; but, even after he had dis- continued it, he alleged bis opinion to be, that the front of his clothes ought to be with his face ! I might relate many similar ab- surdities springing from this notion of his turned head, but sufficient has been said already to give the reader a clear idea of the general character of such delusions. My subsequent interviews with him, while under this unprecedented hallucination, were similar to the two which I have attempted to describe. The lit lasted near a month. At length, however, I happened luckily to recollect a de- vice successfully resorted to by a sagacious old English physician, in the case of a royal hypochondriac abroad, who fancied that his nose had swelled into greater dimensions than those of his whole body beside; and forthwith resolved to adopt a similar method of cure with N . Electricity was to be the wonder-working talis- man ! 1 lectured him out of all opposition, silenced his scruples, and got him to fix an evening for the exorcisation of the evil spirit —as it might well be called— which had taken possession of him. Let the reader fancy, then, N 's sitting-room, about seven o'clock in the evening, illuminated with a cheerful fire, and four mould candies ; the awful electrifying machine duly disposed for action; Mr S of Hospital, Dr , and myself, all standing round it, adjusting the jars, chains, etc. ; and Nambo bu- sily engaged in laying bare his master's neck, N all the while eyeing our motions with excessive trepidation. I had infinite diffi- culty in getting his consent to one preliminary— the bandaging of his eyes. I succeeded, however, at last, in persuading him to un- dergo the operation blindfolded, by assuring him that it was essen- tial to success ; for that if he was allowed to see the application of the conductor to the precise spot requisite, he might start, and oc- casion its apposition to a wrong place! The real reason will be seen presently ; the great manoeuvre could not have born practised but on such terms ; for how could I give his head a sudden twist round, and S give him a smart stroke on the crown of the bead ;m the instant of his receiving the shock, if he saw what wo were about? 1 ought to have mentioned that we also prevailed upon him to sit with his arms pinioned, so that he was completely at our mercy. None of us could refrain from an occasional titter THE TURNED HEAD. 177 at the absurdity of the solemn farce we were playing — fortunately, however, unheard by N . At length, Nambo being turned out, and the doors locked,— lest seeing the trick, he might disclose it subsequently to his master — we commenced operations. S worked the machine — round, and round, and round, whizzing — sparkling — crackling — till the jar was moderately charged : it was then conveyed to N *s neck, Dr using the conductor. N , on receiving a tolerably smart shock, started out of his chair, and I had not time to give him the twist I had intended. After a few moments, however, he protested that he felt " some- thing loosened" about his neck, and was easily induced to submit to another shock considerably stronger than the former. The instant the rod was applied to his neck, I gave the head a sud- den excruciating wrench towards the left shoulder, S strik- ing him, at the same moment, a smart blow on the crown. Poor K ! " Thank God ! " we all exclaimed, as if panting for breath. "I — i — s it all over?" stammered IS faintly — quite con- founded with the effects of the threefold remedy we had adopted. "Yes— thank God, we have at last brought your head round again, and your face looks forward now as heretofore ! " said J. 14 Oh, remove the bandage— remove it ! Let my own eyesight behold it ! — Bring me a glass ! " "As soon as the proper bandages have been applied to your neck, Mr IN ." " What, eh — a second pudding, eh?" "No, merely a broad band of diachylum plaster, to prevent — hem — the contraction of the skin," said I. As soon as that was done, we removed the handkerchiefs from his eyes and arms. "Oh, my God, how delightful! " he exclaimed, rising and walk- ing up to the mirror over the mantelpiece. "Ecstasy ! All really right again " " My dear N , do not, I beg, do not work your neck about in that way, or the most serious disarrangement of the — the parts," said I "Oh, it's so, is it? Then, I'd better get into bed at once, I think, and you'll call in the morning." I did, and found him in bed. " Well, how does all go on this morning?" I inquired. "Pretty well — middling," he replied, with some embarrassment of manner. " Do you know, Doctor, I've been thinking about it all night long — and I strongly suspect " — His serious air alarmed me — 12 1 , \ I l 1 . I l l> > '.l I began to foar that he hail discovered the trick—*'! strongly sus- pect— hem— hem — " he continued. " What?" 1 inquired, rather sheepishly. "Whv, that it was my brains only that were turned— and— that — that — most ridiculous piece of business" w Why, to be sure, Mr N " '—and he was so ashamed about it, that he set off for the country imme- diately, and, among the glens and mountains of Scotland, endea- voured to forget ever having dreamed that his head was turned. One of the papers roundly asserts, that the foregoing is " pure fiction.' 1 1 like the modesty and caution of this ; the more especially when I know it is next to impossible for the assertor to know any tiling about the matter. But mark his reasoning : — 44 The conceit is droll and witty enough," he says, " but, unfor- tunately, is /oo much so for truth ! Who ever heard of such a con- ststenl delusion— in such a humorous subject?" 1 leave this little argumentative chokepear for a child to nibble at: medical men know better. Samuel or Charles Wesley, (surviving relatives of the celebrated John Wesley), fancied himself a tea-pot, and stuck to the notion strongly for some time ! I know one whom he told of his " misfortune." A medical man in Lincolnshire, a few years ago, persuaded him- self into the .olion that he had been transformed into a great- coat ! No one now laughs at the thing more heartily than himself ; at the same time protesting ftiat his delusion was complete at the time ! I have heard also, that the late Mr Nollekens fancied he had sunk into a pair of shoes; and would ask people if they "put him on," to keep out of the wet as much as possible ! The gentleman with whom I was articled had the care of the workhouse ; and I saw there a woman who seriously told me she was dead, and had been so for many weeks. She was taking tea when she told me of the strange fact. " Well, I think yours is a pretty comfortable sort of death," said I; but she replied with a sigh, "It was Salon that had entered into her body the moment her oNvnsoul left it, and plagued her with eating, drinking, talking, and living without any of the pleasure and relish of true life! " The woman was a Roman Catholic ; and said she was suffering the pains of purgatory for a wicked life. A metaphysical gentleman— once a member of Parliament— not many years ago imagined himself a spirit— an impalpable, intan- rHE TU1KED HKAD 179 gible being. He said he had the power of pervading matter, and knew the secret cause of its cohesion, baring, in a manner, seen and known it while operating. He said he had a perfect knowledge of the "qoomodo/'as lie called it, of the presence and operation of gravity. He was asked for an explanation of the phenomena, and made an answer in a long tissue of metaphysic rigmarole, unintel- ligible to any one that heard him. He said, that as for himself, he had the power of diffusing himself over the centre of our glob<*, and interfusing his influence throughout the whole congeries of matter, till the earth swelled to a thousand times its present di- mensions. That all spirits had the same power ! " Why, mercy on us! Mr ," said Sir , with affected alarm, " we're not safe, then ! Perhaps the world is swelling under us now ! What is to become of us ?" " Spirit is benevolent and wise, so you are safe ! " replied the hy- pochondriac, with a most singular air, as if he /w/fsaw the absurd- ity of his notion, and was half angry with Sir . " You might cut your son's throat— but you don't !" During the same interview, he told his medical man that the "soul of Kant" wandered " through the universe ;" and once diffused itself so extensively, as to render its re-compression very difficult! "If you only knew how, you could compress me into a compass infinitely less than that of a needle point," said he, solemnly ! If the veracity of this instance should be seriously questioned, it Ls possible that the ci-devant hypochondriac himself might step for a moment from his elegant and profound privacy, where thought and imagination dwell "gloriously supreme," and good-humouredly attest the truth of what I am relating. I have given the amusing instances above, out of a store of many similar ones: and, reader, if you are extra-professional, and still a doubter, ask the most ex- perienced medical friend you have, whether, in the above, you are required to put faith in improbabilities and ligrnents. 180 THE WIFE CHAPTER XV. THE \YIFE. Monday Evening, July 2o, 18 — . — Well ! the poor martyr has at last been released from her sufferings, and her wasted remains lie hid in the kindly gloom of the grave. Yes, sweet, abused, forgiving M rs t ; I this morning attended your funeral, and let fall tears of unavailing regret ! Shall I tell your sad story all in one word or two? The blow that broke your heart was struck by tour husband! Heaven grant me calmness in recording your wrongs ! Let not the feelings of outraged humanity prompt me to " set down aught in malice." May I be dispassionately enough disposed to say but the half, nay, even the hundredth part only, of what 1 know, and my conscience will stand acquitted ! Let not him who shall read these pages anticipate any thing of romance, of high-flown rhodo- montade, in what follows. It is all about a poor, ill-used, heart- broken wife : and such an object is, alas! loo often met with in all classes of society, to attract, in an ordinary case, any thing of pub- lic notice. The ensuing narrative will not, however, be found an ordinary case. It is fraught with circumstances of such peculiar aggravation, and exhibits such a moving picture of the tenderness ami unrepining fortitude of woman, that 1 am tempted to give it at gome length* Its general accuracy may be relied upon, for I suc- ceeded in wringing it from the Kpfl of the poor sufferer herself. 1 must, however, be allowed to give it in my own way; though at the risk of its being thereby divested of much of that sorrowful simplicity and energy — that touching naivete which characterised ii> utterance. 1 shall conclude with extracting- some portions of my notes of visits made in a professional capacity. Miss Jane C had a> numerous a retinue of suitors as a pretty person, well-known sweetness of disposition, considerable accom- plishments, and 10, (MM)/, in the funds, could not fail of procuring I,, their possessor. She was an orphan, and was left absolute mis- iress of her property on atiaininjj her twenty-first year. All the members of her own family most strenuously backed the preten- sions of the curate of the parish — a young man of ascertained respectability of character and family, with a snug stipend, and lair prospects of preferment. His person and manners w i able and engaging: and he could not conceal his inclination in fling them both at Miss C 's feet. All who knew the parties, said it would be an excellent match in all respects, and a happy couple ihey would make. Miss C herself could not look at the curate with indifference — at least if any inference might be drawn from an occasional flushing ot her features at church, whenever the '•;.<■- of the clergyman happened to glance at her — which was much oftener than his duty required. In short, the motherly gossips of the place all looked upon it as a settled thing, and had pitched upon an admirable house for the future couple. They owned unani- mously that "the girl m'ujht have gone farther and fared worse," and so forth ; which is a great deal for such people to say about such matters. There happened, however, to be given a great ball, by the lady of the ex-Mayor, where MissC was one of the stars of the evening ; and at this party there chanced to be a young Londoner who had just come down on a three-weeks" holyday. lie was training for the law, in a solicitor's office, and was within bix or seven months of the expiration of his articles. He was a personable sort of fellow to look at— a spice of a dandy— and had that kind of air about him which tells vf too-n — if not of the blandness. ease, and elegance of the West, still — of town — which contrasted favour- ably with the comparative uugainliness of provincials, He was, in a word, a sort of small >tai' : a triton amung the minnows; and whatever he said or did took infallibly. Apprized by some judi- cious relatives, of the united charms of Miss C s purse and person, he took care to pay her the most conspicuous attentions. Alas! the quiet claims of the curate were soon silenced bv his bustling rival. This young spark chattered Miss C out of her calm senses. Wlierever she went, he followed : whatever she said or did, he applauded. He put into requisition all his small acquire- ments — he sang a little, danced more, and talked an inrinitv. To be brief, he determined on carrying the fort with a coup de main ; and he succeeded. The poor curate was forgotten for ever ! Before the enterprising young lawyer left , he was an accepted suitor of Mibs C s. The coldness of all her friends and acquaintances signified nothing to her; her lover had, bv some means or other. obtained so powerful a hold of her affections, that sneers, re- proaches, remonstrances, threats on the part of all who had pre- viously betrothed her to the curate, " passed by her as the idle wind, which she regarded not." She promised to become his wife as soon as bis articles should have expired, and to live in London. In due time, as matters approached a crisis, friends were called in to talk over preliminaries. Mr T proved to be compara- tively penniless ; but what was that ? Miss C acted with very unusual generosity. She insisted on settling only half her fortune —and left the other half entirely at his disposal. On receiving this intelligence from her own lips, the young man uttered the most frantic expressions of gratitude; promised her eternal love and faithfulness; protested that he idolized her; and— took her at her word. It was in vain that cautious relatives stepped in to tender their remonstrances to Miss C on the imprudent extent to which she was placing her fortune beyond her own control. Opposition only consolidates and strengthens the resolutions of a woman whose mind is once made up. The generous creature believed implicitly every word that her lover poured into her delighted ear; and was not startled into any thing like distrust, even when she found that her young husband had expended, at one fell swoop, nearly 5000/. of the 5000/. she had so imprudently placed at his disposal— in " establishing themselves in London," as he termed it. He com- menced a rale of living which it would have required an income of at least 1000/. a-year to support ; and when an uncle of his wife's took upon him to represent to Mr T his ruinous extravagance —his profligate expenditure of his wife's funds, which all their mutual friends were lamenting and reprobating, he was treated with an insolence which for ever put an end to his interference, and effectually prevented that of any other parly. All, however, might yet have gone right, had Mr T paid but a moderate attention to his business ; for his father had the command of an excellent town connexion, which soon put enough into his son's hands to keep two clerks in regular employment. It was not long before his wife was shocked by hearing her hus- band make incessant complaints of the drudgery of the office, though lie did not devote, on an average, more than two or three horns a- day to it. He was always proposing some new party, some de- lightful drive, some enchanting excursion, to her, and she dared not refuse, for he had, already, once disclosed symptoms of a most imperious temper whenever his will was interfered with. She began to {frow very uneasy, as she saw him drawing cheque after cheque on their banker, without once replacing a single sum ! Good God! what was to become of them? He complained of the tardy returns of business; and yet he left it altogether to the ma- nagement of two hired clerks ! He was beginning also to grow irre- gular in his habits ; repeatedly kept her waiting for hours, expect- ing his return to dinner in vain ; filled his table with frequent drafts from the gayest and most dissipated of his professional acquaint- ance, whose uproar, night after night, alarmed every one in the house, and disturbed even the neighbours. Then he look to bil- liard playing, and its invariable concomitants,— drinking and late hours; the theatres, frequented alone for the purpose — alas! too notorious to escape even the chaste ears of his unfortunate and insulted wife— of mingling with the low wretches— the harpies —who frequent the slips and saloons; then "drinking bouts" at taverns, and midnight " larks," in company with a set of vul- gar, ignorant voung coxcombs, who always left him to settle the reckoning. He sent one of the clerks to his banker's, one morning, with a cheque for 10/. ; which proved to be the exact amount by which he had " overdrawn" his account— and worse— returned without the usual accommodation afforded. He was a little dismayed at find- ing such to be the state of things, and went up stairs to his wife to tell her, with a curse, of the "meanness," the " d— d stinginess," of Messrs . " What ! is it all spent, George? " she inquired in a gentle and faint tone of voice. " Every rap, by , Jane! " was the reply. She turned pale, and trembled, while her husband, putting his hands in his poc- kets, walked sullenly to and fro about the parlour. With trembling hesitation, Mrs T alluded to the near approach of her confine- ment, and asked, almost inaudible with agitation, and the fear of of- fending him, whether he had made any provision for the necessary expenses attending it— had laid up any thing. He replied in the negative, in a very petulant tone. She could not refrain from shedding tears. " Your crying can't mend matters," said he, rudely, walking to the window, and humming the words of some popular air. " Dear, dear George! have you seen any thing in my conduct to displease you?" she inquired, wiping her eyes. "Why do you ask me that, Mrs T ?" said he, walking slowly towards her, and eyeing her very sternly. She trembled and had scarcely breath enough to answer, that she had feared su' •W**" ' I..4 Krfr j>nr' * •!»*- 1 Ifcr ,*•„* i*» 1 I M i i f I ol «*m< «e# TMM -- at awv tK» '••' *. *■ #»■«■> 1 • ♦ m »»t» 1 iMMMttfl. mA«*<- ^4 MiMM l«^tlr-r t> Lr i .1. • 4N. •or %. uh h. r sum. Ma «rf ■■» ION 1. drmnl hi tW ntnratr of ll m » Hah* - l'»f I (H»%*% iwm ha' VJfll 1 j; • f * , m^ rr- « r W« -' • M I. -1 Mil "-*« « hi a- ibrtrr^WC tOVWl «f tw turvr frll lW • K tj **" — fcr hf • *♦ **« cut ifcin^h. to i nn hm W**« ^ ** J *W r .. i spent his Lime. More than once was she so horrified with what he said, that, at the peril of her life, she insisted on leaving him, and sharing the bed of the servant girl ! Her wretched looks might have broken a heart of stone; yet it affected not that of the wretch who called her his wile! A few days after the occurrence above related, the maid-servant put a twopenny post letter into her mistress's hands ; and fortunate it was for 3Irs T that the girl happened to be in the room while she read it, awaiting orders for dinner. The note was in these words, written in a feigned, but still a lady's hand : — "Unfortunate Madam ! — I feel it my duty to acquaint you, that your husband, Mr T , is pursuing quite disgraceful courses all night and day, squandering away his money among sharpers and blacklegs, and that he is persuaded to back one of the boxers in a great light that is to be; and, above all, and what I blush to tell you — but it is fitting Mrs T should know it — in my opinion, MrT is notoriously keeping a woman of infamous character, with whom he is constantly seen at the theatres and most other public places, and she passes as his cousin. Hoping that you will have prudence and spirit to act in this distressing business as becomes a lady and a wife, I am, Madam, with the truest respect and sympathy, "A Real Friend." Mrs T read this cruel letter in silence — motionless — and with a face that whitened sensibly as she proceeded ; till, at the dis- graceful fact mentioned in the concluding part, she dropped the paper from her hands — and the servant ran to her in time to pre- vent her falling from her chair ; for she had swooned ! It was long before she came to; and, when that was the case, it was only that she might be carried to her bed — and she was confined that even- ing. The child was still-born ! All this came on the husband like a thunder-stroke, and shocked him for a time into something like sobriety and compunction. The admirable qualities of his wife — her virtues and her meekness — shone before his startled eyes in angel hues. He forsook the scenes, a constant frequenting of which had rendered him unworthy to live under the same roof with her, and betook himself to the regular pursuits of business with great earnestness. He soon found out what arduous up-hill work it was to bring' again under his control affairs which had been so long and shamefully neglected. He felt several times disposed to throw it all over in disgust ; for, alas! he had lost almost every vestige of the patience and accuracy of business habits, lie succeeded, with great difficulty, in appeasing the more clamorous of his creditors. THE WIFE 187 and, in a word, once more stood a chance of clearing his way be- fore him. His poor wife, however, was brought several times to the very verge of the grave, and was destined for months to the monotonous hours of a bed of sickness. For nearly a month, she experienced the most affectionate attentions from her husband, that were consistent with a due attention to the business of his of- fice. She felt revived and cheered by the prospect of his renewed attachment, and trusted in its permanency. But, alas ! her husband was not made of such materials as warranted her expectations ; he was little else than a compound of weakness, vanity, ignorance, and ill-temper ; and for such a one, the sober loveliness and attractive- ness of domestic life had no charms. He had no sooner got his affairs a little into train, and succeeded in reviving the confidence of some of his principal clients, than he began to relax his efforts. One by one his old associates drew around him, and re-entangled him in the toils of dissipation. The first time that poor ill-fated Mrs T came down into the parlour to dinner, after a three months' absence in her sick chamber, she was doomed to dine alone — disappointed of the promised presence of her husband to welcome her— for the same low, contemptible coxcomb, formerly introduced to the reader as one of her husband's most intimate friends, had called in the course of the morning, and succeeded in enticing him away to a tavern-dinner with a " set of good 'uns," who were afterwards to adjourn to one of the minor theatres. In vain was the little fillet of veal, ordered by her husband himself, placed on the table before his deserted wife ; she could not taste it, nor had strength enough to carve a piece for the nurse ! Mr T had had the grace to send her a note of apology, alleging that his absence was occasioned by "an affair of business!" This cruel and perfidious conduct, however, met with its due punishment. One of his prin- cipal creditors — his tailor — happened to be swallowing a hasty din- ner in a box adjoining the one in which T and his boisterous associates were dining, and accidentally cast eyes on his debtor T . He saw and heard enough to fill him with fury ; for he heard his own name mentioned by the half-inebriated debtor, as one of the "scrvcd-out snips" whom he intended to "do" — an an- nunciation which was received by the gentlemanly young men who were dining with him, with cries of "Bravo, T , do! D— e, I — and I — and I — have done it before this ! " The next morning he was arrested for a debt of 110/., at the suit of the very " snip " whom he intended, in his own witty way, to "do," and carried off to a spunging-house in Chancery Lane. There he lay for two days without his wife's knowing any thing of the true stale of tilings. He could get no one to stand hail for him, till one of his wife's insulted friends, and his own brother-in- law, came forward reluctantly for that purpose, in order to calm her dreadful agitation, which had flung her again on a sick-bed. Her husband wrote her a most penitential letter from thespunging- house, imploring her forgiveness for his misconduct, and promising amendment. Again she believed him, and welcomed him home with enthusiastic demonstrations of fondness. He himself could not refrain from weeping; he sobbed and cried like a child; for his feelings— what with the most pungent sense of disgrace, re- morse, and conscious unworthiness of the sweet creature, whose affections no misconduct of his seemed capable of alienating — were quite overcome. Three of his chief creditors commenced actions against him, and nothing seemed capable of arresting the ruin now impending over him. Where was he to find the means of satis- fying their claims ? He was in despair, and had sullenly and stu- pidly come to a resolution to let things take their course, when, as if Providence had determined to afford the miserable man one chance more of retrieving his circumstances, the sudden death of his father put him in possession of 800/. in ready cash ; and this sum, added to 200/. advanced him by two of his wife's friends, who could not resist her agonizing supplications, once more set matters to rights. Passing over an interval of four years, spent with disgrace to himself, and anguish to his wife, similar to that described above, they must now be presented to the reader occupying, alas! a lower station of soeiety. They had been compelled to relinquish an airy, respectable, and commodious residence, for a small, bad house, in a worse neighbourhood. His business had dwindled down (o what was insufiicienl to occupy the lime of one solitary clerk, whom he was scarcely able to pay regularly — and the more re- spectable of his friends had utterly deserted him in disgust. The most rigorous — nay, almost starving — economy, on the part of his wife, barely sufficed to "make both ends meet." She abridged herself <>f almost every domestic comfort, of all those little ele- gancies, which a well-bred woman loves to keep about her, and did so without a murmur. The little income arising from the 5000&4, her settlement money, might .surely of Itself, with only ordi- nary prudence on his part, have enabled them lo maintain their ground with something like respectability, especially if he had at- THi: WiFF. 189 tended to what remained of his business. But, alas ! alas ! T 's temper had by this time been thoroughly and permanently soured. He hated his good wife— his business— his family— himself— every thing, except liquor and low company 1 His features bore testi- mony to the sort of life he led— swelled, bloated, and his eyes languid and bloodshot. Mrs T saw less of him than ever; for not far from his house there was a small tavern, frequented by none but the meanest underlings of his profession; and there was T to be found, evening after evening, smoking and drinking himself into a slate of stupid insensibility, till he would return home redolent of the insufferable stench and fumes of tobacco smoke, and brandy and water! In the day time, he was often to be found for hours together at an adjoining billiard-room, where he sometimes lost sums of money, which his poor wife was obliged to make up for by parting, one by one, with her little trinkets and jewellery ! What could have infatuated him to pursue such a line of conduct ? it may be asked,— why, as if of set purpose, ruin the peace of mind of one of the fondest and most amiable wives that ever man was blessed with ? A vulgar, but forcible expression, may explain all,— it was "the nature of the beast." He had no intel- lectual pleasures— no taste for the quiet enjoyments of home ; and had, above all, in his wife, too sweet, confiding, and unresisting a creature ! Had she proved a termagant, the aspect of things might have been very different ; she might have bullied him into some- thing like a sense of propriety. Here, however, he had it all his own wav— a poor creature, who allowed him to break her heart without remonstrance or reproach ; for the first she dared not— the second she could not. It would have broken a heart of stone to see her ! She was wasted to a skeleton, and in such a weak, declining state of health, that she could scarcely stir out of doors. Her appetite was almost entirely gone ; her spirits all fled long a g ;_>'ow, shall I tell the reader one immediate cause of such physical exhaustion? I will, and truly. Hr r had still a tolerable share of business ; but he could scarcely be brought to give more than two hours' attendance in his office a-dav, and sometimes not even that. He therefore im- prudently left almost every thing to the management of his clerk, a worthy young man, but wholly incompetent to such a charge. He had extorted from even his idle and unworthy master frequent acknowledgments of his obligations for the punctuality with which he transacted all that was intrusted to him, and in particular, for the neatness, accuracy, and celerity with which he copied drafts of pleadings, leases, agreements, etc. His master often hiccoughed to him his astonishment at the rapidity with which he " turned them out of hand ;" but how little did the unworthy fellow imagine that, in saying all this, he was uttering not his clerk's, but his wife's praises ! For she it was, poor creature ! who, having taken the pains to learn a lawyer's hand, engrossing, etc. from the clerk, actually sat up, almost regularly, till two or three o'clock in the morning, plodding perseveringly through papers and parch- ments — making long and laborious extracts — engrossing settle- ments, indeniures, etc., and copying pleadings, till her wearied eyes and her little hands could no longer perform their office ! I could at this moment lay my hands on a certain legal instrument, of tiresome prolixity, which was engrossed, everv word, bv Mrs T ! This was the way in which his wife spent the hours of midnight, and to enable him to squander away his time and money in the unworthy, the infamous manner above related ! Was it wonderful that her health and spirits were wholly borne down by the pressure of so many accumulated ills? Had not her husband's eye been dulled, and his perceptions deadened, by the perpetual stupors of intoxication, he might have discerned the hectic flush— the coming fever— the blood-spitting, which foretell consumption ! But that was too much to be expected. As for the evenings — they were invariably spent at his favourite tavern, sotting hour after hour among its lowest frequenters ; and as for her night- cough and blood-spitting, he was lulled by liquor into too profound a repose, to be roused by the sounds which were, in effect, his martyred wife's death-knell! If, during the day-lime, he was in a manner forced to remark her languor — her drooping spirits — the only notice, the only sympathy it called forth on his part, was a cold and careless inquiry, why she did not call in a medical man ! I shall conclude this portion of my narrative, with barely reciting four instances of that conduct on the part of Mrs T 's husband, which at last succeeded in breaking her heart, and which, with many other similar ones, were communicated to me with tears of tortured sensibility. I. Half drunk, half sober, he one evening introduced to her, at ica, a female "friend/' whose questionable appearance might, at first 3ight, have justified his wife's refusal to receive her. Her conversation soon disclosed her real character; and the insulted wife abruptlj retired from the room that was polluted by the pre- sence of the infamous creature, whom lie avowed to be kit tnis- THE WIFE. 191 tress! He sprung after her to the door, for the purpose of drag- ging her back ; but her sudden paleness, and the faint tones in which she whispered, — "Don't stop me — don't — or I shall die! " so shocked him, that he allowed her to retire, and immediately dismissed the wretch, whom he could have brought thither for no other purpose than to insult his wife! Poor creature! did a por- tion of her midnight earnings go towards the support of the wretch who was kept by her husband ? II. Having occasion, late one evening, to rummage among her husband's office papers, in search of something which was to be engrossed that night, her eye happened to light on a document, with a pencil superscription — "Copy, case for counsel, concerning Mrs T 's marriage settlement." A very excusable curiosity prompted her to peruse what proved to be a series of queries sub- mitted to counsel on the following points, among others : — What present powers he had under her marriage settlement ? — whether her own interest in it could be legally made over to another, with her consent, during her lifetime? and, if so, how? — whether or not he could part with the reversion, provided she did not exercise her power of willing it away elsewhere? — From all this, was it possible for her not to see how heartlessly he was calculating on the best method of obtaining possession of the remnant of her for- tune? " Oh, cruel— cruel— cruel George ! So impatient!— Could you not wait a month or two ? I'm sure I shall not keep you out of it long! I always intended to leave it to you, and I won't let this al- ter my mind, though it is cruel of you ! " sobbed Mrs T , till her heart seemed breaking. At that moment she heard her hus- band's loud obstreperous knock at the door, and hastily crumpling up the paper into the drawer of the desk from which she had taken it, she put out the candle, and leaving her midnight labours, flew up stairs to bed— to a wretched and sleepless one ! III. Mrs T 's child,. which was about three years and a-half old, was suddenly seized with convulsive fits, as she was one even- ing undressing it for bed. Fit after fit followed in such rapid suc- cession, that the medical man who was summoned in prepared her to expect the worst. The distraction of her feelings may be easier conceived than described, as she held on her knee the little crea- ture on whose life were centred all the proud and fond feelings of a mother's love deepened inlo exclusive intensity; for it seemed the unly object on earth to return her love ; — as she held it, I say, but with great difficulty, for its tiny limbs were struggling and plunging about in a dreadful manner. And then the frightful rolling of the eyes ! They were endeavouring to pour a tea-spoonful of Dalby's carminative, or some such medicine, through the closed teeth, when the room door was suddenly thrown open, and in reeled Mr T , more than half-seas over with liquor, and in a merrier mood than usual, for he had been successful at billiards ! He had entered unobserved through the street door, which had been left ajar by the distracted servant girl, and hearing a bustle in the room, he had entered, for the purpose of seeing what was the matter. "Wh—wh— what is the matter, good fo— oiks, eh?" he stam- mered, reeling towards where MrsT was silting, almost faint- ing with terror at seeing the frightful contortions of her infant's countenance. • She saw him not, for her eyes were fixed in agony on the features of her suffering babe. "What the— the— the d— lis the matter with all of you here, eh?" he inquired, chucking the servant girl under the chin, who, much agitated, and shedding tears, had approached to beg he would leave the room. He tried to kiss her, and in the presence of the medical man— who sternly rebuked him for his monstrous conduct. "D— n you, Sir— who the d— 1 are you?" he said, putting his arms a-kimbo— "1 will know what's the matter ! " He came near —he saw all !— the leaden-hued, quivering features, the limbs now rigid — then struggling violently — the starting eyeballs. " Why, for God's sake, what's the matter, eh?" he stammered, almost inaudibly, while the colour fled from his face, and the per- spiration started upon his forehead. He strove to steady himself, but that was impossible. He had drunk loo deeply. " What are you doing to the child— what— what ?" he again in- quired, in a feeble and faltering voice, interrupted by a hiccough. No notice whatever was taken of him by his wife, who did not seem to see or hear him.— "Jane, tell me," addressing her again, "has the child had "— hiekup— "an— an ac— ci— dent?" The infant that moment gave a sudden and linal plunge; and Mrs I \s taint shriek, and the servant girl's wringing of the hands, announced that all was over ! The little thing lay dead in the arms of its mother. "Sir, your child is dead," said the apothecary, sternly, shaking Mi i l»v the arm— for In' Mood gazing oq tin- scene with a sullen, vacant stare, scan ely able u> steady himself. m \vh— wh— ai! D—e.—ti—tl?" he muttered, with a ghastly air. THE WIFE. 195 "Oh, George, my darling is— is dead!" groaned the afflicted mother, for the first time looking at and addressing her husband. The word seemed to sober him in an instanl. " What !— Dead . And I drunk ! " The medical man, who stood by, told me he could never forget the scene of that evening ! When Mrs T discovered, by his manner, his disgraceful condition, she was so utterly overcome with her feelings of mingled grief, shame, and horror, that she fell into violent hysterics, which lasted almost all night long. As for T , lie seemed palsied all the next day. He sat alone during the whole of the morning, in the room where the dead infant lay, gazing upon it with emotions which may be imagined, but not described. IV. Almost the only piece of ornamental furniture, her last re- maining means of amusement and consolation, was her piano. She played with both taste and feeling, and many a lime contrived to make sweet sounds pour an oblivious charm over her sorrows and sufferings, by wandering over the airs which she had loved in hap- pier days. Thus was she engaged one afternoon with one of Dr Arne's exquisite compositions, the air beginning, "Blow, blow, thou winter's wind." She made several attempts to accompany the music with her voice — for she once had a very sweet one, and could sing — but, whenever she attempted, the words seemed to choke her. There was a sorrowful appropriateness in them, a touching echo of her own feelings, which dissolved her very spirit within her. Her only child hid died, as the reader was informed, about six months before, and her husband had resumed his ill courses, becoming more and more ste.n and sullen in his demean- our — more unreasonable in his requirements. The words of the air, as may be easily conceived, were painfully appropriate to her situa- tion, and she could not help shedding tears. At that moment her husband. entered the room, with his hat on, and stood for some mo- ments before the fire in silence. " Mrs T !" said he, as soon as she had concluded the last stanza. " "Well, George! " said she, in a mild tone. " I— I must sell that piano, Ma'am— I must ! "' said he. "What!" exclaimed his wife, in a low whisper, turning round on the music stool, and looking him in the face with an air of sor- rowful surprise. " Oh, you cannot be in earnest, George ! " "Ton my life, Ma'am, but I am— I can't indulge you with su- perfluities while we can hardly afford the means of keeping body and soul together." 13 19 i IBB Witt. "George— dear George— do forgive me, but I — 1 — I cannot part with my poor piano," said she. 44 Why not, Ma'am, when /say you must?" " Oh, because it was the gift of my poor mother! " she replied, bursting into tears. "Can't help that, Ma'am— not I. It must go. I hate to hear its cursed noise in the house— it makes me melancholy— it does, Ma'am — you're always playing such gloomy music," replied her husband, in a severe and less decisive tone. "Well, well! if that's all, I'll play any thing you like— only tell me, dear George ! what shall 1 play for you now?" said she, rising from the music stool and approaching him. "Play a farewell to the piano, for it must go, and it shall ! " he replied, desperately. " Dear, kind George! let me keep it a little longer," said she, looking him beseechingly in the face— "a little— a Utile longer " "Well, Ma'am, sit down and play away, till Iconic in again, any- thing you like." He left the room ; and in less than half an hour— oh, hardness of heart unheard of !— returned with a stranger, who proved to be a furniture broker, come to value the instrument ! That evening it was sold to him for 157.; and it was carried away the first thing in the morning, before his wife came down stairs! What will be sup- posed the occasion of ihis cruelty ? It was to furnish Mr T with monev to pay a bill of the infamous creature more than once al- luded to, and who had obtained a complete ascendancy over him ! It was a long continued course of such treatment as this, that called me upon the scene in a professional capacity, merely, at first ; till the mournful countenance of my patient inspired me with feelings of concern and friendly sympathy, which eventually led to an entire confidence. She came to me in the unostentatious cha- racter of a morning patient, in a hackney coach, with an elderly female friend. She looked quite the lady, though her dress was of but an ordinary quality, yet exquisitely neat and clean ; and she had still a very interesting and somewhat pretty face, though long continued sorrow had made sad havoc with her features! These visits, at intervals of a week, she paid me, and compelled me to take my fee of one guinea, on each occasion— though 1 would have given two to be enabled to decline it without hurting her delicacy. Though her general health had suffered severely, still I thought lhat matters had not gone quite so far as to destroy all hopes of recoverv, with due attention ; though her cheeks disclosed, almost THE WIFE. 495 every evening, the dealh-rose — the grave-flower — of hectic, and night-sweats, and a faint cough, were painfully regular in their re- currence, — still I saw nothing, for a long time, to warrant me in warning her of serious danger. I insisted on her allowing me to visit her at her own house, and she at last permitted me, on condi- tion that I would receive at least half-a -guinea, — poor creature! — for every visit. Thai, however, I soon dropped ; and I saw her al- most every day gratuitously, whenever any temporary aggravations of her symptoms required my attendance. The first time I saw her husband, I could not help taking a prejudice against him, though she had never breathed a syllable to me of his ill conduct. He was apparently about forty years old, though his real age was not more than two or three-and-thirty. His manners and habits had left a sufficiently strong impress upon him to enable a casual be- holder to form a shrewd conjecture as to his character. His fea- tures, once rather handsome than otherwise, were now reddened and swollen with long continued excess ; and there was altogether an air of truculence — of vulgar assurance and stupid sullenness, about him, which prepossessed me strongly against him. When, long afterwards, Mrs T gave me that description of his appear- ance and manners under which he is first placed before the reader of this narrative, I could not help frequently interrupting her with expressions of incredulity, and reminding her of his present ill-fa- voured looks ; but as she went on with her jad story, my scepticism vanished. Personal deterioration was no incredible attendant on moral declension. March 28, 18 — . — There can be no longer any doubt as to the nature of 3Irs T 's symptoms. She is the destined victim of consumption. The oftener I go to her house, the stronger are my suspicions that she is an unhappy woman, and that her husband ill-uses her. I have many times tried to hint my suspicions to her, but she will declare nothing. She will not understand me. Her settled despondency, however, accompanied with an under current of feverish nervous trepidation, which she cannot satisfactorily ex- plain, convinces me something or other is wrong. I see very little of her husband, for he is scarcely ever in her companv when I call. Though his profession is that of an attorney, and his house and office are one, I see scarcely any indications of business stir- ring. I am afraid they are in sinking circumsiances. I am sure that she, at least, was born and bred for a station superior to that she now occupies. Her manners have that simplicity, ease, and elegance, which tell of a higher rank in society. I often detect her iyt> raw witt. alone in tears, over a low fire. In a word, I am sure she is wretch- ed, and that her husband is the cause of it. That he keeps late hours, I know — for she happened to let slip as much one day to me, when I was making inquiries about the time of her retiring to sleep. I feel a great interest in her; for, whenever I see her, she reminds me of " Patience on a monument, smiling at Grief," — of " Sorrow deck'd In the poor faded garb of tarnish'd joy, 111 fitting to her wasted form." April 6th.— To-day I found them both together— sitting one on each side of the fire-place, he smoking — in the parlour, — and she, with a little needlework in her lap. I thought he seemed somewhat embarrassed at my entrance; which probably had put an end to some scene of unpleasantness, for her face was suffused with crim- son. // soon retired, however, and left the wanness to which I had been accustomed in her. "So, my wife's ill, Sir, it seems?" said Mr T , abruptly, putting his pipe on the hob. "I'm sorry to say she is, Mr T— — ," I replied, " and that she is worse to-day than she has been for some time." Mrs T let fall tears. "Sorry to hear you say so, Doctor ; I've just been telling her it's all owing to her own obstinacy in not calling earlier on ." "I think you might have used a milder word, Sir," said I, with involuntary sternness, at the same time directing my attention ex- clusively to his wife — as if for the purpose of hinting the propriety of his retiring. "What's the matter with her, Sir?" he inquired, in a more res- pectful tone than he had hitherto assumed. "General debility, Sir, and occasional pain," said I, coldly. " What's it owing' to?" I looked suddenly at Mrs T : our eyes met — and hois had an expression of apprehension. I determined, however, t»> give a hint that I suspected all was not right, and replied— "I fear she does not lake suitable nourishment — keeps irregular hours — and has something or other on her mind which harasses her." The latter words 1 accompanied with a steady look into his face, lie Seemed ;i little Hushed. " You're mistaken, Sir," said he, with a brusque air; " she may eat what she likes — that 1 can afford, — may go i<> bed at what houi she likes,— ami it's all her own fault thai she will sit moping ovei THE WIFE. 197 the fire night after night, and week after week— waiting for my return— till two or three o'clock in the morning" " That is, of itself, sufficient to account for her illness," said I pointedly. He began to lose his temper, for he saw the shameful acknowledgment he had unwittingly made. " Pray, Mrs T ," he inquired, looking angrily at his wife, who sat pale and trembling by my side, — " Have you any thing on your mind — eh? If so — why — speak out — no sneaking! " "No! " she stammered ; " and I never said I had — I assure you. — Did I ever give you even the most distant hint of the kind, Doctor? " she continued, appealing to me. " By no means, Madam,— not in the slightest, on any occasion," I replied ; " it was only a conjecture — a suspicion of my own." I thought he looked as if he would have made some instant replv, for his eye glared furiously on me. He bit his lips, however, and con- tinued silent. His conscience " pricked him." I began to feel un- easy about the future quiet of Mrs T , lest any observations of mine should have excited her husband's suspicions that she had made disclosures to me of family matters. " What would you advise for her, Sir?" he asked coldly. "Removal, for a few weeks, to the sea-side — a liberal diet— and lively society." "Very well, Sir," said he, after a puzzled pause; " very good, Sir — very ; it shall be attended to. Perhaps you want to be alone — eh? — So I'll leave you!" and directing a peculiar look towards his wife, as if warning her against something or other, he left the room. She burst into tears directly he was gone. "My dear Madam, forgive me for saying that I suspect your husband"s behaviour towards you is somewhat harsh, and, perhaps, unkind ," said I, in as soothing a tone as I could command, and pressing her hand kindly into mine. "Oh, no, Doctor,— no!" she replied, adding abruptly, in an altered manner, indicating displeasure, "What makes you think so, Sir?" " Why, Madam, simply because I cannot shut my eyes or my ears to what passes even while I am here ; as for instance, onlv just now, Madam — just now." She sighed, and made me no reply. I told her I was in earn- est in recommending the course I had mentioned to her husband. "Oh, dear Doctor, no, no!— we could not afford it," said she, with a sigh. At that moment her husband returned, and resumed his former seat in sullen silence. I soon after took my departure. IHh WIFL. April 1 tli. —Docs not the following make one blush for one's species?— I give it nearly as I received it from the lips of Mrs T . Inestimable woman ! why are you fated to endure such pangs? About twelve o'clock at noon, hearing her husband come in, and thinking from his looks, of which she caught a casual and hasty glance through the window, that he was fatigued, and stood in need of some refreshment, she poured out a glass of port wine, almost the last in a solitary bottle which she had purchased, under my directions, for medicinal purposes, and, with a biscuit, brought it herself down stairs— though the effort so exhausted her feeble frame, that she was obliged to sit down for several moments on the last stair to recover her breath. At last, she ventured to knock at the door of the back-office where he was sitting, holding the little waiter with the glass of wine and the biscuit in her left hand. "Who's there?" inquired the gruff voice of T . "It's only f, my dear. May I come in, please?" replied the gentle voice of his wife. " What brings you here, eh?— What the d— 1 do you want with me now?" said he, surlily. "I've brought you something, my dear," she replied, and ven- tured to open the door. T was sitting before some papers or parchments, alone, and his countenance showed that he was in a worse humour than usual. On seeing her errand, he suddenly rose from his chair, exclaiming, in an angry tone,— "What the brings you here in this way, plaguing me while engaged at busi- ness, you !— Eh, woman?" and, oh, my God ! in a sudden (it of fury, he struck the waiter, wine, biscuit and all, out of her trembling hands to the floor, rudely pushed her out of the room, and slammed the door violently in her face. He did not re-open it, though he could not but have heard her fall upon the floor, the shock was so sudden and violent. There, stretched across the mat, at the bottom of the staircase, lay that suffering creature, unable to rise, till her stifled sobbings brought the servant girl to her assistance. "I can't help saying its most abominable usage of you, Ma'am : it is — and I don't care if master hears me say so neither," said the girl, herself < Tying; "for I'm sure he isn't worthy of the very shoes you wear — he isn't." She was endeavouring to lift her mistress, when lira ! suddenly burst into a loud, unnatural laugh, and went off into \iolent hysterics. Mi- 'I , hearing the noise el talking and laughing, sprung t<> the door, threw it open, and shout- THE WIFE. 199 <\l to iliem to be ''oil with their noise— disturbing business ! " but the piteous spectacle of his prostrate wife stopped bin ; and, almost petrified with horror, he knelt down for the purpose of assisting her all he could. * * * About an hour after this occurrence, I happened to call, and found her lying in bed, alone, her husband having left her on busi- ness. When the servant told me — and her mistress reluctantly corroborated what she said — the circumstances above related, I felt sucli indignation swelling my whole frame, that had he been within reach, I could not have resisted caning the scoundrel within an inch of his unworthy life! The recollection of this occurrence tortures me even now, and I can hardly believe that such brutality as T 's could have been shown by man ! Mrs T kept her room from that hour, and never left it, till she was carried out for burial ! But this is anticipating. April 8//1, 9//i, 10//*, 11//*.— I see clearly that poor Mrs T will never rise from her bed again. She has drained the bitter cup of grief to the dregs! She is one of the meekest sufferers I ever had for a patient. She says little to me, or to any one ; and shows a regard— a love for her unworthy husband, which, I think, can be called by no other name than absolute infatuation. I have ne- ver yet heard her breathe a hint to his disadvantage. He is not much with her ; and from what little I have seen, I feel convinced that his eyes are opening to a sense of the flagrant iniquity of his past conduct. And what are the effects produced bv his feelings of shame and remorse? He endeavours to forget all in the conti- nual stupor induced by liquor! April lilt*. — Mrs T delirious. Raved while I was there about her child — convulsions — said something about "cruel of Mr T to be drunk while his child lay dying;" and said many other things which shocked me unutterably, and convinced me that her primary disorder— was a broken heart. I am sure she must have endured a series of brutal usage from her husband. ioth . — The whole house upside down — in disorder and con- fusion from the top to the bottom — for there is an execution in it, and the officers and an appraiser are making an inventory of the furniture,— poor, poor Mrs T lying all the while on her death- bed! The servant told me afterwards, that her mistress, hearing strange steps and voices, called to know what was the cause; and, on receiving word of the real state of matters, lifted up her hands, burst into an agony of weeping, and prayed that the Almighty would be pleased to remove her from such a scene oi wretched- 2U:i 1HL NMbL. ness. T himself, I learnt, was sitting cowering over the kitchen-lire, crying like a child ! Brute! coward ! foul! Such was the state of things at the time of my arrival. I was inconceivably shocked, and hurried to Mrs T 's room, with un- usual haste and trepidation. I found her in tears — sobbing, and exclaiming, "Why won't they let us rest a little? why strip the house before I am gone? can thev not wait a little? where, where is Mr! ?" I could not for several minutes speak myself, for tears. At length I succeeded in allaying her excitement and agitation. At her request, I sent for the appraiser into her room. He came, and seemed a respectable and feeling man. "Are you bent upon stripping the house, Sir, while this lady is lying in her present dangerous state?" "Indeed, Sir, indeed, Sir," replied the man, with considerable emotion, — " I'm sorry for it— very ; but it is my duty — duty — or- dered"— he continued, confusedly ; "If I had my own way, Sir" "But at least you need not approach this chamber, Sir," said I, rather sternly. He stammered something like the words, " obliged — sorry — court of law," etc. Mrs T again burst into an agonv of tears. "Retire, Sir, for the present," said I, in an authoritative tone, and we will send for you soon. 1 then entered into conversation with my poor persecuted patient, and she told me of the 5000/. settled to her separate use, and which she intended, under a power in the deed of settlement, to will to her husband. I spontaneously promised to stand security for the satisfaction of the execution, provided the creditors would defer proceedings for three months. She blessed me for it !— This, however, I afterwards learned, would be illegal, at least so I was told ; and 1 therefore wrote a cheque on my banker for the amount awarded by the court, and thus put an end to disli ess from that quarter. At Mrs T s invent request, I returned to her bedside that evening. I found a table, with writ- ing materials placed before a chair, in which she begged me to be seated. Sin- then dictated to me her will — in which, after deduct- ing the sum I had advanced in satisfaction of the execution, and leaving me, in addition, sufficient to purchase a plain mourning tin;;, she bequeathed the whole, absolutely and unreservedly, to her husband; and added, my hand shaking while 1 wrote it down, '•hoping that he will use ii prudently, and uol entirely forget me when I am gone. And if he should — if he should "— her utterance was i hoked — **and if he should — marry again "—again she paused THE WIFE. 201 "Deai*, dear Madam! compose yourself! Take time! This dreadful agitation will accelerate the event we are all dreading! " said I. "JVo— don't fear. I beg you will go on '—If he should marry again, may he use her — use her — No, no, no! — strike all the last clause out! Give me the pen ! " I did as she directed me — struck out from the words, " and if he^should," etc., and put the pen into her hand. With trembling fingers she traced the letters of her name; I witnessed it, and she said, "Now, is all right?" — "Yes, Madam," 1 replied. She then burst into a flood of tears, exclaim- ing, " Oh George ! George ! this will show you that, however tired you may have grown of me, I have loved you to the end — I have — I have!" She burst into louder weeping. "Oh, it's hard, it's very hard to part with him, though he might— he might have used me— No ! " She paused. I suffered her excited feelings to grow calm ; and, after some time spent in endeavouring to soothe her, I took my departure, after witnessing one of the most heart-break- ing scenes I have ever encountered. Her husband could not be prevailed on to enter the room that day ; but all night long, I was told, he sat outside the door, on one of the steps of the stairs, and more than one startled her with his sighs. April 14th to Mag 6tli.— Sinking rapidly. I shall be astonished if she survive a week. She is comparatively in a happy frame of mind, and has availed herself of the consolations of religion to happy purpose. On this day (May 6th) I succeeded in extracting from her the facts which compose the former part of this narrative. Her gentle palliating way of telling it, divested the conduct of her husband of almost all blame-worthiness! She would not allow me make a harsh or condemnatory comment all the way through ! She censured herself us she went on ; accused herself of want of firm- ness ; said she was afraid Mr T had been disappointed in her disposition ; said that if he had done any thing wrong, it was owing to the bad companions who had enticed him from the path of duty into that of dissipation; that he had not exactly neglected her, or wilfully ill-used her ; but — but — 'twas all in vain — she could say nothing to extenuate his guilt, and I begged her not ! I left her, in tears myself. woman! woman! woman! "We had been brutes without you," and the mean and miserable T was a brute with you! MayStli.— Mrs T wasted to a shadow: all the horrors of consumption ! Her husband, though apparently broken-hearted, cannot, though probably no one will believe it — he cannot refrain 202 lllh WIFE. from frequenting the public-house! He pretends that his spirits are so luw, so oppressed, that he requires the aid of stimulating liquors ! Mrs T made me promise this morning that I would see her coffin closed; and a small locket, containing a portion oi- lier child's and husband's hair, placed next her heart. I nodded acquiescence, for my tongue refused me words. I felt choked. Id///. — I was summoned this evening to witness the exit from our world of one of the sweetest, loveliest spirits, that it was, and is, unworthy of! 1 was sent for, not under the apprehension that her end was at hand, but on account of some painful symptoms which had manifested themselves since my visit in the morning. It was about nine o'clock when I arrived, and found her in a flow of spirits, very unexpected, and rather unusual in her situation. Her eye was bright, and she could talk with a clearness and rapidity of utterance, to which she had long been a stranger. She told me that she had been awakened from sleep by hearing the sound of sweet singing, which, 1 need hardly say, was wholly imaginary. She was in a very happy frame of mind ; but evidently in a stale of dangerous excitement. Her sottish husband was silting opposite the lire, his face entirely hid in his hands ; and he maintained a stupid silence, undisturbed even by my entrance. Mrs T thanked me, in almost enthusiastic terms, for my attention to her throughout her illness, and regretted that I would not allow her to testify her sense of it, by leaving me a trifling legacy. 44 George— George!" she exclaimed, with sudden and starting energy— an impetuosity of tone which brought him in an instant, with an affrighted air, to the foot of the bed. •' George, I've a message from Heaven for you ! Listen— God will never bless you, unless you alter your courses!" The man shrunk and trembled under the burning, overpowering glance of her eye. " Come, dearest," said she, after a pause, in an altered tone, 44 come— Doctor will let you sit beside me lor a few moments ! " I removed, and made way for him. She clasped his hand in hers. " Well, George, we must part!" said she, closing her eyes, and breathing softly, but fast. Her husband sobbed like a child, with his face buried in his handkerchief.—' 4 Do you forgive me?" he murmured, half choked with emotion. "Yes, dear— dear— dearest husband ! — God knows 1 do from iiin heart! 1 forgive all ihe little you have ever grieved me about l" 44 Oli, Jane— Jane— .lane!" groaned the man, suddenly stooping Over the bed, and kissing her lips in an apparent ecstasy. He fell down on his knees, and cried bitterly. THE WIFE. 205 "Rise, George, rise," said his wife, faintly. He obeyed her, and she again clasped his hand in hers. "George, are you there— are you?" she inquired, in a voice fainter and fainter. "Here I am, love !— oh, look on me ! look on me ! " he subbed, gaz- ing steadily on her features. " Say once more that you forgive me I Let me hear your dear, blessed^voice once again— or — or" "I do ! Kiss me— kiss me," she murmured, almost inaudibly ; and her unworthy — her guilty — husband kissed away the last ex- piring breath of one of the loveliest and most injured women, whose hearts have been broken by a husband's brutality ! §3th. — This evening I looked in at the house where my late pa- tient lav dead, for the purpose of fulfilling my promise, and seeing her locket placed near her heart, and the coftin closed. I then went into the parlour, where sat the bereaved husband, in company with his clerk, who had. ever since his engagement, showed a deep regard and respect for Mrs T . After I had sat some moments in their company, — 'Tvesomethingonmymind,MrT ," said the young man, sud- denly, with emotion, " which I shall not he happy till I've told you." " What is it?" inquired his master, languidly. M Do you recollect how often you used to praise my draft-copy- ing, and wondered how I got through so much work?" "Why, yes, curse you, yes ! " replied his master, angrily ; " what have you brought that up for now, eh?" "To tell you, Sir, that I did not deserve your praises" "Well — well — no more," interrupted his master, impatiently. " But 1 must, and u >ill tell you, that it was all done by poor Mrs T , who learnt engrossing, and sat up whole nights together, writing, that you might not lose your business, till she was nearly blinded, poor, dear lady ! and she would not ever let me tell you ! But I shall take leave now to say," continued the young man. ris- ing, and bursting into tears, — " I shall make free to tell you, that vou have behaved shamefully — brutally to her, and have broken her poor heart — you have — and God w ill remember and curse you for it!" — And he left the room, and never again entered the house. the scene of his beloved mistress's martyrdom. Mr T listened to all this without uttering a word— his eyes dilated— and he presently burst into a fit of loud and lamentable weeping, which lasted long after I left the house ; and that evening he attempted to commit suiddc, like one before him, unable to en- dure the heavy Buntings of a guilty conscience. 204 gram: doings. This paper has excited some little attention, and in quarters where I devoutly hope it may be useful. Very many inquiries, also, have been made as to the veracity of its details. I would to Heaven that, for the honour of humanity, I could say the principal incidents narrated had no other basis than fiction ! I solemnly as- sure you, reader, that they are true; I tell you, farther, that, to the best of my belief, the wretched husband still lives! 3Iore about him I cannot — dare not say. There are, really, many drafts of pleadings, and leases, etc. now extant, in the handwriting of the amiable and unfortunate lady whose sorrows are recorded above, and which have now met with sympathy, I trust, from thousands. Another incident, which has been considered improbably atrocious and brutal — that of pushing down the poor wife, with her refresh- ments — is also true ; and the Editor farther assures you, reader, that, even were this portion of the narrative fictitious, lie saw in private life a brutal husband act similarly towards his wife, a beau- tiful woman, and affectionate wife ! Woe, however, to the man of quick and delicate feeling, that looks closely on even the commonest scenes of life ! How much must he see to shock and wound his heart — to disgust him with his species! But "the eyes of the swinisk see not, neither do their hearts feel." CHAPTER XVI. GRAVE J)OINGS. My gentle reader.— start not at learning that 1 have been, in mj time, a resurrectionist. Let not this appalling word, this hu- miliating confession, conjure up in your fancy a throng of vampire- like images and associations, or earn your "Physician's" dismissal from your hearts and hearths. Iris your own groundless fears, m\ lair trembler! — your own superstitious prejudices that have driven me, and will drive many others of my brethren, to such dreadful doings as those hereafter detailed. Come, come— let us have one word of reason between us on the abstract question— GRAVE DOINGS. 20o and then for my tale. You expect us to cure you of disease, and yet deny us the only means of learning how? You would have us bring you the ore of skill and experience, yet forbid us to break the soil, or sink a .shaft ! Is this fair, fair reader? Is this reasonable ? What I am now going to describe was my first and last exploit in the way of body-stealing. It was a grotesque, if not a ludicrous scene, and occurred during the period of my ''walking the hos- pitals," as it is called, which occupied the two seasons immediately after my leaving Cambridge. A young, and rather interesting- female, was admitted a patient at the hospital I attended ; her case baffled all our skill, and her symptoms even defied diagnosis. Now, it seemed an enlargement of the heart— now, an ossilication — then this, that, and the other ; and at last it was plain we knew nothing at all about the matter — no, not even whether her disorder was or- ganic or functional, primary or symptomatic — or whether it was really the heart that was at fault. She received no benefit at all under the fluctuating schemes of treatment we pursued, and at length fell into dying circumstances. As soon as her friends were apprized of her situation, and had an inkling of our intention to open the body, they insisted on removing her immediately from the hospital, that she might "die at home." In vain did Sir and his dressers expostulate vehemently with them, and represent in exaggerated terms the imminent peril attending such a step. Her two brothers avowed their apprehension of our designs, and were inflexible in exercising their right of removing their sister. I used all my rhetoric on the occasion ; but in vain, and at last said to the young men, " Well, if you are afraid only of our dissectincj her, we can get hold of her, if we are so disposed, as easily if she die with you, as with us." "Well— we'll troy that, Measter," replied the elder, while his Herculean fist oscillated somewhat significantly before my eyes. The pour girl was removed accordingly to her father's house, which was at a certain village, about five miles from London, and survived her arrival scarcely ten minutes ! We soon contrived to receive intelligence of the event; and as I and Sir 's two dressers had taken great interest in the case throughout, and felt intense curiosity about the real nature of the disease, we met together and entered into a solemn compact, that, come what might, we would have her body out of the ground. A trusty spy informed us of the time and exact place of the girl's burial; and on expressing to Sir our determination about the mailer, he patted me on the back, saying, "Ah, my fine fellow! — if you have spirit enough — dan- gerous," etc. etc. Was it not skilfully said ? The Baronet farther told us, he felt himself so curious about the matter, that if fifty pounds would be of use to us in furthering our purpose, they were at our service. It needed not this, nor a glance at the eclat with which the successful issue of the affair would be attended among our fellow students, to spur our resolves. The notable scheme was finally adjusted at my rooms in the Bo- rough. M and E , Sir 's dressers, and myself, with an experienced " grab," that is to say, a professional resurrectionist — were to set off from the Borough about nine o'clock the next evening — which would be the third day after the burial — in a glass coach, provided with all "appliances and means to boot." During the day, however, our friend, the grab, suffered so severely from an overnight's excess, as to disappoint us of his invaluable assis- tance. This unexpected contre-iemps nearly put an end to our pro- ject ; for the few other grabs we knew, were absent on professional lours! Luckily, however, T bethought me of a poor Irish porter — a sort of " ne'er-do-weel" hanger-on at the hospital, whom I had several times hired to go on errands. This man I sent for to my rooms, and in the presence of my two coadjutors, persuaded, threatened, and bothered into acquiescence, promising him half-a- guinea for his evening's work — and as much whisky as he could drink prudently. As Mr Tip— that was the name he went by-— had some personal acquaintance with the sick grab, he succeeded in borrowing his chief tools; with which, in a sack large enough to contain our expected prize, he repaired to my rooms about nine o'clock, while the coach was standing at the door. Our Jehu had received a quiet douceur in addition to the hire of himself and coach. As soon as we had exhibited sundry doses of Irish cordial to our friend Tip, under the effects of which he became quite "bouncible," and ranted about the feat he was to take a prominent part in — and equipped ourselves in our worst clothes, and while topcoats, we entered ihe vehicle — four in number — and drove off. The weather had been exceedingly capricious all the evening — moonlight, rain, thunder and lightning, fitfully alternating] 'Ihe only thing we were anxious about, was the darkness, to shield us from all possible observation. I must own, thai in analyzing the feelings thai prompt- ed me i<» undertake and go through with this affair, the more love of adventure operated quite as powerfully as the wish to benefit the cause of anatomical science. A midnight expedition to the tombs ! — It took our lam \ amazingly; and then — Sir "s cunning hint about the "danger"— anil our "spirit !" GRAVE DOINGS. 207 The garrulous Tip supplied us with amusement all the way down —rattle, rattle, rattle, incessantly; but as soon as we had arrived at that part of the road where we were to stop, and Ought sight of church, with its hoary steeple grey— glistening in the fading moonlight, as though it weie standing sentinel over the graves around it. one of which we were going so rudely to violate, Tip's spirits began to falter a little. He said little— and that at intervals. To be very candid with the reader, none of us felt over much at our ease. Our expedition began to wear a somewhat hairbrained aspect, and to be environed with formidable contingencies which we had not taken sufficiently into our calculations. What, fur in- stance, if the two stout fellows, the brothers, should be out watch- ing their sister's grave? They were not likely to stand on much ceremony with us. And then the manual difficulties] E was the only one of us that had ever assisted at the exhumation of a body— and the rest of us were likely to prove but bungling work- men. However, we had gone too far to think of retreating. ^Ye none of us spoke our suspicion.^, but the silence that reigned within the coach was tolerably signiiicant. In contemplation, however, of some such euntingenq , we had put a buttle of brandy in the coach pocket; and beiuie we drew up. had ail four of us drunk pretty deeply ^ it. At length, the cuach turned down a by-lane 10 the left, which led directly tu the churchyard wall ; and after moving a few steps down it, in order tu shelter our vehicle from the ubser- vatiun of highway passenger.-, the coach stopped, and the driver opened the door. " Come, Tip," said I, wt out with you." " Get out, did you say, Sir ? To be sure I will— Och ! to be sure 1 will." But there was small show of alacrity in his movements as he descended the steps; for while I was speaking, i was interrupted by the sulemn clangour of the church cluck announcing the hour of midnight. The sounds seemed to warn us against what we were going to do. " Tis a cowld night, yer Honours," said Tip, in an under tone, as we successively alighted, and stood together, looking up and duwnthe dark lane, to see if any thing was stirring but ourselves. •• Tis a cowld night— and— and— and"— lie stammered. '•Why, you cowardly old scoundrel," grumbled M , "are yon frightened already? What's the matter, eh? Hoist up the in y.jur shuulders directly, and lead tlie way down the lane." "Och, but yer Honours— och! by the mother that bore me, but lis a murlherous cruel thing. I'm thinking. t<» wake the poor cratur 20$ umavu uuinw. from her last sleep." He said this so querulously, that I began to entertain serious apprehensions, alter all, of his defection; so I in- sisted on his taking a little more brandy, by way of bringing him up to par. It was of no use, however. His reluctance increased every moment — and it even dispirited us. I verily believe the turn- ing of a straw would have decided us all on jumping into the coach again, and returning home without accomplishing our errand. Too many of the students, however, were apprized of our expedition, for us to think of terminating it so ridiculously. As it were by mu- tual consent, we stood and paused a few moments, about half way down the lane. M whistled with infinite spirit and distinct- ness ; E remarked to me that he " always thought a churchyard at midnight was the gloomiest object imaginable;" and I -talked about busin ess— "soon be over"—" shallow grave," etc., etc. " Confound it — what if those two brothers of hers should be there?" said M abruptly, making a dead slop, and folding his arms on his breast. " Powerful fellows, both of them!" muttered E . We re- sumed our march— when Tip, our advanced guard— a title he earned by anticipating our steps about three inches— suddenly stood still, let down the bag from his shoulders — elevated both hands in a listening attitude— and exclaimed " Whisht !— whisht ! —By my soul, what was that ? " We all parsed in silence, looking palely at one another— but could hear nothing except the drowsy flatter of a bat wheeling away from us a little over-head. " Fait — an' wasn't it somebody spoking on the far side o' the hedge, I heard ;" whispered Tip. "Pho— stuff, you idiot!" I exclaimed, losing my temper. "Come, M and E , it's high lime we had done with all this cowardly nonsense ; and if we mean really to do any thing, we must make haste. Tis past twelve— day breaks about four— and it is coming on wet, you see." Several large drops of rain, pattering heavily among the leaves and branches, corroborated my words, by announcing a coming shower, and the air was sultry enough to warrant the expectation of a thunder-storm. We therefore but- toned up our great coals to the chin, and hurried on to the church- yard wall, which ran across the bottom of the lane. This wall we had to climb over toget into the churchyard, and it was not a very high one. Here Tip annoyed us again. I told him to lay down his bag, mount the wall, and look over into the yard, to see whether all was dear before us; and, as far as the light would enable him, to look about for a new-made grave. Very reluctantly he com- GRAVE DOINGS. 209 plied, and contrived to scramble to the top of the wall. He had hardly time, however, to peer over into the churchyard, when a fluttering streak of lightning flashed over us, followed in a second or two by a loud burst of thunder! Tip fell in an instant to the ground, like a cockchaffer shaken from an elm-tree, and lay crossing himself, and muttering Pater-nosters. We could scarcely help laughing at the manner in which he tumbled down, simultaneously with the flash of lightning. "Now, look ye, Gintlemen," said he, still squatting on the ground, "do you mane to give the poor cratur Christian burial, when ye've done wid her? An will ye put her back again as ye found her? 'Case, if you won't, blood an' oons" "Hark ye, now, Tip," said I, sternly, taking out one of a brace of empty pistols I had put into my great-coat pocket, and present- ing it to his head, " we have hired you on this business, for the want of a better, you wretched fellow ! and if you give us any more of this nonsense, by I'll send a bullet through your brain ! Do you hear me, Tip? " "Och, aisy, aisy wid ye! don't murther me ! Bad luck to me, that I ever cam wid ye ! Och, and if ivir I live to die, won't I see and bury my ould body out o' the rache of all the docthers in the world? If I don't, divil burn me! " We all laughed aloud at Tip's truly Hibernian expostulation. " Come, Sir, mount! over with you ! " said we, helping to push him upwards. "Now, drop this bag on the other side," we con- tinued, giving him the sack that contained our implements. We all three of us then followed, and alighted safely in the church- yard. It poured with rain ; and, to enhance the dreariness and horrors of the time and place, flashes of lightning followed in quick succession, shedding a transient awful glare over the scene, reveal- ing the white tombstones, the ivy-grown venerable church, and our own figures, a shivering group, come on an unhallowed errand ! I perfectly well recollect the lively feelings of apprehension — " the compunctious visitings of remorse" — which the circumstances called forth in my own breast, and which I had no doubt were shared by my companions. As no time, however, was to be lost, I left the group for an in- stant under the wall, to search out the grave. The accurate in- structions I had received enabled me to pitch on the spot with little difficulty; and I returned to my companions, who immediatelv fol- lowed me to the scene of operations. We had no umbrellas, and our great coats were saturated with wet ; but the brandy we had M ■Q ^xir^v, * |h W * »t -21-2 GRAVE DOINGS. 1 could have laughed oven then, to see his staring black eyes — his little cocked ruby-tinted nose — his chattering teeth. "Hush — hush ! " said I, cocking my pistol, while M did the same; for none but myself knew that they were unloaded. To add to our consternation, tin- malignant moon withdrew the small scantling of light she had been doling out to us, and sank beneath a vast cloud, "black as Erebus," but not before we had caught a glimpse of two more figures moving towards us in an opposite direction. " Surrounded ! " two of us muttered in the same breath. We all rose to our feet, and stood together, not knowing what to do — unable in the darkness to see one another distinctly. Presently we heard a voice say, in a subdued tone, "Where are they? where ? Sure I saw them ! Oh, there they are ! Halloa— halloa ! " That was enough— the signal for our flight. Without an in- stant's pause, or uttering another syllable, off we sprung like small-shot from a gun's mouth, all of us in different directions, we knew not whither. I heard the report of a gun — mercy on me! and pelted away, scarcely knowing what I was about, dodging among the graves, — now coming full-butt against a plaguy tomb- stone, then stumbling on the slippery grass— while some one fol- lowed close at my heels panting and puffing, but whether friend or foe, I knew not. At length I stumbled against a large tombstone ; and finding it open at the two ends, crept under it, resolved there to abide the issue. At the moment of my ensconcing myself, the sound of the person's footsteps who had followed me suddenly ceased. I heard a splashing sound, then a kicking and scrambling, a faint stifled cry of, "Ugh— oh— ugh ! " and all was still. Doubt- less is must be one of my companions, who had been wounded. What could I do, however? I did not know in what direction he lav— the night was pitch-dark — and if I crept from my hiding- place, for all I knew, 1 might be shot myself. I shall never forget that hour — no, never! There was I, squatting like a toad on the wet grass and weeds, not daring to do more than breathe! Here was a predicament] I could 1 not conjecture how the affair would terminate. Was [to lie Where I was till daylight, that then 1 might step fcta tlif arms of my captors? What was become of my com- panions? — While turning these thoughts in my mind, and wonder- ing that all was s<» quiet, my ear caught the sound of the splashing of water, apparently at bin a yard or twos distance, mingled with the sounds of a half-smothered human ?oia — "Ugh! ugh! Och, murther! Bfurther! murther! "— another splash,— "and isn't it dead and drowned and kilt I am ! " GRAVE DOINGS. -213 Whew ! Tip in trouble, thought I, nut daring to speak. Yes- it was pour Tip, I afterwards found — who had followed at mv heels, scampering after me as fast as fright could drive him. till his career was unexpectedly ended by his tumbling— souse— head over heels, into a newly opened grave in his path, with mure than a foot uf water in it. There the poor fellow remained, after recovering from the first shock of his fall, not daring to utter a word for some time, lest he should be discovered— straddling over the water with his toes and elbows stuck into the loose soil un each side, to support him. This was his interesting position, as he subsequently informed me, at the time uf uttering the sounds which fust attracted my atten- tion. Though not aware of his situation at the time, I was almost choked with laughter as he went un with his soliloquy, somewhat in this strain : — "Och, Tip, ye ould divel ! Don't it sarve ye right, ye fool? Ye villanous ould coffin robber ! Won't ye bum for this here- after, ye sinner? Ulaloo ! When ye are didd yourself, may ye be trated like that poor cratur — and yourself alive to see it ! Och, hubbaboo! hubbaboo! Isn't it sure that I'll be drowned, an' then it's kilt Til be! " — a loud splash and a pause for a few moments, as if he were readjusting his footing— " Och ! an' I'm catching my dith of cowld ! Fait, an' it's a divel a drop o' the two bottles o' whisky I'll iver see— Och, och, och! "—another splash— " Och, an' isn't this uncomfortable! Mnrther and oons! — if iver 1 come out of this— shan't I be dead before I t\u ? " " Tip— Tip — Tip!" I whispered, in a low tone. There was a dead silence. "Tip, Tip, where are you? What's the matter, eh?" — No answer: but he muttered in a low tone to himself — " Where am 1! by my suul! Isn't it dead, and kilt, and drowned, and murthered I am — that's all ! "Tip— Tip— Tip ! " I repeated, a little louder. "Tip, indeed! Fait, ye may call, bad luck to ye — whoever ye are — but it's divel a word I'll be after speaking to ye." "Tip, you simpleton ! It's I — Mr ." In an instant there was a sound of jumping and splashing, as it surprise had made him slip from his standing again, and he called uut, "Whoo! whuu! an' is't yuu, sweet Mr ! What is the matter wid ye? Are ye kilt? Where are they all? Have they taken ye away, every mother's son of yuu?" he asked eagerly, in a breath. "Why, what are yon doing, Tip? Where are you ? " li Fait, an' it's being washed I am, in the feet, and in the queerest tub your honour ever saw ! " — A noise of scuffling, not many yards off, silenced us both in an instant. Presently I distinguished the voice of E , calling out— " Help, 31 !" (my name)— "Where are you?" The noise increased, and seemed nearer than before. I crept from my lurking place, and aided at Tip's resurrection, when both of us hurried towards the spot whence the sound came. By the faint moonlight, I could just see the out- lines of two figures violently struggling and grappling together. Before I could come up to them, both fell down locked in each other's aims, rolling over each other, grasping one another's col- lars, gasping and panting as if in mortal struggle. The moon sud- denly emerged, and who do you think, reader, was E s antagonist? Why, the person whose appearance had so discom- fited and affrighted us all — our coachman. That worthy indivi- dual, alarmed at our protracted stay, had, contrary to our injunc- tions, left his coach to come and search after us. He it was whom we had seen stealing towards us ; his steps — his voice had alarmed us, for he could not see us distinctly enough to discover whether we were his fare or not. He was on the point of whispering my name it seems, when we must all have understood one another — when, lo, we all started off in the manner which has been described ; and he himself, not knowing that he was the reason of it, had taken to his heels, and fled for his life ! He supposed we had fallen into a sort of ambuscade. He happened to hide himself behind the tombstone next but one to that which sheltered E . Finding all quiet, he and E , as if by mutual consent, were groping from their hiding places, when they unexpectedly fell foul of one another — each too affrighted to speak — and hence the scuffle. After this satisfactory denouement, we all repaired to the grave's mouth, and found the corpse and coffin precisely as we had left them. We were not many moments in taking out the bod\ , strip- ping it, and thrusting it into the sack we had brought. We then tied the top of the sack, carefully deposited the shroud, etc. in the coffin, re-screwed down the lid — fearful — impious mockery!— and consigned it once more to its resting place — Tip scattering a hand- ful of earth on the lid, and exclaiming reverently, — "An' may the I. old forgive us for what we have done to ye ! " The coachman and j then took the body between us to the coach, leaving M , and E , and Tip, to till up the grave. Our troubles were noi yet ended, however. Truly it seemed as though Providence were throwing every obstacle in OUT way. Ko- iliiu;; went right ! On reaching the spot where m< 1 had left lh< IHb SFLL. liifc-sjii I I t,\ coach, behold it lay several yards farther in the lane, tilted into the ditch— for the horses, being hungry, and left to themselves, in their anxiety to graze on the verdant bank of the hedge, had contrived to overturn the vehicle in the ditch — and one of the horses was kicking vigorously when we came up — his whole body off the ground, and resting on that of his companion. We had considerable diffi- culty in righting the coach, as the horses were inclined to be ob- streperous. We succeeded, however — deposited our unholy spoil within, turned the horses' heads towards the high-road, and then, after enjoining Jehu to keep his place on the box, I went to see how my companions were getting on. They had nearly completed their task, and told me that "shovelling in, was surprisingly easier than shovelling out ! " We took great pains to leave every thing as neat, and as nearly resembling what we found it, as possible, in order that our visit might not be suspected. We then carried away each our own tools, and hurried as fast as possible to our coach, for the dim twilight had already stolen a march upon us, devoutly thankful that, after so many interruptions, we had succeeded in effecting our object. It was broad daylight before we reached town— and a wretched coach company we looked— all wearied and dirty— Tip, especially, who nevertheless snored in the corner as comfortably as if he had been warm in his bed. I heartily resolved, with him, on ieaving the coach, that it should be "the divel's own dear self only that should timpt me out agin body-snatching !'" CHAPTER XVII. THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN. Few topics of medical literature have occasioned more wide and contradictory speculation than that of insanity, with reference, as * On examining the body, we found that Sir 's suspicions were fully verified. It was disease of the heart— but of too complicated a nature to be made intelligible to general readers. I never heard that the girl's friends discovered our doings; and, for all they know, she is now mouldering away in churchyard ; whereas, in point of fact, her bleached skeleton adorns 's surgery; and a preparation of her heart enriches 's museum ! well to its predisposing and immediate causes, as its best method of treatment. Since experience is the only substratum of real knowledge, the easiest and surest way of arriving at those general principles which may regulate both our pathological and therapeu- tical researches, especially concerning the subtle, almost inscrutable disorder, mania, — is, when one docs meet with some striking, well marked case, to watch it closely throughout, and be particularly anxious to seize on all those smaller features — those more transient indications, which are truer characteristics of the complaint than perhaps any other. With this object did I pay close attention to the very singular and affecting case detailed in the following narra- tive. 1 have not given the whole of my observations— far from it ; those only are recorded which seemed to me to have some claims to the consideration of both medical and general readers. — The apparent eccentricity of the title will be found accounted for in the course of the narrative. Mr M , as one of a very large party, had been enjoying the splendid hospitality of Lady , and did not leave till a late — or rather, early — hour in the morning. Pretty women, music, and champagne, had almost turned his head ; and it was rather for- tunate for him that a hackney-coach stand was within a stone's throw of the house he was leaving. Muffling his cloak closely around him, he contrived to move towards it in a tolerably direct line, and a few moments' time beheld him driving at the usual snail's pace of those rickety vehicles, to Lincoln's Inn ; for Mr 31 was a law student. In spite of the transient exhilaration produced by the scenes he had just quilted, and the excitement consequent on the prominent share he took in an animated, though accidental, dis- cussion, in the presence of about thirty of the most elegant women that could well be brought together, he found himself becoming the subject of a most unaccountable depression of spirits. Even while at Lady 's, he had latterly perceived himself talking often for mere talking sake— the chain of his thoughts perpetually broken — and an impatience and irritability of manner towards those whom he addressed, which he readily resolved, however, into the reaction following high excitement. 31 , I ought before, per- haps, to have mentioned, was a man of great talent, chiefly, how- ever, imaginative; and had that evening been particularly brilliant on his favourite topic — diablerie and mysticism; towards which he generally contrived to incline every conversation in which lie bore a part, lie had been dilating in particular on the power possessed b\ Mr Maturin of exciting the most fearful and horrific ideas in the THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN. . 217 minds of his readers, instancing a particular passage of one of his romances — the title of which I have forgotten — where the fiend suddenly presents himself to his appalled victim, amidst the silence and gloom of his prison cell. Long before he had reached home, the fumes of wine had evaporated, and the influence of excitement subsided; and, with reference to intoxication, he was as sober and calm as ever he was in his life. Why he knew not, but his heart seemed to grow heavier and heavier, and his thoughts gloomier, every step by which he neared Lincoln's Inn. It struck three o'clock as he entered the sombrous portals of the ancient inn of court. The perfect silence — the moonlight shining sadly on the dusky buildings— the cold quivering stars — all these together com- bined to enhance his nervousness. He described it to me as though things seemed to wear a strange, spectral, supernatural aspect. Not a watchman of the inn was heard crying the hour— not a porter moving— no living being but himself visible in the large square be was crossing. As he neared his staircase, he perceived his heart fluttering; in short, he felt under some strange, unaccountable in- fluence, which, had he reflected a little, he would have discovered to arise merely from an excitable nervous temperament, operating on an imagination peculiarly attuned to sympathies with terror. His chambers lay on the third floor of the staircase ; and on reach- ing it, he found his door-lamp glimmering with its last expiring ray. He opened his door, and after groping some time in the dark of his sitting-room, found his chamber candlestick. In attempting to light his candle, he put out the lamp. He went down stairs, but found that the lamp of every landing had shared the fate of his own ; so he returned, rather irritated, thinking to amerce the por- ter of his customary Christmas-box for his niggard supply of oil. After some lime spent in the search, he discovered his linder-bux, and proceeded to strike a light. This was nut the work of a mo- ment. And where is the bachelor to whom it is? The potent spark, however, dropped at last into the very centre of the soft tin- der, M blew — it caught — spread — the match quickly kindled, and he lighted his candle. He took it in his hand, and was making for bed, when his eyes caught a glimpse of an object which brought him senseless to the floor. The furniture of his room was disposed as when he had left it ; for his laundress had neglected to come and put things in order: the table, with a few books on it, was drawn towards the fire-place, and by its side Stood the ample- cushioned easy-chair. The first object visible, with sudden dis- tinctness, was a figure sitting in the arm-chair. It was that of a gentleman dressed in dark-coloured clothes, his hands, white as alabaster, closed together over his lap, and the lace looking away ; Itnt it turned slowly towards 31 , revealing to him a counte- nance of a ghastly hue— the features glowing like steel heated to a white heal, and the two eyes turned full towards him, and blazing — absolutely blazing, he described it — with a most horrible lustre. The appalling spectre, while 31 \s eyes were rivetted upon it, though glazing fast with flight, slowly rose from its seat, stretched out both its arms, and seemed approaching him, when he fell down senseless on the floor, as if smitten with apoplexy. He recollected nothing more, till he found himself, about the middle of the next day, in bed, his laundress, myself, an apothecary, and several others, standing round him. His situation was not discovered till more than an hour after he had fallen, as nearly as could be sub- sequently ascertained, nor would it then, but for a truly fortunate accident. He had neglected to close either of his outer-doors, (I believe it is usual for chambers in the inns of court to have double outer-doors,) and an old woman, who happened to be leaving the adjoining set, about five o'clock, on seeing Mr M 's doors both open ai such an untimely hour, was induced, by feelings of cariosity and alarm, to return to the rooms she had left for a light, with which she entered his chambers, after having repeatedly called his name without receiving any answer. What will it be supposed had been her occupation at such an early hour in the adjoining chambers? — Laying out the corpse of their occupant, a Mr T , who had expired about eight o'clock the preceding evening ! Mr 31 had known him, though not very intimately : and there were some painful circumstances attending his death, which, even though on no other grounds than mere sympathy, 31 had laid much to heart. In addition to this, he had been observed by his friends as being latterly the subject of very high excite- owing to the successful prosecution of an affair of great bi- ll and importance*. We all accounted for his present situa- tion, by referring it to some apoplectic seizure; for we were of course ignorant of the real occasion, fright* which I did rtol learn till long afterwards. The laundress told me, that she found Mr 31 , to her greal terror, stretched motionless, along the floor, in his cloak and lull dress, and with a candlestick lying beside him. Sheaf first supposed bim intoxicated ; but on finding all her efforts to rouse him unsuccessful, and seeing his fixed features and rigid frame, she hastily summoned to her assistance a feUow-lauBdress, ■ \n extensive literal*] undertaking. THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN. 214 whom she had left in charge of the corpse next door, undressed him, and laid him on the bed. A neighbouring medical man was then called in, who pronounced it lo be a case of epilepsy ; and he was sufficiently warranted by the appearance of a little froth about the lips, prolonged stupor, resembling sleep, and frequent convul- sions of the most violent kind. The remedies resorted to produced no alleviation of the symptoms; and matters continued lo wear such a threatening and alarming aspect, that 1 was summoned in by his brother, and was at his bedside by two o'clock. Mis countenance was dark and highly intellectual : its lineaments were, naturally, full of power and energy; but now, overclouded with an expres- sion of trouble and horror. He was seized with a dreadful lit soon after I had entered the room. Oh! it is a piteous and shocking spectacle to see the human frame subjected lo such demoniacal twitchings and contortions, which are so sudden — so irresistible, as to suggest the idea of some vague terrible, exciting cause, which cannot be discovered : as though the sufferer lay passive in the grasp of some messenger of darkness " sent to buffet him." ' M was a very powerful man ; and, during the fits, it was next to impossible for all present, united, to control his movements. The foam at his mouth suggested to his terrified brother the har- rowing suspicion that the ease was one of hydrophobia. ?sone of my remonstrances or assurances to the contrary sufficed to quiet him, and his distress added to the confusion of the scene. After prescribing to the best of my ability, 1 left, considering the case to be one of simple epilepsy. During the rest of the day and night. * The popular etymology of the word epilepsy, sanctioned by several reputable class-books of the profession, which are now lying before me.— i. '. hctXEl$ts, is erroneous, and more— nonsensical. For the information of genera! readers, I may state, that its true derivation is from XxpfieoK*, through its Ionic obsolete form ) /3w : whence £*i)lH4>c«, — a seizing, a holding fast. Therefore we speak of an attack of epilepsy. This etymology is highly descriptive of the disease in question ; for the sudden prostration, rigidity, contortions, etc. of the patient, strongly suggest the idea that he has been taken or seized taJtif&us) by, as it were, some exter- nal invisible agent. It is worthy of notice by the way, that iiu(,i-:/.zi is used by ecclesiastical writers to denote a person possessed by a demon.— Mr.uu : £S signifies simply, " failure, deficiency." I shall conclude this note with a practical illustration of the necessity which calls it forth,— the correction of a prevalent error. A flip- pant student, who, I was given to understand, plumed himself much among his companions on his Greek, was suddenly asked by one of his examiners for a defini- tion of epilepsy, grounded on its etymology. I forget the definition, which was jiiven with infinite self-sufficiency of tone and manner ; but the fine touch of scholar- ship with which it was finished off, I well recollect :— -" From beD zc\ %— - —I fail, am wanting:) therefore, Sir,'epilepsy is a failure of animal fun/tinns! "- the same sage definition is regularly given by a well-known metropolitan lecturer ! 1 1111, orLL,lHE,-OiUIl 1L^ the fits abated both in violence and frequency ; but he was left in a slate of ihe utmost exhaustion, from which, however, he seemed to be rapidly recovering during the space of the four succeeding davs ; when 1 was suddenly summoned to his bedside, which I had left only two hours before, with the intelligence that he had disclosed symptoms of more alarming illness than ever. I hurried to his chambers, and found that the danger had not been magnified. One of his friends met me on the staircase, and told me that about half an hour before, while he and Mr C M , the patient's brother, were sitting beside him, he suddenly turned to the latter, and inquired, in a lone full of apprehension and terror,— "Is Mr T dead?" "Oh, dear! yes— he died several days ago," was the reply. "Then it was he,"— he gasped— " it was he whom I saw, and he is surely— damned!— Yes, merciful Maker!— he is!— he is,"— Ik; continued, elevating his voice to a perfect roar, — "and the flames have reduced his face to ashes !— Horror ! horror ! horror ! " — He then shut his eyes, and relapsed into silence for about ten minutes, when he exclaimed,— " Hark you, there— secure me ! lie me ! make me fast, or 1 shall burst upon you and destroy you all — for I am going mad— I feel it!" He ceased, and commenced breathing fast and heavily, his chest heaving as if under the pressure of enormous weight, and his swelling, quivering features evidenc- ing the dreadful uproar within. Presently he began to grind his teeth, and his expanding eyes glared about in all directions, as though following the motions of some (rightful object, and he mut- tered fiercely through his closed teeth, — "Oh ! save me from him — save me — save me ! " It was a fearful thing to see him lying in such a slate, — grinding his teeth as if he would crush them to powder — his livid lips crested with foam — his features swollen — writhing — blackening ; and, which gave his face a peculiarly horrible and fiendish expression, his eyes distorted, or inverted upwards, so that nothing but the glaring whites of them could be seen — his whole frame rigid — and his hands clinched, as though they would never open again ! It is a dread! ill tax on one's nerves to have to encounter such objects, fa- miliar though medical men are with such and similar spectacles; and in the present instance, everyone round the bedside of the un- foi Lunate patient stood trembling with pale and momentarily avert- ed luces. The ghastly, lixed, upturning of the eyes in epileptic patients, iills me with horror whenever 1 recall their image to my mind ! THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN. 1*2 I The return of these epileptic (its, in such violence, and after such an interval, alarmed me with apprehensions, lest, as is not unfre- quently the case, apoplexy should supervene, or even ultimate insa- nity. It was rather singular that M was never known to have had an epileptic fit previous to the present seizure, and he was then in his twenty-fifth year. I was conjecturing what sudden fright or blow, or accident of any kind, or congestion of the vessels of the brain from frequent inebriation, could have brought on the present fit, when my patient, whose features had gradually sunk again into their natural disposition, gave a sigh of exhaustion — the perspira- tion burst forth, and he murmured — some time before we could distinctly catch the words, — " Oh — spectre-smitten ! — spectre-smit- ten ! " — which expression I have adopted as the title of this paper — "I shall never recover again!" — Though sufficiently surprised, and perplexed about the import of the words, we took no notice of them ; but endeavoured to divert his thoughts from the fantasy, if such there were, which seemed to possess them, by inquiring into the nature of his symptoms. He disregarded us, however ; feebly grasped my hand in his clammy fingers, and looking at me languidly, muttered — "What — Oh, what brought the fiend into my cham- bers?" — And I felt his whole frame pervaded by a cold shiver — "Poor T ! Horrid fate!"— On hearing him mention T "s name, we all looked simultaneously at one another, but without speaking ; for a suspicion crossed our minds, that his highly wrought feelings, acting on a strong imagination, always tainted with super- stitious terrors, had conjured up some hideous object, which had scared him nearly to madness — probably some fancied apparition of his deceased neighbour. He began again to utter long deep- drawn groans, that gradually gave place to the heavy stertorous breathing, which, with other symptoms— his pulse, for instance, beating about 115 a-minute — confirmed me in the opinion that he ■was suffering from a very severe congestion of the vessels of the brain. I directed copious venesection * — his head to be shaven, and covered perpetually with clothes soaked in evaporating lotions — blisters behind his ears, and at the nape of the neck — and appro- priate internal medicines. I then left him, apprehending the worst consequences : for I had once before a similar case under my care — one in which a young lady was, which I strongly suspected to be the case with M , absolutely frightened to death, and went through nearly the same round of symptoms as those which were * For using this word, and one above, (; stertorous," a weekly work accuses the writer of pedamry ! beginning to make their appearance in nay present patient, — a sud- den epileptic seizure, terminating in outrageous madness, which des- troved both the physical and intellectual energies ; and the young lady expired. I may possibly hereafter prepare for publication some of my notes of her case, which had some very remarkable features*. The next morning, about eleven, saw me again at Mr M s chambers, where I found three or four members of his family — two of diem his married sisters— seated round his sitting-room fire, in melancholy silence. Mr , the apothecary, had just left, but was expected to return every moment, to meet me in con- sultation. My patient lay alone in his bedroom, asleep, and appa- renllv better than he had been since his first seizure. He had ex- * Through want of time and room, I am compelled to condense my memoranda of the case alluded to into a note. The circumstances occurred in the year tSlo. The flon. Miss was a young woman about eighteen or twenty years of age; and being of a highly fanciful turn, betook herself to congenial literature, in the shape of novels and romances, especially those which dealt with "unearthlies." They pushed out of her head all ideas of real life; for morning, noon, and night, beheld her bent over the pages of 'some absorbing tale or other, to the exclusion of all other kinds of reading. The natural consequence of all this was, that she be- came one of the most fanciful and timorous creatures breathing. She had worked herself up to such a morbid pitch of sensitiveness and apprehension, that she dared hardly be alone even during the day ; and as for night-time, she had a couple of candles always burning in her bedroom, and her maid sleeping with her on a side-bed. One night, about twelve o'clock, Miss and her maid retired to bed, the Former absorbed and lost in the scenes of a petrifying romance she had finished reading only an hour before. Her maid had occasion to go down stain again for the purpose of fetching up some curling papers; and she had scarcely reached the lower landing on her return, before she heard a faint scream proceed from her young mistress's chamber. On hurrying back, the servant beheld Miss stretched senseless on the floor, with both hands pressed upon her eyes. She instantly roused the whole family; but their efforts were unavailing. Miss was in a (it of epilepsy, and medical assistance was called in. t was <»ne of the first thai was summoned. For two da\s she lay in a stale closely resembling that oi Mr ]\1 in the text; but in about a week's time she recovered consciousness, and was abty to converse calmly and connected!) . She told me that she had been frKjIih tied into the fit : that a lew moments after the maid had left her, on the nigh: alluded to, sin mi. down before her dressing glass, which had two candles in branches from each side of it. She washanlh seated before a "strange sensation seised her,"- to use her own words. She hit cold and nervous. The bedroom was both spacious am! gloomy ; and she did nol relish the idea <>l being lelt alone in it. She rose and went towards Ihe bed for her nightcap : and. on pushing aside iheheaw danr.sk curtains, she heard a rustling noise oil the Opposite side of the hed. sj ii sDine one had haslih )ea[xxi oil. She trembled, and her heart beat hard. She resumed her seat, however, with returning self-possession, on hearing the THE SPECTRK-SM1TTK.V. -2-2^ perienced only one slight fit during the night ; and though he had l3een a little delirious in the earlier part of the evening, he had been, on the whole, su calm and quiet, that his friends' apprehen- sions of insanity were beginning to subside; so he was left, as I said, alone; for the nurse, just before my arrival, had left her seat by his bedside for a few moments, thinking him " in a comfortable and easy nap," and was engaged, in a low whisper, conversing with the members of M 's family, who were in the sitting-room. Hearing such a report of my patient, I sat down quietly among his relatives, determining not to disturb him, at least till the arrival of the apothecary. Thus were we engaged, questioning the nurse in an under lone, when a loud laugh from the bedroom suddenly si- lenced our whisperings, and turned us all pale. We stalled to our feet with blank amazement in each countenance, scarcely crediting approaching footsteps of her maid. On suddenly directing her eyes towards the glass, they met the dim outline of a figure standing close hehind her, with frightful features, and a pendant plume, of a faint fiery hue! The rest hasheen told. Her mind, however, long weakened, and her physical energies disordered, had received too severe a shock to recover from it quickly. A day or two after Miss — — had told me the ahove, she suffered a sudden and most unexpected relapse. Oh, that merciless, and fiendish epilepsy !— how it tossed al:out those tender limhs ! — how it distorted and convulsed those fair and handsome features! To see the mild eye of beauty subjected to the horrible up-turned glare described above, and the slender fingers black and clenched— the froth bubbling on the lips— the grind- ing of the teeth ! —would it not shock and wring the heart of the beholder ? It did mine, accustomed as I am to such spectacles. Insanity, at length, made its appearance, and locked its hapless victim in its em- braces for nearly a year. She was removed to a private asylum ; and for six weeks was chained by a staple to the wall of her bedroom, in addition to enduring a strait waistcoat. On one occasion, I saw her in one of her most frantic moods. She cursed and swore in the most diabolic manner, and yelled, and laughed, and chat- tered her teeth, and spit ! The beautiful hah' had been shaved off, and was then scarce half an inch long, so that she hardly looked like a female about the head. The eyes, too, were surrounded by dark areola, and her mouth disfigured by her swollen tongue and lips, which she had severely bitten. She motioned me to draw near her, when she had become a little more tranquil, and I thoughtlessly acceded. When I was within a foot of her, she made a sudden and desperate plunge towards me, motioning with her lips as though she would have lorn me like a tigress its prey ! I thank God that hertiands were handcuffed behind her, or I must have suffered severely. She once bit off the little finger of one of the nurses who was feeding her! When she was sufficiently recovered to be removed from House, she was taken to the south of France by my directions. She was in a very shattered slate of health, and survived her removal no more than three months. ^"hocan deny that this poor girl fell a viciim to the pestilent effects of romance reading? the evidence of our senses. Could it be M ? It must ; there was none else in the room. What, then, was he laughing about? While we were standing silently gazing on one another, with much agitation, the laugh was repeated, but longer and louder than before, accompanied with the sound of footsteps, now crossing the room — then, as if of one jumping. The ladies turned paler than before, and seemed scarcely able to stand. They sank again into their chairs, gasping with terror. "Go in, nurse, and see what's the matter," said I, standing by the side of the younger of the ladies, whom I expected every instant to fall into my arms in a swoon. "Doctor! — go in? — I — I — I dare not!" stammered the nurse, pale as ashes, and trembling violently. "Do you come here, then, and attend to Mrs ," said I, "and I will go in." The nurse staggered to my place, in a state not far removed from that of the lady whom she was called to attend ; for a third laugh, — long, loud, uproarious, — had burst from the room while I was speaking. After cautioning the ladies and the nurse to observe profound silence, and not to attempt following me till T sent for them, I stepped noiselessly to the bedroom door, and opened it slowly and softly, not to alarm him. All was silent within; but the first object that presented itself, when I saw fairly into the room, can never be effaced from my mind to the day of my death. Mr M had got out of bed*, pulled off his shirt, and stepped to the dressing-table, where he stood stark naked be- fore the glass, with a razor in his light hand, with which he had just finished shaving off his eyebrows; and he was eyeing himself steadfastly in the glass, holding the razor elevated above his head. On seeing the door open, and my face peering at him, he turned full towards me, (the grotesque aspect of his countenance— denuded of so prominent a feature as the eyebrows, and his head completely shaved, and the wild-fire of madness Hashing from his staring <-\rs. exciting the most frightful ideas,* blandishing the razor over his head with an air of triumph, and shouting nearly at the top of his \<>in — "Ah, ha, ha! — What do you think of this?" Merciful i leaven ! May I never lie placed agafn in such perilous circumstances, nor have my mind overwhelmed with such a gush ' Since this \v;is published, I nave been favoured, b] Sir Henry Halford, with the si<_'hl of a narrative Of a case remarkably BimQar to the present one, hut told. ! need hard!] s;i\. with far more graphic ability. I hope na] I believe-- it will shnrih be published bj the learned and accomplished Baronet, [it has— in the ■ i i ays and Orations read and delivered al the Royal College of Physicians," etc., etc, since published. Note to the Third Edition. ] THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN 255 of horror as burst over it at that moment! What was I to do? Obeying a sudden impulse, I had entered the room, shotting the door after me ; and, should any one in the sitting-room suddenly attempt to open it again, or make a noise or disturbance of any kind, by giving vent to their emotions, what was to become of the madman or ourselves? He might, in an instant, almost sever his head from his shoulders, or burst upon me or his sisters, and do us some deadly mischief! I felt conscious that the lives of all of us depended on my conduct; and I devoutly thank God for the mea- sure of tolerable self-possession which was vouchsafed to me at that dreadful moment. I continued standing like a statue — mo- tionless and silent — endeavouring to fix my eye on him, that I might gain the command of liis; that successful, I had some hopes of being able to deal with him. He, in turn, now stood speechless, and I thought he was quailing— that I had overmastered him— w hen I was suddenly fit to faint with despair, for at that awful instant I heard the door-handle tried— the door pushed gently open— and saw the nurse, I supposed, or one of the ladies, peeping through it. The maniac also heard it— the spell was broken— and, in a frenzy, he leaped several limes successively in the air, brandishing the razor over his head as before. While he was in the midst of these feats, I turned my head hur- riedly to the person who had so cruelly disobeyed my orders, thereby endangering my life— and whispered in low affrighted ac- cents,— "At the peril of your lives— of mine— shut the door— away, away— hush ! or we are all murdered ! " I was obeyed— the intruder withdrew, and I heard a sound as if she had fallen to the floor— probably in a swoon. Fortunately the madman was so oc- cupied with his antics, that he did not observe what had passed at the door. It was the nurse who made the attempt to discover what was going on, I afterwards learnt— but unsuccessfully, for she had seen nothing. My injunctions were obeyed to the letter, for they maintained a profound silence, unbroken, but by a faint sighing sound, which I should not have heard, but that my ears were painfully sensitive to the slightest noise. To return, how- ever, to myself, and my fearful chamber companion. " Mighty talisman! " he exclaimed, holding the razor before him, and gazing earnestly at it, "how utterly unworthy — how infamous the common use men put thee to! " Still he continued standing, with his eyes fixed intently upon the deadly weapon — I all the while uttering not a sound, nor moving a muscle, but waiting for our eves to meet once more. 15 I yiv i ml arixinL-sJuiiL^. "Ha— Doctor !— bow easily I keep you at bay, though little my weapon— thus"— he exclaimed gaily, at the same time assum- ing one of the postures of the broadsword exercise — but I observed that he cautiously avoided meeting my eye again. I crossed my arms submissively on my breast, and continued in perfect silence, endeavouring, but in vain, to catch a glance of his eye. I did not wish to excite any emotion in him, except such as might have a tendency to calm, pacify, disarm him. Seeing me stand thus, and manifesting no disposition to meddle with him, he raised his left hand to his face, and rubbed his fingers rapidly over the side of his shaved eyebrows. He seemed, I thought, inclined to go over them a second time, when a knock was heard at the outer chamber door, which I instantly recognised as that of Mr , the apothecary. The madman also heard it, turned suddenly pale, and moved away from the glass opposite which he had been stooping. "Oh — oh ! " he groaned, while his features assumed an air of the blankest af- fright, every muscle quivering, and every limb trembling from head to foot,— "Is that— is— is that T come for me?" He let fall the razor on the floor, and, clasping his hands in an agony of ap- prehension, he retreated, crouching and cowering down towards the more distant part of the room, where he continued peering jj round the bed-post, his eyes straining as though they would start • from their sockets, and fixed steadfastly upon the door. I heard him rustling the bed-curtain, and shaking it; but very gently, as if wishing to cover and conceal himself within its folds. humanity !— Was that poor being— that pitiable maniac— was that the once gay, gifted, brilliant M ? To return. My attention was wholly occupied with one object, the razor on the floor. How I thanked God for the gleam of hope that all might yet be right— that I might succeed in obtaining pos- session of the deadly weapon, and putting it beyond his reach ! But how was I to do all this ? I stole gradually towards the spot where the razor lay, without removing once my eye from his, nor he his from the dreaded door, intending, as soon as I should have come pretty near it, to make a sudden snatch at the horrid imple- ment of destruction. 1 did— 1 succeeded— I got it into my posses- sion, scarcely crediting my senses. I had hardly grasped my prize, when the door opened, and Mr , the apothecary, fil- tered, sufficiently startled and bewildered, as it may be supposed, with the .st i. 'Hi.;' as| ect ui' things. "Ha — ha— ha! It's you, is it— it's you — you anatomy! You plaster ! How dare you mock me in this horrid way, eh ? " shouted THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN. 227 the maniac, and springing like a lion from his lair, he made for the spot where the confounded apothecary stood, stupified with terror. I verily believe he would have been destroyed, torn to pieces, or cruelly maltreated in some way or other, had I not started and thrown myself between the maniac and the unwitting object of his vengeance, exclaiming at the same time, as a dernier ressort, a sudden and strong appeal to his fears—" Remember!— T ! T !T !" "I do— I— do!" stammered the maniac, stepping back, per- fectly aghast. He seemed utterly petrified, and sank shivering down again into his former position at the corner of the bed, moaning— "Oh me! wretched me! Away— away— away ! " I then stepped to Mr , who had not moved an inch, directed him to retire instantly, conduct all the females out of the chambers, and return as soon as possible with two or three of the inn-porters, or any other able-bodied men he could procure on the spur of the moment; and I concluded by slipping the razor, unobservedly, as I thought, into his hands, and bidding him remove it to a place of safety. He obeyed, and 1 found myself once more alone with the madman. M M !— dear Mr M '.—I've got something to say to you — I have indeed ; it's very— very particular. " T commenced approach- ing him slowly, and speaking the softest tones conceivable. " But you've forgotten this, you fool, you !— you have ! " he re- plied fiercely, approaching the dressing-table, and suddenly seizing another razor— the fellow of the one T had got hold of with such pains and peril— and which, alas, alas! had never once caught my eye! I gave myself up for lost, fully expecting that I should be murdered, when I saw the bloodthirsty spirit with which he clutched it, bran- dished it over his head, and with a smile of fiendish derision, shook it full before me ! I trembled, however, the next moment, for himself, for he drew it rapidly to and fro before his throat, as though he would give the fatal gash, but did not touch the skin. He gnashed his teeth with a kind of savage satisfaction at the dreadful power with which he was consciously armed. "Oh, MrM ! think of your poor mother and sisters!" I exclaimed in a sorrowful tone, my voice faltering with uncon- trollable agitation. He shook the razor again before me with an air of defiance, and " really grinned horribly a ghastly smile." "Now, suppose I choose to punish your perfidy, you wretch! and do what you dread, eh ?" said he, holding the razor as if he were going to cut his throat. " Why, wouldn't it be nobler to forgive and forget, Mr M ?" 228 THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN. J replied, with tolerable firmness, and folding my arms on my breast, anxious to appear quite at ease. «* Too— too— too, Doctor !— Too— too— too— too ! Ha! by the wav — what do you say to a razor hornpipe — eh? — Ha, ha, ha! a novelty at least ! " lie began forthwith to dance a few steps, leaping frantically high, and uttering, at intervals, a sudden, shrill, dissonant cry, resembling that used by those who dance the High- land "fling," or some other species of Scottish dance. I affected to admire his dancing, even to ecstasy— clapping my hands, and shouting, "Bravo, bravo! — Encore! " He seemed inclined to go over it again, but was too much exhausted, and sat down panting on the window-seal, which was close behind him. "You'll catch cold, Mr M , sitting in that draught of air, naked, and perspiring as you are. Will you put on your clothes?" said I, approaching him, " >'o !" he replied, sternly, and extended the razor threateningly. I fell back, of course — not knowing what to do, nor choosing to risk either his destruction or my own by attempting any active in- terference; for what was to be done with a madman who had an open razor in his hand?— Mr , the apothecary, seemed to have been gone an age ; and I found even my temper beginning to fail me — f or I W as tired with his tricks, deadly dangerous as they were. 31 v attention, however, was soon rivetted again on the motions of the maniac. " Yes — yes, decidedly so — I'm loo hot to do it now — I am ! " said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, and eye- ing the razor intently. "I must get calm and cool — and then — then for the sacrifice ! Aha, the sacrifice— An offering— expiation — even as Abraham— ha, ha, ha!— But by the way, how did Abra- ham do it — that is, how did he intend to have done it? — Ah, 1 must ask my familiar! " "A sacrifice, 3Ir M ? — Why, what do you mean?" I inquired, attempting a laugh— I say, attempting— for my blood trickled chill- ilv through my veins, anil my heart seemed frozen. " What do I mean, eh ? Wretch ! Dolt!— What do I mean ?— Why, a peace-offering to my Maker, for a badly-spent life, to be sure!— One would think you had never heard of such a thing as religion — you savage ! '" "I deny that the sacrifice would be accepted; and for two rea- sons," I replied, suddenly recollecting that be plumed himself on his casuistry, and hoping to engage him on some new crotchet, which might keep him in play till Mr returned with assistance — but I was mistaken ! THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN. »KJ "\Vell> well, Doctor !— Let that be, for the present— I can't resolve doubts, now— no, no," he replied, solemnly,—" 'tis a time for action— for action— for action," he continued, gradually elevating his voice, using vehement gesticulations, and rising from his seat. " Yes, yes," said I, warmly ; " but though you've followed closely enough the advice of the Talmudist, in shaving off your eyebrows, as a preparatory" " Aha ! aha ! — What ! — have you seen the Talmud ? — Have you, really ! — Well," he added, after a doubtful pause, "in what do you think I've failed, eh?" I need hardly say, that I myself scarcely knew what led me to utter the nonsense in question ; but I have several times found, in cases of insanity, that suddenly and readily supplying a motive for the patient's conduct — referring it to a cause, of some sort or other, with steadfast intrepidity— even be the said cause never so preposte- rously absurd — has been attended with the happiest effects, in ar- resting the patient's attention — chiming in with his eccentric fancies, and piquing his disturbed faculties into acquiescence in what he sees coollv taken for granted, as quite true— a thing of course— mere matter-of-fact — by the person be is addressing. I have several times recommended this little device to those who have been in- trusted with the care of the insane, and have been assured of its success. " You are very near the mark, I own ; but it strikes me that you have shaved them off too equally, too uniformly. You ought to have left some little ridges— furrows— hem, hem!— to— to— ter- minate, or resemble the — the — the striped stick which Jacob held up before the ewes!" " Oh— av — ay ! Exactly — true ! — Strange oversight ! " he re- plied, as if struck with the truth of the remark, and yet puzzled by vain attempts to corroborate it by his own recollections — "I — I recollect it now — but it isn't too late yet — is it?" "I think not," I replied, with apparent hesitation, hardly credit- ing the success of my strange stratagem. " To be sure, it will re- quire very great delicacy; but as you've not shaved them off very closely, 1 think I can manage it," I continued doubtfully. "Oh, oh, oh!" growled the maniac, while his eyes flashed lire at me. "There's one sitting by me that tells me you are dealing falsely with me — oh, lying villain! oh, perfidious wretch!" At that moment the door opened gently behind me, and the voice of Mr , the apothecary, whispered, in a low hurried tone, "Doc- tor, I've got three of the inn-porters here, in the sitting-room." Though the 'whisper was almost inaudible even to me, when uttered close to my ear, to my utter amazement M had heard every syllable of it, and understood it too, as if some officious minion of Satan himself had quickened his ears, or conveyed the intelligence to him. "Ah — ha — ha! — Ha, ha, ha! — Fools! knaves, harpies! — and what are you and your hired desperadoes to me? — Thus — thus do I outwit you — thus!" and, springing from his seat, he suddenly drew up the lower part of the window-frame, and looked through it — then at the razor — and again at me, with one of the most awful glances — full of dark diabolical meaning, the momentary sugges- tion, surely, of the great Tempter— that I ever encountered in mv life. " Which !— which !— which! " he muttered fiercely through his closed teeth, while his right foot rested on the window-seat, ready for him to spring out, and his eye travelled, as before, rapidly from the razor to the window. Can any thing be conceived more palsy- ing to the beholders? "Why did not you and your strong rein- forcement spring at once upon him, and overpower him?" possibly- some one is asking. — What! and he armed with a nakedrazur? His head might have been severed from his shoulders, before we could have overmastered him — or we might ourselves — at least one of us — have been murdered, or cruelly maimed, in the attempt. We knew not what to do ! 31 suddenly withdrew his head from the window, through which he had been gazing, with a shuddering, horror-stricken motion, and groaned — "No! no! no! I won't — can't — for there's T standing just beneath, his face all blazing, and waiting with outspread arms to catch me," standing, at the same lime, shading his eyes with his left hand — when I whispered,— "Now, now ! go up to him — secure him — all three spring on him at once, and disarm him!" They obeyed me, and were in the act of rushing into the room, when M suddenly planted him- self into a posture of defiance, elevated the razor to his throat, and almost howled — "One step — one step nearer — and I — I — I — so!" motioning as though ho would draw it from one ear to the other. We all fell back, horror-struck and in silence. What could we do? II we moved towards him, or made use of any threatening gestures, we should see the floor in an instant deluged with his blood. I once more CTOSSed my arms on my breast, with an air of mute submission. "Ha. ha!' he exclaimed, altera pause, evidently pleased with THE SPEC 1KU-SMIT LEV 1>51 such a demonstration of his power, " obedient, however ! — well — that's one merit! But still, what a set of cowards— bullies — you must all be !— What ! — all four or' you afraid of one man?" In the course of his frantic gesticulations, he had drawn the razor so close to his neck, that its edge had slightly grazed the skin under his left ear, and a little blood trickled from it over his shoulders and breast. " Blood! — blood? — What a strange feeling! How coldly it fell on mv breast! — How did I do it? — Shall — I — go — on, as I have made a beginning?" he exclaimed, drawling the words at great length. He shuddered, and — to my unutterable joy and astonish- ment — deliberately closed the razor, replaced it in its case, put both in the drawer ; and having done all this, before we ventured to approach him, he fell at his full length on the floor, and began to veil in a manner that was perfectly frightful ; but in a few mo- ments he burst into tears, and cried and sobbed like a child. We took him up in our arms, he groaning— " Oh, shorn of my strength ! —shorn ! shorn ! like Samson !— Why part with my weapon ?— The Philistines be upon me!" — and laid him down on the bed, where, after a few moments, he fell asleep. When he woke again, a strait waistcoat put all his tremendous smugglings at defiance — though his strength seemed increased in a tenfold degree— and prevented his attempting either his own life, or that of any one near him. When he found all his writhings and heavings utterly useless, he gnashed his teeth, the foam issued from his mouth, and he shouted, —"I'll be even with you, you incarnate devils!— I will!— I'll suf- focate myself!" and he held his breath till he grew black in the face, when he gave over the attempt. It was found necessary to have him strapped down to the bed ; and his howlings were so shocking and loud, that we began to think of removing him, even in that dreadful condition, to a madhouse. I ordered his head to be shaved again, and kept perpetually covered with cloths soaked in evaporating lotions — blisters to be applied behind each ear, and at the nape of the neck— leeches to the temples, and the appro- priate internal medicines in such cases — and left him, begging I might be sent for instantly in the event of his getting worse.* Oh, I shall never forget this harrowing scene! — my feelings were wound up almost to bursting ; nor did they recover their proper tone for * 1 ought to have mentioned, a little way back, that, in obedience to ray hurried injunctions, the ladies suffered themseb es, almost fainting with fright, to be con- ducted silently into the adjoining chambers— and it v> as well they did. Suppose they had uttered any sudden shriek, or attempted to interfere, or made a disturb ance of any kind— what would have become of us all ? many a week. I cannot conceive that the people whom the New Testament speaks of as being " possessed of devils," could have been mure dreadful in appearance, or more outrageous in their ac- tions, than was M ; nor can I help suggesting the thought, that, possibly, they were in reality nothing more than the maniacs of the worst kind. And is not a man transformed into a devil, when his reason is utterly overturned ? On seeing 31 the next morning, I found he had passed a ter- rible night — that the constraint of the strait waistcoat filled him in- cessantly with a fury that was absolutely diabolical. His tongue was dreadfully lacerated ; and the whites of his eyes, with perpetual straining, were discoloured with a reddish hue, like ferrets' eyes. He was truly a piteous spectacle ! One's heart ached to look at him, and think, for a moment, of the fearful contrast he formed to the gay M he was only a few days before, the delight of refined society, and the idol of all his friends ! He lay in a most preca- rious state for a fortnight ; and though the fits of outrageous madness had ceased, or become much mitigated, and interrupted not unfre- quently with "lucid intervals," as the phrase is, 1 began to be ap- prehensive of his sinking eventually into that hopeless, deplorable condition, idiocy. During one of his intervals of sanity — when the savage fiend relaxed, for a moment, the hold he had taken of the vic- tim's faculties, 31 said something according with a fact which it was impossible for him to have any knowledge of by the senses, which was to me singular and inexplicable. * It was about nine o'clock in the morning of the third day after that on which the scene above described took place, that 31 , who was lying in a state of the utmost lassitude and exhaustion, scarcely able to open his eyes, turned his head slowly towards Mr , the apothecary, who was sitting by his bedside, and whispered to him — " They are pre- paring to bury that wretched fellow next door — hush! — hush! — one of the cofiin trestles has fallen — hush ! " Mr , and the nurse, who had heard him, both strained their ears to listen, but could hear not even a mouse stirring — "there's somebody come in — a lady, kissing his lips before he's screwed down — Oh, I hope she won't be iied — that's all!" lie then turned away his head, with no ap- pearance of emotion, and presently fell asleep. Through mere cu- riosity, Mr looked at hi^ watch ; and from subsequent inquiry • 'I Hf incident ha- been selected l>\ the conductor ol a quarter!] refigioasjonrnal called " The Morning Watch" as a striking instance «>i supernatural igenc] and tending t<> confirm certain notions which hare latetj occasioned not a utile astonishment anil confusion in the world. THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN. J33 ascertained, lhat, sure enough, about the time when his patient had spoken* they were about burying his neighbour; that one of ibe trestles did slip a little aside, and the coffin, in consequence, was near tailing ; and finally, marvellous to tell, lhat a lady, one of the deceased's relatives, I believe, did come and kiss the corpse, and cry bitterly over it! Neither Mr nor the nurse heard any noise whatever during the lime of the burial preparations next door, for the people had been earnestly requested to be as quiet about them as possible, and really made no disturbance whatever. By what strange means he had acquired his information — whether ornoi he was indebted for some portion of it to the exquisite delicacy, the morbid sensitiveness of the organs of hearing, I cannot conjecture ; but how are we to account for the latter part of what he uttered about the lady's kissing the corpse, etc.?— On another occasion, during one of his most placid moods, but not in any lucid interval, he insisted on my taking pen, ink, and paper, and turning ama- nuensis. To quiet him, I acquiesced, and wrote what he dictated; and the manuscript now lies before me, and is verbatim ct literatim as follows : — •< I, T 31 , saw— what saw 1? A solemn silver grove — there were innumerable spirits T sleeping among the branches — ami it is this, though unobserved of naturalists, that makes the aspen tree's leaves to quiver so much — it is this, I say, namely, the rust- ling movements of ihe spirits, ' — and in the midst of this grove was a beautiful site for a statue, and one there assuredly was — but what a statue ! Transparent, of a stupendous size, through which — the sky was cloudv and troubled — a ship was seen sinking at sea, and the crew at cards ; but the good spirit of ihe storm saved them ; for !:e shewed them the kev of the universe ; and a shoal of sharks, with murderous eyes, were disappointed of a meal. Lo, man, behold ! — another part of this statue — what a one! — has a fissure in it — it opens — widens into a parlour, in darkness; and now shall be dis- closed the horror of horrors, for, lo, some one sitting— sitting— easv-chair — fiery face — fiend — fiend — Oh God! Oh God! save me," cried he. He ceased speaking, with a shudder : nor did he resume the dictation, for he seemed in a moment to have forgotten that he had dictated at all. I preserved the paper; and gibberish though it is, I consider it both curious and highly characteristic throughout. Judging from the latter part of it, where he s of a "dark parlour, with some fiery-faced fiend sittinri in an eatu- ' The words in Italics were al the instance of M . chair;" and coupling this with various similar expressions and al- lusions which he made during his ravings, I felt convinced that his fancy was occupied with some one individual image of horror, which had scared him into madness, and now clung to his disordered fa- culties like a fiend. He often talked about " spectres," "spectral ; " and uttered incessantly the words, " spectre-smitten." The nurse once asked him what he meant by these words ; he started— grew disturbed— his eye glanced with affright— and he shook his head exclaiming, " Horror ! " A few days afterwards he hired an ama- nuensis, who, of course, was duly apprised of the sort of person he had to deal with ; and, after a painfully ludicrous scene, 31 at- tempting to beat down the man's terms from a guinea and a half a-week to half-a-crown, he engaged him for three guineas, lie said, and insisted on his taking up his station at the side of the bed, in order that he might minute down every word that was uttered. 31— told him he was going to dictate a romance! It would have required, in truth, the "pen of a ready wiiler" to keep pace with poor 31 's utterance; for he raved on at a pro- digious rale, in a si rain, it need hardly be said, of unconnected ab- surdities. Really it was inconceivable nonsense; rhapsodical rant- ings in the 3Iaturin style, full of vaults, sepulchres, spectres, devils, magic — with here and there a thought of real poetry. It was piteous to peruse it ! His amanuensis found it impossible to keep up with him, and, therefore, profited by a hint from one of us, and, in- stead of writing, merely moved his pen rapidly over the paper, scrawling all sorts of ragged lines and figures to resemble writing! M never asked him to read it over, nor requested to see it himself; but, after about fifty pages were done, dictated a title-page — pitched on publishers — settled the price and number of volumes —four! and then exclaimed— "Well!— thank God— that's off my mind at last ! " He never mentioned it afterwards ; and his brother committed the whole to the flames about a week after. 31 had not, however, yet done with his amanuensis, but put his services in requisition in quite another capacity, — that of reader. Milton was the book he selected; and actually they went through very nearly nine books, 31 perpetually interrupting him with comments, sometimes, saying surpassingly absurd, and occasionally very fine, forcible things. All this formed a truly touching illustra- tion of thai beautiful, often quoted sentiment of Horace — Quo scintl est iinliiiia recens, lervabil odorem Testa din. Epitt. l.ih I. Kp. 2. 69. 70. 1HL SFL^lKL-S.Ull It.V iJOO As there was no prospect of his speedily recovering the use of his reasoning faculties, he was removed to a private asylum, where I attended him regularly for more than six months. He was re- duced to a state of drivelling idiocy ; complete fatuity ! Lament- able ! heart-rending ! Oh, how deplorable to see a man of superior intellect— one whose services are really wanted in society — the prey of madness ! Dr Johnson was well known to express a peculiar horror of in- sanity. " Oh, God ! " said he, "afflict my body with what tortures thou wiliest ; but spare my reason ! " Where is he that does not join him in uttering such a prayer? It would be beside my purpose here to enter into abstract specu- lations, or purely professional details, concerning insanity ; but one or two brief and simple remarks, the fruits of much experience and consideration, may perhaps be pardoned me. It is still a vexata qucestio in our profession, whether persons of strong or weak minds — whether the ignorant or the highly culti- vated — are most frequently the subjects of insanity. If we are disposed to listen to a generally shrewd and intelligent writer, (Dr Monro, in his "Philosophy of Unman iYaftire,")we are to understand, that "children, and people of weak minds, are never subject to mad- ness; for," adds the Doctor, "how can he despair, who cannot think ? " Though the logic here is somewhat loose and leaky, I am disposed to agree with the Doctor in the main ; and I ground my acquiescence, — First, On the truth of Locke's distinction, laid down in his great work, (Book ii. c. ii. §§ 12 and 15,) where he mentions the diffe- rence "between idiots and madmen," and thus slates the sum of his observations: — "In short, herein seems to lie the difference between idiots and madmen, that madmen put wrong ideas toge- ther, and do make wrong propositions, but argue and reason right from them ; but idiots make very few or no propositions, and reason scarce at all." Secondly, On the corroboration afforded to it by my own expe- rience. I have generally found that those persons who are most distinguished for their powers of thought and reasoning, when of sound mind, continue to exercise that power, but incorrectly, and be distinguished by their exercise of that power— when of unsound mind — their understanding retaining, even after such a shock and revolution of its faculties, the bent and bias impressed upon it be- forehand ; and I have found, farther, that it has been chiefly those of such character— i. e. thinkers— that have fallen into madness ; and thai il is llic perpetual straining and taxing of their strong intellects, at the expanse of their bodies, that lias brought them into such a calamity. Suppose therefore we say, in short, that madness is the rate of strong minds, or at least minds many degrees removed from weak ; and idiocy of weak, imbecile minds. Tins supposition, how- ever, involves a sorry sort of compliment to the fair sex ; for it is notorious that the annual majority of those received into lunatic asylums, are females. I have found imaginative, fanciful people, the most liable to at- tacks of insanity; and have had under my care four such instances, or at least very nearly resembling the one I am now relating, in which insanity has ensued from sudden fright. And it is easily- accounted for. The imagination— the predominant faculty— is im- mediately appealed to— and, eminently lively and tenacious of im- pressions, exerts its superior and more practised powers at the expense of the judgment, or reason, which it tramples upon and crushes. There is then nothing left in the mind that may make head against this unnatural dominancy ; and the result is generally not unlike that in the present instance. As for my general svstein of treatment, it may all be comprised in a word or two, — ac- quiescence; submission; suggestion; soothing.* Had I pursued a different plan with M , what might have been the disastrous issue ! To return, however : The reader may possibly recollect seeing something like the following expression, occurring in " The Broken Heart! Y' " A candle flickering and expiring in its socket, which suddenly shoots up into an instantaneous brilliance, and then is ut- terly extinguished." 1 have referred to it, merely because it affords a very apt illustration— apter than any that now suggests itself to me, of what sometimes takes place in madness. The roaring flame of insanity sinks into the sullen smouldering embers of complete fatuity, and remains so for months; when, like that of the candle just alluded to, it will instantaneous!) gather up and concentrate its expiring energies into one terrific blaze— one linal paroxysm of outrageous mania— and lo! it has consumed itself utterly— burnt itself out— and the patient is unexpectedly restored to reason. The experience of my medical readers, if it have lain at all in the track of insanity , must have presented such cases to their notice not nu- ll eqneiillv. However metaphysical ingenuity may set us speeulat- ing about "the whj and wherefore" of it — the fact is undeniable. ' See Hi'' case •■ Intrigwjug ] Endymion ; hut that this should bl n;\ body, I doubt: for how could my carted locks be turned to grey hair, and m\ strong bodj to a dvinjr weakness- -haring w.md old not knowing' 'i ' Act 5th, Scene I. THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN. 239 memory shot its strengthening- rays farther and farther back into the inspissated gloom in which the long interval of insanity had shrouded his mind: but it was too dense — too " palpable an ob- scure" — to be ever completely and thoroughly illuminated. The ravs of recollection, however, settled distinctly on some of the more prominent points ; and I was several limes astonished by his sud- den reference to things which he had said and done during the M very depth and quagmire of his. disorder \ " He asked me once, for instance, whether he had not made an attempt on his life, and with a razor, and how it was that he did not succeed. He had no recollection, however, of the long and deadly struggle with his keeper — at least he never made the slightest allusion to it, nor, of course, did any one else. " [ don't much mind talking these horrid things over with vou, Doctor, for you know all the ins and outs of the whole affair; but if any of my friends or relatives presume to torture me with anv allusions or inquiries of this sort — I'll fight them ! they'll drive me mad again ! " The reader may suppose the hint was not disre- garded. All recovered maniacs have a dread— an absolute horror — of any reference being made to their madness, or any thing thev have said or done during the course of it; and is it not easily ac- counted for ? "Did the horrible spectre which occasioned your illness in the first instance, ever present itself to you afterwards?" I once in- quired. He paused and turned pale. Presently he replied, with considerable agitation, — "Yes, yes — it scarcely ever left me. It has not always preserved its spectral consistencv, but has entered into the most astounding— the most preposterous combinations con- ceivable, with other objects and scenes — all of them, however, more or less, of a distressing or fearful character — many of them terrific ! " I begged him, if it were not unpleasant to him, to give me a specimen of them. " It is certainly far from gratifying to trace scenes of such shame and horror ; but I will comply as far as I am able," said he, rather gloomily. "Once I saw him," | meaning the spectre^) " leading on an army of huge speckled and crested serpents against me ; and when they came upon me — for I had no power to run away — I suddenly found myself in the midst of a pool of stagnant water, absolutely alive with slimy, shapeless reptiles; and while endeavouring to make my way out, he rose to the surface,his face hissing in the water, and blaz- * Sir Thomas Brown. i'4U THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN. ing bright as ever ! Again, I thought I saw him in single combat, by the gates of Eden, with Satan— and the air thronged and healed with swart faces looking on ! " This was unquestionably some dim confused recollection of the Milton readings, in the earlier part of his illness. " Again, I thought I was in the act of opening my snuff- box, when lie issued from it, diminutive, at first, in size— but swell- ing, soon, into gigantic proportions, and his fiery features diffusing a light and heat around, that absolutely scorched and blasted ! At another time, I thought I was gazing upwards on a sultry summer sky ; and, in the midst of a luminous fissure in it, made by the light- ning, I distinguished his accursed figure, with his glowing features wearing an expression of horror, and his limbs outstretched, as if he had been hurled down from some height or other, and was fall- ing through the sky towards me. He came— he came— flung him- self into my recoiling arms — and clung to me— burning, scorch- ing, withering my soul within me ! I thought farther, that I was all the while the subject of strange, paradoxical, contradictory feel- ings towards him, — that I at one and the same time loved and loathed, feared and despised him! *' He mentioned several other instances of the confusions in his " chamber of imagery." I told him of his sudden exclamation concerning Mr T 's burial, and its singular corroboration ; but he either did not, or affected not, to recollect any thing about it. He told me he had a full and distinct recollection of being for a long lime possessed with the notion of making himself a "sacrifice" of some sort or other, and that he was seduced or goaded on to do so, by the spectre, by the most dazzling temptations, and under the most appalling threats, — one of which latter was, that God would plunge him into hell for ever, if he did not offer up himself,— that if he did so, he should be a sublime spectacle to the universe," etc. etc. etc. "Do you recollect any thing about dictating a novel or a ro- mance?" lie started, as if struck with some sudden recollection. " No — but I'll tell you what I recollect well — that the spectre and I were set to copy all the tales and romances that ever had been written, in a large, bold, round hand, and then translate them into Greek or Latin verse!" He smiled, nay even laughed at the thought, almost the first time of his giving way to such emotions since his recovery. Me added, that, as to the latter, the idea of the utter hopelessness of ever getting through such a stupendous un- * A very enrioai case bai been handed to me, corroboratory of this strange rendition of feeling, but I ;nn not allowed to make it public. THE SPECTRE-SMITTEN. Oil dertaking never once presented itself to him, and that lie should have gone on with it, but that he lost his inkstand ! "Had you ever a clear and distinct idea that you had lost Che right use of reason ? " "Why, about that, to tell the truth, I've been puzzling myself a good deal, and yet I cannot say any thing decisive. I do fancy that at times I had short, transient glimpses into the real state of things, but they were so evanescent. I am conscious of feeling at these times incessant fury, arising from a sense of personal con- straint, and I longed once to strangle some one who was giving me medicine.*' Bui one of the most singular of all is yet to come. He still per- sisted — yes, then — after his complete recovery, as we supposed, in avowing his belief that we had hired a huge boa serpent from Exeter Change, to come and keep constant watch over him, to constrain his movements when he threatened to become violent ; that it lay constantly coiled up under his bed for that purpose ; that he could now and then feel the motions — the writhing undu- lating motions, of its coils — hear it utter a sort of sigh, and see it often elevate its head over the bed, and play with its slippery, de- licate forked tongue over his face, to soothe him to sleep. When poor M , with a serious, earnest air, assured me he still be- lieved all this, my hopes of his complete and final restoration to sanity were dashed at once! How such an absurd — in short, I have no terms in which I may adequately characterise it — how, I say, such an idea could possibly be persisted in, I was bewildered in attempting to conceive. I frequently strove to reason him out of it, but in vain. To no purpose did I burlesque and caricature the notion almost beyond all bounds ; it was useless to remind him of the blank impossibility of it; he regarded me with such a face as I should exhibit to a fluent personage, quite in earnest in demon- strating to me that the moon was made of green cheese. I have once before heard of a patient who, after recovering from an attack of insanity, retained one solitary crotchet — one little stain oi- speck of lunacy — about which, and which alone, he was mad to the end of his life. I supposed such to be the case with 31 . It was possible— barely so, I thought— that he might entertain his preposterous notion about the boa, and yet be sound in the general texture of his mind. I prayed God it might; I "hoped against hope." The last evening I ever spent with him, was occupied with my endeavouring, once for all, to disabuse him of the idea in ques- tion; and, in the course of our conversation, he disclosed one or IG two other little symptoms — specks of lunacy — which made me leave him, tilled with disheartening doubts as to the probability of a per- manent recovery. My worst lVars were awfully realised In about live \ears from the period above alluded to. M , who had got married, and had enjoyed excellent general health, was spending the summer with his family at Bmsseb — and one night destroyed himself— alas! alas! destroyed himself in a manner too terrible to mention ! CHAPTER XVIII. THE VLARTYR PHILOSOPHER. It has been my lot to witness many dreadful deathbeds. I am not overstating the truth when I assert, that nearly eight out of every ten that have come under my personal observation — of course, excluding children— -have more or less partaken of this character. 1 know only one way of accounting for it, and some may accuse me of cant for adverting to it, — men will not live as if they were to die. They are content to let that event come upon them "like a thief in the night."' They grapple with their final foe, not merelv unprepared, but absolutely incapacitated for the struggle, and then wonder and wail at their being overcome and "trodden under foot." 1 have, in some of the foregoing chapters, attempted to sketch three or four dreary scenes of this dea i iption, my pencil trembling in my hand the while ; and could I but comannd colours dark enough, it were yet in my power to portray others far more appalling than any that have gone before— cases of those who have left life "clad in horror's hideous robe," — "whose sun has gene down at noon in darkness" if I may be pardoned for quoting the fearful language of a very unfashionable book. .Now. however, lor a while at least, let the storm passaway; the accumulated clouds of guilt, despair, madness, disperse; and the • One of my patients, whom a long conn gacj bad brought to a painful and premature deathbed, once quoted tins striking Scriptural expression when within lea than in hour <>t his end. and with a thrill ol terror. THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 2i'~> lightning of the fiercer passions cease to shed its disastrous glare over our minds. Let us rejoice beneath the serened heavens ; let us seek sunnier spots— by turning to the more peaceful pages of humanity. Let me attempt to lay before the reader a short account of one whose exit was eminently calm, tranquil, and dignified ; who did not skulk into his grave with shame and fear, but laid down life with honour : leaving behind him the influence of his greatness and goodness, like the evening sun — who smiles sadly on the sweet scenes he is quitting, and a holy lustre glows long on the features of nature — Quiet, as a nun Breathless with adoration. — Wobdswortb. Even were I disposed, I could not gratify the reader with any thing like a fair sketch of the early days of Mr E . I have often lamented, that, knowing as I did the simplicity and frankness of his disposition, I did not once avail myself of several opportuni- ties which fell in my way of becoming acquainted with the leading particulars of his life. Now, however, as is generally the case, I can but deplore my negligence, when remedying it is impossible. All that 1 have now in my power to record, are some particulars of his latter days. Interesting I know they will be considered : may they prove instructive! I hope the few records I -have here pre- served, will shew how a mind long disciplined by philosophy, and strengthened by religious principle, may triumph over the assault of evils and misfortunes combined against its expiring energies. It is fitting, I say, the world should hear how nobly E surmounted such a sudden influx of disasters as have seldom before burst over- whelmingly upon a deathbed. And should this chapter of my Diary chance to be seen by any of his relatives and early friends, I hope the reception it shall meet with from the public may stimulate them to give the world some fuller particulars of Mr E 's valuable, if not very varied life. More than seven years have elapsed since his death; and, as yet, the only intimation the public has had of the event, has been in the dreary coiner of the public prints allotted to " Deaths/* — and a brief enumeration in one of the quarterly journals of some of his leading contributions to science. The world at large, however, scarcely know that he ever lived — or, at least, Iwv he lived or died.— But how often is such the fate of modest merit ! My first acquaintance with Mr E commenced accidentally- not long before his death, at one of the evening meetings of a learn- ed society, of which we were both members. The first glimpse I caught of him interested me much, and inspirethme with a kind of reverence for him. He came into the room within a few minutes of the chair's being taken, and walked quietly and slowly, with a kind of stooping gait, to one of the benches near the fire-place, where he sat down without taking off his great coat, and, crossing his gloved hands on the knob of a high walking-stick, he rested his chin on them, and in that altitude continued throughout the even- ing. He removed his hat when the chairman made his appearance ; and I never saw a finer head in my life. The crown was quite bald, but the base was fringed round, as it were, with a little soft, glossy, silver-hued hair, which, in the distance, looked like a faint halo. His forehead was of noble proporlions; and, in short, there was an expression of serene intelligence in his features, blended with meek- ness and dignity, which quite enchanted me. " Pray, who is that gentleman?" I inquired of my friend Dr D , who was sitting beside me. "Do you mean that elderly thin man silting near the fire-place, with a great-coat on ? " — " The same."— 4 ' Oh, it is Mr E , one of the very ablest men in the room, though he talks the least," whispered my friend; "and a man who comes the nearest to my beau ideal of a philosopher of any man I ever knew or heard of in the present day." "Why, he does not seem very well known here," said I, observ- ing that he neither spoke to, nor was spoken to, by any of the members present. "Ah, poor Mr E is breaking up, I'm afraid, and that very fast," replied my friend with a sigh. "He comes but seldom to our evening meetings, and is not ambitious of making many acquaintance." I intimated an eager desire to be introduced to him. "Oh, nothing easier," replied my friend, "for I know him more familiarly than any one present, and he is, besides, simple as a child in his manners, even to eccentricity, and the most amiable man in the world. I'll introduce you when the meeting's over." While we were thus whispering together, the subject of our con- versation suddenly rose from his seat, and, with a little trepidation of manner, addressed a few words to the chair in correction of some assertions which he interrupted a member in advancing. It was something, if I recollect right, about the atomic theory, and was received with marked deference by the president, and general "Hear! hear!" from the members, lie then resumed his seat, in which he >\as presently followed by the speaker, whom he had THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 445 evidently discomfited; his eyes glistened, and his cheeks were flushed with the effort he had made, and he did not rise again till the conclusion of the silting. We then made our way to him, and my friend introduced me. He received me politely and frankly. He complained, in a weak voice, that the walk thither had quite exhausted him — that he feared his health was failing him, etc. 44 Why, Mr E , you look very well," said my friend. " Ay, perhaps 1 do ; but you know how little faith is to be put in the hale looks of an old and weak man. Age generally puts a good face on bad matters even to the last," he added, with a smile and a shake of the head. "A sad night!" he exclaimed, on hearing the wind howling drearily without, for we were standing by a window at the north- east corner of the large building ; and a March wind swept cruelly by, telling bitter things to the old and feeble who had to face it. 44 Allow me to recommend that you wrap up your neck and breast well," said I. " I intend it, indeed," he replied, as he was folding up a large silk handkerchief. " One must guard one's candle with one's hand, or Death will blow it out in a moment. That's the sort of treatment we oid people get from him ; no ceremony— he waits for one at a bleak corner, and puffs out one's expiring light with a breath ; and then hastens on to the more vigorous torch of youth." " Have you a coach ? " inquired Dr D . " A coach ! I shall walk it in less than twenty minutes," said Mr E , buttoning his coat up to the chin. " Allow me to offer you both a seat in mine," said I ; "it is at the door, and I am driving towards your neighbourhood." He and Dr D accepted the offer, and in a few minutes' time we entered and drove off. We soon set down the latter, who lived close by ; and then my new philosophical friend and I were left together. Our conversation turned, for a while, on the evening's discussion at the society ; and, in a very few words, remarkably well chosen, he pointed out what he considered to have been errors committed by Sir and Dr , the principal speakers. I was not more charmed by the lucidness of his views, than by the unaffected diffi- dence with which they were expressed. 41 Well," said he, after a little pause in our conversation, " your carriage motion is mighty pleasant! It seduces one into a feeling of indolence! These delicious, soft, yielding cushioned backs and seats, — they would make a man loath to use his legs again ! Yet I never kept a carriage in my life, though 1 have often wanted one, i n.L. iii.iiuia raiiiUouuiLii. and could easily have afforded it once." I asked him why ? He replied, " It was not because he feared childish accusations of os- tentation, nor yet in order to save money, but because he thought it becoming to a rational being to be content with the natural means God has given him, both as to matter of necessity and pleasure. It was an insult," he said, "to Nature, while she was in full vigour, and had exhibited little or no deficiency in her functions — to hurry- to Art, For my own part," he continued, " 1 have always found a quiet but exquisite satisfaction, in continuing independent of her as- sistance, though at the cost of some occasional inconvenience : it gives you a consciousness of relying incessantly on Ilim who made you, and sustains you in being. Do you recollect the solemn saying of Johnson to Garrick, on seeing the immense levies the latter had made on the resources of ostentatious, ornamental art? ' Davie, Da- vie, these are the things that make a deathbed terrible!"' 1 said something about Diogenes. " Ah," he replied quickly, " the other extreme. He accused nature of superfluity, redundancy. A proper subordination of externals to her use, is part of her province, else why is she placed among so many materials, and with such facilities of using them? My principle, if such it may be called, is, that art may minister to nature, but not pamper or surfeit her with super- fluities. "You would laugh, perhaps, to come to my house, and see the extent to which I have carried my principles into practice. I, yes, I, whose life has been devoted, among other things, to the discovery of mechanical contrivances! You, accustomed, perhapc, to the elegant redundancies of these times, may consider my house and furniture absurdly plain and naked — a tree stripped of its leaves, where the birds are left to lodge on the bare brandies! But .1 want little, and do not ' want that little long.'— Stop, however, here is my house! Com'.' — a laugh, you know, is good before bed — will you have it now ? Come, see a curiosity— a Diogenes, but no Cvnic!" Had the reader seen the modesty, the cheerfulness, the calmness <>l manner, with which Mr E , from time to time, joined in the conversation, of which the above is the substance, and been aware of the Weight due to his sentiments, as those of one who had really LIVES dp to them all his lite, — who had rained a noble character in the philosophical world — if he foe aware bovi often old age and pedantry, grounded on a small reputation, are blended in repulsive union; be might not consider the trouble I have taken, thrown away, in recording this my firsi conversation with Ifr E . He was, indeed, an instance of (( philosophy leaching by example ;*' THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. $47 a sort of character to be sought out for in life, as one at whose feet we may safely bit down and learn. I could not accept of 3Ir E 's invitation that evening, as 1 had a patient to see a little farther on : but 1 promised him an early call. All my way home my mind was filled with the image of E , and partook of the tranquillity and pensiveness of its guest. I scarcely know how it was, but, with all my admiration of Mr E , 1 suffered the month of 3Iay to approach its close before I again encountered him. It was partly owing to a sudden increase of business, created by a raging scarlet fever — and partly occa- sioned by illness in my own family. I often thought and talked, however, of the philosopher, for that was the name he went by with Dr D and myself. Mr E had invited us both to take " an old-fashioned friendly cup of tea" with him; and, accordingly, about six o'clock, we found ourselves driving down to his house. On our way, DrD told me, that our friend had been a widower nearly five years ; and that the loss, somewhat sudden, of his amiable and accomplished wife, had worked a great change in him, by divesting him of nearly all interest in life or its concerns. He pursued even his philosophical occupations with languor — more from a kind of habit than inclination. Still he retained the same evenness and cheerfulness which had distinguished him through life. But the blow had been struck which had severed him from the world's joys and engagements. He might be compared to a great tree torn up by the root, and laid prostrate by a storm, yet which dies not all at once. The sap is not instantaneously dried up; but for weeks, or even months, you may see the smaller branches still shooting unconsciously into short-lived existence, all fresh and tender from the womb of their dead mother; and a rich green mantle of leaves long concealing from view the poor fallen trunk beneath. Such was the pensive turn my thoughts had taken by the time we had reached Mr E 's door. It was a fine summer evening — the hour of calm excitement. The old-fashioned window panes of the house we had slopped at, shone like small sheets of fire in the steady slanting rays of the retiring sun. It was the first house of a very respectable antique-looking row, in the suburbs of London, which had been built in the days of Henry the Eighth. Three stately poplars stood sentries before the gateway. "Well, here we are at last, at Plato's Porch, as I've christened it," said Dr D , knocking at the door. On entering the parlour, a large old-fashioned room, furnished with the utmost simplicity, t'4S 1HL MAK1YK PHILOSOPHEP. . con * istent with comfort, we found Mr E sitting near the win- dow, reading. He was in a brown dressing-gown, and study cap. He rose and welcomed us cheerfully. "I have been looking into La Place," said he, in the first pause which ensued, "and a little before your arrival, had Haltered myself that I had delected some erroneous calculations; and only look at the quantity of evidence that was necessary to convince me that I was a simpleton by the side of La Place !" pointing to two or three sheets of paper crammed with small algebraical characters in pencil — a fearful array of symbols — "^ 3«% Q77 +9— n —9; h x log. e"— and sines, co- sines, series, etc. without end. I had the curiosity to take up the volume in question, while he was speaking to Dr D , and no- ticed on the fly-leaf ihe complimentary autograph of the Marquis La Place, who had sent his work to Mr E . Tea was presently brought in; and as soon as the plain old-fashioned china, etc. had been placed on the table by the man-servant, himself a know- ing old fellow as 1 ever saw in my life, Miss E , the philoso- pher's niece, made, her appearance,— an elegant unaffected girl, wiih the same style of features as her uncle. "I can give a shrewd guess at your thoughts, Dr ," said Mr E , smiling, as lie caught my eye following the movements of the man-servajit till he left the room. "You fancy my keeping a man-servant to wait at lable does not tally very well with what 1 said the last time I had the pleasure of seeing you." "0 dear! I'm sure you're mistaken, Mr E . I was struck with the singularity of his countenance and manners, — those of a staunch old family servant." "Ah, Joseph is a vast favourite with my uncle," said Miss E . "I can assure you, and fancies himself nearly as great a man as his master." "Why, as far as the pratique of the laboratory is concerned, 1 doubt if his superior is to be found in London, lie knows if, and all my ways, as well as h the palm of his own hand ! He has the neatest way in the world of making hydrogen gas, and, wh;i! is more, found it oui himself," said Mr E , explaining the s; "and then be is a miracle of cleanliness and care! he has do! cost me ten shillings in bt 1 b ince 1 ! new him. Il<- moves among ;u\ brittle wares likeacal on a glass wall." "And then he writes and reads for my unci* — does all the minoi work of the laboratory-*-goes on errands— waits at table— in short he's invaluable," said A li>s E . "Quite a factotum, I protesl ! " exclaimed l>i l> — . THK MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 349 " You'd lose your better half, then, if he were to die, I suppose," said I, quickly. "No! that can happen but once," replied Mr E , alluding to the death of his wife. Conversation flagged for a moment. ' ' You've forgotten," at length said E , breaking the melancholy pause, "the very chiefest of poor Joseph's accomplishments— what an admirable unwearied nurse he is to me ! " At that moment Joseph entered the room, with a note in his hand, which he gave to Mr E . I guessed where it came from— for, happening a few mo- ments before to cast my eye to the window, I saw a footman walk- ing op to the door ; and there was no mistaking the gorgeous scarlet liveries of the Duke of . E , after glancing over the letter, begged us to excuse him for a minute or two, as the man was wailing for an answer. " Yo u, of course, knew what my uncle alluded to," said MissE , addressing DrD in a low tone, as soon as E had closed the door after him, "when he spoke of Joseph's being a nurse— don't you?" DrD nodded. " My poor uncle," she con- tinued, addressing me, " has been for nearly twenty-five years af- flicted with a dreadful disease in the spine ; and during all that time he has suffered a perfect martyrdom from it. He could not stand straight up, if it were to save his life ; and he is obliged to sleep in a bed of a very curious description, — the joint contrivance of him- self and Joseph. He takes nearly half an ounce of laudanum every night, at bed time ; without which, the pains, which are always most excruciating at night-lime, would not suffer him to get a mo- ment's sleep! — Oh, how often have I seen him rolling about on this carpet and hearth-rug — yes, even in ihe presence of visitors — in a perfect ecstasy of agony, and uttering the most heart-breaking groans!" "And I can add," said Dr D , " that he is the most perfect Job — the most angelic sufferer I ever saw ! " " Indeed, indeed, he is," rejoined Miss E , with emotion. " I can say, with perfect truth, that I never once heard him murmur or complain at his hard fate. When I have been expressing my sympathies, during the extremity of his anguish, he hate gasped, " Well, well, it might have been worse!"— Miss E suddenly raised her handkerchief to her eyes, for they were overflowing. " Do you see that beautiful little picture hanging over the mantle- piece?" she inquired, after a pause, which neither Dr D nor I seemed inclined to interrupt — pointing to an exquisite oil-painting of the crucifixion. "I have seen my poor uncle lying down on the -a ■» I ML J1AKIYK I'HILOSOPHER. floor, while in ihc most violent paroxysms of pain, and with his eyes fixed intensely on that picture, exclaim, * Thine were greater —thine were greater!' And then he has presently clasped his hands upwards ; a smile has beamed upon his pallid quivering fea- tures, and he has told me the pain was abated." " I once was present during one of these painfully interesting scenes," said Dr D , "and have seen such a heavenly radiance on his countenance, as could not have been occasioned by the mere sudden cessation of the anguish he had been suffering." 44 Does not this strange disorder abate with his increasing years ? " I inquired. "Alas, no ! " replied Miss E , " but is, if possible, more fre- quent and severe in its seizures. Indeed, we all think it is wearing him out fast. But for the unwearied services of that faithful crea- ture, Joseph, who sleeps in the same room with him, my uncle must have died long ago." "How did this terrible disorder attack Mr E , and when?" 1 inquired. I was informed that he himself originated the com- plaint with an injury he sustained when a very young man : he was riding, one day, on horseback, and his horse, suddenly rearing backward, Mr E 's back came in violent contact with a plank, projecting from behind a cart loaded with timber. He was, be- sides, however, subject to a constitutional feebleness in the spine, derived from his father and grandfather. He had consulted almost every surgeon of eminence in England, and a few on the Continent ; and spent a little fortune among them — but all had been in vain ! "Really, you will be quite surprised, Doctor ," said Miss E , "to know, that though such a martyr to pain, and now in his sixty-fourth year, my uncle is more active in his habits, and regular in his hours, than I ever knew any one. He rises almost invariably at four o'clock in summer, and at six in winter, — and i his, though so helpless, that without Joseph's assistance, he could not dress himself" "Ah ! b\ the way," interrupted Dr I) , " that is another pe- culiarity in Mr E 's case; he is subject to a sort of nightly para- lvsis of tli'- upper extremities, from which he does not completely recover, till In- has been up liar some two or three hours." How little had I thought of the under current of agony, flowing incessantly beneath the calm surface of his cheerful and dignified de- meanourJ < > philosophy ! — Christian philosophy! — I had failed to detect any marks of suffering in his features, though 1 had now had two interviews with him — so completely, eten hitherto, had "his THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 251 unconquerable mind conquered theclay"— asoneof our old writers expresses it. If I had admired and respected him heretofore, on tjje -round of DrD 's opinion— how did I now fed disposed to adore him ! I looked on him as an instance of long-tried heroism and fortitude, almost unparalleled in the history of man. Such thoughts were passing through my mind, when Mr E re- entered the room. What I had heard daring his absence, made me now look on him with tenfold interest. I wondered that I had overlooked his stoop— and the permanent print of pain on his pallid cheek. I gazed at him, in short, with feelings of sympathy and reverence, akin to those called forth by a picture of one of the ancient martyrs. ••I'm sorry to have been deprived of your company so long," said he; " but I have had to answer an invitation, and several ques- tions besides, from 1 daresay you know whom ? " addressing Dr D . "lean guess, on the principle ex imcjue the gaudy livery, • vaunts of royalty ' — eh ! Is it ? " "Yes. He has invited me to dine with Lord , Sir , and several other members of the Society, at , this day week, but I have declined. At my time of life I cant stand late hours and excitement. Besides, one must learn betimes to wean from the world, or be suddenly snatched from it, screaming like a child," said Mr E , with an impressive air. "I believe you are particularly intimate with ; at least I have heard so. Are you?" inquired Dr D . " ffo. I might possibly have been so, for has shewn great consideration towards me; but I can assure you, I am the sought, rather than the seeker, and have been all my life." "It is often fatal to philosophical independence to approach too frequently, and too nearly, the magic circle of the court," said I. " True. Science is, and should be, aspiring. So is the eagle ; but the royal bird never approaches so near the sun, as to be drowned in its blaze. Q has been nothing since he became a courtier." " What do you think of 's pretensions to science, generally, and his motives for seeking so anxiously the intimacy of the learned?" inquired Dr D . M Why, " replied E , with some hesitation ; " 'tis a won- derful thing for him to know even a fiftieth part of what he does. He is popularly acquainted with the outlines of most of the leading sciences. He went through a regular course of readings with my 2o2 THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. admirable friend : but he has not the time necessary to ensure a successful prosecution of science. It is, however, infinitely ad- vantageous to science and literature, to have the willing and active patronage of royalty. 1 never knew him exhibit one trait of over- bearing dogmatism ; and .that is saying much for one whom all flatter always. It has struck me, however, that he has rather too anxious an eye towards securing the character and applause of a 3I.-KCKNAS." "Pray, Mr E , do you recollect mentioning to mean incident which occurred at a large dinner party given by , where you were present, when Dr made use of these words to : i Docs not your think it possible for a man to pelt another with potatoes, to provoke him to jl'nifj peaches in return, for want of other missiles'!' — and the furious answer was ." " We will drop that subject, if you please," said E coldly, at the same time colouring, and giving my friend a peculiar moni- tory look. "I know well, personally, that has done very many noble things in his day— most of them, comparatively, in secret; and one magnificent action he has performed lately tow aids a man of scien- tific eminence, who has been as unfortunate as he is deserving, which will probably never come to the public ear, unless and die suddenly," said Mr E . He had scarcely uttered these words, when he turned suddenly pale, laid down his lea-cup with a quivering hand, and slipped slowly from his chair to the floor, where he lay at his full length, rolling to and fro, with his hands pressed upon the lower part of his spine — and all the while utter- ing deep sighs and groans. The big drops of perspiration, rolling from his forehead down his cheeks, evidenced the dreadful agony he was enduring. Dr I) and I both knelt down on one knee by liis sid -, proffering our assistance; but he entreated us to Leave him in himself for a few moments, and he should soon be belter. " Emma!" be gasped, calling his nieo — who, sobbing bitterly, ! his sid.- in a moment — " kiss me— that's a dear girl— and go up to bed — but, on your wav, send Joseph here directly." She retired, and in a few moments Josej b entered nastily, with a broad leathern band, which he drew round his master's waist and buckled tightly, lie then pressed with both his hands for some time upon the immediate seal of the pain. Our situation was embarrassing and distressing— both of us medical men. and yel compelled to viand by, mere passive spectators of agonies wecould neither alle- viate nor Hill' THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. J53 "Do you absolutely despair of discovering what the precise na- ture of this complaint is?" I inquired in an under lone. " Yes — in common with every one else that has tried to discover it. That it is an affection of the spinal chord, is clear; but what is the immediate exciting cause of these tremendous paroxvsms I can- not conjecture," replied Dr D . "What have been the principal remedies resorted to?" " Oh, every thing— almost every thing that the wit of man could devise — local and general bleedings to a dreadful extent ; irritations and counter irritations without end; electricity— galvanism — all the resources of medicine and surgery have been ransacked to no pur- pose. — Look at him ! " whispered Dr D , " look — look — do you see how his whole body is drawn together in a heap, while his limbs are quivering as though they would fall from him? — See — see — how they are now struck out, and plunging about, his hands clutch- ing convulsively at the carpet— scarcely a trace of humanity in his distorted features — as if this great and good man were the sport of a demon! " "Oh ! gracious God! Can we do nothing to help him?" I in- quired, suddenly approaching him, almost stifled with my emotions. Mr E did not seem conscious of our approach; but lav rather qui-eter, groaning,— "Oh— oh— oh— that it would please God to dismiss me from my sufferings ! " "My dear, dear Mr E ," exclaimed Dr D , excessively agitated, ' ' can we do nothing for you? Can't we be of any service to you?" " Oh, none— none— none ! " he groaned, in tones expressive of utter hopelessness. For more than a quarter of an hour did this victim of disease continue writhing on the floor, and we standing by, "physicians of no value!" The violence of the paroxysm abated at length, and again we stooped, for the purpose of raising him and carrying him to the sofa— but he motioned us off, exclaim- ing so faintly as to be almost inaudible,— ">"o— no, thank you — I must not be moved for this hour — and when I am, it must be to bed." — "Then we will bid you good-evening, and pray to God vou may be better in the morning." — "Yes — yes; better — better ; good —good-bye," he muttered indistinctly. "Master's falling asleep, Gentlemen, as he always does after these fits," said Joseph, who had his arm round his suffering master's neck. We, of course, left immediately, and met 3Iiss E in the passage, muffled in her shawl, and sobbing as if she would break her heart. 254 THK MART IK 1'HlLUbUFHKH. Dr D told me, as we were driving home, that, about two years ago, E made a week's slay with him ; and that, on one occasion, he endured agonies of such dreadful intensity, as nothing could abate, or in any measure alleviate, but two doses of lauda- num, of nearly half an ounce each, within half an hour of each other ; and that even then he did not sleep for more than two hours. "When he awoke," continued my friend, "he was lying on the sofa in a state of the utmost exhaustion, the perspiration running from him like water. I asked him if he did not some- times vield to such thoughts as were suggested to Job by his im- petuous friends, — to * curse God and die,' — to repine at the long and lingering tortures he had endured nearly all his life, for no apparent crime of his own? 'No, no,' he replied calmly; I've suf- fered loo long an apprenticeship to pain for that ! I own I was at first a little disobedient — a little restive — but now I am learning resignation ! Would not useless fretting serve to enhance — to ag- gravate my pains?' 'Well!' I exclaimed, * it puzzles my theo- logy — if any thing could make me sceptical .' E saw the train of my thoughts, and interrupted me, laying his white wasted hand on mine — ' I always strive to bear in mind that I am in the hands of a God as good as great, and that 1 am not to doubt his goodness, because I cannot exactly see how he brings it about. Doubtless there are reasons for my suffering what I do, which, though at present incomprehensible to me, would appear abun- dantly satisfactory, could I be made acquainted with them. Oh, Dr D , what would become of me,' said E , solemnly, ' were I, instead of the rich consolations of religion, to have nothing to rely on but the disheartening speculations of infidelity ! — If in this world only I have hope,' he continued, looking steadfastly upwards, 1 1 am of all men most miserable ! ' — Is it not dangerous to know : such a man, lest one should feel inclined to fall down and worship him?" inquired my friend. Indeed I thought so. Surely E was a miracle of patience and fortitude! and how he had contrived to make his splendid advancements in science, while subject to such almost unheard-of tortures, both as to duration and intensity — had devoted himself so successfully to the prosecution of studies requiring habits of long, patient, profound, abstraction, — was to me inconceivable. How few of us are aware of what is suffered by those with whom u<> sure most intimate! How few know the heavy counterbalancing^ of popularity and eminence — the exquisile agonies, whetbtr phy- sical or mental, inflicted by one immoveable " thorn in the flesh ! " THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 25S Oh ! the miseries of that eminence whose chief prerogative loo often is — Above the vulgar herd to rot in state ! How little had 1 thought, while gazing at the Rooms on this admirable man, first fascinated with the placidity of his noble fea- tures, that I looked at one who had equal claims to the character of a martyr and a philosopher ! How my own petty grievances dwindled away in comparison with those endured by E ! How contemptible the pusillanimity I had often exhibited ! And do you, reader, who, if a man, are, perhaps, in the habit of cursing and blaspheming, while smarting under the toothach, or any of those minor " ills that flesh is heir to," think, at such times, of poor, meek, suffering E , and be silent! I could not dismiss from my mind the painful image of E writhing on the floor, as I have above described, but lay the greater part of the night reflecting on the probable nature of his unusual disorder. Was it any thing of a spasmodic nature ? Would not such attacks have worn him out long ago ? Was it one of the re- moter effects of partial paralysis ? Was it a preternatural pressure on the spinal chord, occasioned by fracture of one of the vertebra?, or enlargement of the intervertebral ligaments? Or was it owing to a thickening of the medulla-spinalis itself? Fifty similar conjectures passed through my mind, excited as well by the singularity of the disease, as by sympathy for the suf- ferer. Before I fell asleep, I resolved to call on him during the next day, and inquire carefully into the nature of his symptoms, in the forlorn hope of hitting on some means of mitigating his suf- ferings. By twelve o'clock at noon 1 was set down again at his door. A maid-servant answered my summons, and told me that Mr E and Joseph were busily engaged in the "Labbory !" She took in my card to him, and returned with her master's compliments, and he would thank me to step in. I followed the girl to the labora- tory. On opening the door, I saw E and his trusty work-fel- low, Joseph, busily engaged in fusing some species of metal. The former was dressed as on the preceding evening, with the addition of a long black apron, — looked heated and flushed with exercise; and, with his stooping gait, was holding some small implement over the furnace, while Joseph, on his knees, was puffing away at the fire with a small pair of bellows. — To anticipate for a moment. How little did E or I imagine, that this was very nearly the f>33 THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. lost time of his ever again entering the scene of his long and useful scientific labours! I was utterly astonished to see one whose sufferings over night had been so dreadful, quietly pursuing his avocations in the morn- ing, as though nothing had happened to him ! " Excuse my shaking hands with you for the present, Doctor," sai) l E , looking at mo through a huge pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, "for both hands are engaged, you see. My friend D r has just sent me a piece of plalma, and you see I'm already playing pranks with it! Really, I'm as eager to spoil a plaything to see what my rattle's made of, as any philosophical child in the kingdom! Here I am analyzing, dissolving, transmuting, and so on# _But I've really an important end in view here, trying a new combination of metal, and Dr is anxious to know if the result of my process corresponds with his. — Now, now, Joseph," said E , breaking off suddenly, "it is ready; bring the" At this critical instant, by some unlucky accident, poor Joseph sud- denly overthrew the whole apparatus— and the compounds, ashes, fragments, etc. were spilled on the floor ! Really, I quite lost my own temper with thinking on the vexatious disappointment it would be to E . Not so, however, with him. " Oh, dear— dear, dear me ! Well, here's an end of our day's work before we thought for it ! How did you do it, Joseph, eh? " said E , with an air of chagrin, but with perfect mildness of tone. What a ludicrous contrast between the philosopher and his assistant! The latter, an obese little fellow, with a droll cast of one eye, was quite red in the face, and, wringing his hands, ex- claimed,— " Lord— Lord— Lord! what could I have been doing, Master? " " Why, that's surely your concern more than mine," replied E , smiling at me. " Come, come, it can't be helped— you've done yourself more harm than me — by giving Dr such a spe- cimen of your awkwardness as / have not seen for many a month. See and set things to rights as soon as possible," said E , calmly putting away his spectacles. "Well, Dr , what do you think of my little workshop?"' he continued, addressing me, who still stood with my hat and gloves on—surprised and delighted to see thai his temper had stood this trial, and thai such a provoking contre-tempi had really not at all ruffled him. Prom tin; position in which he stood, the light fell strongly on his foce, and I s;i\\ his features more distinctly than heretofore. I noticed thai sure index of a thinking countenance, — THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 257 ihree strong perpendicular marks or folds between the eyebrows, at right angles with the deep wrinkles that furrowed his forehead, and then the " untroubled lustre" of his cold, clear, full, blue eyes, rich and serene as that through whose clear medium the great sun Loveth to shoot his beams, ail brigbt'ning, all Turning to gold*. Reader, when you see a face of this stamp, so marked, and with such eyes and forehead, rest assured you are looking at a gifted, if not an extraordinary man. The lower features were somewhat shrunk and sallow — as well they might, if only from a thousand hours of agony, setting aside the constant wearing of his "ever waking mind;" yet a smile of cheerfulness — call it rather resignation — irradiated his pale coun- tenance, like twilight on a sepulchre. He shewed me round his laboratory, which was kept in most exemplary cleanliness and or- der ; and then, opening a door, we entered the "sanctum sancto- rum" — his study. It had not more, I should think, than five or six hundred books ; but all of them—in plain substantial bindings — had manifestly seen good service. Immediately beneath the win- dow stood several portions of a splendid astronomical apparatus— a very large telescope, in exquisite order — a recently invented in- strument for calculating the parallaxes of the fixed stars — a chro- nometer of his own construction, etc. "Do you see this piece of furniture?" he inquired, directing my attention to a sort of sideless sofa, or broad inclined plane, stuffed, the extremity turned up, to re^t the feet against— and being at an angle of about forty-five de- grees with the floor. "Ah ! could that thing speak, it might tell a tale of my tortures, such as no living being may ! For, when I feel my daily paroxysms coming on me, if I am any where near mv study, 1 lay my wearied limbs here, and continue till I find relief! " This put conversation into the very train I wished. I begged him to favour me with a description of his disease; and he sat down and complied. I recollect him comparing the pain to that which might follow the incessant stinging of a wasp at the spinal marrow— sud- den lancinating, accompanied by quivering sensations throughput the whole nervous system — followed by a strange sense of numb- ness. He said, that at other times it was as though some one were in the act of drilling a hole through his backbone, and piercing the marrow! Sometimes, during the moments of his most ecstatic agonies, he felt as though his backbone were rent asunder all the 17 258 THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. way up. The pain Mas, on the whole, local — confined to ihe first of the lumbar vertebrae ; but occasionally fluctuating between them and the dorsal. When he had finished the dreary details of his disease, I was obliged to acknowledge, with a sigh, that nothing suggested itself to me as a remedy, but what I understood from Dr D had been tried over and over, and over again.— "You are right," he re- plied, sorrowfully. "Dreadful as are my sufferings, the bare thought of undergoing more medical or surgical treatment makes me shudder. My back is already frightfully disfigured with the searings of caustic, seton-marks, cupping, and blistering ; and I hope God will give me patience to wait till these perpetual knock- ings, as it were, shall have at length battered down this frail struc- ture." "Mr E , you rival some of the old martyrs!" I faltered, grasping his hand as we rose to leave the study. "In point of bodily suffering, I may ; but their holiness! Those who are put into the keenest parts— the very heart of the 'fiery furnace' — will come out most refined at last! " "Well, you may be earning a glorious reward hereafter, for your constancy"— — " Or I mav be merely smarting for the sins of my forefathers ! " exclaimed D , mournfully. Monday, July 18 — . Having been summoned to a patient in the neighbourhood of E , I took that opportunity of calling upon him on mv return. It was about nine o'clock in the evening ; and I found the philosopher sitting pensively in the parlour alune; for his niece, 1 learned, had retired early, owing to indisposition. A peculiar sinumbra lamp, of his own contrivance, stood on the table, which was strewn with books, pamphlets, and papers. lie received me with his usual gentle affability. "I don't know how it is, but I feel in a singular mood of mind to-night," said he: " I ought to say rather many moods: sometimes so suddenly and strongly excited, as to lose the control over my emotions — at others sinking into the depths of despondency. I've been trying for these two hours to glance over this .New Viewof the Neptunian Theol t," pointing to an open book on the table, "which has sent me, to review For him in the ; but 'tis useless I caunol command my thoughts." I fell his pulse: it was one of the most irregular 1 had ever known. "1 know what you suspect," said he, observing my eyes b'xed with a puzzled air on my watch, and my finger at his wrist, for several minutes ; "some organic mis- THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 859 chief at the heart. Several of your fraternity have latterly com- forted me with assurances to that effect." I assured him I did not apprehend any thing of the kind, but merely that his circulation was a little disturbed by recent excitement. " True — true," he replied, " I am a little flustered, as the phrase is" "Oh — here's the secret, 1 suppose?" said I, reaching to a pe- riodical publication of the month, lying on the table, and in which I had a few days ago read a somewhat virulent attack on him. "You're very rudely handled here, 1 think?" said I. "What, do you think that has discomposed me?" he inquired with a smile. " No, no— I'm past feeling these things long ago! Abuse — mere personality — now excites in me no emotion of any kind!" " Why, 3Ir E , surely you are not indifferent to the opinion of the public, which may be misled by such things as these, if suf- fered to go unanswered ? " "lam not afraid of that. If I've done any thing good in my time, as I have honestly tried to do, sensible people won't believe me an impostor at any man's bidding. Those who would be so in- fluenced, are hardly worth undeceiving." * * • " There's a good deal of acuteuess in the paper, and, in one particular, the reviewer has fairly caught me tripping. He may laugh at me as much as he pleases ; but why go about to put him- self in a passion ? The subject did not require it. But if he is in a passion, should I not be foolish to be in one too?— Passion serves onlv to put out truth ; and no one would indulge it that had truth onlv in view. * * The real occasion of my nervousness," he continued, "is far different from what you have supposed,— a little incident which occurred only this evening, and I will tell it you. "My niece, feeling poorly with a cold, retired to bed as soon as she had done tea ; and, after silting here about a quarter of an hour, I took one of the candles, and walked to the laboratory, to see whether all was light— as is my custom every evening. On opening the door, to my very great amazement, I saw a stranger " " This gentleman's speculations have long served to amuse children and old people : now that he has become old himself, he also may hope for amusement from them.*'—" This mountain has so long brought forth mice. that, now it has become enfeebled and worn out, it may amuse itself with looking after its progeny." — "Chimeras of a diseased brain. '—• Quackery." Review, [neither the Edinburgh nor Quarterly.] Mr E hnew who was thk writer of this article. 260 THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. in it : a gentleman in dark-coloured clothes, holding a dim taper in one hand, and engaged in going round the room, apparently put- ting all my instruments in order. I stood at the door almost pe- trified, watching his movements, without thinking of interrupting them, for a sudden feeling of something like awe crept over me. Fie made no noise whatever, and did not seem aware that any one was looking at him— or if he was, he did not seem disposed to no- tice the interruption. I saw him as clearly, and what he was doing, as 1 now see you playing with your gloves! He was engaged lei- surely putting away all my loose implements; shutting boxes, cases, and cup-boards, with the accuracy of one who was perfectly well acquainted with his work. Having thus disposed of all the instru- ments and apparatus which had been used to-day — and we have had very many more than usual out— he opened the inner-door leading to the study, and entered— I following in mute astonishment. He went to work the same way in the study ; shutting up several vo- lumes that lay open on the table, and carefully replacing them in their proper places on the shelves. "Having cleared away these, he approached the astronomical apparatus near the window, put the cap on the object-end of the te- lescope, pushed in the joints all noiselessly, closed up in its case my new chronometer, and then returned to the table where my desk lav, took up the inkstand, poured out the ink into the fireplace, (lung all the pens under the grate, and then shut the desk, locked it, and laid the key on the top of it. When he had done all this, he walked towards the wall, and turned slowly towards me, looked me full in the face, and shook his head mournfully. The taper he held in his hand slowly expired, and the spectre, if such it were, disappeared. The strangest part of the story is yet to follow. The pale, lixed features seemed perfectly familiar to me — they were thos*' which I had often gazed at, in a portrait of Mr Boyle, prefixed to my quarto copy of his Treatise "[Atmospheric Air. As soon as 1 had a little recovered my self-possession, I took down the work in question* and examined the portrait. I was right! — I cannot account for my not having spoken to the figure, or gone close up i" it. 1 think I could have done either, as far as courage went. My prevailing idea was, that a single word would have dis- solved the charm, and my curiosity prompted me i*» see it out. 1 returned i ( » die parlour, and rang the bell lor Joseph. " ' Joseph,' said I, 'have you set things to rights in the laboratory and study to-night?'— l Yes, Master,' he replied, with surprise in his manner; ' [finished it before tea-lime, and set things in parti- THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 261 color good order— I gave both the rooms a right good cleaning out — I'm sure there's not even a pin in its wrong place.' "'What made you lling the pens and ink in the fireplace and under the grate?' " 'Because I thought they were of no use— the pens worn to stumps, and the ink thick and clotted— too much gum in it.' He was evidently astonished at being asked such questions— and was going to explain further, when I said simply, ' That will do,' and he retired. Now, what am I to think of all this? If it were a mere ocular spectrum, clothed with its functions from my own excited fancv, there was yet a unity of purpose in its doings that is extra- ordinary ! Something very much like ' shutting up ike shop'—ehV inquired E , with a melancholy smile. "Tis touching— very ! I never heard of a more singular inci- dent," I replied, abstractedly, without removing my eyes from the fire; for my reading of the occurrence was a sudden and strong conviction, that, ghost or no ghost, E had toiled his last in the behalf of science— that he would never again have occasion to use his philosophical machinery ! This melancholy presentiment in- vested E , and all he said or did, with tenfold interest in ray eyes. " Don't suppose, Doctor, that I am weak enough to be se- riously disturbed by the occurrence I have just been mentioning. Whether or not it really portends my approaching death, I know not. Though I am not presumptuous enough to suppose myself so important as to warrant any special interference of Providence on my behalf, yet I cannot help thinking I am to look on this as a warn- ing—a solemn premonition— that 1 may ' set my house in order, and die.'" Our conversation during the remainder of our inter- view, turned on the topic suggested by the affecting incident just related. I listened to all he uttered, as to the words of a doomed— a dying man ! What E advanced on this difficult and interest- ing subject, was marked not less by sound philosophy, than un- feigned piety. He ended with avowing his belief, that the Omni- potent Being, who formed both the body and the soul, and willed them to exist unitedly, could surely, nevertheless, if he saw good, cause the one to exist separately from the other ; either by endow- ing it with new properties for that special purpose, or bv enabling it to exercise, in its disembodied state, those powers which continued latent in it during its connexion with the body. Did it follow, he asked, that neither body nor soul possessed any other qualities than those which were necessary to enable them to exist together? Win should the soul be incapable of a substantially distinct personal 262 THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. existence? Where the impossibility of its being made visible to organs of sense ? Has the Almighty no means of bringing this to pass ? Are there no latent properties in the organs of vision — no subtle sympathies with immaterial substances — which are yet un- discovered — and even undiscoverable? Surely this may be the case — though hoiv, it would be impossible to conjecture. He saw no bad philosophy, he said, in this ; and he who decided the ques- tion in the negative, before he had brought forward some evidence of its moral or physical impossibility, was guilty of most presump- tuous dogmatism. This is the substance of his opinions; but alas! I lack the chaste, nervous, philosophical eloquence in which they were clothed. A distinguished living character said of E , that he was the most fascinating talker on abstruse subjects he ever heard. 1 could have staid all night listening to him. In feet, I fear I did trespass on his politeness even to inconvenience. I staid and partook of his supper, — simple frugal fare— consisting of roast potatoes, and two tum- blers of new milk. I left about eleven : my mind occupied but with one wish all the way home,— that I had known E intimately for as many years as hours? Two days afterwards, the following hurried note was put into my hands, from my friend Dr D : "My dear , I am sure you will be as much afflicted as I was, at hearing that our inestim- able friend, Mr E , had a sudden stroke of the palsy this af- ternoon, about two o'clock, from which I very much fear he may never recover ; for this, added to his advanced age, and the dread- ful chronic complaint under which he labours, is surely sufficient to shatter the small remains of his strength. I need hardly say, that all is in confusion at . I am going down there to-night, and shall be happy to drive you down also, if you will be at my house by seven. Yours," etc. I was grieved and agitated, but in nowise surprised at this intelligence. What passed the last time 1 saw him prepared me for something of this kind ! On arriving in the evening, we were shewn into the parlour, where sa! Miss E , in a paroxysm of hysterical weeping, which had forced her a few moments before to leave her uncle's sick-room. It was some lime before we could calm her agitated spirits, or get her to give us any thing like a connected account of her uncle's sud- den illness. " Oh, these will tell you all! " said she, sobbing, and taking two letters from her bosom, one of which bore a black seal : " It is these cruel letters that !ia\e broken his heart! Both came by the same post this morning!" She v.ithdrew, promising to THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 263 send for us when all was ready, and we hastily opened the two let- ters she had left. What will the reader suppose were the two heavy strokes dealt at once upon the head of Mr E by an in- scrutable Providence? The letter I opened, conveyed the intelli- gence of the sudden death, in childbed, of Mrs , his only daugh- ter, to whom he had been most passionately attached. The letter Dr D held in his hand, disclosed an instance of almost unpa- ralleled perfidy and ingratitude. I shall here slate what I learned afterwards, — that, many years ago, 3Ir E had taken a poor lad from one of the parish schools, pleased with his quickness and obedience, and had apprenticed him to a respectable tradesman. He served his articles honourably, and Mr E nobly advanced him funds to establish himself in business. He prospered beyond every one's expectations ; and the good, generous, cenfiding E , was so delighted with his conduct, and persuaded of his principles, that he gradually advanced him large sums of money to increase an extensive connexion ; and, at last, invested his all, amounting to little short of lo,000/., in this man's concern, for which he received five per cent. Sudden success, however, turned this young man's head; and MrE had long been uneasy at hearing current ru- mours about his protege's unsteadiness and extravagance. He had several times spoken to him about them ; but was easily persuaded that the reports in question were as groundless as malignant. And as the last half-year's interest was paid punctually, accompanied with a hint, that if doubts were entertained of his probity, the man was ready to refund a great part of the principal, Mr E 's con- fidence revived. Now, the letter in question was from this person ; and stated, that, though "circumstances" had compelled him to withdraw from his creditors for the present— in other words, to abscond — he had no doubt that if Mr E would wait a little, he should in time be able to pay him " a fair dividend ! " "Good God! why, E is ruined .'" exclaimed Dr D , turning pale, and dropping the letter, after having read it to me. " Yes, ruined ! — all the hard savings of many years' labour and economy, gone at a stroke ! " " Why, was«//hissmailfortune embarked in this man's concern ?" " All, except a few hundreds lying loose at his bankers ! — What is to become of poor Miss E ?" "Cannot this infamous scoundrel be brought to justice?" I in- quired. "If he were, he may prove, perhaps, not worth powder and shot, the viper ' " 264 THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. Similar emotions kept us both silent for several moments. " This will put his philosophy to a dreadful trial," said I. " How- do you think he will bear it, should he recover from the present seizure so far as to be made sensible of the extent of his misfor- tunes?" 44 Oh, nobly, nobly ! I'll pledge my existence to it ! He'll bear it like a Christian as well as a philosopher ! I've seen him in trouble before this." "Is Miss £ entirely dependent on her uncle; and has he made no provision for her?" "Alas! he had appropriated to her 5000/. of the 15,000/. in this man's hands as a marriage portion— I know it, for I am one of his executors. The circumstance of leaving her thus destitute will, I know, prey cruelly on his mind." Shortly afterwards, we were summoned into the chamber of the venerable sufferer. His niece sat at the bedside, near his head, holding one of his cold motion- less hands in hers. Mr. E 's face, deadly pale, and damp with perspiration, had suffered a shocking distortion of the features,— the left eye and the mouth being drawn downwards to the left side. He gazed at us vacantly, evidently w ilhout recognising us, as we took our stations, one at the foot, the other at the side of the bed. What a melancholy contrast between the present expression of his eyes, and that of acuteness and brilliance which eminently charac- terized them in health ! They reminded me of Milton's sun, looking through the horizontal misty air, Shorn of its beams. The distorted lips were moving about incessantly, as though with abortive efforts to speak, though he could utter nothing but an in- articulate murmuring sound, which he had continued almost from the moment of his being struck. Was it not a piteous— a heart- rending spectacle? Was this the philosopher! Alter making due inquiries, and ascertaining the extent of the in- jury to his nervous system, we withdrew to consult on the treatment to be adopted. I considered that the uncommon quantities of lau- danum he had so long been in the habit of receiving into his system, alone sufficiently accounted for his present seizure. Then, again, the disease in his spun — the consequent exhaustion of his energies —the sedentary, thoughtful life he led— all these were at least pre- disposing causes. The sudden shock he had received in the morn- ing meivK nn derated what had long been advancing on him. \w THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 26o both anticipated a speedy fatal issue, and resolved to take the earliest opportunity of acquainting him with his approaching end. [He lies in nearly the same state during Thursday and Friday.] Saturday.— We are both astonished and delighted to find that E 's daily paroxysms have deserted him, at least he has ex- hibited no symptoms of their appearance up to this day. On en- tering the room, we found to our inexpressible satisfaction, that his disorder had taken a very unusual and happy course— having been worked out of the system by fever. This, as my medical readers will be aware, is a very rare occurrence.— [Three or four pages of the Diary are occupied with technical details, of no in- terest whatever to the general reader.]— His features were soon restored to their natural position, and, in short, every appearance of palsy left him. Sunday evening.— Mr E going on well, and his mental ener- gies and speech perfectly restored. I called on him alone. Almost his first words to me were,— "Well, Doctor, good Mr Boyle was right, you see ! " I replied, that it yet remained to be proved. " God sent me a noble messenger to summon me hence, did he not? One whose character has always been my model, as far as I could imitate his great and good qualities." " You attach too much weight, 3Ir E , to that creature of imagination" "What! do you really doubt that I am on my death-bed? I assuredly uiail not recover. The pains in my back have left me, that my end may be easy. Ay, ay, the ' silver cord is loosed/ " I inquired about the sudden cessation of his chronic complaint. He said, it had totally disappeared, leaving behind it only a sensa- tion of numbness. " In this instance of His mercy towards an un- worthy worm of the earth, I devoutly thank my Father— my God !" he exclaimed, looking reverentially upward.— " Oh, how could I in patience have possessed my soul, if to the pains of dying had been superadded those which have embittered life !— My constant prayer to God hasbeen, that, if it be His will, my life may run out clear to thelastdrop; and though the stream has been a little troubled,"— alluding to the intelligence which had occasioned his illness, "I may yet have my prayer answered.— Oh, sweet darling Anne ! why should I grieve for you ? Where T am going, I humbly believe you are! Root and branch, both gathered home!" He shed tears abundantly, but spoke of the dreadful bereavement in terms of perfect resignation. -Oli THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. "You are no doubt acquainted," he continued, '* with the other afflicting news, which, I own, has cut me to the quick ! My con- fidence has been betrayed— my sweet niece's prospects utterly blighlcd — and I made a beggar of in my old age. This ungrateful man has squandered away infamously the careful savings of more than thirty years— every penny of which has been earned with the sweat of my brow. 1 do not so much care for it myself, as I have still enough left to preserve me from want during the few remain- ing days I have left me , but my poor dear Emma ! My heart aches to think of it!" " I hope you may yet recover some portion of your property, Mr E ; the man speaks in his letter of paying you a fair dividend." u No, no — when once a man has deliberately acted in such an unprincipled manner as he has, it is foolish to expect restitution. Loss of character and the confidence of his benefactor, makes him desperate. I find, that, should I linger on earth longer than a few weeks, I cannot now afford to pay the rent of this house— I must remove from it — 1 cannot die in the house in which my poor wife breathed her iast— this very room ! " His tears burst forth again, and mine started to my eyes. " A friend is now looking out lodg- ings for me in the neighbourhood, to which 1 shall remove the in- stant my health will permit. It goes to my heart, to think of the bustling auctioneer disposing of all my apparatus,"— tears again gushed from his eyes— "the companions of many years " "Dear, dear Sir !— Your friends will ransack heaven and earth before your fears shall be verified," said I, with emotion. "They — you — are very good — but you would be unsuccessful! — You must think me very weak to let these things overcome me in liii.s way — one can't help feeling them ! — A man may writhe un- der the amputating knife, and yet acknowledge the necessity of its use! My spirit wants disciplining." "Allow me to say, Mi'E , that 1 think you bear your mis- fortunes with admirable fortitude — true philosophic" "Oh, Doctor! Doctor!" he exclaimed, interrupting me, with solemn emphasis — "B< lieve a dying man, to whom all this word's Banc* his hands ami exclaimed, — " What can the unhappy man want with me '.' " lb' paused thoughtfully For a few moments. " You're of course aware who this is ? " he inquired of me in a whisper. I Uedded. "Shew him up stairs," said he, and the woman with- drew. I helped hastily lo remove him from his bed to an arm- chair near the lire. " For your own sake," said T hurriedlv — tl I , to be calm; don't allow your feelings" 1 was interrupted by the door opening, and just such a person as Mrs had de- scribed entered, with a slow hesitating slep, into the room. He held his bat Squeezed in both his hands, and he stood lor a few moments motionless; just within the'doot, Kvlih his eyes feed on tbfc fl * This was at rtie time of the PenitobkirCianpatgrK. THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. £27 1 In that posture he continued till Mrs had retired, shutting the door after her, when he turned suddenly towards the easy-chair by the fire, in which Mr E was silting, much agitated— approached, and foiling down on his knees, covered his eyes with his hands, through which the tears presently fell like rain ; and after many sobs and sighs, he faltered, "Oh, Mr E ! " " What do you want with me, Mr II ! " inquired Mr E , in a low tone, but very calmly. "Oh, kind, good, abused Sir! I have behaved like a villain to you" " Mr H , I beg you will not distress me ; consider I am in a very poor and weak stale." " Don't, for God's sake, speak so coldly, Sir. I am heartbroken to think how shamefully I have used you ! " "Well, then, strive to amend" " Oh, dear, good Mr E , can you forgive me? " Mr E did not answer. I saw he could not. The tears were nearly over- flowing. The man seized his hand, and pressed it to his lips with fervency. "Rise, 3Ir H , rise! I do forgive you, and I hope that God will ! Seek His forgiveness, which will avail you more than mine "Oh, Sir!" exclaimed the man, again covering his eyes with his hands,—" How very— very ill you look— how pale and thin ! —It's I that have done it all— I, the d dest " " Hush, hush, Sir ! " exclaimed Mr E with more sternness than I had ever seen him exhibil, "do not curse in a dying man's room." " Dving — dving — dying, Sir!" exclaimed the man hoarsely, staring horror-struck at Mr E , and retiring a step from him. "Yes, James," replied E mildly, calling him for the first lime by his Christian name, "I am assuredly dying— but not ihrougm you, or any thing you have done. Come, come, don't distress yourself unnecessarily," he continued in the kindest tones; for he saw the man continued deadly pale, speechless, and clasping his hands convulsively over his breast, — "Consider, James, the deaih of my daughter, Mrs ." ".Oh, no, no, no, Sir— no ! It's 1 that have done it all ; my in- gratitude has broken your heart — I know it has ! — What will be- come of me?" — the man resumed, still siaring vacantly atMrE . "James, I must not be agitated in this way — it destroys me — you must leave the room, unless you can become calm. What is done, is done; and if you really repent of it" 212 THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. " Oh ! I do, Sir ; and could almost weep tears of blood for it ! But, indeed, Sir, it has been as much my misfortune as my fault." "Was it your misfortune, or your fault, that you kept that in- famous woman on whom you have squandered so much of your property — of mine, rather?" inquired Mr E , with a mild, ex- postulating air. The man suddenly blushed scarlet, and continued silent. " It is right I should tell you that it is your misconduct which has turned me out, in my old age, from the house which has shel- tered me all my life, and driven me to die in this poor place ! You have beggared my niece, and robbed me of all the hard earnings of my life— wrung from the sweat of my brow, as you well know, James. How could your heart let you do all this?" The man made him no answer. "lam not angry with you— that is past; but I am grieved— disappointed— shocked— to find my confidence in you has been so much abused." " Oh, Sir, I don't know what it was that infatuated me; but— never trust a Living man again, Sir— never," replied the man ve- hemently. " It is not likely that I shall, James— I shall not have the oppor- tunity," said Mr E , calmly. The man's eye continued fixed on Mr E , his lip quivered, in spite of his violent compression, and the iluctuating colour in his cheeks showed the agitation he was suffering. " Do you forgive me, Sir, for what I have done ? " he asked al- most inaudibly. "Yes— if you promise to amend— yes! Here is my hand— I do forgive you, as I hope for my own forgiveness hereafter !" said Mr E , reaching out his hand. " And if, your repentance is sincere, remember, should it ever be in your power, whom you have most heavily w T ronged, not me, but — but — Miss E , my poor niece. If you shout*! ever be able to make her any reparation" the tears stood in Mi' E 's eyes, and his emotions prevented his completing the sentence. " Really, you must leave me, James — you must — I am too weak to bear this scene any longer," said E , faintly, looking deadly pale. " You had better withdraw, Sir, and call some other time," said I. He rose, looking almost bewildered; thrust his hand into his breast pocket, and taking out a small packet, laid it hurriedly 00 Mr E slap — snatched his hand to his lips, and murmuring, "Farewell, farewell, best — most injured of men!" withdrew. F watched him through the window ; and saw that as soon as he had THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. £»7T> left the house, he set off, running almost at the top of his speed. When I returned to look at Mr E , he had fainled. He had opened the packet, and a letter lay open in his lap, wilh a great many bank-notes. The letter ran as follows: — "Injured and re- vered Sir, — When you read this epistle, the miserable writer will have fled from his country, and be on his way to America. He has abused the confidence of one of the greatest and best of men, but hopes the enclosed sum will show he repented what he had done ! If it is ever in his power he will do more. J II ." The packet contained bank-notes to the amount of 3000/. When E had recovered from his swoon, 1 had him conveyed to bed, where he lay in a state of great exhaustion. He scarcely spoke a syllable during the time I continued with him. Tuesday. — Mr E still suffers from the effects of vesterdav's excitement. It has, I am confident, hurried him far on his journev to the grave. He told me he had been turning over the affair in his mind, and considered that it would be wrong in him to retain the 5000/., as it would be illegal, and a fraud on H 's other credi- tors ; and this upright man 4iad actually sent in the morning for the solicitor to the bankrupt's assignees, and put the whole into his hands, telling him of the circumstances under which he had re- ceived it, and asking him whether he should not be wrong in keep- ing it. The lawyer told him that he might perhaps be legallv, but not morally wrong, as the law certainly forbade such payments; and yet he was by very far the largest creditor. " Let me act rightly, then," said Mr E , " in the sight of God and man! Take the money, and let me come in with the rest of the creditors." — Mr withdrew. He must have seen but seldom such an instance of noble conscientiousness! I remonstrated with Mr E . 'MSfo, no, Doctor," he replied, " I have endeavoured strictly to do my dutv during life — 1 will not begin roguery on my deathbed ! " " Possibly you may not receive a penny in the pound, Mr E ," said I. " But I shall have the comfort of quitting life wilh a clear con- science!" Monday — a week afterwards) — The " weary wheels of life" will soon "stand still!'' All is calm and serene with E as a summer evening's sunset! He is at peace wilh all the World, and with his God. It is like entering the porch of heaven, and listening to an angel, to visit and converse with E . This morning he received the re\yard of his noble conduct in the matter of H 's *8 inrj iiianim rniLuaunitK, bankruptcy. The assignees have wound up the affairs, and found them not nearly so desperate as had been apprehended. The bu- siness was still to be carried on in II 's name ; and the solicitor, who had been sent for by E to receive the 3000/. in behalf of the assignees, called this morning with a cheque for 5500/, and a highly complimentary letter from the assignees. They informed him that there was every prospect of the concern's yet discharging the heavy amount of his claim, and that they would see to its being paid to whomsoever he might appoint. H had set sail for America the very day he had called on E , and had left word that he should never return. E altered his will this evening, in the presence of myself and Dr D . He left about 4000/. to his niece, " and whatever sums might be from time to time paid in from II 's business ; " five guineas for a yearly prize to the writer of the best summary of the progress of philosophy every year, in one of the Scotch colleges; and ten pounds to be delivered every Christmas to ten poor men, as long as they lived, and who had al- ready received the gratuity for several years ; ' ' and to J H , my full and hearty forgiveness, and prayers to God that he may return to a course of virtue and true piety, before it is too late." * * * "How is it," said he, addressing Dr D and me, " that you have neither of you said any thing to me about examining my body after my decease?" Dr D replied, that he had often thought of asking his permission, but had kept delaying from day to day. " Why?" inquired E , with a smile of surprise; " do vou fancy I have any silly fears or prejudices on the subject, — that I am anxious about the shell when the kernel is gone ? I can assure you that it would rather give me pleasure than otherwise, to think that, by an examination of my body, the cause of medical science might be advanced, and so I might minister a little to my species. I must, however, say you nay ; for I promised my poor wife that I would forbid it. Shi had prejudices, and I have a right to respect them." \V<'(lncsil(U). — He looked much reduced this evening. I had hur- ried to his lodgings, to communicate what I considered would be the gratifying intelligence, that the highest prize of a foreign learn- ed society had just been awarded him, for his work on , to- gether with a fellowship. My hurried manner somewhat discom- posed him; and before I had communicated my news, he asked, with some agitation, "What! — Some new misfortune?" — When J had told him my errand,— •' Oh, bubble! bubble! bubble!" he exclaimed, shading his head with a melancholy smile, "would I THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 273 not give a thousand of these for a poor man's blessing ? Are these, these, the trifles men toil through a life for?— Oh, if it had pleased God to give me a single glimpse of what I now see, thirty vears ago, how true an estimate T should have formed of the littleness — the vanity— of human applause! How much happier would mv end have been ! How much nearer should I have come to the cha- racter of a true philosopher — an impartial, independent, sincere searcher after truth, for its own sake ! " "But honours of this kind are of admirable service to science, Mr E ,'* said I, "as supplying strong incentives and stimulants to a pursuit of philosophy." " Yes — but does it not argue a defect in the constitution of men's minds to require them? What is the use of stimulants in medicine, Doctor '.' Don't they^resuppose a morbid sluggishness in the parts they are applied to ? Do you ever stimulate a healthy organ?— So is it with the little honours and distinctions we are speaking of. Di- rectly a man becomes anxious about obtaining them, his mind has lost its healthy tone — its sympathies with truth — wilh real philo- sophy." "Would you, then, discourage striving for them? Would you banish honours and prizes from the scientific world ?" "Assuredly — altogether — did we but exist in a better state of society than we do. * ' What is the proper spirit in which, as matters at present stand, a philosopher should accept of honours? — Merely as evidences, testimonials, to the multitude of those who are otherwise incapable of appreciating his merits, and would set him down as a dreamer — a visionary — but that they saw the esti- mation in which he was held by those who are likely to canvass his claims strictly. They compel the deference, if not respect, of the m koRoi. A philosopher ought to receive them, therefore, as it were, in self-defence — a shut-mouth to babbling envious gainsavers. Were all the world philosophers in the true sense of the word, not merely would honours be unnecessary, but an insult — a reproach. Directly a philosopher is conscious that the love of fame, the am- bition to secure such distinctions, is gradually interweaving itself with the very texture of his mind, — that such considerations are becoming necessary in any degree to prompt him to undertake or prosecute scientific pursuits, — he may write ichabod on the door of his soul's temple, for the glory is departed. His motives are spu- rious, his fires false ! To the exact extent of the necessity for such motives is, as it were, the pure ore of his soul adulterated. Mi- nprva's jealous eyes can detect the slightest vacillation or inconsis- -2T<; THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. tenc] in her votaries, and discover her rival even before the votary himself is sensible of lier existence ; and withdraws from her faith- less admirer, in cold disdain, perhaps aever to return. "Do \<»u think that Archimedes, Plato, or Sir Isaac Newton, would haw cared a straw for even royal honours? The true test, believe me— the almost infallible criterion of a man's having at- tained to real greatness of mind— to the true philosophic temper, is, his indifference to all sorts of honours and distinctions. Why —what seeks he— or at least professes to seek — bnr truth? Is he to slop in the race, to look with Atalanta after the golden apples? " He should endure honours, not go out of his way to seek them. If one apple hitch in his vest, he may carry it with him, not stop to dislodge it. Scientific distinctions arc al*olute]y necessary in the present state of society, because it is detective. A mere am- bitious struggle for college honours, through rivalry, has induced many a man to enter so far upon philosophical studies, as that their charms, unfolding in proportion to his progress, have been, of themselves, at last sufficient to prevail upon him to go onwards —to love Science for herself alone. Honours make a man open his eves, who would else have gone to his grave with them shut : and when once he has seen the divinity of truth, he laughs at obstacles, and follows it, through evil and through good report— if his soul be properly constituted— if it have any of the nobler sympathies of our nature. That is my homily on honours" said E , with a faint smile." I have not wilfully preached and practised different things, I assure vou." he continued, with a modest air, "but through life have striven to act upon these principles. Still, I never saw so clearly as at this moment how small my success has been— to what an extent I have been influenced by undue motives— as far as an over-valuing of the world's honours may be so considered. Nokt, methinks, I see through no such magnifying medium ; the mists and vapours are dispersing; and I begin t<> see that these objects are in themselves little, even to nothingness. The general retrospect ,,i my life is far from satisfactory," continued El , with a sigh, •« and fills me with real sorrow! "—"Why?" [inquired, with sur- prise. '* Why, for this one reason,— because I have in a measure sacrificed my religion to philosophy! (Hi— will my Maker thus be put off with the mere lees— the refuse — of my time and energies? For one hour in the day, that I have devoted t<» Him, have I MM given twelve <»r fourteen tomj own pursuits? What shall I >a\ of jjjjj shortly— in a fen hours— perhaps moments— when I stand THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER. 277 suddenly in the presence of God — when I see Him face to face ! Oh, Doctor ! my heart sinks and sickens at the thought ! Shall I not be speechless as one of old ?" I told him I thought he was unnecessarily severe with himself— that he "wrote bitter things against himself." " I thought so once, nay, all my life— myself— Doctor"— said he, solemnly — "but, mark my words, as those of a dying man — you w ill think as I do now when you come to be in my circumstances ! " The above, feebly conveyed perhaps to the reader, may be con- sidered " the last words of a philosopher!" They made an impression on my mind which has never been effaced; and 1 trust never will. The reader need not suspect Mr E of " prosing." The sentiments I have here endeavoured to record, were uttered with no pompous pedantry of manner, but with the simplest, most modest air, and in the most silvery tones of voice I ever listened to. He often paused, from faintness : and, at the conclusion, his voice grew almost inaudible, and he wiped the thick-standing dews from his forehead. He begged me, in a low whisper, to kneel down, and read him one of the church prayers — the one appointed for those in prospect of death : I took dowm the prayer-book, and complied, though my emotions would not suffer me to speak in more than an often-interrupted whisper. He lay perfectly silent throughout, with his clasped hands pointing upwards; and, when 1 had concluded, he responded feebly, but fervently, "Amen — Ainen ! "—and the tears gushed down his cheeks. My heart was melted within me. The silk cap had slipped from his head, and his long loose silvery hair streamed over his bed-dress : his appear- ance was that of a dying prophet of old ! 1 fear, however, that I am going on at loo great length for the reader's patience, and must pause. For my own part, I could linger over the remembrances of these solemn scenes for ever : but I shall hasten on to the "last scene of all." It did not lake place till near a fortnight after the interview above narrated. His man- ner during that time evinced no tumultuous ecstasies of soul ; none of the boisterous extravagance of enthusiasm. His departure was like that of the sun, sinking gradually and finally, lower — lower — lower — no sudden upflashings — no quivering — no flickering un- steadiness about his fading rays. Tuesday, IZtli October. — Miss E sent word that her uncle appeared dying, and had expressed a wish to see both Dr D and me. I therefore despatched a note to Dr D , requesting him to meet me at a pertain place, and then hurried through my 278 THE MAKTYR PHILOSOPHER. list of calls, so as to have finished by three o'clock. By four we wore both in the room of the dying philosopher. Miss E sat by his bedside, her eyes swollen with weeping, and was in the act of kissing her uncle's cheek when we entered. Mr F , an ex- emplary clergyman, who had been one of E 's earliest and dearest friends, sat at the foot of the bed, with a copy of Jeremy Taylor's Holy Living and Thjuuj, from which he was reading in a low tone, at the request of E . The appearance of the latter was very interesting. At his own instance, he had not long before been shaved, washed, and had a change of linen ; and the bed was also but recently made, and was not at all tumbled or disordered. The mournful tolling of the church bell for a funeral was also heard at intervals, and added to the solemnity of the scene. I have sel- dom fell in such a slate of excitement as I was on first entering the room. He shook hands with each of us, or rather we shook his hands, for he could hardly lift them from the bed. " Well — thank you for coming to bid me farewell ! " said he, with a smile ; adding presently, "Will you allow Mr F to proceed with what he is reading?" Of course we nodded, and sat in silence, listening. I waiched E 's features; they were much wasted — but exhibited no traces of pain. His eye, though rather sunk in the socket, was full of the calmness and confidence of unwavering hope, and often directed upwards, with a devout expression. A most heavenly se- renity was diffused over his countenance. His lips occasionally- moved, as if in the utterance of prayer. When Mr F had closed the book, the first words uttered by E were, " Oh ! the infinite goodness of God! " "Do you feel that your 'anchor is within the veil?'" inquired 1 . ' "Oh! — yes — yes! — My vessel is steadily moored — the tide of life goes fast away — I am forgetting that I ever sailed on its sea ! " replied E , closing his eyes. "The star of failh shines clearest in the night of expiring na- ture!" exclaimed F . "The Sun — the Sun of faith, say rather/' replied E , in a tone of fervent exultation; "it turns my night into day— it warms my soul— it rekindles my energies! — Sun — Sun of Righteousness!" he exclaimed, faintly, /diss E kissed him repeatedly with deep emotion. " Kmma, my love ! " he whispered, " hope thou in God ! Sec how he will support ihee in death ! "— She burst into tears. — "Will you promise me, l<>\e, 10 read the little Bible I gave you, when I am gone — especially the New Testament? — Do— do, love." THE MARTYR PHILOSOPHER -279 " I will— I " , replied 3Iiss E , almost choked with her emotions. She could say no more. "Dr ," he addressed me, "I feel more towards you than I can express ; your services— services " he grew very pale and faint. I rose and poured out a glass of wine, and put it to his lips, lie drank a few leaspoonfuls, and it revived him. "Well!" he exclaimed, in a stronger voice than 1 had before heard him speak. "I thank God I leave the world in perfect peace with all mankind ! There is but one thing that grieves me, in these my last thoughts on life,— the general neglect of religion among men of science." Dr D said it must afford him great conso- lation to relied on the steadfast regard for religion which he him- self had always evidenced. "No, no— I have gone nearly as far astray as any of them : but God's rod has brought me back again. 1 thank God devoutly, that He ever afflicted me as I have been af- flicted through life— He knows I do! " * * * Some one men- tioned the prevalence of Materialism. He lamented it bitterly ; but assured us that several of the most eminent men of the a^e — nam- ing them— believed firmly in the immateriality and immortality of the human soul. "Do you feel firmly convinced of it— on natural and philoso- phical grounds?" inquired Dr D . " I do; and have, ever since T instituted an inquiry on the sub- ject. / think the difficulty is to believe the reverse— when it is owned on all hands, that nothing in Nature's changes suggests the idea of annihilation. 1 own that doubts have very often crossed my mind on the subject— but could never see the reason of them ! " "But ijour confidence does not rest on the barren grounds of reason," said I ; " you believe Him who brought ■ life and immor- tality' into the world." " Yes— -Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ ! ' " "Do you never feel a pang of regret at leaving life?" I inquired. "No, no, do! " he replied with emphasis! "life and I are grown unfit for each other ! My sympathies, my hopes, my jovs, are too large for it ! Why should I, just got into the haven, think of risk- ing shipwreck again?" He lay still for nearly twenty minutes without speaking. His breathing was evidently accomplished with great difficulty; and when his eyes occasionally fixed on any of us, we perceived that their expression was altered. He did not seem to see what he looked at. I noticed his fingers, also, slowly twitching or scratching the bed-clothes. Still the expression of his features was calm and tranquil as ever. He was murmuring something in Miss E 's ear; and she whispered to us, that he said, "Don't go — / shall want ijmi at .sir." Within about a quarter of six o'clock, he in- quired where Emma was, and Dr D , and Mr F , and my- self. We severally answered, that we sat around him. " I have not seen you for the last twenty minutes. Shake hands with me!" We did. "Emma, my sweet love ! put your arm round my neck — I am cold, very cold." Her tears fell fast on his face. "Don't cry, love, don't — I am quite happy! God— God bless you, love ! " His lower jaw began to droop a little. MrF , moved almost to tears, rose from his chair, and noise- lessly kneeled down beside him. "Have faith in our Lord Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, looking steadfastly into his face. " 1 do! " he answered distinctly, while a faint smile stole over his drooping features. " Let us pray ! " whispered Mr F ; and we all knelt down in silence. I was never so overpowered in my life. I thought I should have been choked with suppressing my emotions. "0 Lord our heavenly Father ! " commenced Mr F , in a low lone, " receive Thou the spirit of this our dying brother" . E slowly elevated his left hand, and kept it pointing upwards for a few moments, when it suddenly dropped, and a long, deep respira- tion announced that this great and good man had breathed his last ! No one in the room spoke or stirred for several minutes ; and I almost thought I could hear the beatings of our hearts. He died within a few moments of six o'clock. Yes—there lay the sad effigy of our deceased "guide, philosopher, and friend," — and yet, why call it sad ? 1 could detect no trace of sadness in his features. He had left the world in peace and joy ; he had lived well, and died as he had lived, I can now appreciate the force of that prayer of one of old — "Lit mi: die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like lii^' There was some talk, among his friends of erecting a tablet to his memory in Westminster Abbey ; but it has been dropped. We soon lose the recollection of deponed excellence if it require aoy thing like ac(iye exertion. IIICi OIAII^O.UA. CHAPTER XIX. THE STATES^IAIN. Ambition '.—Its sweets and bitters— its splendid miseries— its wrinkling cares— its wasting agonies — its triumphs and downfalls —who has not, in some degree, known and felt them ? Moralists, historians, and novelists, have filled libraries in picturing their dreary vet dazzling details'; nevertheless, Ambition's votaries, or rather victims, are as numerous, as enthusiastic, as ever ! Such is the mounting quality existing in almost every one's breast, that no "Pelion upon Ossa" heapings, and accumulations of facts and lessons, can keep it down. Fully as I feel the truth of this remark, vain and futile though the attempt may prove, I cannot resist the inclination to contribute my mite towards the vast memorials of Ambition's martyrs ! My specific purpose in first making the notes from which the ensuing nan alive is taken, and in now presenting it to the public— in thus pointing to the spectacle of a sun suddenly and disastrously eclipsed while blazing at its zenith— is this : To show the steps by which a really great mind— an eager and impetuous spirit— was voluntarily sacrificed at the shrine of political ambition; foregoing, nay, despising the substantial joys and comforts of elegant privacy, and persisting, even to destruction, in its frantic efforts to bear up against, and grapple with cares too mighty for the mind of man. it is a solemn lesson, imprinted on my memory in great and glaring characters; and if I do but succeed in bringing a few of them before the reader, they may serve at least to check extravagant expecta- tions, by disclosing the misery which often lies cankering behind the most splendid popularity.— If, by the way, I should be found inaccurate in my use of political technicalities and allusions, the reader will be pleased to overlook it, on the score of my profession. I recollect, when at Cambridge, overhearing some men of my college talk about the " splendid talents of young Stafford*," who * It can hardly he necessary, I presume, to reiterate, that whatever names in- dividuals are indicated by in these papers, are Gctitious. had lately become a member of Hall ; and they said so much about the "great InC he had made in his recent debut at one of the debating societies — which then flourished in considerable num- bers— that I resolved to take the earliest opportunity of going to hear and judge for myself. That was soon afforded me. Though not a member of the society, I gained admission through a friend. The room was crammed to the very door; and I was not long in discovering the "star of the evening" in the person of a young fellow-commoner, of careless and even slovenly appearance. The first glimpse of his features disposed me to believe all 1 had heard in his favour. There was no sitting for effect; nothing artificial about his demeanour — no careful carelessness of altitude — no knitting of the brows, or painful straining of the eyes, to look bril- liant or acute! The mere absence of all these little conceits and fooleries, so often disfiguring " talented young speakers," went, in my estimation, to the account of his superiority. His face was "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought," and its lineaments were very deeply and strongly marked. There was a wondrous power and fire in the eyes, which gleamed with restless energy whichever way he looked. They were neither large nor prominent — but all soul — all expression. It was startling to find their glance suddenly settled on one. His forehead, as much as 1 saw of it, was knotted and expansive. There was a prevailing air of anxiety about his worn features, young as he was — being then only twenty-one — as if his mind were every instant hard at work — which an inaccu- rate observer might have set down to the score of ill-nature, espe- cially when coupled with the matter-of-fact unsmiling nods of recog- nition, with which he returned the polite inclinations of those who passed him. To me, sitting watching- him, it seemed as though his mind were of too intense and energetic a character to have any sympathies with the small matters transpiring around him. I knew his demeanour was simple, unaffected, genuine, and it was re- freshing to sec it. It predisposed me to like him, if only for being lice from the ridiculous airs assumed by some with whom I asso- ciated. He allowed live or six speakers to address the society, without making notes, or joining in the noisy exclamations and in- terruptions of those around him. At length In 1 rose amid perfect silence— the silence of expectant criticism whetted by rivalry, lie seemed at first a little flustered, and for about live minutes spoke hesitatingly and somewhat unconnectedly — with the air oi a man who dues not know I xaeilv how to gei on the spot, THE STATESMAN. -287 what I had directed to be done by the apothecary, — to bleed him. I complied, and from a large orifice look a considerable quantity of blood. I then accompanied him home — saw him consigned to bed — prescribed the usual lowering remedies — absolutely forbade him to open his lips, except in the slightest whisper possible; and left him calm, and restored to a tolerable measure of self-possession. One of the most exquisite sources of gratification, arising from the discharge of our professional duties, is the d ^abusing our pa- tients of their harrowing and groundless apprehensions of danger. One such instant as is related above, is to me an ample recom- pense for months of miscellaneous, and often thankless toil, in the exercise of my profession. Is it not, in a manner, plucking a pa- tient from the .very brink of the grave, to which he had despair- ingly consigned himself, and placing him once more in the busy throng of life — the very heart of society? I have seen men of the strongest intellect and nerve, — whom the detection of a novel and startling symptom has terrified into giving themselves up for lost, — in an instant dispossessed of their apprehensions, by explaining to them the real nature of what has alarmed them. * The alarm, however, occasioned by the rupture of a bloodvessel in or near the lungs, is seldom unwarranted, although it may be excessive ; and though we can soon determine whether or not the accident is in the nature of a primary disease, or symptomatic of some incurable pulmonary affection, and dissipate or corroborate our patient's ap- prehensions accordingly, it is no more than prudent to warn one who has once experienced this injury, against any exertions or ex- cesses which have a tendency to interfere with the action of the lungs, by keeping in sight the possibility of a fatal relapse. To re- turn, however, to Mr Stafford. t His recovery was tardier than I could have expected. His ex- traordinary excitability completely neutralized the effect of my * Oue instance presses so strongly on my recollection, that I cannot help advert- ing to it :^I was one day summoned in haste to an eminent merchant in the city , who thought he had grounds for apprehending occasion for one of the most appal- ling operations known in surgery. When I arrived, on finding the case not exactly within my province, I was going to leave him in the hands of a surgeon; but seeing that his alarm had positively half maddened him, I resolved to gite him what assistance I could. 1 soon found that his fears were chimerical ; but he would not believe me. When, however, I succeeded in convincing him that "all was yet right with him," by referring the sensations which had alarmed him to an unperceived derangement of his dress, tongue cannot utter, uor T ever forget, the ecstasy with which he at last ' ; gave to the winds his fears." He insisted on my accepting one of the largest fees that had ever been tendered me. 288 THE STATESMAN. lowering and calming system of treatment. I could not persuade him to give his rrtind rest; and the mere glimpse of a newspaper oc- casioned such a flutter and agitation of spirits, that 1 forbade them altogether for a fortnight. I was in the habit of writing my pre- scriptions in his presence, and pausing long over them for the pur- pose of unsuspecledly observing him ; and though he would tell me that his "mind was still as a stagnant pool," his intense air, his corrugated brows and fixed eyes, evinced the most active exercise of thought. When in a sort of half-dozing state, he would often mutter about the subjects nearest his heart. "Ah! must go out — the Bill, their touchstone — aye— though and his Belial- tongue." "Tis cruel — 'tis tantalizing, Doctor," he said one morning, "to find one's self held by the foot in this way, like a chained eagle ! The world forgets every one that slips for a moment from public view. Alas, alas! my plans— my projects— are all unravelling!" — " Thy sun, young man, may go down at noon ! " I often thought, when reflecting on his restless and ardent spirit. He wanted case- hardening — long physical training, to lit him for the harassing and exhausting campaign on which he had entered. Truly, truly, your politician should have a frame of adamant, and a mind "thereto conforming strictly." He should be utterly inaccessible lo emotion — and especially to the finer feelings of our nature, since there is no room for their exercise. He should forget his heart, his family, his friends — every thing except his own interest and ambition. It should be with him as with a consummate intriguer of old, — 1S^ rest, no breathing time had he, or lack'd— Lest from the slippery steep he suddenly Might fall. Of evert joy forgetful quite, Life's softness had no charm for him His object sole To cheat the silly world of her applause— his eye Fix'd with stern steadfastness upon the Star Thai shed hut madness on him. 1 found Mr Stafford one day in high chafe about a sarcastic al- lusion in the debale lo a sentiment which he had expressed in Par- liament—" Oh !— one might wither that fellow with a word or two, the stilled noodle ! " said he, pointing to the passage, while his eye glanced like lightning. "You'll more likely wither your own prospects of ever making THE STATESMAN. 289 the trial, if you don't moderate your exertions," I replied. He smiled incredulously, and made me no answer, but continued twist- ing about his pencil-case with a rapidity and energy which showed the high excitement under which he was labouring. His hard, jerking, irregular pulse, beating on the average a hundred a-mi- nute, excited my lively apprehensions, lest the increased action of the heart should bring on a second fit of blood-spitting. I saw clearly that it would be in vain for him to court the repose essen- tial to his convalescence, so long as he continued in town ; and, with infinite difficulty, prevailed on him to betake himself to the country. We wrung a promise from him that he would set about " unbend- ing"— " unharnessing," as he called it— that he would give " his constitution fair play." He acknowledged that, to gain the objects he had proposed to himself, it was necessary for him " to husband his resources;" and briskly echoed my quotation — " neque temper arcum icndit Apollo" In short, we dismissed him in the confident expectation of seeing him return, after a requisite interval, with recruited energies of body and mind. He had scarcely, however, been gone a fortnight, before a paragraph ran the round of the daily papers, announcing, as nearly ready for publication, a poli- tical pamphlet, "by Charles Stafford, Esq. M.P. ;"— and in less than three weeks — sure enough — a packet was forwarded to mv residence, from the publisher, containing my rebellious patient's pamphlet, accompanied with the following hasty note : — " ktnknme — Even with you!— you did not, you will recollect, interdict writing; and I have contrived to amuse myself with the accompanying trifle. —Please look at page , and see the kind things I have said of poor Lord , the worthy who attacked me the other evening in the House, behind my back." This " triile" was in the form of a pamphlet of sixty-four pages, full of masterly argumentation and impetuous eloquence ; but, unfortunately, owing to the publisher's dilatoriness, it came "a day behind the fair," and attracted but little attention. His temporary rustication, however, was attended with at least two beneficial results,— recruited health, and the heart of Lady Emma , the beautiful daughter of a nobleman remotely con- nected with Mr Stafford's family. This attachment proved power- ful enough to alienate him for a while from the turmoils of political life; for not only did the beauty, wealth, and accomplishments of Lady Emma render her a noble prize, worthy of great effort to obtain, but a powerful military rival had taken the field before Mr Stafford made his appearance, and seemed disposed to move hea- 19 ->()() THE STATESMAN. ven and eanh to carry her off. It is needless to say, how such a consideration was calculated to rouse and absorb all the energies of the young senator, and keep him incessantly on the qui vive. It is said' that the lady wavered for some time, uncertain to which of her brilliant suitors she should give the nod of preference. Chance decided the mailer. It came to pass that a contested election arose in the county ; and Mr Stafford made a very animated and success- ful speech from the hustings— not far from which, at a window, was standing Lady Emma— in favour of her ladyship's brother, one of the candidates. Io triuinplie ! That happy evening the enemy " surrendered at discretion:" and ere long it was known far and wide, thai— in newspaper slang— "an affair was on the tapis" between Mr Stafford and the "beautiful and accomplished Lady Emma ," etc. etc. It is my firm persuasion, that the diversion in his pursuits effected by this " affair/' by withdrawing Mr Stafford for a considerable interval from cares and anxieties which he was physically unable to cope with, lengthened his life for many years; giving England a splendid statesman, and this, my Diary, the sad records which are now to be laid before the reader. One characteristic of our profession, standing, as it were, in such sad and high relief, as to scare many a sensitive mind from enter- ing into its service, is, that it is concerned, almost exclusively, with the dark side of humanity. As carnage and can ion guide the gloomy ilight of the vulture, so misery is the signal for a medical man's presence. We have to do, daily, with broken hearts, blighted hopes, pain, sorrow, death! And though the satisfaction arising from the due discharge of our duties be ihai of the good Samaritan —a rich return— we cannot help counting the heavy cost,— aching hearts, weary limbs, privations, ingratitude. Dark array ! It may be considered placing the matter in a whimsical point of view; yet 1 have often thought that the two great professions of Law and Me- dicine are but foul carrion birds,— the one preying on the moral, as the other on the physical, rottenness of mankind. " Those who arc well, need not a physician," say the Scriptures : and on this ground, il is easy to explain the melancholy hue pervad- ing these papers. They are mirrors reflecting the dark colours, ex 4 posed to ihem* ,l is true, that some remote relations, arising out of the particular combinations of circumstances, first requiring our mI interference, may afford, as it were, a passing gleam HIE STATESMAN. 291 of distant sunshine, in the development of some trait of beautiful character, some wondrous "good, from seeming ill educed;" but these are incidental only, and evanescent — enhancing, not reliev- ing the gloom and sorrow amid which we move. A glimpse of Heaven would but aggravate the horrors of Hell ! — These chilling reflections force themselves on my mind, when surveying the very many entries in my Diary, concerning the eminent individual whose case I am now narrating— concerning one who seemed born to bask in the brightness of life— to reap the full harvest of its joys and comforts, and yet "walked in darkness!" Why should it have been so ? Answer,— Ambition J The reader must hurry on with me through the next ten vears of Mr Stafford's life, during which period he rose with almost un- precedented rapidity. He had hardly time, as it were, to get warm in his nest, before he was called to lodge in the one above him, and then the one above that, and so on upwards, till people began to view his progress with their hands shading their dazzled eyes, while they exclaimed, " fast for the top of the tree! " He was formed for political popularity. He had a most winning, captivating, command- ing style of delivery, which was always employed in the steady consistent advocacy of one line of principles. The splendour of his talents — his tact and skill in debate — the immense extent and ac- curacy of his political information — early attracted the notice of ministers, and he was not suffered to wait long before they secured his services, by giving him a popular and' influential office. Du- ring all this time, he maintained a very friendly intimacy with me, and often put into requisition my professional services. About eight o'clock one Saturdav evening, I received the following note from Mr Stafford :— "Dear , excuse excessive haste. Let me entreat you (I will hereafter account for the suddenness of this application^ to make instant arrangements for spending with me the lehole of to-morrow, (Sunday, at ,and to set off from town in time for breakfasting with Lady Emma and myself. Your presence is required by most urgent and special business; but allow me to beg you will appear at breakfast with an unconcerned air— as a chance visitor. Yours always faithfully, " C. Stafford." The words "wkole" and "tpeckd" were thrice underscored; and 20-2 THE STATESMAN this, added to the very unusual illegibility of the writing, betrayed an urgency, and even agitation, which a little disconcerted me. The abruptness of the application occasioned me some trouble in making the requisite arrangements. As, however, it was not a busy time with me, I contrived to find a substitute for the morrow in my friend Dr D . It was on a lovely Sabbath morning, in July 18—, that, in obe- dience to the above hurried summons, Iset off on horseback from the murky metropolis; and, after rather more than a two hours' ride, found myself entering the grounds of Mr Stafford, who had recently purchased a beautiful villa on the banks of the Thames. It was about nine o'clock, and nature seemed but freshly awakened from the depth of her overnight's slumbers, her tresses all uncurled, as it were, and her perfumed robes glistening with the pearls of morning dew. A deep and rich repose brooded over the scene, subduing every feeling of my soul into sympathy. A groom took my horse ; and finding that neither Mr Stafford nor Lady Emma were yet stirring, 1 resolved to walk about, and enjoy the scenery. In front of the house stretched a fine lawn, studded here and there with laurel bushes, and other elegant shrubs, and sloping down to the river's edge, and on each side of the villa, and behind, were trees disposed with the most beautiful and picturesque effect imagin- able. Birds were carolling cheerfully and loudly on all sides of me, as though they Avere intoxicated with their own " woodland melody." I walked about as amid enchantment, breathing the balminess and fragrance of the atmosphere, as the wild horse snuffs the scent of the desert. How keenly are ^Nature's beauties appreciable when but rarely seen by her unfortunate admirer, who is condemned to a town life ! I stood on the lawn by the river's edge, watching the ripple of the retiring tide, pondering within myself whether it was possible for such scenes as these to have lost all charm for their restless owner. Did he relish or tolerate; them? Could the pursuits of ambition have blunted — deadened, his sensibilities to the beauty of nature, the delights of home? These thoughts were passing through my mind, when I was startled by the tapping of a loose glove over my shoulder, and on turning round, beheld Mr Stafford, in his flowered morning, gown, and his face partially shaded from the glare of the morning sun, beneath abroad-rimmedstraw hat. "Good morning, Doctor— good morning, "said he; "a thousand thanks for your attention to my note of last night ; but see! yonder standsl.ady Emma, waiting breakfast for us," pointing to her ladyship, who THE STATESMAN 293 was standing at the window of the breakfast room. Mr Stafford put his arm into mine, and we walked up to the house. "My dear Sir, what can be the meauing of your" said I with an anxious look. "Not a word— not a breath— if you please, till we are alone after breakfast.*' ••Well — you are bent on tantalizing! — What can be the matter? What is this mountain-mystery?" "It may prove a molehill, perhaps," said he carelessly; "but we'll see after breakfast." "What an enchanting spot you have of it ! " I exclaimed, pausing and looking around me. "Oh, very paradisiacal, I dare say." he replied, with an air of indifference that was quite laughable. "By the way," he added, hurriedly, " did you hear any rumour about Lord 's resigna- tion late last night?"— "Yes."— "And his successor, is he talked of?" he inquired eagerly. "Mr C ."—"Mr C ! Is it possible ? Ah, ha" he muttered, raising his hand to his cheek. and looking thoughtfully downwards. "Come, come, Mr Stafford, 'lis now my turn. Do drop these eternal politics for a few moments. T beg." — "Ay, ay, 'still harping on my daughter !' I'll sink the shop, however — for a while, as our town friends say. But I really beg pardon, 'tis rude, very. But here we are. Lady Emma, Dr ." said he, as we approach- ed her ladyship through the opened stained-glass doorway. She sat before the breakfast urn, looking, to my eyes, as bloomingly beautiful as at the time of her marriage, though ten summers had waved their silken pinions over her head, but so softly as scarcely to flutter or. fade a feature in passing. Yes, thus she sat in her native loveliness and dignity, the airiness of girlhood passed away into the mellowed maturity of womanhood! She looked the beau- ideal of simple elegance in her long snowy morning dress, her clustering auburn hair surmounted with a slight gossamer network of blonde — not an ornament about her! I have her figure, even at this interval of time, most vividly before me, as she sat on that me- morable morning, unconscious that the errand which made me her guest involved — but I will not anticipate. She adored, nay idoliz- ed, her husband— little a- she saw of him — and he was in turn as fondly attached to her as a man could be, whose whole soul was swallowed up in ambition. Yes, he was not the first to whom poli- tical pursuits have proved a very disease, shedding blight and milder over din hearl ! 294 THE STATESMAN. I thought I delected an appearance of restraint in the manner of each. Lady Emma often cast a furtive glance of anxiety at her husband— and with reason— for his features wore an air of re- pressed uneasiness. He was now and then absent, and, when ad- dressed by either of us, would reply with a momentary sternness of manner— passing, however, instantly away— which showed that his mind was occupied with unpleasant or troubled thoughts. He seemed at last aware that his demeanour attracted our observation, and took to acting. All traces of anxiety or uneasiness disappear- ed, and gave place to his usual perfect urbanity and cheerfulness. Lady Emma's manner towards me, too, was cooler than usual, which I attributed to the fact of my presence not having been suf- ficiently accounted for. My embarrassment may be easily con- ceived. "What a delicious morning! " exclaimed Lady Emma, looking through the window at the fresh blue sky, and the cheery prospect beneath. We echoed her sentiments. "I think," said I, " that could I call such a little paradise as this mine, I would quit the smoke and uproar of London for ever!"— "I wish all thought with you, Dr ," replied her ladyship with a sigh, looking touching- ly at her husband. " What opportunities for tranquil thought! " I went on. "Ay, and so forth! " said Mr Stafford, gaily. "Listen to an- other son of peace and solitude, my Lord Roscommon— Hail, sacred Solitude ! from this calm bay. I view the world's tempestuous sea. And with wise pride despise All those senseless vanities .- With pily moved for others., cast away On rocks of hopes and fears, I see them to* On rocks of folly, and of Vice, I see them lost .- Sonif the pre\ ailing malict of the great, t iiii;ipp\ men. or adverse hie, Sunk deep into the gtdfi ol an alllirled Matt* : But more, tar mote, a numberless prodigious train. Whilst \ nine ooorts them, hut. alas | in vain, Fly from ho. "It would not have been verv wonderful if it had, I think ; for I've 298 THE STATESMAN. been up half the night— till nearly five this morning, correcting the two last proof-sheets of my speech on the BiH, which h publishing. I think it will read well ; at least I hope it will, in com- mon justice to myself, for it was most vilely curtailed and misre- presented by the reporters. By the way— would you believe it? ■ — Sir 's speech that night was nothing but a hundredth hash of mine which I delivered in the House more than eight years ago ! " said he, with an eager and contemptuous air. I made him no re- ply ; lor my thoughts were too sadly occupied with the dreadful communication he had recently made me. I abhorred, and do abhor and despise duelling, both in theory and practice; and now, to have to be present at one, and one in which my friend — such a friend ! — was to be a principal. This thought, and a glance at the possible, nay, probable, desolation and broken-heai tedness which might follow, was almost too much for me. But I knew Mr Staf- ford's disposition too well to attempt expostulation — especially in the evidently morbid stale of his feelings. "Come, come, Doctor, let's walk a little. Your feelings flag. You might be going to receive satisfaction yourself," with a bitter sneer, "instead of seeing it given and taken by others. Come, cheer, cheer up." He put his arm in mine, and led me a few steps across the lawn, by the water-side. "Dear, dear me!" said he, with a chagrined air, pulling out his watch hastily, "I wish to Heaven my Lord A would make his appearance. I protest her ladyship will have returned from church before we have settled our few matters, unless, by the way, she drives round by Admiral 's, as she talked of last night. Oh, my God ! think of my leaving her and the girls, with a gay air, as if we parted but for an hour, when it may be for ever ! And yet what can one do ? " While he was speaking, my eye caught sight of a servant making his way towards us rapidly through the shrubbery, bearing in his hand a letter, which he put into Mr Stafford's hands, savin;;, a courier had brought it that moment, and was wailing to lake an answer back to town. "Ah— very good— let him wait till I come," said Mr Stafford. "Excuse me, Doctor ," bursting open the en- velope with a little trepidation, and putting it into my hands, while he read the enclosed note. The envelope bore in one corner the name of the premier, and in the other the words "private and confidential," and was sealed with the private crest and coronet ol the Eafl. 11 Great < ;< x 1 [—read it !" exclaimed Mir Stafford, thrusting the note before me, and elevating his eyes and hands despairingly. THE STATESMAN. 299 Much agitated myself, at witnessing the effect of the communication on my friend, I took it, and read nearly as follows:— "My dear Stafford,— I had late last night his Majesty's commands to offer you the seals of the - — office, accompanied with the most gra- cious expressions of consideration for yourself personally, and his conviction that you will discharge the important duties henceforth devolving upon you, with honour to yourself, and advantage to his Majestv's councils. In all which, I need hardly assure you, I most heartily concur. I beg to add, that I shall feel great pride and pleasure in having you for a colleague — and it has not been my fault that such was not the case earlier. May I entreat your an- swer by the bearer's return ? as the state of public affairs will not admit of delay in filling up so important an office. I beg you will believe me, ever yours, most faithfully. Whitehall, Sunday noon, 12 o'clock." After hurriedly reading the above, I continued holding the letter in my hands, speechlessly gazing at Mr Stafford. Well might such a bitter balk excite the tumultuous conflict of passions which the varying features of Mr Stafford— now flushed— now pale— loo truly evidenced. This dazzling proffer made him only a few hours before his standing the fatal fire of an accomplished duellist ! I watched him in silent agony. At length he clasped his hands with passionate energy, and exclaimed— " Oh ! madness— madness- madness!— Just within reach of the prize I have run for all my life!" At that instant a wherry, full of bedizzened Londoners, passed close before us on their way towards Richmond ; and I saw- by their whispers that they had recognised Mr Stafford. He also saw them, and exclaimed to me in a tone I shall never forget, " Happy, happy fools ! " and turned away towards the house. He removed his arm from mine, and stood pondering for a few mo- ments with his eyes fixed on the grass. " Doctor, what's to be done? "—he almost shouted, turning sud- denly to me, grasping my arm, and staring vacantly into my face. I began to fear lest he should totally lose the command of himself. "For God's sake, Mr Stafford, be calm !— recollect yourself! — or madness — ruin — I know not what— is before you ! " I said in an earnest imploring tone, seeing his eye still glaring fixed upon me. At length he succeeded in overmastering his feelings. "Oh!— folly, folly, this! Inevitable!— Inevitable! " he exclaimed in a calmer tone. " But the letter must be answered. What can I say, Doctor?" putting his arm in mine, and walking up to the house rapidly. We made our way to the library, and Mr Stafford sat 300 THE STATESMAN. down before his desk. He opened his portfeuille slowly and thoughtfully. "Of course — decline?" said he, with a profound sigh, turning to me with his pen in his hand. " >~o— assuredly, it would be precipitate'. Wait for the issue of this sad business. You may escape." — "No — no — no! My Lord is singularly prompt and decisive in all he does — espe- cially in disposing of his places. 1 must — I must— ay" — beginning to write — "I must respectfully decline— altogether. But on what grounds? God! even should I escape to-day, I am ruined for ever in Parliament ! What will become of me?" He laid down the pen, and moved his hand rapidly over his face. " Why— perhaps it would be belter.— Tell his lordship frankly how you are circumstanced." " Tut ! " he exclaimed impetuously, " ask him for peace-officers ! a likely thing ! " He pressed both his hands on his forehead, lean- ing on his elbows over the desk. A servant that moment appeared, and said — " Please, Sir, the man says he had orders not to wait more than five minutes" — "Begone ! Let him wait, Sir ! " thundered Mr Stafford— and re- sumed his pen. "Can't you throw yourself on his lordship's personal good feel- ing towards you, and say that such an offer requires consideration — that it must interfere with, and derange, on the instant, many of your political engagements — and that your answer shall be at Whitehall by — say nine o'clock this evening? So you will gain time at least." " Good. 'Twill do— a fair plea for time ; but I'm afraid !" said he, mournfully; and taking his pen, he wrote off an answer to that effect. He read it to me — folded it up — sealed it — directed it in his usual bold and flowing hand — I rang for the servant — and, in a few moments, we saw the courier galloping past the window. "Now, Doctor, isn't this enough to madden me? O God ! it's intolerable!" said he, rising and approaching me, — " my glorious prospects to be darkened by this speck— this atom of puppyism— of worthlessness," — naming Lord , his destined opponent. " Oh — if there were — if there were" be resumed, speaking fiercely through his closed teeth, his eyes glaring downwards, and his lands clenched. Hesogi relaxed. "Well, well! it can't be )ii'l|>eil ; 'tis inevitable — mxvrws -i-^>-y.< xoajra xov* ncffugnpu — I must say with Medea. Ah!— Lord A at last," he said, asa gentleman, followed by his groom, rode past the window. In a few moments he, entered the library. His stature was lofty, his features -torn* THE STATESMAN. 301 manding, and his bearing fraught with composure and military hauteur. "Ah — Stafford, — good morning!" said he, approach- ing and shaking him warmly by the hand, " upon my soul I'm sorry for the business I'm come about." " I can sympathize with you, I think," replied Mr Stafford, calmly. "My Lord, allow me — Dv " I bowed. "Fully in mv confidence — an old friend," he whispered Lord A , in con- sequence of his Lordship s inquisitive suspicious glance. * " Well, you must teach the presumptuous puppy better manners this evening! " said, his Lordship, adjusting his black stock with an indifferent air. " Ay— nothing like a leaden lesson/' replied Mr Stafford with a cold smile. " For a leaden head, too, by ! " rejoined his Lordship, quickly. " We shall run you pretty fair through, I think ; for we have determined on putting you up at six paces" " Six paces ! — why we shall blow one another to - — ! " echoed Mr Stafford, with consternation. "'Twould be rather hard to go there in such bad company, I own. Six paces !" con- tinued Mr Stafford, " how could you be so absurd !— It will be de- liberate murder ! " " Poh, poh!— never a bit of it, my dear fellow— never a bit of it ! — I've put many up at that distance — and, believe me, the chances are ten to two that both miss." " Both miss at six paces! " inquired Mr Stafford, with an incre- dulous smile. "Ay! both miss, I say; and no wonder either. Such con- tiguity' — Egad, 'twould make a statue nervous ! " "But, A ! have you really determined on putting us up at six paces? " again inquired Mr Stafford, earnestly. •" Most unquestionably," replied his Lordship, briskly ; adding, rather coldly, "I flatter myself, Stafford, that when a man's honour is at stake, six, or sixty paces, are matters equally indifferent. "Ay, ay, A , I dare say," replied Mr Stafford, with a melan- choly air ; "but 'tis hard to die by the hands of a puppy, and under such circumstances ! Did you not meet a man on horseback? " "Av, av," replied his Lordship, eagerly; "I did — a courier of my Lord 's, and thundering townward, at a prodigious rate. Any doings there between you and the premier?" "Read!" said Mr Stafford, putting Lord 's letter into his hand. Before his Lordship had more than half read it, he let it fall on the table, exclaiming, "Good God! was there ever such an TiU2 I HL MAll.JvUAV unfortunate thing in the world before!— I Ia'n't it really driven you mad, Stafford? " "No/* he replied with a sigh; "the thing must be borne!" Lord A walked a few steps about the room, thoughtfully, with energetic gestures. " If — if I could but find a pretext — if I could but come across the puppy, in the interval — I'd give my life to have a shot preparatory with him ! " he muttered. Mr Stafford smiled. " While I think of it," said he, opening his desk, " here's my will. 1 wish you andDr to see me sign.'' We did — and affixed our names. "By the way," said his Lordship, suddenly addressing Mr Staf- ford , who, with his chin resting on his hands, and his features wearing an air of intense thought, had been silent for some minutes; " how do you put off Lady Emma to-day? How do you account for your absence? " "Why, I've told her we three were engaged to dinner at Sir 's," naming a neighbouring Baronet. " I'm afraid it will kill Lady Emma if 1 fall," he faltered, while the tears rushed to his eyes. He stepped towards the decanters, which had, a little while before, been brought in by the servant ; and, after asking us to do the same, poured out a glass, and drank it hastily — and another — and another. 44 Well, this is one of the saddest affairs, altogether, that I ever knew! " exclaimed his Lordship. "Stafford, I feel for you from my heart's core — I do! " he continued, grasping him affectionately by the hand: "here's to your success to-night, and Gods blessing to Lady Emma!" Mr Stafford started suddenly from him, and walked to the window, where he stood for a few minutes in silence. "Lady Emma is returning, I see," said he, approaching us. His features exhibited little or no traces of agitation. He poured ©ut another glass of wine, and drank it off at a draught, and had hard- ly set down the glass, before the carriage steps were heard letting down at the door. Mr Stafford turned to them with an eye of agony, as his lady and one of her little girls descended. "1 think we'd perhaps better not join her Ladyship before our setting oil," said Lord A , looking- anxiously at poor Stafford. "Oh, but we /////," said he, leading to the door. He had perfect- ly recovered his self-possession. 1 never knew a man that had such remarkable command of face and manner as .Mi" Stafford. I was amazed at the /jay — almost nonchalant — air with which he walked up to Lady Emma— asked her about the sermon — whether she THE STATESMAN. 505 had called at Admiral 's— and several other such questions. "Ah! and how is it with you, my little Hebe— eh?" said be, taking the laughing girl into his anus, laughing, tickling and kissing her, wiili all a father's fondness. / saw his heart was swelling within him ; and thetouching sight brougbi , with powerful force, to my recollection a similar scene in the Medea of Euripides, where the mother is bewailing over the "last smile" oilier children*, lie succeeded in betraying no painful emotion in his lady's pi esence, and Lord A took good care to engage her in incessant conversation. "What does your Ladyshipsay to a walk through the grounds?" said he, proffering his arm, which she accepted, and we all walked out together, The day was beautiful, but oppressively sultry, and we turned our steps towards the plantations. Mr Stafford audi walked together, and slipped a little behind for the purpose of con- versation. "1 shan't have much opportunity of speaking with you, Doctor," said he, "so I'll .say what is uppermost now. Be sure, my dear Doctor, to hurry from the held— w hich is about four miles from my house— to Lady Emma, in the event of my being either killed or wounded, and do what you think best, to prepare my wile lor the event. I cannot trust her to better, gentler hands than yours— my old, my tried friend! You know where m\ will is— and I've given directions for my funeral." "0 dear, deai- Stafford!" I interrupted him, moved almost to tears, "don't speak so hopelessly ! " " Doctor— nonsense ! there's no disguising matters from one's self. Is there a chance for me? No : I'm a murdered man ; and can you doubt it? Lord can do only one thing well in the world, and that is, bit his man at any distance; and then nx puces off each other ! Lord A may say what he likes ; but I call if a murder. However, the absurd customs of society urns! be complied with ! — I hope," he added, after a pause, "that when the nine days' won- der of the affair shall have passed off— if I fall— when the press shall cease its lying about it— that my friends will do justice to inv memory. God knows, I really love my country, and would have • I shall be pardoned, T am sure, by the elassieal reader, for reminding him of the exquisite iMgmgt <>l the original : ■{-:>: ptu '. — t K i- d/a/MCQCV, ri/va; — t - , - ■ *» ; ui — c/x\ /-j : -A Kin Med. 1056-40. >Ui 1HL STATESMAN. served it : it was my ambition to do so; but it's useless talking now ! — I am excessively vexed that this affair should have occurred before the question comes on, in preparation for which I have been toiling incessantly, night and day, for this month past. I know that great expectations " At that instant, Lord A and Lady Emma met us, and we had' no farther opportnnitv of conversing. We returned to lunch after a few minutes' longer walk. "God bless you, Emma!" said Mr Stafford, nodding, with an affectionate smile, as he took wine with his lady. He belraved no emotion throughout the time we sat together, but conversed long— and often in a lively strain — on the popular topics of the day. He rang for his valet, and directed him to have his toilet ready, and to order the carriage for four o'clock. He then withdrew : and in about a quarter of an hour's lime, returned, dressed in a blue sur- tout and while trowsers. He was a very handsome, well-made man. and seemed dressed with particular elegance, 1 thought. "Upon my honour, Charles, you are in a pretty dinner-trim," said Lady Emma, "and all of you, I protest ! " she continued, look- ing round with surprise at our walking dress. Mr Stafford told her, with a laugh, that we were going to meet none but bachelors. "What !— why, where will the Miss s be?" " Ordered out, my lady, for the day," replied Lord A , with a smile, promptly, lest his friend should hesitate; " 'tis to be a mo del of a divan, I understand ! " "Don't be late, love!" said Lady Emma to her husband, as he was drawing on his gloves; "you know I've little enough of you at all times — don't — don't be late ! " " No— no later than I can help, certainly! " said he, moving to the door. "Say eleven — will you? — come, foroHcc.'" "Well — yes. I will return by eleven,'' he replied, pointedly, and 1 detected a little tremulousness in his tone. "Papa! papa!" cm tainted his little daughter, running across the hall, as her father was on the carriage steps; "Papa! papa! may I sit up to-nighl till you come home?" He made no reply, but beckoned us in, hurriedly — sat buck in his seat— thundered, "Drive on, Sir!" and burst into tears. "Oh, my dear fellow— Stafford— Stafford ! This will never do. What will our friends on the ground say?*' inquired Lord A . "What they like!" replied Mr Stafford, sternly, still in tears. I Ir soon recovered himself. THE STATESMAN. 30." * * After driving some lime, "Now, lei me give you a bil of advice," said Lord A , in an earnest tone, " we shall say only one word, by way of signal— 4 Fire! ' and be sure to fire while you are in the act of raising your pistol." "Oh, yes— yes — yes — I understand" " Well, but be sure; don't think of pointing first, and then firing — or, by , you'll assuredly lire over his head, or fire far on one side. Only recollect to do as I say, and you will lake him full in the ribs, or clip him in the neck, or at least wing him." " My dear fellow, do you take me for a novice? Do you forget my affair with ?" inquired Mr Stafford, impatiently. " I promised to meet G about here," said Lord A , put- ling his head out of the window. "Egad, if he is not punctual, I don't know what we shall do, for he's got my pistol-case. Where — where is he?" he continued, looking up the road. "There!" he exclaimed, catching sight of a horseman riding at a very slow pace. After we had overtaken him, and Lord A had taken the pistol-case into the carriage, and Mr Stafford had himself exa- mined the pistols carefully, we rode side by side till we came near the scene of action. During that time, we spoke but little, and that little consisted of the most bitter and sarcastic expressions of Mr Stafford's contempt for his opponent, and regret at the occur- rence which had so tantalized him, alluding to Lord 's offer of the office. About ten minutes to seven, we alighted, and gave the coachman orders to remain there till we returned. The even- ing was lovely— the glare of day "mellowed to that lender light" which characterises a summer evening in the country. As we walked across the fields towards the appointed spot, I felt sick and faint with irrepressible agitation, and Mr G , the surgeon, with whom I walked, joked with me at my "squeamishness," much in the style of tars with sea-sick passengers. "There's nothing in it —nothing," said he; "they'll take care not to hurt one another. Tis a pity loo that such a man as Mr Stafford should run the risk. What a noise it will make ! " I let him talk on, for I could not an- swer, till we approached the fatal field, which we entered by a gap. Lord A got through first. "Punctual, however," said he, looking round at Mr Stafford, who was following. "There they are— just gelling over the style. Inimitable coxcomb ! " " Ay, there they are, sure enough," replied he, shading his eyes. " A— — , for God's sake, take care not to put me against the sun- shine — it will dazzle" "Oh, never fear ; it will go down before then ; 'lis but just above 20 306 THE STATESMAN. the horizon now." A touching image, I thought! It might be so with Mr Stafford — his sun " might go down — at noon ! " " Slop, my lord," said Mr Stafford, motioning Lord A back, and pressing his hand to his forehead. "A moment — allow me! Let me see— is there any thing I've forgot? Oh, I thought there was!" He hurriedly requested Lord A , after the affair, in the event of its proving bloody, to call on the minister and explain it all. Lord A promised to do so. " Ah — here, too," unbut- toning his surtout, " this must not be here, I suppose ;" and he re- moved a small gold snuff-box from his right to his left waistcoat pocket. "Let the blockhead have his full chance." "Stuff, stuff, Stafford! That's Quixotic!" muttered Lord A . He was much paler, and more thoughtful than I had seen him all along. All this occurred in much less time than I have taken to tell it. We all passed into the field ; and as we approached, saw- Lord and his second, who were waiting our arrival. The ap- pearance of the former was that of a handsome fashionable young man, with very light hair, and lightly dressed altogether; and he walked to and fro, switching about a lilllc riding-cane. Mr Staf- ford released Lord A , who joined the other second, and com- menced the preliminary arrangements. I never saw a greater contrast, than there was between the de- meanour of Mr Stafford and his opponent. There stood the former, his hat shading his eyes, his arms folded, eyeing the motions of his antagonist with a look of supreme — of utter contempt; for 1 saw his compressed and curled upper lip. Lord betrayed an an- xiety — a visible effort to appear unconcerned. He "overdid it." lie was evidently as uneasy, in the contiguity of Mr Stafford, as the rabbit shivering under the baleful glare of the rattlesnake's eye. One little circumstance was full of character at that agitating mo- ment. Lord , anxious to manifest every appearance of cool- and indifference, seemed bent on demolishing a nettle, or some other prominent weed, and was making repeated strokes at it with the little whip he held. This, a lew seconds before his life was to be jeopardied ! Mr Stafford stood watching this puerile feat in the position I have formerly mentioned, and a withering smile stole over his features, while he muttered — if 1 heard correctly — " Poor boy! poor DOJ ! " At length the work of Loading being completed, and the distance — six paces — duly stepped out, the duellists walked up to their il ins. Their proximity was perfectly frightful. The THE STATESMAN. 307 pistols were then placed in their hands, and we stepped to a little distance from them. " Fire! " said Lord A ; and the word had hardly passed his lips, before Lord 'a ball whizzed close past the ear of Mr Stafford. The latter, who had not even elevated his pistol at the word of command, after eyeing his antagonist for an instant with a scowl of contempt, fired in the air, and then jerked the pistol away towards Lord , with the distinctly audible words — "Kennel, Sir ! kennel ! " He then walked towards the spot where Mr G and I were standing. Would to heaven he had never uttered the words in question ! Lord had heard them, and followed him, furiously exclaiming, "Do you call (his satisfaction, Sir?" and, through his second, insisted on a second interchange of shots. In vain did Lord A vehemently protest that it was contrary to all the laws of duelling, and that he would leave the ground — they were inflexible. Mr Stafford approached Lord A — f-, and whispered, "For Gods sake, A , don't hesitate. Load — load again ! The fool will rush on his fate. Put us up again, and see if 1 lire a second time in the air ! " His second slowly and reluctantly assented, and reloaded. Again the hostile couple stood at the same distance from each other, pale with fury ; and at the word of command, both fired, and both fell. At one bound I sprung towards Mr Stafford, almost blind with agitation. Lord A had him propped against his knee, and with his white pocket- handkerchief was endeavouring to stanch a wound in the right side. Mr Stafford's fire had done terrible execution, for his ball had completely shattered the lower jaw of his opponent, who was borne off the field instantly. Mr Stafford swooned, and was some mi- nutes before he recovered, when he exclaimed feebly, " God forgive me and be with my poor wife ! " We attempted to move him, when he swooned a second time, and we were afraid it was all over with him. Again, however, he recovered ; and, opening his eyes, he saw me with my fingers at his pulse. "Oh, Doctor, Doctor ! what did you promise? Remember Lady Emm — " he could not get out the word. I waned till the surgeon had ascertained generally the nature of the wound, which he presently pronounced not fatal, and assisted in binding it up, and conveying him to the carriage. I then mounted Mr G 's horse, and hurried on to communicate the dreadful intelligence to Lady Emma. I galloped every step of the way, and found, on my arrival, that her ladyship had but a few mo- ments before adjourned to the drawing-room, where she was sitting atcoffee. Thither 1 followed the servant, who announced me. Lady 308 THE STATESMAN Emma was sitting by the tea-table, and rose on hearing my name. When she saw my agitated manner, the eolour suddenly faded froih hep cheeks. She elevated her arms, as if deprecating my intelligence ; and before I could reach her, had fallen fainting on the floor. I cannot undertake to describe what took place on that dreadful night. All was confusion — agony — despair. Mr Stafford was in a state of insensibility when he arrived at home, and was immediately carried up to bed. The surgeon succeeded in extracting the ball, which had seriously injured the fifth and sixth ribs, but had not penetrated to the lungs. Though the wound was serious, and would require careful and vigilant treatment, there was no ground for apprehending a mortal issue. As for Lord , 1 may anti- cipate his fate. The wound he had received brought on a lock- jaw, of which he died in less than a week. And this is what is called SATISFACTION. To return : All my attention was devoted to poor Lady Emma. She did not even ask to see her husband, or move to leave the drawing-room, after recovering from her swoon. She listened with apparent calmness to my account of the transaction, which, the reader may imagine, was as mild and mitigated in its details as possible. As I went on, she became more and more thoughtful, and continued, with her eyes fixed on the floor, motionless and silent. In vain did I attempt to rouse her, by soothing— threats- surprise. She would gaze full at me, and relapse into her former abstracted mood. At length the drawing-room door was opened by some one — who proved to be Lord A , come to take his leave. Lady Emma sprang from the sofa , burst from my grasp, uttered a long, loud, and frightful peal of laughter, and then came lit after fit of the strongest hysterics I ever saw. * * About midnight, T)r Baillieand Sir arrived, and found their patients - each insensible, and each in different apartments. Alas ! alas ! what a dreadful contrast between that hour and the hour of my arrival in the morning! O ambition ! political happiness!— mockery ! Towards morning Lady Emma became calmer, and, under the influence of a pretty powerful dose of laudanum, fell into a sound sleep. I repaired to the bedside of Mr Stafford, lie lay asleep, Mr (i the surgeon silting on one side of the bed, and a nurse on the oilier. Yes, there lay the Statesman! his noble features, though overspread with a pallid, a cadaverous hue, still bearing the ineffaceable impress of intellect. There was a loftiness about THE STATESMAN. aOO the ample expanded forehead, and a stern commanding expression about the partially knit eyebrows, and pallid compressed lips* which, even in the absence of the flashing eye, bespoke the great soul, Like an imprisoned eagle, pent within. That fain would fly ! " On what a slender thread hangs every thing in life! " thought I, as I stood silently at the fool of the bed, gazing on Mr Stafford. To think of a man like Stafford falling by the hand of an insigni- ficant lad of a lordling — a titled bully ! Oh, shocking and execrable custom of duelling! — blot on the escutcheon of a civilized people ! — which places greatness of every description at the mercy of the mean and worthless; which lyingly pretends to assert a man's ho- nour and atone for insult, by turning the tears of outraged feeling into — blood ! About eight o'clock in the morning, (Monday,) I set off for town, leaving my friend in the skilful hands of Mr G , and promising to return, if possible, in the evening. About noon, what was my astonishment to hear street-criers yelling every where a "full, true, and particular account of the bloody duel fought last night between Mr Stafford and Lord ! " Curiosity prompted me to purchase the trash. I need hardly say that it was preposterous nonsense. The "duellists," it seemed, " fired six shots a-piece"— and what will the leader imagine were the " dying" words of Mr Stafford- according to these precious manufacturers of the marvellous? — '•Mr Stafford then raised himself on his second's knee, and with a loud and solemn voice, said, 'I leave my everlasting hatred to Lord , my duty to my king and country— my love to my family — and my precious soul to God ! ' ' The papers of the day, however, gave a tolerably accurate ac- count of the affair, and unanimously stigmatized the ''presump- tion" of Lord in calling out such a man as Mr Stafford— and on such frivolous grounds. My name was, most fortunately, nut even alluded to. I was glancing through the columns of the even- ing ministerial paper, while the servant was saddling the horses for mv return to the country, when my eye lit on the following para- graph: "Latest news. Lord is appointed Secretary. We understand that Mr Stafford had the refusal of it." Poor Staf- ford ! Lord A had called on the minister late on Sunday evening, and acquainted him with the whole affair. " Sorry — SiO THE STATESMAN. very," said the premier. " Rising man thai— but we could not wait. Lord is to be the man ! " I arrived at Mr Stafford's about nine o'clock, and made my way immediately to his bedroom. Lady Emma, pale and exhausted, sat by his bedside, her eyes swollen with weeping. At my request she presently withdrew, and T look her place at my patient's side. He was not sensible of my presence for some time, but lay with his eyes half open,- and in a state of low muttering delirium. An un- fortunate cough of mine close to his ear, awoke him, and after gaz- ing steadily at me for nearly a minute, he recognized me and nodded. He seemed going to speak to me— but I laid my finger on my lips to warn him against making the effort. "One word— one only, Doctor," he whispered hastily,— "Who is t i ie Secretary?" "Lord ," 1 replied. On hearing the name, he turned his head away from me with an air of intense chagrin, and lay silent for some time. He presently uttered some- thing like the words— "too hot to hold him,"— " unseat him,"— and apparently fell asleep. I found from the attendant that all was going o!i well— and that Mr Stafford bade fair for a rapid recovery, if he would but keep his mind calm and easy. Fearful lest my presence, in the event of his waking again, might excite him into a talking mood, I slipped silently from the room, and betook myself to Lady Emma, who sat awaiting me in her boudoir. I found her in a flood of tears. 1 did all in rny power to soothe her, by reiterating my solemn assurances that Mr Stafford was beyond all danger, and wanted only quiet to recover rapidly. "Oh, Doctor ! How could you deceive me so yesterday? You knew all about it ! How could you look at my lit tie children, ant ] " Sobs choked her utterance. " Well— I suppose you could not help it! I don't blame you— but my heart is nearly broken about it! Oh, this honour— this honour! 1 always thought Mr Stafford above the foolery of such things ! " She paused— 1 replied not— for I had not a word to say against what she uttered. I thought and felt with her. " I would to Heaven that Mr Stafford would forsake Parliament forever! These hateful politics! lie has no peace or rest by day or night! "continued Lady Emma passionately. "His nights are con- stat lv turned inlo day— and his day is ever full of hurry ami trouble! Heaven knows I would consent lo be banished from society— to work for rhy daily bread— I would submit to any thing, if I could I, in prevail on Mr Stafford to returii to the bosom of his family! Doctor, my heart's happiness is cankered and gone! Mr Stafford THE STATESMAN. 3U does b.'it iolcrate me — h.'s heart is not mine — it isn't ." Again she burst into tears. "What can your ladyship mean?" 1 in- quired with surprise. " What I say, Doctor," she replied, sobbing. "He is wedded to ambition! ambition alone! Oh! I am often tempted to wish I bad never seen or known him ! For the future, I shall live trem- bling from day to day, fearful of the recurrence of such frightful scenes as yesterday! his reason will be failing him— his reason /" .she repealed with a shudder, "and then — / " Her emotions once more deprived her of utterance. I felt for her from mv very soul ! I was addressing some consolatory remark to her, when a gentle lapping was heard at the door. "Come in," said Lady Emma, and M r Stafford's valet made his appearance, saying, with hurried gestures and grimaces—" Ah ! Docleur! Monsieur deraisonne— il est fpu ! II veut absolument voir Mylord ! Je ne puis lui faire passer cette idee-la ! " 44 What can be the matter?" exclaimed Lady Emma, looking at me with alarm. "Oh, only some little wandering, I daresay; but Til soon return and report progress!" said I, prevailing on her to wait my return, and hurrying to the sick chamber. To my surprise and alarm, I found Mr Stafford sitting nearly bolt upright in bed, his eyes direct- ed anxiously to the door. " Dr , " said he, as soon as 1 had taken my seat beside him, "I insist on seeing Lord ," naming the prime minister; "1 positively insist upon it ! Let his Lordship be shown up instantly." I implored him to lie down, at the peril of his life, and be calm — but he insisted on seeing Lord . "He is gone, and left word that he would call at this lime lo-morrow," said I, hoping to quiet him. "Indeed? Good of him! What can he wan^? The office is dis- posed of. There! there! he is stepped back a pin! Show him up— show him up ! What, insult the King's Prime Minister ? Show him up, Louis," addressing his valet, adding drowsily, in a fainter tone, "and the members — the members — the — the — who paired off— who pair"— he sank gradually down on the pillow, the perspi- ration burst forth, and he fell asleep. Finding he slept on tranquilly and soundly, I once more left him, and having explained it to Lady Emma, bade her good evening, and returned to town. The sur- geon who was in constant attendance on him, called at my house during the afternoon of the following day, and gave me so good an account of him, that I did not think it necessary to go down till the 31 2 THE STATESMAN. day after, as I had seriously broken in upon my own practice. When I next saw him he was mending rapidly. He even persuaded me into allowing him to have the daily papers read to him, — a cir- cumstance I much regretted after I left him, and suddenly recollect- ed how often the public prints made allusions to him — some of them not very kindly or complimentary. But there was no resist- ing his importunity. He had a wonderful wheedling way with him. Two days after, he got me to consent to his receiving the visits of his political friends; and really the renewal of his accustomed stimulus conduced materially to hasten his recovery. Scarcely six weeks from the day of the duel, was this indefati- gable and ardent spirit, Mr Stafford, on his legs in the House of Commons, electryfying it and the nation at large, by a speech of the most overwhelming power and splendour! He flung his scorching sarcasms mercilessly at the astounded Opposition, especially at those who had contrived to render themselves in any way prominent in their opposition to his policy, during liis absence! By an artful ma- noeuvre of rhetoric — a skilful all«sion to "recent unhappy circum- stances," he carried the House with him, from the very commence- ment, enthusiastically, to the end, and was at last obliged to pause almost every other minute, that the cheering might subside. The unfortunate nobleman who had stepped into the shoes which had been first placed at Mr Stafford's feet — so to speak — came in for the cream of the whole! A ridiculous figure he cut ! Jokes, sneers, lampoons, fell upon him like a shower of missiles on a man in the pillory. He was a fat man, and sat perspiring under it. The in- stant Mr Stafford sat down, this unlucky personage arose to reply. His odd and angry gesticulations, as he vainly attempted to make himself heard amidst incessant shouts of laughter, served to clinch the nail which had been fixed by Mr Stafford ; and the indignant senator presently left the House. Another — and another — and another of the singed ones, arose and " followed on the same side," but to no purpose. It was in vain to buffet against the spring-tide of favour which had set in to Mr Stafford ! That night will not be forgotten by either his friends or his Iocs. He gained his point! within a fortnight he had ousted his rival, and was gazetted Secretary ! The effort be made, however, on the occasion last allud- ed to, brought him again under my hands lor several days. Indeed. I never had such an intractable patient! lie could not be prevailed on to show any mercy to his constitution— he would not give na- ture' fair play. Night and day — morning, noon, evening — spring. THE STATESMAN. 31 ~ summer, autumn, winter — found him toiling on the tempestuous ocean of politics, his mind ever laden with the moit harassing and exhausting cares. The eminent situation he filled, brought him, of course, an immense accession of cares and anxieties. He was virtually the leader of the House of Commons ; and, though his exquisite tact and talent secured to himself personally the applause and admiration of all parties, the government to which he belonged was beginning to disclose symptoms of disunion and disorganization, at a time when public affairs were becoming every hour more and more involved — our domestic and foreign policy perplexed— the latter almost inextricably — every day assuming a new and different aspect, through the operation of the great events incessantly trans- piring on the Continent. The national confidence began rapidly to ebb away from the ministers, and symptoms of a most startling character appeared in different parts of the country. The House of Commons— thepulse of popular feeling— began to beat irregularly— now intermitting — now with feverish strength and rapidity — clearly indicating that the circulation was disordered. Nearly the whole of the newspapers turned against the ministry, and assailed them with the bitterest and foulest obloquy. Night after night poor Mr Stafford talked himself hoarse, feeling that he was the acknow- ledged mouth-piece of the ministry, but in vain. Ministers were perpetually left in miserable minorities: they were beaten at every point. Their ranks presented the appearance of a straggling dis- banded army; those of the Opposition hung together like a ship- wrecked crew clinging to the last fragments of their wreck. Can the consequences be wondered at? At length came the Budget, — word of awful omen to many a quaking ministry! In vain were the splendid powers of Mr Staf- ford put into requisition. In vain did his masterly mind fling light and order over his sombrous chaotic subject, and simplify and make clear to the whole country the, till then, dreary jargon and mys- ticism of financial technicalities. In vain, in vain did he display the sweetness of Cicero, the thunder of Demosthenes. The leader of the Opposition rose, and coolly turned all he had said into ridicule ; one of his squad then started to his feet, and made out poor Mr Staf- ford to be a sort of ministerial swindler; and the rest cunningly gave the cue to the country, and raised up in every quarter clamor- ous dissatisfaction. Poor Stafford began to look haggard and wasted ; and the papers said he stalked into the House, night after night, like a spectre. The hour of the ministry was come. They were beaten on the first item, in the committee of supply. Mr 314 THE STATESMAN ted in disgust and indignation; and that brokfc up tbe eminent 1 saw him the morning after he had formally tendered his resi- gnation, and jjiven up the papers, etc of office. Be was pitifully emaciated. The fire of his eye was quenched, his sonorous voice en. 1 could scarcely repress a tear, as I gazed at his sallow, haggard features, and his languid limbs drawn together on his li- brary sofa. "Doctor— my friend ! This frightful session has killed me, I'm afraid!" said lie. "I feel equally wasted in body and mind. 1 loathe life — every thing!" "I don't think you've been fairly dealt with! You've been crip- 1 — shackled" "Yes— cursed— cursed— cursed in my colleagues," he interrupt- ed me, with eager bitterness; "it is their execrable little-mindi and bigotry thai have concentrated on us the hatred of the nation. As for myself, I am sacrificed, and to no purpose. I feci I can- ng survive it; for 1 am withered, root and branch — - tbered! " 44 Be persuaded, Mr Stafford," said I, gently, " to withdraw In; a while, and recruit/' "Oh, ay, ay — any whither — any whither — as far off as possible lr im London — that's all. God pity the man that holds office in times. The talents of half the angels in heaven wouldn't avail him! Doctor, T rave. Forgive me — I'm in a morbid, nay. almost rabid mood of mind. Foiled at every point—-: bing me of the credit of my labours — sneered at by fools — trampled «>n by the aristocracy — oh! tut, tut, to — lie on it all!" " Have you seen the morning papers, Mr Stafford?" I I, indeed. Sick of their cant — lies — tergiver ation — rilitv. I've laid an embargo on them all. 1 won't let one coi nay bouse for a i rtnight. lis adding fuel to the fire that is con- suming m ••Ah. but they represent the nation as calling loudly for reinstatement in office." "Faugh — let it call ! Let them lie on! I've done with them— for the present, at least." The servam brought up the card of several of his late col- leagues. "Not at home, surah!— Harkee ill -ill." thundered ! >:~ master, i sat with him nearly an hour longer, oh, what gall and bitterness tinctured every word he uttered J How this THi: STATESMAN. 515 chafed ad fretted spirit spurned at sympathy, and despised — even accpiescence! He complained heavily of perfidy and ingra- titude 01 the part of many members of the House of Commons; and expressed his solemn determination— should he ever return to power — to vi.il them with his signal vengeance. Ilis eyes flashed lire, as he recounted the instance of one well-known individual, whom he hat paid heavily beforehand fur his vote, by a sinecure, and by whun he was after all unblushingly "jockeyed," on the score of the salary being a few pounds per annum less than had been calcu- lated on ! "Oh, believe me," he continued, "of all knavish 1 1 at - iiekiirj, there is none like your political trafficking ; of all swindlers, youi political swindler is the vilest." Before I next saw him, the new ministry had been named, some of the leading members of which were among Mr Stafford's bitterest and most contemptuous enemies, and had spontaneously pledged themselves to act diame- trically opposite to the policy he had adopted. This news was too much for him ; and, full of unutterable fury and chagrin, lie hastily left town, and, with all his family, betook himself, for an indefinite period, to a distant part of England. 1 devoutly hoped that he fcad now had his surfeit of politics, and would henceforth seek repose in the domestic circle. Lady Emma participated anxiously in that wish; she doated on her husband more fondly than ever; and her faded beauty touchingly told with what deep devotion she had identified herself with her husbands interests. As 1 am not writing a life of Mr Stafford, I must leap over a far- ther interval of twelve anxious and agitating years. He returned to Parliament, and for several sessions shone brilliantly as the leader of the Opposition. Being freed from the trammels of office, his spirits resumed their wonted elasticity, and Ins health became firmer than it had been for years; so that there was little neo for my visiting him on any other fooling than that of friendship. A close observer could not fail to detect the system of Mr Stafford's parliamentary tactics. He subordinated every thing to accoi. the great purpose of his life. He took every possible opportunity, in eloquent and brilliant speeches, of familiarizing Parliament, and the country at large, with his own principles ; dexterously contrast- ing with them the narrow and inconsistent policy of his oppoi He felt that he was daily increasing the number of his partisans, b< th in and out of the House — and securing a prospect of his speedy re- turn to permanent power. I one day mentioned this feature, and told him I admired the way in which he gradually msmuated himself into the confidence of the country. 316 THE STATESMAN. "Aha, Doctor!"— he replied briskly — "to borrow on of your own terms — I'm vaccinating the nation ! " July—, 18— .—The star of Stafford again Lord of theAscend- ent ! This day have the seals of the office been inlnsted to my gifted friend Stafford, amid the thunders of the Conmons, and the universal gratulaiions of the counlry. He is virtudly the Leader of the Cabinet, and has it "all his own way" win the House. Every appearance he makes there is the signal for a per- fect tempest of applause — with, however, a few lightning gleams of inveterate hostility. His course is full of dazzling dangers. There are breakers a-head — he must tack about incessantly amid shoals and quicksands. God help him, and give him calmness and self-possession — or he is lost! I suppose there will be no gelling near him, at least to such an insignificant person as myself — unless he should unhappily require my professional services. How my heart beats when 1 hear it said in society, that he seems to feel most acutely the attacks incessantly made on him — and appears ill every day ! Poor Stafford ! 1 won- der*how Lady Emma bears all this! I hear every where, that a tremendous opposition is organizing, countenanced in very high quarters, and that he will have hard work to maintain his ground. He is paramount at present, and laughs his enemies to scorn! His name, coupled with almost ido- latrous expressions of homage, is in every one's mouth of the va- rium ct mutabile semper! His pictures are in every shop window; dinners are given him every week; addresses forwarded from all parts of the country ; the freedom of large cities and corporations voted him ; in short, there is scarcely any thing said or done in pub- lic, but Mr Stafford's name is coupled with it. March — , 18— .—Poor Stafford, baited incessantly in the House, night after night. Can he stand? every body is asking. He has commenced the session swimmingly — as the phrase is. Lady Em- ma, whom 1 accidentally met lo-day at the house of a patient — her- self full of feverish excitement— gives me a sad account of Mr Stafford. Restless nights — incessant sleep-talking — continual in- disposition — loss of appetite! Oli, the pleasures of politics, the sweets of ambition! Saturday. — A strange hint ifioneof the papers to-day about Mr Stafford's unaccountable freaks in the Mouse, and treatment of va- rious members. What caw it mean? A fearful suspicion glanced across my mind — Heaven grant ii may be groundless ! — on coupling with this dark newspaper hint an occurrence which took place some THE STATESMAN. 317 short lime ago. It was this : Lady Amelia was suddenly taken ill at a ball given by the Duke of , and I was called in to attend her. She had swooned in the midst of the dance, and continued hysterical for some time afler her removal home. I asked her what had occasioned it all — and she told me that she happened to be passing, in the dance, a part of ;he room where Mr Stafford stood, who had looked in for a few minutes to speak to the Marquis of . "lie was standing in a thoughtful attitude," she conti- nued, "and somehow or another I attracted his attention in passing, and he gave me one of the most fiendish scowls, accompanied with a frightful glare of the eye, I ever encountered. It passed from his face in an instant, and was succeeded by a smile, as he nodded repeatedly to persons who saluted him. The look he gave me haunted me, and, added to the exhaustion 1 felt from the heat of the room, occasioned my swooning." Though I felt faint at heart while listening to her, I laughed it off, and said it must have been fancy. "No, no, Doctor, it was not," she replied, "for the Mar- chioness of saw it too, and no later than this very morning, when she called, asked me if I had affronted Mr Stafford." Could it be so ? Was this " look" really a transient ghastly out- flashing of insanity? Was his great mind beginning to stagger under the mighty burden it bore? The thought agitated me beyond measure. When I coupled the incident in question with the mys- terious hint in the daily paper, my fears were awfully corroborated. I resolved to call upon Mr Stafford that very evening. I was at his house about eight o'clock, but found he had left a little while before for Windsor. The next morning, however — Sunday — his servant brought me word that Mr Stafford would be glad to see me between eight and ten o'clock in the evening. Thither, there- fore, I repaired, about half-past eight. On sending up my name, his private secretary came down stairs, and conducted me to the minister's library,— a spacious and richly furnished room. Statues stood in the window-places, and busts of British statesmen in the four corners. The sides were lined with book-shelves, filled with elegantly bound volumes ; and a large table in the middle of the room was covered with tape-tied packets, opened and unopened letters, etc. A large bronze lamp was suspended from the ceiling, and threw a peculiarly rich and mellow light over the whole — and especially the figure of Mr Stafford, who, in his long crimson silk dressing-gown, was walking rapidly to and fro, with his arms folded on his breast. The first glance showed me that he was la- bouring under high excitement. His face was pale, and his bril- 318 I HE STATESMAN. liant eyes glanced restlessly from beneath his intensely knit brows. "My dear Doctor — an age since I saw you! — Here I am over- whelmed, you see, as usual! " said he, cordially taking me by the hand, and leading me to a seat. — "My dear Sir, you give yourself no rest — you are actually — you are rapidly destroying yourself!" said I, after he had, in his own brief, energetic, and pointed lan- guage, described a train of symptoms bordering on those of brain- fever. He had, unknown to any one, latterly taken to opium, which he swallowed by stealth, in large quantities, on retiring to bed ; and I need hardly say how that of itself was sufficient to de- range the functions both of body and mind. He had lost his ap- petite, and felt consciously sinking every day into a state of the utmost languor and exhaustion — so much so, that he was reluctant often to rise and dress, or go out. His temper, he said, began to fail him, and he grew fretful and irritable with every body, and on every occasion. "Doctor, Doctor! I don't know whether vou '11 understand me or not — but every thing glares at me ! " said he. "Every object grows suddenly invested with personality — animation — I can't bear to look at them! — I am oppressed — I breathe a rarified atmosphere ! " — "Your nervous system is dis- turbed, Mr Stafford." — " Hive ina dim dream — with only occasional intervals of real consciousness. Every thing is false and exagge- rated about me. I see, feel, think, through a magnifying medium — in a word, I'm in a strange, unaccountable — terrible state." "Can you wonder at it— even if it were worse?" said I, expos- tulating vehemently with him on his incessant, unmitigating appli- cation to public business. " Believe me," I concluded, with energy, " you must lie by, or be laid by/' "Ah — good, that — terse! — But what's to be done? Must I re- sign? Must public business stand still in the middle of thesession? I've made my bed, and must lie on it." I really Avas at a loss what to say. He could not bete "preach- ing" or " prosing," or any thing approaching to it. I suffered him to go on as he would — detailing more and more symptoms like those above mentioned — dearly enough disclosing to my reluctant mii holding her reins loosely, unsteadily! " I can't account lor it, Doctor — but I feel sudden fits of wildness sometimes — but for a moment, however, — a second! — O, my Creator! I hope all is yet sound here, lure!" said lie, pressing his hand against his forehead. He rose and walked rapidly to and fro. "Excuse me, Doctor, I ctmmA sit still!" said he. "Have I not enough to upset me? Only listen t«» a tithe of my THE STATESMAN, i 519 i roubles, now! — After paying almost servile court to a parcel of Parliamentary puppies, ever since the commencement of the ses- sion, to secure their votes on the Bill— having the boobies here to dine with me, and then dining with them, week after week — sitting down gaily with fellows whom I utterly, unutterably de- b pj se — everv one of the pack suddenly mined tail on me — stole, stole, stole awav — every one — and left me in a ridiculous minority of 45! " — I said it was a sample of the annoyances inseparable from office.— "Av, ay, ay!" he replied, with impetuous bitterness, in- creasing the pace at which he was walking. "Why — why is it, that public men have no principle— no feeling— no gratitude— no sym- pathy?" he paused. I said, mildly, that I hoped the throng of the session was nearly got through, that his embarrassments would diminish, and he would have some leisure on his hands, "Oh, no, no, no!— my difficulties and perplexities increase and thicken on every side! Great heavens! how are we to get on? All the motions of government are impeded ; we are hemmed in — blocked up on every side— the state vessel is surrounded with closing crashing icebergs ! I think I must quit the helm ! Look here, for instance. After ransacking all the arts and resources of diplomacy, I had, with infinite difficulty, succeeded in devising a scheme for adjusting our differences. Several of the conti- nental powers have acquiesced — all was going on well — when this verv morning comes a courier to Downing Street, bearing a civil hint from the Austrian cabinet, that, if I persevered with my pro- ject, such a procedure would be considered equivalent to a decla- ration of war! So there we are at a dead stand! 'Tis all that execrable Metternich ! Subtile devil!— He's at the bottom of all the disturbances in Europe ! Again — here, at home, we are all on our backs ! I stand pledged to the Bill. 1 will, and must go through with it. My consistency, popularity, place — all are at slake! I'm bound to carry it; and only yesterday the - 1 — , and , and families — 'gad! half the Upper House — have given me to understand I must give up them, or the Bill! And then we are all at daggers-drawing among ourselves— a cabinet- council like a cock-pit, and eternally bickering ! And again— last night his Majesty behaved with marked cooiness and hauteur; and, while sipping his claret, told me, with stern sang froid, that nis consent to the Bill was ■ utterly out of the ques- tion.' 1 must throw overboard the , a measure that I have more at heart than any other ! It is whispered that is deter- mined to draw me into a duel; and, as if all this were not enough, T)20 THE STATESMAN. 1 am perpetually receiving threats of assassination; and, in fact, a bullet hissed close past my hat the other day while on horseback, on my way to ! I cant make the thing public — 'tis impos- sible; and perhaps the very next hour I move out, I may be shot through the heart! God! what is to become of me? Would to Heaven I had refused the seals of the office! Doctor, do- you think — the nonsense of medicine apart — do you think you can do any thing for me? Any thing to quiet the system— to cool the brain? Would bleeding do?— Bathing?— What? But mind I've not much time for physic ; I'm to open the question to-morrow night ; and then every hour to dictate fifteen or twenty letters ! In a word " " Lord , Sir," said the servant, appearing at the door. " Ah, execrable coxcomb ! " he muttered to me. "J know what he is come about— he has badgered me incessantly for the last six weeks! I won't see him. Not at home!" he called out to the servant. He paused. ''Stay, sirrah!— beg his Lordship to walk up stairs." Then to me— "The man can command his two bro- thers' votes— I must have them to-morrow night. Doctor, we must part," hearing approaching footsteps. "I've been raving like a madman, I fear— But not a word to any one breathing! Ah, my Lord, good evening— good evening! " said he, with a gaiety and briskness of tone and manner that utterly confounded me — walking and meeting his visitor half-way, and shaking him by the hands. Poor Stafford ! I returned to my own quiet home, and devoutly thanked God, who had shut me out from such splendid misery as I witnessed in the Right Honourable Charles Stafford. Tuesday. — Poor Stafford spoke splendidly in the House, last night, for upwards of three hours ; and, at the bottom of the re- ported speech, a note was added, informing the reader, that " 3Ir Stafford was looking better than they had seen him for some months, and seemed to enjoy excellent spirits." How little did he, who penned that note, suspect the true state of matters— that Mr Stafford owed his "better looks" and "excellent spirits" to an in- toxicating draught of raw brandy, which alone enabled him to face the House. I read his speech with agonizing interest; it was full of (lashing fancy, and powerful argumentative eloquence, and breathed throughout a buoyant, elastic spirit, which nothing seem- ed capable of overpowering or depressing. But Mr Stafford might have saved his trouble and anxiety,— lor he was worsted, and his bill lost by an overwhelming majority! Oh! could his relentless opponents ha\e seen but a glimpse of what I had seen, they would THE STATESMAN. 30 1 have spared their noble victim the sneers and railleries with which they pelted him throughout the evening. Friday. — I this afternoon had an opportunity of conversing con- fidentially with Mr Stafford's private secretary, who corroborated my worst fears, by communicating his own, and their reasons, amounting to infallible evidence, that Mr Stafford was beginning to give forth scintillations of madness. He would sometimes totally lose his recollection of what he had done during the dav, and dic- tate three answers to the same letter. He would, at the public office, sometimes enter into a strain of conversation with his as- tounded underlings, so absurd and imprudent— disclosing the pro- foundest secrets of state — as must have inevitably and instantly ruined him, had he not been surrounded by those who were per- sonally attached to him. Mr communicated various other little symptoms of the same kind. Mr Stafford was once on his way down to the House, in his dressing-gown, and could be per- suaded with the utmost difficulty only to return and change it. He would sometimes go down to his country house, and receive his Lady and children with such an extravagant— such a frantic— dis- play of spirit and gaiety, as at iim delighted, then surprised, and finally alarmed Lady Emma into a horrid suspicion of the real state of her husband's mind. 1 was surprised early one morning by his coachman's calling at my house, and desiring to see me alone; and, when he was shown into my presence, with a flurried manner, many apologies for his 4 "boldness" and entreaties — somewhat Hibernian, to be sure, in the wording— that I "would take no notice whatever of what he said," he told me, that his master's conduct had latterly been "very odd and queer-like." That on getting into his carriage, on his re- turn from the House, Mr Staffoi d would direct him to drive five or six miles into the country, at the top of his speed — then back again — then to some distant part of London, without once alighting, and with no apparent object ; so that it was sometimes five or six, or even seven o'clock in the morning before they got home! "Last night, Sir," he added, "master did 'som'mut uncommon stroardi- nary ; he told me to drive to Greenwich ; and when I gels there, he bids me pull up at the , and get him a draught of ale— and then he drinks a sup, and tells me and John to finish it — and then turn the horses' heads back again lor town ! " I gave the man half a guinea, and solemnly enjoined him to keep what he had told me a profound secret. What was to be done ?— what steps could we lake ?— how deal 21 with such a public man as Mr Stafford? I felt myself in a fearful dilemma. Should I communicate candidly with Lady Emma? I thought it belter, on the whole, to wait a little longer; and was de- lighted to (hid, that as public business slackened a little, and Mr Stafford carried several favourite measures very successfully, and with comparatively little effort, he intermitted his attention to bu- siness, and was persuaded into spending the recess at the house of one of his relatives, a score or two miles from town, whose enchant- ing house and grounds, and magnificent hospitalities, served to oc- cupy Mr Stafford's mind with bustling and pleasurable thoughts. Such a fortnight's interval did wonders for him. Lady Emma, whom I had requested to write frequently to me about him, repre- sented things more and more cheerfully in every succeeding letter, —saying, that the "distressing flighlmess," which Mr Stafford had occasionally evinced in town, had totally disappeared; that every body at House was astonished at the elasticity and joyousness of his spirits, and the energy, almost amounting to enthusiasm, with which he entered into the glittering gaieties and festivities that were going on around him. "He was the life and soul of the party." He seemed determined to banish business from his thoughts, at least for a while-; and when a chance allusion was made to it, would put it off gaily with — "Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof." All this filled me with consolation. I dismissed the apprehensions which had latterly harassed my mind concerning him, and heartily thanked God that Mr Stafford's splendid powers seemed likely to be yet long spared to the country — that the ho- vering fiend was beaten off from his victim — might it be for ever ! The House at length resumed ; Mr Stafford returned to town, and all his weighty cares again gathered around him. Hardly a few days had elapsed, before he delivered one of the longest, calm- est, most argumentative speeches which had ever fallen from him. Indeed, it began to be commonly remarked, that all he said in the House wore a matter-of-fact, business-like air, which nobody could have expected from him. All this was encouraging. The measure which he brought forward in the speech last alluded to, was hotly contested, inch by inch, in tin; House, and at last, contrary even to his own expectations, carried, though by an inconsiderable majority. All his friends congratulated him on his triumph. " Yes, I have triumphed at last," he said, emphatically, as be left ouse. Hewenthome late at night, and alarmed— confounded ,i sties, 1 ;■ calling them all up, and — it is lamentable to have to record such things of such a man*— insisting on their illuminating THE STATESMAN. ~2o the house — candles in ever y window — in front and behind ! It was fortunate that Lady Emma and her family had not yet returned from House, to witness this unequivocal indication of returning insanity. He himself personally assisted at the ridiculous task oi lighting the candles, and putting them in the windows ; and when it was completed, actually harangued the assemble^ servants on the signal triumph he and the country had obtained that night in the House of Commons, and concluded by ordering them to extinguish the lights, and adjourn to the kitchen to supper, when he would presently join them, and give them a dozen of wine ! He was as gool as his word : yes, Mr Stafford sat at the head of his confounded servants— few in number, on account of the family's absence, and engaged in the most uproarious hilarity'. Fortunately, most fortu- natelv, his conduct was unhesitatingly attributed to intoxication — in which condition he was really carried to bed at an advanced hour in the morning, by those whom nothing but their bashful fears had saved from being similarly overcome by the wine they had been drinking. All this was told me by the coachman, who had com- municated with me formerly— and with tears, for he was an old and faithful servant. He assiduously kept up among his fellow- servants the notion that their master's drunkenness was the cause of his extraordinary behaviour. I called on him the day after, and found him sitting in his library, dictating to his secretary, whom he directed to withdraw as soon as I entered. He then drew his chair close to mine, and burst into tears. " Doctor, would you believe it," said he, "I was horridly drunk last night— I can't imagine how— and am sure I did something or other verv absurd among the servants. I dare not, of course, ask anv of them— and am positively ashamed to look even my valet in the face!" " Poh, poh — Semel insamvimus omnes" I stammered, attempt- ing to smile, scarcely knowing what to say. "Don't— don't desert me, Doctor!" he sobbed, clasping my hand, and looking sorrowfully in my face — "Don't you desert me, my tried friend. Every body is forsaking me! The Ring hates me— the Commons despise me — the people would have my blood, if they dared ! And yet why ?— What have I done ? God knows, I have done every thing for the best— indeed, indeed I have! " he continued, grasping my hand in silence. "There's a terrible plot hatching against me!— Hush! " He rose, and bolted the door. "Did vou see that fellow whom I ordered 5&I THE STAT] MIAN. out on your entrance?" — naming his private secretary — "Well, that infamous fellow thinks be is to succeed me in my office, and has actually gained over the King and several of the aristocracy to his interest ! " u Nonsense — nonsense — stuff! — Yon have wine in your head, Mr Stafford," said I, angrily, trying to choke down my, emotions. "No, no — sober enough now, Doctor . I'll teU you what (albeit unused to the melting mood has ilms overcome me : Lady Emma favours the scoundrel! They correspond ! My children, even, are gained over! — But Emma, my wife, my love, who could have thought it !" ' * I succeeded in calming him, and he began to converse on different subjects, although the fiend was manifest again. "Doctor , I'll intrust you with a secret— a slate secret ! You must know that 1 have long entertained the idea of uniting all the European states into one vast republic, and have at last ai ranged a scheme which will, I think, be unhesitatingly adopted. I have written to Prince on the subject, and expect his answer soon! Isn't it a grand thought?" I assented of course. "It will emblazon my name in the annals of eternity, beyond all Roman and all Grecian fame," he continued, waving his hand oratorical!)-; " but I've been — yes, yes— premature ! — My secret is safe with you, Doctor V" 44 Oh, certainly!" I replied, with a melancholy air, uttering a deep si;;h. " But now to business. I'll tell you why I've sent for you." I had called unasked, as the reader will recollect. " I'll tell you," he continued, taking my hand affectionately; "Dr , I have known you now for many years, ever since we were at Cambridge together," (my heart ached at the recollection), " and we nave been good friends ever since. I have noticed that you have never asked a favour from me since I knew you. Everyone els.- has leased me — but 1 have never had a request preferred me from you, my dear friend.'' He burst into tears, mine very nearly overflowing. There was no longer any doubt that Mr Stafford— the great, the gifted .Mi- Stafford, was sitting before me in a state of idiocy 1— of u \n- MBss! I felt faint and sick as he proceeded. " Well, I thank God I nave it now in my power io reward son— to offer you something thai will lull > shoK the lovel heai you, and mv unlimited confi- dence in your talents and integrity. I have determined to recall our ambassador at die Court of , and shall .supply Ins place" — he looked at mewith a good-natured smite — "by m\ friend Dr !" !!«• leaned back in ins chair, and eyed me with a triumphant, a THE STATESMAN. 32 e> gratified air, evidently preparing himself to be overwhelmed with my thanks. In one instant, however, "a change came o'er the aspect of his dream." His features grew suddenly disturbed, now flushed, now pale ; his manner grew restless and embarrass- ed; and I felt convinced that a lucid interval had occurred, that a consciousness of his having been either saying or doing some- thing very absurd, had that instant flashed across his mind! "Ah, I see, Dr ," he resumed, in an altered tune, speaking hesitatingly, while a vivid glance shut from his eye into my very soul, as though he would see whether I had detected the process of thought which had passed through bjs mind, "you look surprised —ha, ha !— and well you may ! But now 111 explain the riddle. You must know that Lord is expecting to be our new ambas- sador, and, in fact, 1 must offer it him; but— but— I wish to pique him into declining it, when 111 take offence— by— telling him— hinting carelessly, that one of my friends had the prior refusal of it!" Did not the promptitude and plausibility of this pretext savour of madness? He hinted soon after that he had much business in hand, and I withdrew. 1 fell back in my carriage, and resigned myself to bitter and agonizing reflections on the scene I had just quitted. What was to be done? Mr Stafford, by some extra- vagant act, might commit himself frightfully with public affairs. Lady Emma, painful as the task was, must be written to. Mea- sures must now be had recourse to. The case admitted of no farther doubt. Yes— this great— this unfortunate man must be .put into constraint, and that immediately. In the tumult of my thoughts, I scarcely knew what to decide on ; but at last I ordered the man to drive to the houses of Sir , and Dr , and con- sult with them on the proper course to be pursued. Oh, God!— Oh, horror!— Oh, my unhappy soul!— Despair! Hark— what do I hear?— Do I hear aright Have I seen aright— or is it all a dream ?— Shall I wake to-mor- row, and find it false? "2« A SLkiHT COLD CHAPTER XX. A SLIGHT COLD. » Consider " a slight cold " to be in the nature of a chill, caught by a sudden contact with your grave : or as occasioned by the damp finger of Death laid upon you, as it were, to mark you for his, in passing to the more immediate object of his commission. Let this be called croaking, and laughed at as such, by those who are "awearied of the painful round of life," and are on the look- out for their dismissal from it ; but be learnt off by heart, and re- membered as having the force and truth of gospel, by all those who would "measure out their span upon the earth," and are conscious of any constitutional flaw or feebleness ; who are distin- guished by any such tendency death-ward, as long necks, — nar- row, chicken chests — very fair complexions — exquisite sympathy with atmospheric variations ; or, in short, exhibit any symptoms of an asthmatic or consumptive character,— if they choose to ne- glect A SLIGHT COLD. Let not those complain of being bitten by a reptile, which they have cherished to maturity in their very bosoms, when they might have crushed it in the q^I Now, if we call "a slight cold" the egg,* and pleurisy— inflammation of the lungs — asthma — consump- tion, the venomous reptile— the matter will be no more ilian cor- rectlv figured. There are many ways in which this "egg" may be deposited and hatched. Going suddenly, slightly clad, from a healed into a cold atmosphere, especially it you can connive to be in a stale of perspiration — sitting or standing in a dra&ght, however slight,— it is the breath of Death, reader, and laden with the va- pours of the gravel Lying in damp beds, for there bis cold arms shall embrace you— continuing in wet clothing, and neglecting wet feet,— these, and a hundred others, are some of the ways in which you may slowly, imperceptibly, but surely, cherish the creature, that shall at last creep inextricabl] inwards, and lie oiled about * Omnium propt quibtu affligimur motbonm otigo <' guati ftmtn ntji in ioielligeol medical writer <»i the tot centarj A SLIGHT COLD. 397 your very vitals. Once more, again — again — again — I would say, attend lo this, all ye who think it a small matter to — neglect a slight cold! So many painful — T may say dreadful illustrations of the truth of the above remarks, are strewn over the pages of my Diary, that I scarcely know which of them to select. The following melancholy " instance" will, 1 hope, prove as impressive, as I think it interest- ing. Captain C had served in the Peninsular campaigns with dis- tinguished merit : and on the return of the British army, sold out, and Jeter aim ed to enjoy in private life an ample fortune bequeathed him by a distant relative. At the period I am speaking of, he was in his twenty-ninth or thirtieth year; and in person one of the vary tine-l men I ever saw in my life. There was an air of ease and frankness about his demeanour, dashed with a little pensiveness, which captivated every body with whom he conversed — but the la- dies especially. It seemed the natural effect produced on a bold but feeiing heart, by frequent scenes of sorrow. Is not such a one formed to win over the heart of woman? Indeed, it seemed so; for, at the period I am speaking of, our English ladies were abso- lutely infatuated about the military ; and a man who had otherwise but little chance, had only to appear in regimentals, to turn the scale in his favour. One would have thought the race of soldiery was about to become suddenly extinct ; for in almost every third marriage that took place within two years of the magnificent event at \Yaterloo — whether rich or poor, high or low, a redcoat was sure to be the " principal performer." Let the reader then, being ap- prized of this influenza— for what else was it?— set before his ima- gination the tall, commanding ligure of Captain C , his frank and noble bearing— his excellent family— his fortune, upwards of four thousand a-year— and calculate the chances in his favour ! I met him several times in private society, during his stay in town, and have his image vividly in my eye as he appeared on the last evening we met. lie wore a blue coat, white waistcoat, and an ample black neckerchief. His hair was very light, and disposed with natural grace over a remarkably line forehead, the left corner of which bore the mark of a slight sabre cut. His eye, bright hazel — clear and fu|l — which you would in your own mind instantly com- pare to that of Mars— to threaten and command, V WB8 capable of an expression of the most winning and soul-sub- 528 A SLIGHT COLD. duing tenderness. Much more might I say in his praise, and truly —but that 1 have a melancholy end in view. Suffice it to add, that wherever he moved, he seemed the sun of the social circle, gazed on by many a soft siarlike eye, with trembling rapture— the envied object of Nods, becks, and wreathed smiles from all that was fair and beautiful. He could not remain long disengaged. Intelligence soon found its way to town of his having formed an attachment to Miss Ellen , a wealthy and beautiful northern heiress, whose heart soon surrendered to its skilful assailant. Every body was pleased with the match and pronounced it suitable in all respects. I had an op- portunity of seeing Captain C and Miss together at an evening party in London ; for the young lady's family spent the season in town, and were, of course, attended by the Captain, who look-up Ins quarters in Street. A handsome couple they looked. This was nearly twelve months after their engagement; and most of the preliminaries had been settled on both sides, and the event was fixed to take place within a fortnight of 3Iiss and family's return to shire. The last day of their stay in town, they formed a large and gay water party, and proceeded up the river a little beyond Richmond, in a beautiful open boat, belonging to Lord , a cousin of the Captain's. It was rather late before their return ; and long ore their arrival at Westminster stairs, the wind and rain combined against the parly, and assailed them with a fury, against which their awning formed but an insufficient pro- tection. Captain C had laken an oar for the last few miles; and as they had to pull against a strong tide, his task was not a trilling one. When he resigned his oar, he was in a perfect bath of perspiration; but he drew on his coat, and resumed the seat he had formerly occupied beside Miss , at the back of the boat. The awning unfortunately got rent immediately behind where they sat; and what with the splashing of the water on his back, and the squally gusts of wind which incessantly burst upon them, Captain C got thoroughly wet and chfited. Miss grew uneasy about liim, l»::i lie laughed off her apprehensions, assuring her that they were groundless, and that he was ** too old a soldier" to suffer from such a trifling thin;; as a little "wind and wet.*' On leaving the boat, he insisted on accompanying them home to Square, and stayed there upwards of an hour, busily conversing A SLIGHT COLD. 329 wilh them about their departure on the morrow. While there he took a glass or two of wine, but did not change his clothes. On returning to his lodgings, he was loo busily and pleasantly occupied with thoughts about his approaching nuptials, to advert to t!: cessity of using mure precautions against cold, before retiring to bed. He sat duwn in his dressing-room, without ordering a fire to be lit, and wrote two or three letters: after which he got into bed. Now, how easy would k have been for Captain C to ob- viate any possible ill consequences, by simply ringing for warm water to put his feet in, and a basin of gruel, or posset? He did not do either of these, however; thinking it would be time enough to "cry o ! 't when he was hurt." In the morning he rose, and though a little indisposed, immediately after breakfast drove to Square, to see off Miss and the family ; for it had been arranged that he should remain behind a day or two, in order to complete a few purchases of jewellery, etc., and then follow the party to shii e. He rode on horseback beside their travelling carriage a few miles out of town ; and then took his leave and re- turned. On his way home he called at my house, but finding me out, left his card, with a request that I would come and see him in the evening. About seven o'clock I was with him. I found him in his dressing-gown, in an easy chair, drinking coffee. He looked rather dejected, and spoke in a desponding tone. He complained of the common symptoms of catarrh; and detailed to me the ac- count which I have just laid before the reader. I remonstrated with him on his last night's imprudence. "Ah, Doctor , I wish to Heaven I had rowed on to West- minster, tired as I was!" said he — "Good God, what if I have caught my death of cold? — You cannot conceive how singular my sensations are." "That's generally the way with patients after the mischiefs done," I replied with a smile. — "But come! come! only take care of yourself, and matters are not at all desperate!" "Heigh ho!" "Sighing like a furnace," I continued, gaily, on hearing him utter several sighs in succession — "You sons of Mars make hot work of it. both in love and war!" — Again he sighed. "Why, what's the matter, Captain ? " "Oh, nothing — nothing," he replied, languidly, "I suppose a cold generally depresses one's spirits — is it so? Is il a sign of a severe" "It is a sign that a certain person" 330 A SLIGHT COLD. • l Piio, Doctor, plio ! " said he, with an air of lassitude— " clout think me so childish !— I'll telKou candidly what has contributed to depress my spirits. For this last week or so, I've had a strange sort of conviction that" "Nonsense — none of your nervous fancies" iv Ah, but I have, Doctor," he continued, scarcely noticing the in- terruption ; "I've felt a sort of presentiment— a foreboding that — that — that — something or other would occur to prevent my mar- riage ! " " Oh, tush— tush !— every one has these low nervous fancies that is not accustomed to sickness." " Well— it may be so— I hope it may be nothing more; but I seem to hear a voice whispering— or at least, to be under an in- fluence to that effect, that the cup will be dashed brimful from my lips— a fearful slip ! It seems as if my Ellen were too great a hap> for the Fates to allow me." "Too great a fiddlestick, Captain !— so your schoolboy has a fearful apprehension that he cannot outlive the day of his finally leaving school— too glorious and happy an era ! " " I know well what you allude to — but mine is a calm and rational apprehension " "Come, come, Captain C , this is going too far. Raillery apart, however, 1 can fully enter into your feelings," — I continued, perceiving his morbid excitement.— " Tis but human nature I trepidation and apprehension when approaching some great crisis of one's existence. One is apt to give unfavourable possibilities an undue preponderance over probabilities; and it is easily to be ac- counted for, on the known tendency we find within ourselves, on ordinary occasions, to shape events according to our wishes— and in our over-anxiety to guard against such " " Very metaphysical— very true, I dare say " "Well — to be matter-of-fact — I had all your feelings — perhaps greatly aggravated — at the time of my own marriage" " Eh? — indeed? — Had you really?" he inquired, eagerly, laying his hand on mine — continuing, with an air of anxious curiosity— " Did you ever feel a sort of conviction that some mysterious agency was awaiting your approach towards the critical point, and, when just within reach of your object, would suddenly smite you down? "Ay, to be sine," said 1, smiling, "a mere Butter of feeling— which you see others have besides yourself; but thai you — trained to confront daogei — change — casualties of all sorts—thai you— you, with your frame of Herculean build" A SLIGHT COLD. Sol " Well— a truce to your banter ! " he interrupted me, somewhat impatiently ; ^1 shouldn't mind taking you ten to one that I don't live to be married, after all ! " " Come, this amounts to a symptom of your indisposition. You have got more fever on you than I thought — and you grow light- headed !— you must really get to bed, and in the morning all these fantasies will be gone." "Well— I hope in God they may! But they horridly oppress me! I own that latterly I've given in a little to fatalism.'' This won't do at all, thought I, taking my pen in hand, and be- ginning to write a prescription. "Are you thirsty at all? any catching in the side when you breathe? Any cough?" etc. etc. said I asking him the usual routine of questions. I feared, from the symptoms he described, that he had caught a very severe, and possibly obstinate, cold— so I prescribed active medicines. Amongst others, I recollect ordering him one- fourth of a grain of tartarixed antimony every four hours, for the purpose of encouraging the insensible perspiration, and thereby determining the fever outwards. I then left him, promising to call about noon the next day, expressing my expectations of finding him perfectly recovered from his indisposition. I found him the following morning in bed, thoroughly under the influence of the medicines I had prescribed, and, in fact, much better in every res- pect. The whole surface of his body was damp and clammy to the touch, and he had exactly the proper sensation of nausea— both occasioned by the antimony. I contented myself with prescribing a repetition of the medicines. "Well, Captain, and what has become of your gloomy forebod- ings of last night '( " I inquired, with a smile. "Why — hem! I*m certainly not quite so desponding as I was last night; but still, the goal— the goal's not reached yet! I'm not well yet — and, even if I were, there's a good fortnight's space for contingencies! " * * I enjoined him to keep house for a day or two longer, and persevere with the medicines during that time, in order to his complete recovery, and he reluctantly acquiesced. He had written to inform Miss , that, owing to " a slight cold," and his jeweller's disappointing him about the trinkets he had pro- mised, his stay in town would be prolonged two or three days. This circumstance had fretted and worried him a good deal. One of the few enjoyments which my professional engagements permitted me, was the opera, where I might for a while forget the plodding realities of life, and wander amid the magnificent regions 33i A SLIGHT COLD. of music anil imagination. Few people, indeed, are so disposed to "make'tbe most" of their time at the opera as medical men, to whom it is a >ort of stolen pleasure; they sit on thorns, liable to be summoned out immediately — to exchange the bright scenes of fairyland for I he dreary bedside of sickness and death. I may not, perhaps, speak the feelings of my more phlegmatic brethren; but the considerations above named always occasion me to sit listening to what is going on in a slate of painful suspense and nervousness, which is aggravated by the slightest noise at the box-door — by the mere trying of the handle. On the evening of the day in question, a friend of my wife's had kindly allowed us the use of her box ; and we were both silting in our places at a musical banquet of un- usual splendour; for it was Catalani's benefit. In looking round the house, during the interval between the opera and ballet, I hap- pened to cast my eye towards the opposite box, at the moment it was entered by two gentlemen of very fashionable appearance. Fancying that the person of one of them was familiar to me, I raised my glass, my sight being rather short. I almost let it fall out of my hand with astonishment — for one of the gentlemen was — Captain C ! — he whom I had that morning left ill in bed ! Scarcely believing that I had seen aright, I redirected my glass to the same spot, but there was no mistaking the stately and hand- some person of my patient. There he stood, with the gay, and even rather flustered air of one who has but recently adjourned thither from the wine-table! He seemed in very high spirits— his face flushed — chatting incessantly with his companion, and smiling and nodding frequently towards persons in various parts of the house. Concern and wonder at his rashness — his madness — in venturing out under such circumstances, kept me for some time breathless. Could I really be looking at my patient, Captain C ? him whom I had left in bed, under the influence of strong sudori- fics? — who had faithfully promised that he would keep within doors for two or three days longer? What had induced him to trans- gress the order of his medical attendant — thus to put matters in a fair train for verifying his own gloomy apprehensions expressed but the evening before?— Thoughts like these made me so uneasy, that, after failing to attract his eye, 1 resolved to go round to his pox :m(l remonstrate with him. After lapping ;ii the door several limes without being heard, on account of tin 1 loud tones in which ilic\ were laughing and talking, the door was opened. "Good God! Doctor !" exclaimed Captain C , in amaze- ment, rising and giving me his hand. ''Why, what on earth is A SLIGHT COLD o7>r, the matter? What has brought you here? Is any thing wrong? Heavens! Have you heard any thing about Miss ?" he con- tinued, all in a breath, turning pale. "Not a breath — not a word — But what has brought you here, Captain? Are you stark staring mad?*' I replied, as I continued grasping his hand, which was even then damp and clammy. " Why— why — nothing particular," he stammered, startled by mv agitated mariner. "What is there so very wonderful in my coming to the opera? Have 1 done wrong, eh?" he inquired, after a pause. "You have acted like a madman, Captain! in venturing even out of vour bedroom, while under influence of the medicines you were taking ! " "Oh, nonsense, my dear Doctor — nonsense ! What harm can there be? 1 felt infinitely better after you left me this morning ; " and he proceeded to explain, that his companion, to whom he in- troduced me, was Lieutenant , the brother of his intended bride; that he had that morning arrived in town from Portsmouth, had called on the Captain, and after drinking a glass or two of champagne, and forcing the Captain to join him, had prevailed on him to accompany him to dinner at his hotel. Lieutenant overcame all his scruples— laughed at the idea of his " slight cold," and said it would be " unkind to refuse the brother of Ellen !" —so, after dinner they both adjourned to the opera. I nodded towards the door, and we both left the box for a moment or two. " Whv, Doctor , you don't mean to say that I'm running anv real risk ? " he inquired, with some trepidation. " What could I do, you know, when the Lieutenant there— only just iclurned from his cruise — Ellen's brother, you know" " Excuse me, Captain . Did you take the medicines I or- dered regularly, up to the time of your going out?" I inquired anxiously. "To be sure I did — punctual as clockwork ; and, egad! now, I think of it," he added, eagerly, "I took a double dose of the pow- ders, just before leaving my room, by way of making 'assurance doubly sure ' you know— ha ha! Right, eh? " "Have you perspired during the day, as usual?" " Oh, profusely— profusely ! Egad, I must have sweated all the fever out long ago, I think ! I hadn't been in the open air half an hour, when my skin was as dry as yours— as dry as ever it was in my life. >*ay, in fact, I felt rather chilled than otherwise." "Allow me. Captain— did you drink much at dinner?" 334 A SLIGHT COLD. "Why — I own— I think Td my share; these tars, you know— such cursed soakers" "Lei me feel your pulse," said I. It was {"nil and thrilling, beating upwards of one hundred a minute. My looks, I suppose, alarmed him; for, while I was feeling his pulse, he grew very pale, and leaned against the box-door, saying, in a fainter tone than be- fore, "Fm afraid I've done wrong in coming out. Your looks alarm me." " Yon have certainly acted very — very imprudently : but I hope Uif mischief is not irremediable," said I, in as cheerful a tone as I could, for I saw that he was growing excessively agitated. " At all events, // you'll take my advice " "///—there's no need of taunting me" "Well, then, you'll return home instantly, and muffle yourself up in your cloak as closely as possible." " I will. By the way, do you remember the bet I offered you," said he, with a sickly smile, wiping the perspiration from his fore- head. " I— I— fear you may take it, and win ! Good God ! what evil star is over me? Would to Heaven this Lieutenant had never crossed my path!— I'll return home this instant, and do all you recommend ; and, for God's sake, call early in the morning, whether I send for you or not !— By ! your looks and manner have nearly given me the brain fever ! "—I took my leave, pro- mising to be with him early ; and advising him to take a warm bath the moment it could be procured— to persevere with the powders —and lie in bed till I called. Bnt, alas! alas! alas! the mischief had been done ! "Dear me, what a remarkably fine-looking man that Captain C is," said my wife, as soon as I had reseated myself be- side her. " He is a dead man, my love, if you like! " 1 replied, with a me- lancholy air. The little incident just recorded, made me too sad to sit out the ballet, so we left very early, andl do not think we inter- , •] more than a word or two in going home; and those were, "Poor Miss !" — "Poor Captain G !" I do not pretend to s.i\ thai even the rash conduct of Captain C , and its pro- bable consequences, could in every instance warrant such gloomy but. in iiis case, I f
  • see how much of ii he had taken. There lay an nnopened letter From Miss ! It had arrived by ihai morning's A SLIGHT COLD. 537 post, and bore the postmark of the town at which they were making their halt by the way. Captain 's friends considered it better not to agitate him, by informing him of its arrival; for as Miss could not be apprized of his illness, it might be of a tenor to agitate and tantalize him. My heart ached to see it. I returned presently to my seat beside him. " Doctor," he whispered, "will you be good enough to look for my white waistcoat— it is banging in the dressing-room, and feel in the pocket for a little paper parcel ? " I rose, did as he directed, and brought him what he asked for. " Open it, and you'll see poor Ellen's wedding-ring and guard, which I purchased only a day or two ago. I wish to see them," said he, in a low but firm tone of voice. I removed the wool, and gazed at the glistening trinkets in silence, as did Captain C . " They will do to wed me to the worm!" said he, extending towards me the little finger of his left hand. The tears nearly blinding me, I did as he wished, but could not get them past the first joint. " Ah, Ellen has a small finger !" said he. A tear fell from my eye upon his hand. He looked at me for an instant with apparent surprise. " Never mind, Doctor — that will do — I see they won't go farther. Now, let me die with them on ; and when I am no more, let them be given to Ellen. I have wedded her in my heart— she is my wife !" He continued gazing fixedly at the finger on which the rings were. " Of course, she cannot know of my illness?" he inquired faintly, looking at me. I shook my head. " Good. 'Twill break her little heart, I'm afraid !" Those were the last words I ever heard him utter ; for, finding that my feelings were growing too excited, and that the Captain seemed disposed to sleep, I rose and left the room, followed by Lieutenant , who had been sitting at his friend's bedside all day long, and look- ed dreadfully pale and exhausted. " Doctor," said he, in a broken voice, as we stood together in the hall, " I have murdered my friend, and he thinks 1 have. He won't speak to me, nor look at me ! He hasn't opened his lips to me once, though I've been at his bedside night and day. Yes," he continued, almost choking, " I've murdered him ; and what is to become of my sister?'' I made him no reply, for my heart was full. In the morning I found Captain C laid out ; for he had died about midnight. Few scenes are fraught with more solemnity and awe, none 22 538 UICH AM) POOR. more chitting to the heart, than the chamber of the recent dead. It is like the cold porch of eternity ! The sepulchral silence, the dim light, the fearful order and repose of all around — a sick-room, as it were, suddenly changed into a charnel-house — the central object in the gloomy picture, the bed — the yellow effigy of him that was, looking coldly out from the white unruffled sheets — the lips that must speak no more — the eyes that are shut for ever ! The features of Captain G were calm and composed ; but was it not woful to see that fine countenance surrounded with the close crimped cap, injuring its outline and proportions! — Here, reader, lav the victim of a slight cold ! CHAPTER XXI. RICH AND POOR. A remarkable and affecting juxtaposition of the two poles, so to speak, of human condition — affluence and poverty — rank and degradation — came under my notice during the early part of the year 181 -. The dispensations of Providence are fearful levellers of the factitious distinctions among men ! Little boots it to our common foe, whether he pluck his prey from the downy satin-cur- tained couch, or the wretched pallet of a prison or a workhouse ! The oppressive splendour of rank and riches, indeed ! — what has it of solace or mitigation to him bidden " to turn his'pale face to the wall" — to look his last on life, its toys and linselries ? The Kail of 's old tormentor, the gout, had laid close siege 10 him (hiring the early pail of the winter of 181-, and inflicted on him agonies of unusual intensity and duration. It loft him in a vci\ low and poor state of health, his spirits utterly broken — and his temper soured and irritable, i<> an extent that was intolerable to tli I him. The discission of a political question, in the of which his interests were deeply imolved, seduced him into endance at the House of Lords, long before helms in a lit state for removal, even from his bedchamber; and the consequences of such a shattered invalids premature exposure to a bleak win- RICH AND POOR. 339 ter's wind may be easily anticipated. He was laid again on a bed of suffering ; and having, through some sudden pique, dismissed his old family physician, his lordship was pleased to summon me to supply his. place. The Earl of was celebrated for his enormous riches and the more than Oriental scale qf luxury and magnificence on which his establishment was conducted. The slanderous world farther gave him credit for a disposition of the most exquisite selfishness, which, added to his capricious and choleric humour, made him a very unenviable companion, even in health. What, then, must such a man be in sickness ? I trembled at the task that was before me ! It was a bitter December evening on which I paid him mv first visit. Nearly the whole of the gloomy, secluded street in which his mansion was situated, was covered with straw ; and men were stationed about it to prevent noise in any shape. The ample knocker was muffled and the bell unhung, lest the noise of either should startle the aristocratical invalid. The instant my carriage, with its muffled roll, drew up, the hall-door sprang open as if by magic; for the watchful porter had orders to anticipate all comers, on pain of instant dismissal. Thick matting was laid over the hall floor —double carpeting covered the staircases and landings, from the top to the bottom of the house — and all the door-edges were lined with list. How could sickness or death presume to enter, in spite of such precautions ! A servant, in large list-slippers, asked me, in a whisper, my name ; and, on learning it, said the Countess wished to have a few moments' interview with me before I was shown up to his lordship. 1 was therefore led into a magnificent apartment, where her lady- ship, with two grown-up daughters, and a young man in the Guards' uniform, sat sipping coffee — for they had but just left the dining-room. The Countess looked pale and dispirited. "Doc- tor ," said she, after a few words of course had been inter- changed, "I'm afraid you'll have a trying task to manage his lord- ship. We are all worn out with attending on him, and yet he savs we neglect him ! Nothing can please or satisfy him! — What do you imagine was the reason of his dismissing Dr ? Because he persisted in attributing the present seizure to his lordship's im- prudent visit to the House ! " ' " Well, your ladyship knows I can but attempt to do my duty" — I was answering, when at that insiant the door was opened, and a sleek servant, all pampered and powdered, in a sotto voce tone, informed the Countess that his lordship had been inquiring for me, 340 RICH AND POOR. "Oh, for God's sake, go— go immediately," said her ladyship, eagerly, " or we shall have no peace for a week to come ! — I shall, perhaps, follow you in a few minutes! — But mind — please, not a breath about Dr 's leaving! " I bowed, and left the room. I followed the servant up the noble staircase — vase's and statues, with graceful lamps, at every landing— and was presently ushered into the "Blue-beard" chamber. Oh, the sumptuous — the splen- did air of every thing within it ! Flowered, festooned satin window- draperies — flowered satin bed-curtains, gathered together at the top by a golden eagle — flowered satin counterpane! Beautiful Brussels muffled the tread of your feet, and delicately-carved chairs and couches solicited to repose ! The very chamber lamps, glisten- ing in soft radiance from snowy marble stands in the farther corners of the room, were tasteful and elegant in the extreme. In short, grandeur and elegance seemed to outvie one another, both in the materials and disposition of every thing around me. I never saw any tiling like it before, nor have I since. I never in my life sat in such a yielding luxurious chair as the one I was beckoned to, be- side the Earl. There was, in a word, every tiling calculated to cheat a man into a belief, that he belonged to a " higher order" than that of "poor humanity." But for the Lord — the owner of all this — my patient. Ay, there he lay, embedded in down, amid snowy linen and figured satin — all that was visible of him being his little sallow wrinkled visage, worn with illness, age, and frelfulness, peering curiously at me from the depths of his pillow— and his left hand, lying outside the bed-clothes, holding a white embroidered handkerchief, with which he occasionally wiped his clammy features. "U — u — gh! U — u — gh"he groaned, or rather gasped, as a sudden twinge of pain twisted and corrugated his features almost out of all resemblance to humanity — till they looked more like those of a Strangled ape, than the Uight Honourable the Earl of . The paroxysm presently abated. "You've been— down stairs— more than — five minutes — I believe — Dr f he commenced in a pe- tulant tone, pausing for breath between every two words — his fea- tures not yet recovered from their contortions. I bowed. "I flatter myself — it was / — who sent — for you, Dr , and — not her ladyship," — he continued. 1 bowed again, and was goim; to explain, when be resumed. "Ah ! I scr! Heard—the whole Btory of Dr 's dismissal— ugh— ugh— eh?— May I— bee the favour— of hearing— her tady- thip'i version — of the affair?'* RICH AND POOR. T,4 i "My lord, I heard nothing but the simple fact of Dr 's hav- ing ceased to attend your lordship" "Ah ! — ceased to attend! Good ! " he repeated with a sneer. "Will your lordship permit me to ask if you have much pain just now?" I inquired, anxious to terminate his splenetic display. I soon discovered that he was in the utmost peril; for there was every symptom of the gout's having been driven from its old quar- ter, — the extremities, to the vital organs, — the stomach and bowels. One of the most startling symptoms was the sensation he described as resembling that of a platter of ice laid upon the pit of his sto- mach ; and he complained also of increasing nausea. Though not choosing to apprize him of the exact extent of his danger, I strove so to shape my questions and comments that he might infer his being in dangerous circumstances. He either did not, however, or would not, comprehend me. I told him that the remedies I should recommend " Ah — by the way " — said he, turning abruptly towards me, " it mustn't be the execrable stuff that Dr half poisoned me with ! 'Gad, Sir — it had a most diabolical stench — garlic was a pine-apple to it — and here was I obliged to lie soaked in eau de Cologne, and half stilled with musk. He did it on purpose — he had a spite against me ! " I begged to be shown the medicines he complained of, and his valet brought me the half-emptied vial. I found my predecessor had been exhibiting assa-fcetida and musk — and could no longer doubt the coincidence of his view of the case and mine. "I'm afraid, my lord," said I, hesitatingly, "that 1 shall find mvself compelled to continue the use of the medicines which Dr prescribed" "I'll be if you do, though— that's all"— replied the Earl, continuing to mutter indistinctly some insulting words about my small acquaintance with the pharmacopoeia" I took no notice of it. "Would your lordship," said I, after a pause, "object to the use of camphor or ammonia?" * "I object to the use of every medicine but one, and that is, a taste of some potted boar's flesh, which my nephew, I understand, lias this morning sent from abroad." "My lord, it is utterly out of the question. Your lordship, it * His lordship, with whom, as possibly I should have earlier informed the reader, I had some little personal acquaintance before being called in profession- ally, had a tolerable knowledge of medicine; which will account for my mentioning what remedies I intended to exhibit. In fact, he insisted on knowing 542 I\ICH AND POOR. is my duty to inform you, is in extremely dangerous circum- stances" "The devil I am!" he exclaimed, with an incredulous smile. " Pho, pho ! So Dr said. According to him, I ought to have resigned about a week ago! Egad— but— but— what symptom of dagger is there now?" he inquired, abruptly. " Why, one— in fact, my lord, the worst is— the sensation of numbness at the pit of the stomach , which your lordship mentioned just now." " Pho!— gone— gone— gone! A mere nervous sensation, I apprehend. I am freer from pain just now than I have been all along." His face changed a little. " Doctor— rather faint with talking — can I have a cordial? Pierre, get me some brandy !" he added , in a feeble voice. The valet looked at me — I nodded ac- quiescence, and he instantly brought the Earl a wine-glassful. " Another — another — another" — gasped the Earl , his face sud- denly bedewed with a cold perspiration. A strange expression ililted for an instant over the features ; his eyelids drooped ; there was a little twitching about the mouth " Pierre! Pierre! Pierre! call the Countess!" said I, hurriedly , loosening the Earl's shirt-neck , for I saw he was dying. Before the valet returned , however , while the muffled tramp . of footsteps was heard on the stairs, approaching nearer — nearer — nearer — it was all over ! The haughty Earl of had gone where rank and riches availed him nothing — to be alone with God ! On arriving home that evening, my mind saddened with the scene 1 had left, I found my wife— Emily— silting by the drawing- room fire, alone , and in tears. On inquiring the reason of it , she told me that a char-woman who had been that day engaged at our house, had been telling Jane— my wife's maid— who, of course, communicated it to her mistress, one of the most heart-rend- ing tales of distress that she had ever listened to— that poverty and disease united could inflict on humanity. .My sweet wife's voice, ever eloquent in the cause of benevolence, did not require much exertion to persuade me t<> resume m\ walking trim, and go that very evening to the scene of wretchedness she described. The char-woman had gone half-an-hour ago, but left tin- name and address of the family she spoke Of, and, after learning them, 1 set off. The cold foas SO fearfully intense, tli;it I Was obliged to re- turn and ;;< i ;i * comfortable" \'i>v my neck: and Emily took the opportunity to empty all the loose silver in her purse into my hand. RICH AND POOR. 345 saying, " You know what to do with it, love!" Blessing her benevolent heart, I once more set out on my errand of mercy. With some difficulty I found out the neighbourhood, threading my doubtful way through a labyrinih of obscure back-streets, lanes, and alleys, till I came to " Peter's Place," where the objects of my visit resided. I began to be apprehensive for the safety of my person and properly , when I discovered the sort of neighbourhood 1 had got into. " Do you know where some people of the name of O'Hurdle live?" I inquired of the watchman, who was passing bawling the hour. " Yis, I knows two of thai 'ere name hereabouts — which Hurdle is it, Sir?" inquired the gruff guardian of the night. " I really don't exactly know — the people I want are very, very poor." " Oh! oh! oh! I'm thinking they're all much of a muchness for the matter of that, about here," — he replied, setting down his lantern , and slapping his hands against his sides to keep himself warm. " But the people I want are very ill — I'm a Doctor." " Oh, oh ! you must be meaning 'em 'oose son was transported yesterday! His name was Tim O'Hurdle, Sir — though some called him Jimmy— and I was the man that catch'd him, Sir — I did! It was for a robbery in this here" " Ay , ay, I dare say they are the people I want. Where is their house?" I inquired, hastily , somewhal disturbed at the latter por- tion of his intelligence— a new v and forbidding feature of the case. "•I'll shew 'ee the way, Sir," said the watchman, walking be- fore me, and holding his lantern close to the ground to light my path. He led me to the last house of the Place, and through a mi- serable dilapidated door-way ; then up two pair of narrow, dirtv, broken stairs , till we found ourselves at the top of the house. He knocked at the door with the end of his stick, and called out, "Holloa, missus! Hey! Within there! Y^ou're wanted here!" adding suddenly , in a lower tone , touching his hat , M It's a bitter night, Sir— a trifle, Sir, to keep one's self warm— drink your health, Sir." I gave him a trifle , motioned him away, and took his place at the door. " Thank your honour! mind your watch and pockets, Sir, — that's all," he muttered, and left me. I felt very nervous as the sound of his retreating footsteps died away down stairs. I had half a mind to follow him. 544 1UCH AND POOK. 44 Whose there?" inquired a female voice through the door, opened only an inch or two. " It's I— a Doctor. Is your name O'Hurdle? Is any one ill here? I'm come to see you. Betsy Jones, a char-woman , told me of you." 44 You're right, Sir, " replied the same voice, sorrowfully. " Walk in, Sir ;" and the door was opened enough for me to enter. Now, reader, who, While glancing over these sketches, are perhaps reposing in the lap of luxury, believe me when 1 tell you, that the scene which I shall attempt to set before you , as I encoun- tered it, I feel to beggar all my powers of description ; and that what you may conceive to be exaggerations , are infinitely short of the frightful realities of that evening. Had I not seen and known for myself, I should scarcely have believed that such mi- sery existed. " AVait a moment, Sir, an I'll fetch you a light," said the wo- man , in a strong Irish accent ; and I stood still outside the door till she returned with a rushlight , stuck in a blue bottle. I had time for no more than one glimpse at the haggard features and filthy ragged appearance of the bearer, with an infant at the breast, before a gust of wind, blowing through an unstopped broken pane in the window , suddenly extinguished the candle , and we were left in a sort of darkness visible , the only object I could see being the faint glow of expiring embers on the hearth. 44 Would your honour be after standing still a while, or you'll be thredding on the chilther?",said the woman; and, bending down, she endeavoured to re-light the candle by the embers. The poor creature tried in vain, however; for it seemed there was but an inch or two of candle left, and the heat of the embers melted it away, and the wick fell out. 44 Oh, muither — there! What will we do?" exclaimed the woman, 4 ' that's the last bit of candle we've in the house, an' it's not a farthing 1 have to buy another!" 44 Come — send and buy another," said I, giving her a shilling, iliougii I was obliged to feet for her hand. 44 Oh, thank your honour!" said she, 44 an' we'll soon be seeing one another. Here, Sal ! Sal! Sally! — Here, yecratur !" "Well, and what d'ye want with met" asked a sullen voice from another part of the room, while there was a rustling of straw. " Fait, an' ye must gel upwkj ye, and go to buy a candle. Here's a shilling" RICH AND POOR. 345 " Heigh — and isn't it a iuaf o' bread ye should rather be after buving, mother?" growled the same voice. "Perhaps the Doctor won't mind," stammered the mother; " he won't mind our getting a loaf too." " Oh, ! no, no ! For God's sake, go directly, and get what you like !" said I , touched by the woman's tone and manner. " Ho , Sal! Get up— ye may buy some bread too" " Bread! bread! bread !— Where's the shilling?" said the same voice , in quick and eager tones ; and the emberlight enabled me barely to distinguish the dim outline of a figure rising from the straw on which it had been stretched, and which nearly overturned me by stumbling against me, on its way towards where the mother stood. It was a grown-up girl, who, after receiving the shilling, promised to bring the candle lighted, lest her own fire should not be sufficient, and withdrew, slamming the door violenty after her, and rattling down stairs with a rapidity which showed the interest she felt in her errand. " I'm sorry it's not a seat we have that's fit for you, Sir," said the woman, approaching towards where I was standing ; " but if I may make so bold as to take your honour's hand, I'll guide you to the only one we have — barring the floor — a box by the fire, and there ye'll sit perhaps till she comes with a light." "Anywhere — anywhere, my good woman," said I; "but I hope your daughter will return soon, for I have not long to be here;" and giving her my gloved hand, she led me to a deal box, on which I sat down , and she on the floor beside me. I was be- ginning to ask her some questions , when the moaning of a little child interrupted me. "Hush! hush !— ye little divel— hush!— ye'll be waking your poor daddy ! — hush !— go to sleep wid ye!" said the woman, in an earnest under tone. " Och — och — mammy '.—mammy! an' isn't it so could? — I emit sleep , mammy," replied the tremulous voice of a very young child ; and, directing my eyes to the quarter from which the sound came, I fancied I saw a poor shivering half-naked creature, cowering under the window. "Hish! — lie still wid ye, ye unfortunat' little divel — an ye'll presently get something to eat.— We ha'n't none of us tasted a morsel sin' the morning, Doctor!" The child she spoke to ceased its moanings instantly; but I heard the sound of its little teeth chattering, and of its hands rubbing and striking together. Well it might , poor wretch — for I protest the room was nearly as cold 546 RICH AND POOR. as the open air; for, besides the want of fire, the bleak wind blew in chilling gusts through the broken panes of the window. " Why, how many of you are there in this plaee, my good wo- man ? " said I. "Och, murlher! murther! mtirther ! an' isn't there— barring Sal, that's gone for the candle, and Bobby, that's out begging, and Tim, that the ould divels at Newgate have sent away to Bottomless* yesterday," she continued, bursting into tears ; — " Och, an' won't that same be the death o' me, and the poor father o' the boy — an' it wasn't sich a sintence he deserved— but hush! hush!'' she con- tinued, lowering her tones, "an it's waking the father o' him, I'll be, that doesn't" " I understand your husband is ill?" said I. "Fait, Sir, as ill as the 'smatticks (asthmatics) can make him — the Lord pity him ! but he's had a blessed hour's sleep, the poor fellow ! though the little brat he has in his arms has been making a noise — a little divel that it is — it's the youngest barring this one I'm suckling — an' it's not a fortnight it is sin' it first looked on its mother!" she continued, sobbing, and kissing her baby's hand. " Och, och ! that the little cratur had niver been born ! " I heard footsteps slowly approaching the room ; and presently a few rays of light flickered through the chinks and fissures of the door, which was in a moment or two pushed open, and Sal made her appearance, shading the lighted candle in her hand, and hold- ing a quartern loaf under her arm. She had brought but a wretched rushlight, which she hastily stuck into the neck of the bottle, and placed it on a shelf over the fireplace ; and then — what a scene was visible! The room wasa garret, and the sloping ceiling — if such it might be called — made it next to impossible to move anywhere in an up- right position. The mockery of a window had not oik; entire pane of glass in it; but some of the holes were stopped with straw, rags, and biown paper, while one or two were not stopped at all! There was not an article of furniture in the place — no, not a bed, chair, or table of any kind; the last remains of il had been seized for ar- ofrenl — eighteenpence a-week — 1>\ the horrid harpy, their landlady, wlio lived on the ground floor! The floor was littered with dirty straw, such as swine might scorn — but which formed III- only couch of this devoted family ! The rushlight eclipsed the dying glow of the lew embers, so that there was qoi even theop- meeoi a fire! And ihi* in a garret facing the north— on one ■ Botani i RICH AND POOR. 347 of the bitterest and bleakest nights I ever knew ! My heart sank within me at witnessing such frightful misery and destitution, and contrasting it, for an instant, with the ai istoeratical splendour, the exquisite luxuries, of my last patient ! Lazarus and Dives ! The woman with whom I had been conversing, was a mere bun- dle of filthy rags — a squalid, shivering, starved creature, holding to her breast a half-naked infant, — her matted hair hanging long and loosely down her back, and over her shoulders ; her daughter Sal was in like plight — a sullen, ill-favoured slut of about eighteen, who seemed ashamed of being seen, and hung her head like a guilty one. She had resumed her former station on some straw — her bed ! — in the extreme corner of the room where she was squatting, with a little creature cowering close beside her, both munching ra- venously the bread which had been purchased. The miserable father of the family was seated on the floor, with his back propped against the opposite side of the fireplace to that which I occupied, and held a child clasped loosely in his arms, though he had plainly fallen asleep. Oh, what a wretched object! a foul, shapeless, brown paper-cap on his head, and a ragged fustian jacket on his back, which a beggar might have spurned with loathing ! The sum of what the woman communicated to me was, that her husband, a bricklayer by trade, had been long unable to work, on account of his asthma; and that their only means of subsistence were a paltry pittance from the parish, her own scanty earnings as a washer-woman, which had been interrupted by her recent con- finement, and charities collected by Sal, and Bobby, who was then out begging. Their oldest son, Tim, a lad of sixteen, had been transported for seven years, the day before, for a robbery, uf which his mother vehemently declared him innocent ; and this last circumstance had, more than all the rest, completely broken the hearts of both his father and mother, who had absolutely starved themselves and their children, in order to hoard up enough to fee an Old Bailey counsel to plead for their son ! The husband had "been for some time, I found, an out-patient of one of the infirma- ries ; " and this poor little darlin;," -aid she, sobbing bitterly, and hugging her infant closer to her, " has got the measles, I'm fearin'; and little Bobby, too, is catching them.— Och, murther, murlher ! Oh, Christ, pity us, poor sinners that we are!— Oh! what will we do?— what will we do?"— and she almost choked herself with stifling her sobs, for fear of waking her husband. "And what is the matter with the child that your husband is holding in his arms?" I inquired, pointing to it, as it sat in its fa- 548 RICH AND POOR. ther's arms, munching a little crust of bread, and ever and anon patting its father's lace, exclaiming, " Da-a-a ! — Ab-bab-ba !— Ab- bab-ba ! " " Och ! what ails the cratur? Nothing, but that it's half-starved and naked— an' isn't that enough— aa' isn't it kill I wish we all were — every mother's son of us!" groaned the miserable woman, sob- bing as if her heart would break. At that moment a lamentable noise was heard on the stairs, as of a lad crying, accompanied by the pattering of naked feet. "Och! murther!" exclaimed the woman, with an agitated air. — " What's ailing with Bobby? Is it crying he is?" and starting to the door, she threw it open time enough to admit a ragged shivering urchin, about ten years old, without shoes or stockings, and having no cap, and rags pinned about him, which he was obliged to hold up with his right hand, while the other covered his left cheek. The little wretch, after a moment's pause, occasioned by seeing a strange gentleman in the room, proceeded to put three or four coppers into his mother's lap, telling her, with painful gestures, that a gentleman whom he had followed a few steps in the street, importuning for charity, had turned round unexpectedly, and struck him a severe blow with a cane, over his face and shoulders. "Let me look at your face, my poor little fellow," said I, draw- ing him to me; and, on removing his hand, I saw a long weal all down the left cheek. I wish I could forget the look of tearless agony with which his mother put her arms round his neck, and drawing him to her breast, exclaimed faintlv, — "Bobby! — my Bobby!" After a few moments she released the boy, pointing to the spot where his sisters sat, still munching their bread. The in- stant he saw what they were doing, he sprang towards them, and I »lu on — all unable to resist the on-pressing crowd behind: mil bo the first fallen lies nearly crushed and smothered. Now, is not this frequently the case with a man amid the cares and * Ami now behold, (intrude, Gertrude— \\ lien s(i!T(i\uciiiiic, lhi-\ DOOM not miijjIc spit s. Bill in bftUaliOOi. Niukm-miik THE RUINED MERCHANT. ool troubles of life? One solitary disaster— one unexpected calamity befalls him; the sudden shock slims him out of his self-posses- sion; he is dispirited, confounded, paralysed— and down he foils, in the very throng of all the pressing cares and troubles of life , oue implicating and dragging after it another— till all is uproar and consternation. Then it is , that we hear passionate lamenta- tions, and cries of sorrows " never coming alone" — of all this "being against him;" and he either stupidly lies still, till he is crushed and trampled on, or, it. may be, succeeds in scrambling to the first temporary resting-place he can espy, where he resigns him- self 10 stupiiied inaction, staring vacantly at the throng of mishaps following in the wake of that one which bore him down. Whereas i he first thought of one in such a situation should surely be, " Let me be ' up and doing,' and I may yet recover myself."—" Di- rectly a man determines to think ," says an eminent writer, " he is well nigh sure of bettering his condition." It is to the operation of such causes as these, that is to be traced , in a great majority of cases, the necessity for medical interference. Within the sphere of my own practice , I have witnessed , in such circumstances , the display of heroism and fortitude ennobling to human nature ; and I have also seen instances of the most con- temptible pusillanimity. J have marked a brave spirit succeed in buffeting its way out of its adversities; and I have seen as brave a one overcome by them , and falling vanquished , even with the sword of resolution gleaming in its grasp ; for there are combina- tions of evil, against which no human energies can make a stand. Of this, I think the ensuing melancholy narrative will afford an illustration. What its effect on the mind of the reader may be , I cannot presume to speculate. Mine it has oppressed to recall the painful scenes with which it abounds, and convinced of the peculiar perils incident to rapidly acquired fortune, which too of- ten lifts its possessor into an element for which he is totally unfit- ted, and from which he falls exhausted, lower far than the sphere he had left ! Mr Dudleigh's career afforded a striking illustration of the splen- did but fluctuating fortunes of a great English merchant— of the magnificent results insured by persevering industry, economy, prudence, and enterprise, Early in life he was cast upon the world, to do as he would, or -rather could, with himself; for his guardian proved a swindler, and robbed his deceased friend's child of every penny that was left him. On hearing of the disastrous event, young Dudleigh instantly ran away from school, in his six- S52 THE RUINED MERCHANT. teenth year , and entered himself on board a vessel trading to the West Indies, as cabin-boy. As soon as his relatives, few in num- ber, distant in degree, and colder in affection, heard of this step, they told him, after a little languid expostulation, that as he had made his bed , so he must lie upon it ; and never came near him again , till he had become ten times richer than all of them put together. The first three or four years of young Dudleigh's novitiate at sea, were years of fearful, but not unusual hardship. T have heard him state that he was frequently flogged by the Captain and mate, till the blood ran down his back like water ; and kicked and cuffed about by the common sailors with infamous impunity. One cause, of all this was obvious; his evident superiority over every one on board in learning and acquirements. To such an extent did his tormentors carry their tyranny, that poor Dudleigh's life became intolerable; and one evening, on leaving the vessel after its arrival in port from the West Indies, he ran to a public-house in \Yapping, called for pen and ink, and wrote a letter to the chief owner of the vessel, acquainting him of the cruel usage he had suffered, and imploring his interference; adding, that if that application failed, he was determined to drown himself when they next went to sea. This letter, which was signed "Henry Dudleigh, cabin-boy/' asto- nished and interested the person to whom it was addressed ; for it was accurately, and even eloquently worded. Young Dudleigh was sent for, and after a thorough examination into the nature of his pretensions, engaged as a clerk in the counting-house of the ship-owners, at a small salary. He conducted himself with so much ability and integrity, and displayed such a zealous interest in his emplovers' concerns, that in a few years' time he was raised to the head of their large establishment, and received a salary of 500/. a-vear, as their senior and confidential clerk. The experience he gained in this situation, enabled him, on the unexpected bank- ruptcy of his employers, to dispose most successfully of the greater proportion of what lie had saved in their service. He purchased shares in two vessels, which made fortunate voyages; and the re- sult determined him henceforth to conduct business on his own account, notwithstanding the offer of a most lucrative situation si- milar to his last. In a word, he went on conducting his specula- tions with as much prudence, as he undertook them with energy and enterprise. The period I am alluding to may be considered as the golden age of the shipping interest ; and it will occasion surprise to no one ac- THE RUINED MERCHANT. 333 quaiuted with the commercial history of those days, to hear that in little more than five years' time, Mr Dudleigh could "write him- self" worth 20,000/. He practised a parsimony of the most ex- cruciating kind. Though every one on 'Change was familiar with his name, and cited him as one of the most " rising young men there," he never associated with any of them but on occasions of strict business. He was content with the humblest fare; and trudged cheerfully to and from the city to his quiet quarters near Hackney, as if he had been but a common clerk luxuriating on an income of 50/. per annum. Matters went on thus prospering with him, till his thirty-second year, when he married the wealthy wi- dow of a shipbuilder. The influence which she had in his future fortunes, warrants me in pausing to describe her. She was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old ; of passable person, as far as figure went, for her face was rather bloated and vulgar; some- what of a dowdy in dress; insufferably vain, and fond of extrava- gant display ; a termagant ; with little or no intellect. In fact, she was in disposition the perfect antipodes of her husband. Mr Dud- leigh was a humble unobtrusive, kind-hearted man, always intent on business, bevond which he did not pretend to know or care for much. How could such a man, it will be asked, marry such a wo- man ? — Was he the first who has been dazzled and blinded by the blaze of a large fortune? Such was his case. Besides, a young widow is somewhat careful of undue exposures, which might fright away promising suitors. So they made a match of it ; and he resusci- tated the expiring business and connexion of his predecessor, and conducted it with a skill and energy, which in a short lime opened upon him the floodgates of fortune. Affluence poured in from all quarters ; and he was every where called by his panting, but di- stanced competitors in the city, the "fortunate Mr Dudleigh." One memorable day, four of his vessels, richly freighted, came, almost together, into port ; and on the same day, he made one of the most fortunate speculations in the funds which had been heard of for years ; so that he was able to say to his assembled family, as he drank their healths after dinner, that he would not take a quarter of a million for what he was worth ! And there, surely, he might have paused, nay, made his final stand, as the possessor of such a princely fortune, acquired with unsullied honour to himself, and, latterly, spent in warrantable splendour and hospitality. But no : as is and ever w ill be the case, the more he had the more he would have. Not to mention the incessant baiting of his ambitious wife, the dazzling capabilities of indefinite increase to his wealth proved THE HI IN Fit MERCHANT. irresistible. H hat migbt not be done by a man of Mr Dudleign s celebrity, with a floating capital of some hundred and fifty thousand pounds, and as much credit as he chose to accept of? The regular course of bis shipping business brought him in constantly magni- ficent returns, and he began to sigh after other collateral sources of money-making; for why should nearly one-half of his vast means lie unproductive? He had not long to look about, alter it once be- came known that he was ready to employ his floating capital in pro- fitable speculations. The brokers, lor instance, came about him, ami he leagued with them. By and by the world heard of a mono- poly of nutmegs. There was not a score to be had anywhere in London, but at a most exorbitant price— «-for the fact was, that Mr Dudleigfa had laid his hands on them all, and by so doing, cleared a very large sum. Presently he would play similar pranks with otto <>f n>scs; and as soon as he had quadrupled the cost of that fa- shionable article, he would let loose his stores on the gaping market ; by which he gained as large a profit as he had made with the nut- megs. Commercial people will easily see how he did this. The brokers, who wished to effect the monopoly, would apply to him for the use of his capital, and give him an ample indemnity against whatever loss might be the fate of the speculation ; and, on its prov- ing successful, rewarded him with a ver\ large proportion of the profits. This is the scheme by which many splendid fortunes have been raised, with a rapidity which has astonished their gainers as much as any one else ! Then, again, he negotiated bills on a large scale, and at tremendous discounts; and, in a word, by these, and similar means, amassed, in a few years, the enormous sum of half a million of money ! It is easy to guess at the concomitants of such a fortune as this. At the instigation oi his wife— for he himself retained all his old unobtrusive and \ ersonally economical habits — he supported two splendid establishments— the one nt the " West End" of the town, and th<- other near Richmond. His wife — for Mr Dudleigh himsell seemed more Like the kixedsteu ard of his fortune, than its possessor — was soon surrounded i»\ swarms of those titled blood-suckers, thai batten oa bloated opulence, which has been floated into theaea of fashion. Mrs Dudleigh's dinners, suppers, routs, . frics- ckampitret, flashed astonishment on the town, through the columns of the obsequious prints. Miss Dudleigh, an elegant and really amiable girl, about seventeen, was beginning to get talked of as a fashionable beauty, and, report said, had refused her coronets l.\ dozens!—- while "young Harry Dudleigh" far out-topped ile THE RUINED MERCHANT astonished Oxonians, by spending half as much again as hi> noble allowance. Poor Mr Dudleigh frequently looked on all this with fear and astonishment, and, when in the city, would shrug his shoulders, and speak of the "dreadful doings at the West ! *' I say, when in the city — for, as soon as he travelled westwards, when he entered the sphere of his wife's influence, his energies were benumb- ed and paralysed. He had too long quietly succumbed to her author- ity, to call it in question now, and therefore he submitted to the splendid appearance he was compelled to support. He often said, however, that "he could nut understand what Mrs Dudleigh was at;" but beyond such a hint he never presumed. Be was seldom ur never to be seen amid the throng and crush of company that crowded his house evening after evening. The first arrival of his wife's guests, was his usual signal for seizing his hat and slick, drop- ping quietly from home, and betaking himself either to some sedate city friend, or to his counting-house, where he now tuok a kind of morbid pleasure in ascertaining that his gains were safe, and plan- ning greater, to make up, if possible, he would say, "for Mrs Dudleigh's awful extravagance." He did this so constantly, that Mrs Dudleigh began at last to expect and calculate on his absence, as a matter of course, whenever she gave a party ; and her good- natured, accommodating husband too easily acquiesced, on the ground, as his wife took care to give out, of his health 's not bearing late hours and company. Though an economical, and even parsi- monious man in his habits, Mr Dudleigh had as warm and kind a heart as ever glowed in the breast of man. I have heard many ac- counts of his systematic benevolence which he chiefly carried into effect at the periods of temporary relegation to the city, above spoken of. Every Saturday evening, for instance, he had a sort of levee, numerously attended by merchants' clerks and commencing tradesmen, all of whom he-assisted most liberally with both "cash and counsel," as he good-humouredly called it. Many a one of them owes his establishment in life to Mr Dudleigh, who never lost sight of any deserving object he had once served. A far different creature Mrs Dudleigh! The longer she fifed, the more she had her way — the more frivolous and heartless did she become — the more despotic was the sway she exercised over her husband. Whenever he presumed to " lecture her," as she called it, she would stop his mouth, with referring to the fortune she had brought him, and ask him triumphantly, "what he could have done without her cash and connexions!" Such being the fact, it was past all controversy that she ought to be allowed "to have her fling, now thej 356 THE RUINED MERCHANT. could so easily afford it ! " The sums she spent on her own and her (laughter s dresses were absolutely incredible, and almost petrified her poor husband when the bills were brought to him. Both in the articles of dress and party-giving, Mrs Dudleigh was actuated by a spirit of frantic rivalry with her competitors; and what she wanted in elegance and refinement, she sought to compensate for in extra- vagance and ostentation. It was to no purpose that her trembling husband, with tears in his eyes, suggested to her recollection the old saying, " that fools make feasts, and wise men eat them ; " and that, if .she gave magnificent dinners and suppers, of course great people would come and eat them for her ; but would they thank her? Her constant answer was, that they ' ' ought to support their station in society"— that " the world would not believe them rich, unless they showed it that they were ," etc. etc. Then, again, she had a strong plea for her enormous expenditure in the "bringing out of Miss Dudleigh," in the arraymentof whom, pantingmilliners "toiled in vain." In order to bring about this latter object, she induced, but with great difficulty, Mr Dudleigh to give his bankers orders to accredit her separate cheques ;'andso prudently did she avail herself of this privilege for months, that she completely threw Mr Dudleigh offhisguard, and he allowed a very large balance to lie in hisbanker's hands, subject to the unrestricted drafts of his wife. Did the reader never happen to see in society that horrid harpy, an old dowager, whose niggard jointure drives her to cards ? Evening after evening did several of these old creatures squat, toad-like, round Mrs Dud- leigh's card table, and succeeded at last in inspiring her with such a frenzy for "play," as the most ample fortune must melt away under, more rapidly than snow beneath sunbeams. The infatuated woman became notoriously the first to seek, and last to leave, the fatal card table ; and the reputed readiness with which she "bled,'" at la^t brought her the honour of an old Countess, who condescend- ed tov\in from her, at two sittings, very nearly 5000/. It is not now difficult to account for the anxiety Mis Dudleigh manifested to banish her husband from her parties. She had many ways of satisfactorily accounting for her frequent drafts on his bankers. Miss Dudleigh bad made a conquest of a young peer, who, as soon as he had accurately ascertained die reality of her vast expectations, fell deeply in love with her! The young lady herself had loo much good sense to give him spontaneous credit lor disinterested affection; but she was so dunned on the subject by her foolish mother — so petted and flattered by the noble, but impoverished family, that sought her connexion— and ihc young nobleman, himself a hand- THE RUINED MERCHANT. 3S7 some man, so ardent and persevering in his courtship— that at last her heart yielded, and she passed in society as the "envied object of his affections ! " The notion of intermingling their blood with mobi- lity, so dazzled the vain imagination of Mrs Dudleigh, that it gave her eloquence enough to succeed, at last, in stirring the phlegmatic temperament of her husband. " Have a nobleman for my son-in- law !" thought the merchant, morning, noon, and night — at the East and at the West End — in town and country ! What would the city people say to that ? He had a spice of ambition in his compo- sition, beyond what could be contented with the achieval of mere city eminence. lie was tiring of it — he had long been a kind of king on 'Ghange, and, as it were, carried the Stocks in his pockets. He had long thought that it was " possible to choke a dog with pud- ding," and he was growing heartily wearied of the turtle and veni- son eastward of Temple Bar, which he was compelled to eat at the public dinners of the great companies, and elsewhere, when his own tastes would have led him, in every case, to pitch upon "port, beef-steaks, and the papers," as fare fit for a king ! The dazzling topic, therefore, on which his wife held forth with unwearied elo- quence, was beginning to produce conviction in his mind ; and though he himself eschewed his wife's kind of life, and refused to share in it, he did not lend a very unwilling ear to her representations of the necessity for an even increased rate of expenditure, to enable Miss Dudleigh to eclipse her gay competitors, and appear a worthy prize in the eyes of her noble suitor. Aware of the magnitude of the proposed object, he could not but assent to Mrs Dudleigh's opinion, that extraordinary means must be made use of; and was at last persuaded into placing nearly 20,000/. in his new banker's hands, subject, as before, to Mrs Dudleigh's drafts, which she promised him should be as seldom and as moderate as she could possibly contrive to meet necessary expenses with. His many and heavy expenses, together with the great sacrifice in prospect, when the time of his daughter's marriage should arrive, supplied him with new incentives to enter into commercial speculations. He tried several new schemes, threw all the capital he could command into new and even more productive quarters, and calculated on making vast accessions of fortune at the end of the year. About a fortnight after Mr Dudleigh had informed Mrs Dudleigh of the new lodgment he had made at his bankers, she gave a very large evening party at her house in Square. She had been very successful in her guests on the occasion, having engaged the attendance of my Lords This, and my Ladies That, innumerable. ."5S8 THE RUINED MERCHANT. Even the high and haughty Duke of had deigned to look in for a few moments, on his way to a party at Carlton House, for the purpose of sneering at the " splendid cat," and extracting topics of laughter for his royal host. The whole of Square, and one or two of the adjoining streets, were absolutely choked with car- riages — the carriages of iier guests ! When you entered her mag- oificent apartments, and had made your way through the soft crush and flutter of aristocracy, you might see the lady of the house throbbing and panting with excitement — a perfect blaze of jew- ellery— Hanked by her very kind friends, old Lady , and the well-known Miss , engaged, as usual, at unlimited loo. The good humour with which Mrs Dudleigh lost, was declared to be " quite charming,"—" deserving of better fortune ;" and inflamed by the cayenned compliments they forced upon her, she was just uttering some sneering and insolent allusion to " that odious city" while old Lady 's withered talons were extended to clutch her winnings, when there was perceived a sudden stir about the chief door — then a general hush — and in a moment or two, a gentleman, in dusty and disordered dress, with his hat on, rushed through the astonished crowd, and made his way towards the card table at which Mrs Dudleigh was seated, and stood confronting her, extend- ing towards her his right hand, in which was a thin slip of paper. It was Mr Dudleigh ! "There — there, Madam!" he gasped in a hoarse voice, — "there, woman! what have you done? — ■Ruined — ruined me, Madam — you've ruined me! My credit is destroyed for ever ! my name is tainted. Here's the first dishonoured bill that ever bore Henry Dudleigh's name upon it! — Yes, Madam, it is you who have done it," he continued, with vehement tone and gesture, utterly regardless of the broaihless throng around him, and con- tinuing lo extend towards her the protested bill of exchange. "My dear! — my dear — my — my — my dear Mr Dudleigh,*' stammered his wife, without rising from her chair, " what is the matter, love?" "Matter, Madam? why, by ! — that you've ruined me — that's all ! Where's the 20,000/. 1 placed in Messrs 's hands a lew days ago? — Where — WHBHE is it, Mrs Dudleigh ? " he con- tinued almost shouting, and advancing nearer to her, with his list clenched. "Henry! dear Henry! — mercy, mercy!" murmured his wife, faintly. " Henn , indeed I Men y ?— Silence, Madam ! I low dare you deny me an answi r ? Ii<»w dan voir swindle me <»m of m\ fortune in this THE RUINED MERCHANT. 359 way '( " he continued, fiercely, wiping the perspiration from his fore- head ; "Here's my bill for 4000/., made payable at Messrs , my new bankers; and when it was presented this morning, Madam, by — ■ — ! the reply was, ■ no effects ! ' and my bill has been dishonour- ed ! Wretch ! what have you done with my money ? Where is it all gone? — I'm the town's talk about this bill! There'll be a run upon me ! — I know there will — ay — this is the way my hard-earned wealth is squandered, you vile, you unprincipled spendthrift ! " he continued, turning round and pointing to the astounded guests, none of whom had uttered a syllable. The music had ceased — the dancers left their places — the card tables were deserted — in a word, all was blank consternation. The fact was, that old Lady , who was that moment sealed, trembling like an aspen leaf, at Mrs Dudleigh's right hand side, had won from her, during the last month, a series of sums amounting to little short of 9000/., which 3Irs Dudleigh had paid the day before by a cheque on her banker ; and that very morning she had drawn out 4000/. odd, to pay her coachmaker's, confectioner's, and milliner's bills, and supply her- self with cash for the evening's spoliation. The remaining TOyO/. had been drawn out during the preceding fortnight to pay her va- rious clamorous creditors, and keep her in readiness for the gaming- table. Mr Dudleigh, on hearing of the dishonour of his bill — the news of which was brought him by a clerk, for he was staying at a friend's house in the country — came up Distantly to town, paid the bill, and then hurried, half beside himself, to his house in Square. It is not at all wonderful, that though Mr Dudleigh's name was well known as an eminent and responsible mercantile man, his bankers, with whom he had but recently opened an ac- count, should decline paying his bill, after so large a sum as 20,000/. bad been drawn out of their hands by Mrs Dudleigh. It looked suspicious enough, truly! '"Mrs Dudleigh! where — where is my 20,000/.?" he shouted al- mostat the top of his voice; but MrsDudleigh heard him not; for she had fallen fainting into the arms of Lady . Numbers rushed forward to her assistance. The confusion and agitation that en- sued it would be impossible to describe ; and, in the midst of it, Mr Dudleigh strode at a furious pace out of the room, and left the house. For the next three or four days he behaved like a mad- man. His apprehensions magnified the temporary and very tri- lling injury his credit had sustained, till he fancied himself on the eve of becoming bankrupt. And, indeed, where is the merchant of anv eminence, whom such a circumstance as the dishonour of a 360 THE RUINED MERCHANT. bill for 4000/. (however afterwards accounted for) would not exas- perate ? For several days Mr Dudleigh would not go near Square, and did not once inquire after Mrs Dudleigh. My pro- fessional services were put into requisition on her behalf. Rage , shame, and agony, at the thought of the disgraceful exposure she had met with, in the eyes of all her assembled guests — of those respecting whose opinions she was most exquisitely sensitive — had nearly driven her distracted. She continued so ill for about a week, and exhibited such frequent glimpses of delirium, that I was compelled to resort to very active treatment to avert a brain fever. More than once, I heard her utter the words, or something like them, — " be revenged on him yet !" but whether or not she was at the time sensible of the import of what she said, I did not know. The incident above recorded — which I had from the lips of Mr Dudleigh himself, as well as from others — made a good deal of noise in what are called "the fashionable circles," and was obscure- ly hinted at in one of the daily papers. I was much amused at hearing, in the various circles I visited, the conflicting and exagge- rated accounts of it. One old lady told me she " had it on the best authority, that Mr Dudleigh actually struck his wife, and wrenched her purse out of her hand!" I recommended Mrs Dudleigh to withdraw for a few weeks to a watering-place, and she followed my advice ; taking with her Miss Dudleigh, whose health and spirits had suffered materially through the event which has been mention- ed. Poor girl ! she Was of a very different mould from her mother, and suffered acutely, though silently, at witnessing the utter contempt in which her mother was held by the very people she made such prodigious efforts to court and conciliate. Can any situation be conceived more painful ? Her few and gentle remon- strances, however, met invariably with a harsh and cruel reception; and at last she was compelled to hold her peace, and bewail in mortified silence her mother's obtuseness. They continued at about a month; and, on their return to town, found the affair quite " blown over;" and soon afterwards, through the mediation of mutual friends, the angry couple were reconciled to each other. For twelve Jong months Mrs Dudleigh led a comparatively quiet and secluded life, abstaining — with but a poor grace, it is true — from company and cards — from the latter compulsorily; for no one chose to sit down at play with her, who had witnessed or heard of the event which had taken place last season. In short, every thing seemed going on well with our mer- THE RUINED MERCHANT. 361 chant and his family. It was fixed that his daughter was to become lady a s soon as young Lord should have returned from the Continent ; and a dazzling dowery was spoken of as hers un the day of her marriage. Pleased with his wiles good behaviour, Mr Dudleigh's confidence and good-nature revived, and he held the reins with a rapidly slackening grasp. In proportion as he allowed her funds, her scared " friends" flocked again around her; and by and by she was seen flouncing about in fashion as heretofore, with small "let or hinderance" from her husband. The world— the saga- cious world— called Mr Dudleigh a happy man ; and the city swelled at the mention of his name and doings. The mercantile world laid its highest honours at his feet. The Mayoralty— a Bank, anEastlndian, Directorship— a seat for the city in Parliament— all glittered within his grasp— but he would not stretch forth his hand. He was con- tent" he would say, to be " plain Henry Dudleigh, whose word was as good as his bond"— a leading man on 'Change— and, above all, " who could look every one full in the face with whom he had ever had to do." He was indeed a worthy man— a rich and racy speci- men of one of those glories of our nation— a true English merchant. The proudest moments of his life were those, when an accompa- nving friend could estimate his consequence, by witnessing the mandarin movements that every where met him — the obsequious obeisances of even his closest rivals— as he hurried to and fro about the central regions of 'Change, his hands stuck into the worn pockets of his plain snuff-coloured coat. The merest glance at Mr Dudleigh —his hurried, fidgety, anxious gestures— the keen, cautious ex- pression of his glittering gray eyes— his mouth screwed up like a shut purse— all, all told of the " man of a million." There was, in a manner, a " plum" in every tread of his foot, in every twinkle of his eye. He could never be said to breathe freely— really to live— but in his congenial atmosphere— his native element— the City ! Once every year he gave a capital dinner, at a tavern, to all his agents, clerks, and people in any way connected with him in business ; and none but himself knew the quiet ecstasy with which he took his seat at the head of them all, joined in their timid jokes, echoed their modest laughter, made speeches, and was be-speechi- fied in turn ! How he sat while great things were saying of him, on the occasion of his health's being drunk ! On one of these occasions, his health had been proposed by his sleek head-clerk, in a most neat and appropriate speech, and drank with uproarious enthusiasm ; and good Mr Dudleigh was on his legs, energetically 36« THE RUINED MERCHANT. making his annual avowal, that "that was the proudest moment of his life," when one of the waiters came and interrupted him, by saying that a gentleman was without, waiting to speak to him on most important business. Mr Dudleigh hurriedly whispered, that he would attend to the stranger in a few minutes, and the waiter withdrew ; but returned in a second or two, and put a card into his hand. Mr Dudleigh was electrified at the name it bore— that of the great loan-contractor— the city Creesus, whose wealth was reported to be incalculable ! He hastily called on some one to supply his place ; and had hardly passed the door, before he was hastily shaken by the hands by , who told him at once that he had called to propose to Mr Dudleigh to take part with him in negotiating a very large loan on account of the government ! After a flurried pause, Mr Dudleigh, scarcely knowing what he was saying, assented. In a day or two, the transaction was duly blazoned in the leading papers of the day ; and every one in the city spoke of him as one likely to double, or even treble, his already ample fortune. Again he was praised — again censured — again envied ! It was considered advisable that he should repair to the Continent, during the course of the nego- tiation, in order that he might personally superintend some im- portant collateral transactions : and when there, he was most unexpectedly detained nearly two months. Alas ! that he ever left England ! During his absence, his infatuated wife betook herself — " like the dog to his vomit, like the sow to her wallowing in the mire" — to her former ruinous courses of extravagance and dissi- pation, but on a fearfully larger scale. Her house was more like an hotel than a private dwelling ; and blazed away, night after night, with light and company, till the whole neighbourhood com- plained of the incessant uproar occasioned by the mere arrival and departure of her guests. To her other dreadful besetments, Mrs Dudleigh now added the odious and vulgar vice of— intoxica- tion ! She complained of the deficiency of her animal spirits ; and said she took liquor as a medicine ! She required stimulus, and excitement, she said, to sustain her mind under the perpetual run of ill luck she had at cards ! It was in vain that her poor daughter remonstrated, and almost cried herself into fits, on seeing her mother return home, frequently in the duQ stupor of absolute in- toxication! " Mother, mother, my heart is breaking!" said she, one evening. " So— SO is mine," hickuped her parent; " so gel me the de- canter !" i THE RUINED MERCHANT. 365 Young Harry Dudleigh trode einulously in the footsteps of liis mother ; and ran riot to an extent that was before unknown to Oxford ! The sons of very few of the highest nobility had handso- mer allowanees than he ; yet was he constantly over head and ears in debt. He was a backer of the ring ruffians ; a great man at cock and dog fights ; a racer ; in short, a blackguard of the first water. During the recess, he had come up to town, and taken up his quarters, not at his father's house, but at one of the distant hotels ; where he might pursue his profligate courses without fear of inter- ruption. He had repeatedly bullied his mother out of large sums of money to supply his infamous extravagancies ; and at length became so insolent and exorbitant in his demands, that they quar- relled. One evening, about nine o'clock, Mrs and 3Iiss Dudleigh happened to be sitting in the drawing-room, alone — and the latter was pale with the agitation consequent on some recent quarrel with her mother ; for the poor girl had been passionately re- proaching her mother for her increasing attachment to liquor, under the influence of which she evidently was at that moment. Suddenly a voice was heard in the hall, and on the stairs, singing, or rather bawling, snatches of some comic song or other ; the draw- ing-room door was presently pushed open, and young Dudleigh, more than half intoxicated, made his appearance in a slovenly evening dress. " Madame ma mere!" said he, staggering towards the sofa, where his mother and sister were sitting : " I — Imust be supplied — I must, mother !" he brickuped, stretching towards her his right hand, and lapping twe palm of it significantly with his left fingers. " Pho — nonsense! — off to — to bed, young scapegrace !" replied his mother, drowsily; for the stupor of wine lay heavily on her. " Tis useless, Madam — quite, I assure you!- — Money — money — money I must and will have!'' said her son, striving to steady himself against a chair. " Why, Harry, dear! — where' s the fifty pounds I gave you a cheque for only a day or two ago ?" "Gone! gone the way of all money, Madam — as you know pretty well ! I — I must have 500/. by to-morrow" " Three hundred -pounds, Henry!" exclaimed hismother, angrily. " Yes, Ma'am ! Sir Charles won't be put off any longer, he says. Has my — my — word — 'good as my bond' — as the old governor says ! Mother," he continued , in a louder tone, flinging his hat vio- lently on the floor, " I must and will have money !" "Henry, it's disgraceful — infamous — most infamous!" exclaimed 3G4 THE RUINED MERCHANT. Miss Dudleigh, with a shocked air ; and raising her handkerchief to her eyes, she rose from the sofa, and walked hurriedly to the opposite end of the room, and sat down in tears. Poor girl ! — what a mother 1 what a brother! The young man took the place she had occupied by her mother's side, and, in a wheedling, coax- ing way, threw his arm round Mrs Dudleigh, hickuping — "Mo- ther—give me a cheque! — do, please! — 'tis the last time I'll ask you — for a twelvemonth to come! — and I owe 500/. that must be paid in a day or two!" "How can I, Harry? Dear Harry, don't be unreasonable! — recollect I'm a kind mother to you," kissing him, " and don't dis- tress me, for I owe three or four limes as much myself, and cannot pay it." " Eh !*— eh !— cannot pay it !— stuff, Ma'am ! Why, is the bank run dry? " he continued, with an apprehensive stare. " Yes, love — long ago !" replied his mother, with a sigh. *' Whoo — whoo !" he exclaimed ; and rising, he walked , or ra- ther staggered, a few steps to and fro, as if attempting to recollect his faculties — and think ! " Ah, ah, ah ! — eureka, Ma'am !" he exclaimed suddenly, after a pause, snapping his fingers , " I've got it — I have ! — the plate, mother — the plate — Hem! raising the wind — you understand me!" " Oh, shocking, shocking!" sobbed Miss Dudleigh, hurrying, towards them , wringing her hands bitterly ; " mother ! Henry , Henry ! would you ruin my poor father, and break his heart?" " Ah, the plate, mother !— the plate!" he continued, addressing his mother ; then turning to his sister, " Away, you little puss — puss! — what do you understand about business, eh !" and he at- tempted to kiss her, but she thrust him away with indignation and horror in her gestures. "Come, mother! — Will it do ! — A lucky thought! The plate! — Mi- is a rare hand at this kind of thing ! — a thousand or two would set you and me to lights in a twinkling! — Come, what say you?" "Impossible, Harry!" — replied his mother, turning pale, — " 'tis quite — 'tis — 'tis — out of the question !" "Pho! no such thing! — It must be done! — why cannot it , Ma'am?" inquired tin- young man, earnestly. " Why, because — if you muA know, sirrah !— because it is al- aEADT pawned !"■ -replied his mother, in a loud voice, shaking her hand at him with passion. Their attention was attracted at that mo- ment towards the door, which had been Standing a-jai — for there THE RUINED MERCHANT. 060 was the sound of some one suddenly fallen down. After an instant's pause , they all three walked to the door, and stood gazing horror- struck at the prostrate figure of Mr Dudleigh ! He had been standing unperceived in the doorway — having en- tered the house only a moment or two after his son — during the whole of the disgraceful scene just described, almost petrified with grief, amazement, and horror — till lie could bear it no longer, and fell down in an apoplectic fit. He had but that evening returned from abroad, exhausted with physical fatigue, and dispirited in mind — for, while abroad, he had made a most disastrous move in the foreign funds, by which he lost upwards of sixty or seventy thousand pounds ; and his negotiation scheme also turned out very unfortunately, and left him minus nearly as much more. He had hurried home, half dead with vexation and anxiety, to make in- stant arrangements for meeting the most pressing of his pecuniary engagements in England, apprehensive, from the gloomy tenor of his agent's letters to him while abroad, that his affairs were falling into confusion. Oh ! what a heart-breaking scene had he to encoun- ter — instead of the comforts and welcome of home ! This incident brought me again into contact with this devoted fa- mily ; for I was summoned by the distracted daughter to her father's bedside, which I found surrounded by his wife and children. The shock of his presence had completely sobered both mother and son, who hung horror-stricken over him, on each side of the bed, en- deavouring in vain to recall him to sensibility. I had scarcely en- tered the room, before Mrs Dudleigh was carried away swooning, in the arms of a servant. Mr Dudleigh was in a fit of apoplexy. He lay in a state of profound stupor, breathing stertorously — more like snorting. I had him raised into nearly an upright posi- tion, and immediately bled him largely from the jugular vein. While the blood was flowing, my attention was arrested by the appearance of young Dudleigh, who was kneeling down by the bedside, his hands clasped convulsively together, and his swollen blood-shot eyes fixed on his father. "Father! father ! father !" were the only words he uttered , and these fell quivering from his lips unconsciously. Miss Dudleigh , who had stood leaning against the bedpost in stupified silence, and pale as a statue, was at length too faint to continue any longer in an upright posture, and was led out of the room. Here was misery ! Here was remorse ! I continued with my patient more than an hour, and was gratified at finding that there was every appearance of the attack proving a i 5(j(j THE KLiAfcD MLKLHA.M. mild and manageable one. I prescribed suitable remedies, and } e f t? — enjoining young Dudleigh not to quit his lather for a moment, but to watch every breath he drew. He hardly seemed to hear me, and gazed in my face vacantly while I addressed him. ! shook him gently, and repeated my injunctions, but all he could reply was — " Oh — Doctor — we have killed him !" Before leaving the house, I repaired to the chamber where Mrs Dudleigh lav, just recovering from strong hysterics. I was filled with astonishment, on reflecting upon the whole scene of that even- ing ; and, in particular, on the appearance and remorseful expres- sions of young Dudleigh. What could have happened ?— A day or two afterwards, Miss Dudleigh, with shame and reluctance, com- municated to me the chief facts above stated ! Her own health and spirits were manifestly suffering from the distressing scenes she had to endure. She told me, with energy, that she could sink into the earth, on reflecting that she was the daughter of such a mother, the sister of such a brother ! [The Diary passes hastily over a fortnight,— saying merely that Mr Dudleigh recovered more rapidly than could have been ex- pected — and proceeds,—] Monday, June 18. — Whilelwas sitting beside poor Mr Dudleigh, this afternoon, feeling his pulse, and putting questions to him, which he was able to answer with tolerable distinctness, Miss Dud- leigh came and whispered that her mother, who, though she had seen her husband frequently, had not spoken to him, or been re- cognised bv him since his illness — was anxious then to come in, as she heard that he was perfectly sensible. I asked him if he had any objections to see her; and he replied with a sigh,— " No. Let her come in, and see what she has brought me to ! " In a few mi- nutes' time she was in the room. I observed Mr Dudleigh's eyes directed anxiously to the door before she entered ; and the instant he saw her pallid features, and the languid exhausted air with which she advanced towards the bed, be lifted up his shaking hands, and beckoned towards her. His eyes filled with tears, to over- flowing, and he attempted to speak— but in vain. She tottered to his side, and fell down on her knees ; while he clasped her hands in his, kissed her affectionately, and both of them wept like chil- dren ; as did young Dudleigh and his sister. That was the hour of lull forgiveness and reconciliation! It was indeeda touching scene. There lay the deeply injured Father and husband, his gray hair [grown l'»i!;; during his absence on the Continent, and his illness,) combed back from bis temples; his pale and fallen features ex- THE RUINED MERCHANT. 567 hibiting deep traces of the anguish he had borne. He gave one hand to his son and daughter, while the other continued grasped by Mrs Dudleigh. " Oh, dear, dear husband ! — Can you forgive us, who have so nearly broken your heart '.' " — she sobbed, kissing his forehead. He strove to reply, but burst into tears, without being able to utter a word. Fearful that the prolonged excitement of such an interview might prove injurious, I gave Mrs Dudleigh a hint to withdraw — and left the room with her. She had scarcely descended the stair- case, when bhe suddenly seized my arm, stared me full in the face, and burst into a lit of loud and wild laughter. I carried her into the first room I could find, and gave her ali the assistance in my power. It was long, however, before she recovered. She tinually exclaimed, — " Oh, what a wretch I've been! What a vile wretch I've been ! — and he s L > kind and forgiving too ! " As soon as Mr Dudleigh was sufficiently recovered to leave his bedroom — contrary to my vehemently expressed opinion — he en- tered at once on the active management of his affairs. It is easv to conceive how business of such an extensive and complicated cha- racter as his. must have suffered from so long an intermission of his personal superintendence — especially at such a critical conjunc- ture. Though his head clerk was an able and faithful man, he was not at all equal to the overwhelming task which devolved upon him : and when Mr Dudleigh, the first day of his coming down stairs, sent lor him, in order to learn the general aspect of his af- fairs, he wrung his hands despairingly, to find the lamentable con- fusion into which they had fallen. The first step to be taken, was the discovery of funds wherewith to meet some heavy demands which had been for some time clamorously asserted. What, how- ever, was to be done? His unfortunate speculation^ in the foreign funds had made sad havoc of his floating capital, and farther fluc- tuations in the English funds during his illness, had added to his losses. As far as r ,<:\\ went, therefore, he was compa- ratively penniless. All his resources were so locked tip, as to be promptly available only at ruinous sacrifices; and yet he must pro- cure man;, thousands within a few days — or he trembled to con- template the consequences. 11 Call in the money I advanced on mortgage of my Lord 's property," said he. " We shall lose a third. Sir, of what we advanced, if we do," re- plied the clerk. lan't help it. Sir — rmuthave money — and that instantly — call o(J8 THE RUINED MERCHANT. it in, Sir." The clerk, with a sigh, entered his orders accordingly. " All — let me see. Sell all my shares in ." " Allow me to suggest, Sir, that if you will but wait two months — or even six weeks longer, they will be worth twenty times what you gave lor them ; whereas, if you part with them at present, it must be at a heavy discount." "Must have money, Sir! must! — write it down too," replied MrDudleigh, sternly. In this manner he " ticketed out his pro- perty for ruin," as his clerk said — throughout the interview. His demeanour and spirit were altogether changed; the first was be- come stern and imperative, the latter rash and inconsiderate to a degree which none would credit, who had known his former mode of conducting business. All the prudence and energy which had secured him such splendid results, seemed now lost, irrecoverably lost. Whether or not this change was to be accounted for by men- tal imbecillity consequent on his recent apoplectic seizure — or the disgust he felt at toiling in the accumulation of wealth which had been and might yet be so profligately squandered, I know r not ; but his conduct now consisted of alternations between the extremes of rashness and timorous indecision. He would waver and hesitate about the outlay of hundreds, when every one else — even those most proverbially prudent and sober, would venture their thou- sands with an almost absolute certainty of tenfold profits ; and again, would fling away thousands into the very yawning jaws of villany. He would not tolerate remonstrance or expostulation ; and when any one ventured to hint surprise or dissatisfaction at the conduct he was pursuing, he would say tartly, "that he had reasons of his own for what he was doing." His brother merchants were for a length of lime puzzled to account for his conduct. At first they gave him credit for playing some deep and desperate game, and trembled at his hardihood ; but after waiting a while, and perceiving no wondrous issue Leap down their gaping throats, to recompense Long hours of patient hope they came to the conclusion , that as he had been latterly unfortu- nate, and was growing old, and indisposed to prolong the doubt- ful cares of money-making — he had determined to draw his affairs into a* narrow a compass as possible with a view to withdrawing altogether from active life , on a handsome independence. Every one commended his prudence in so acting— in " letting well alone." THE RUINED MERCHANT. 369 " Easy come, easy go," is an old saw, but signally characteristic of rapidly acquired commercial fortunes : and by these, and simi- lar prudential considerations, did they consider 'Mr Dudleigh to be actuated. This latter supposition was strengthened J)yj observing the other parts of his conduct. His domestic arrangements indi- cated a spirit of rigorous retrenchment, flisthouse near Rich- mond was advertised for sale, and bought " out and out" by a man who had grown rich in Mr Dudieigh's service. Mrs Dudleigh gave, received, and accepted fewer and fewer invitations ; was less seen at public places ; and drove only in one plain chariot. Young Dud- ieigh's allowance at Oxford was curtailed, and narrowed down to 300/. a-year ; i' the heaviest proved to be worth- ies <)• the same property, and all the re- THE REINED MERCHANT. 371 mainder were invalid on account of divers defects and informalities. It turned out that Mr Dudleigh had been in the hands of a swind- ler, who had intentionally committed the draft error, and colluded with his principal, to outwit his unsuspecting client, Mr Dudleigh, in the matter of the double mortgages ! Mr Dudleigh instantly commenced actions against the first mortgager, to recover the mo- ney he had advanced, in spite of the flaw in the mortgage deed, and against the attorney through whose villany he had suffered so severely. In the former — which, of course, decided the fate of the remaining mortgages similarly situated— he failed; in the latter, he succeeded, as far as the bare gaining of a verdict could be so considered ; but the attorney, exasperated at being brought before the court and exposed by his client, defended the action in such a manner as did himself no good, at the same time that it nearly ruined the poor plaintiff; for he raked up every circumstance that had come to his knowledge professionally, during the course of se- veral years' confidential connexion with Mr Dudleigh, and which could possibly be tortured into a disreputable shape; and gave his foul brief into the hands of an ambitious young counsel, who, faith- ful to his instructions, and eager to make the most of so rich an op- portunity of vituperative declamation, contrived so to blacken poor Mr Dudleigh's character, by cunning, cruel innuendoes, asserting nothing, but suggesting every thing vile and atrocious, that poor Mr Dudleigh, who was in court at the time, began to think himself, in spite of himself, one of the most execrable scoundrels in existence ; and hurried home in a paroxysm of rage, agony, and despair, which, but for my being opportunely sent for by Mrs Dudleigh, and bleeding him at once, must in all probability have induced a second and fatal apoplectic seizure. His energies, for weeks af- terwards, lay in a state of complete stagnation ; and I found he was sinking into the condition of an irrecoverable hypochondriac. Every thing, from that time, went wrong with him. He made no provi- sion for the payment of his regular debts ; creditors precipitated their claims from all quarters ; and he had no resources to fall back upon at a moment's exigency. Some of the more forbearing of his creditors kindly consented to give him time, but the small fry pestered him to distraction ; and at last one of the latter class, a rude, hard-hearted fellow, cousin to the attorney Vhom Mr Dud- leigh had recently prosecuted, on receiving the requisite "denial," instantly went and struck the docket against his unfortunate debtor, and Mr Dudleigh — the celebrated Mr Dudleigh— became a— Bank- rupt ! 572 THE RUINED MERCHANT. For some hours after he had received an official notification of the event, he seemed completely stunned. lie did not utter a syl- lable when first informed of it ; but his face assumed a ghastly pale- ness. He walked to and fro about the room — now pausing — then hurrying on — then pausing again, striking his hands on his fore- head, and exclaiming, with an abstracted and incredulous air, — "A bankrupt! a bankrupt! Henry Dudleigh a bankrupt! What are they saying on 'Change?" In subsequently describing to me his feelings at this period, he said he felt as though he had " fallen into his grave for an hour or two, and come out again cold and stu- pified." While he was in this stale of mind, his daughter entered the room, wan and trembling with agitation. "My dear little love, what's wrong? What's wrong, eh? What has dashed you, my sweet flower, eh? " said lie, folding her in his arms, and hugging her to his breast. He led her to a seat, and placed her on his knee. He passed his hand over her pale forehead. " What have you been about to-day, Agnes? You've forgotten to dress your hair to-day," taking her raven tresses in his lingers ; "Come, these must be curled! They are all damp, love ! What makes you cry ? " "My dear, dear, dear darling father! " sobbed the agonized girl, almost choked with her emotions — clasping her arms convulsively round his neck, "I love you dearer — a thousand times — than I ever loved you in my life! " " My sweet love!" he exclaimed, bursting into tears. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. "You are young, Agnes, and may be happy, — but as for me, I am an old tree, whose roots are rotten! The blasts have beaten me down, my darling!" She clung closer to him, but spoke not. "Agnes, will you stay with me, now that I'm made a — a beggar? Will you? I can love you yei — but that's all !" said he, staring va- cantly at her. After a pause, he suddenly released her from his knee, rose from his seat, and walked hurriedly about the room. 11 Agnes, love! Why, is ii true — is it really true thai I'm made a bankrupt of ; after all? And is it come to that?" He resumed his seal, covered liis face with his hands, and wept like a child. 11 'lis for >/<"/, my darling — for my family — my children, that I grieve! What n to become of you? * Again he paused. "Well! it cannot he helped — it is more my misfortune than my fault ! God knows, I've tried to pa\ my way as i weni on — and — and — -no, no- il doesn't follow thai e?er) man is a villain that's a bankrupt!" THE RUINED MEKCHAM. 373 "No, no, no, father!" replied his daughter, again flinging her arms round his neck, and kissing him with passionate fondness,. " Your honour is untouched — it is" " Ay, love — but to make the world think so — There's the rub ! What has been said on 'Change to-day, Agnes? That's what hurts me to my soul ! " "Come, father, be calm! We shall yet be happy and quiet, after this little breeze lias blown over! Oh, yes, yes, fa- ther! We will remove to a nice little comfortable house, and live among ourselves! " " Bui, Agnes, can yob do all this ? Can you make up your mind to live in a lower rank — to — to — to be, in a manner, your own ser- vant?" " Yes, God knows, I can ! Father, I'd rather be your servant girl, than wife of the king ! " replied the poor girl with enthusiasm, " Oh, my daughter ! — Come, come, let us go into the next room, and do you plav me my old favourite — ' Nanny, wilt thou gang iui me.' You'll feel it, Agnes ! " He led her into the adjoining room, and set her down at the instrument, and stood by her side. " We must not part with this piano, my love — must we?" said he, pulling her arms round his neck, " we'll try and have it saved from the wreck of our furniture!" She commenced playing the tune he had requested, and went through it. "Sing, love — sing!" said her father. "1 love the words as much as the music ! Would you cheat me, you little rogue?" She made him no reply, but went on playing, very irregularly, how- ever. " Come ! you must sing, Agnes." " I can't! " she murmured, " My heart is breaking ! My — my — bro— " and fell fainting into the arms of her father. He rang instantly for assistance. In carrying her from the music stool to the sofa, an open letter dropped from her bosom. Mr Dudleigh hastily picked it up, and saw that the direction was in the hand- writing of his son, and bore the "Wapping" post-mark. The stunning contents were as follows : — " My dear, dear, dear Agnes, farewell ! it may be for ever! I fiy from my country ! While you are reading this note, I am on my way to America. Do not call me cruel, my sweet sister, for my heart is broken ! broken ! .'ester- day, near Oxford, I fought with a man who dared to insult me about our family troubles. I am afraid — God forgive me — lhat 1 have killed him! Agnes, Agnes, the bloodhounds are after me! Even were thev not, I could not bear to look on my poor father 374 THE RUINED MERCHANT. whom i have helped to ruin, under the encouragement of one who might have bred me better! I cannot stay in England, for I have lost mv station in society ; 1 owe thousands I can never repay ; be- sides — Agnes, Agnes! the bloodhounds are after me! I scarcely know what I am saying! Break all this to my father — my wretch- ed father— as gradually as you can. Do not let him know of it for a fortnight, at least. May God be your friend, my dear Agnes! Pray for me! pray for me, my darling Agnes! — yes, for me, your wretched, guilty, heart-broken brother ! II. D." * ' Ah ! he might have done worse ! he might have done worse ! " ex- claimed the stupified father. " Well, I must think about it! " and he calmly folded up the letter, to put it into his pocket-book, when his daughter's eye caught sight of it, for she had recovered from her swoon while he was reading it; and with a faint shriek, and a frantic effort to snatch it from him, she fell back, and swooned again. Even all this did not rouse Mr Dudleigh. He sat still, gazing on his daughter with a vacant stare, and did not make the slightest effort to assist her recovery. I was summoned in to at- tend her, for she was so ill that they carried her up to bed. Poor girl ! poor Agnes Dudleigh ! already had consumption marked her for his own ! The reader may possibly recollect, that, in a previous part of this narrative, Miss Dudleigh was represented to be aflianced to a young nobleman. I need hardly, I suppose, inform him that the " affair" was " all off," as soon as ever Lord heard of her fatten fortunes. To do him justice, he behaved in the business with perfect politeness and condescension ; wrote to her from Italy, carefully returning her all her letters ; spoke of her admirable qualities in the handsomest strain ; and, in choice and feeling language, regretted the altered state of his affections, and thai (ho " fetes had ordained their separation." A few months af- terwards, the estranged couple met casually in Hyde Park, and Lord passed Miss Dudleigh with a strange stare of Precogni- tion, that showed the advances he had made in the command of manner ! She had hern really attached to him, for he was a young man of handsome appearance, and elegant, winning manners. The onlv things he wanted were a head and a heart. This Circumstance, added to tie' perpetual harassment of domestic sorrows, had com- pletely andermmed her defi ititutiou ; and her brother's 1 conduct prostrated the lew remaining energies that were left III'!'. hut Mis |)ihI1ci;;)i has hitcHy slipped from our observation. I have little iii"r« I.. s.i\ about her. \waretbai her own infamous THE RUINED MERCHANT. .'To conduct had conduced to her husband's ruin, she had resigned herself to the incessant lashings of remorse, and was wasting away daily. Her excesses had long before sapped her constitution ; and she was now little else than a walking skeleton. She sat moping in her bedroom for hours together, taking little or no notice of what happened about her, and manifesting no interest in life, When, however, she heard of her son's fate — the only person on earth she really loved — the intelligence smote her finally down. She never recovered from the stroke. The only words she uttered, after hearing of his departure for America, were, " Wretched woman! guilty mother ! I have done it all ! " The serious illness of her poor daughter affected her scarcely at all. She would sit at her bedside, and pay her every attention in her power ; but it was rather in the spirit and manner of a hired nurse than a mother. To return, however, to the " chief mourner" — Mr Dudleigh. The attorney, whom he had sued for his villany in the mortgage transactions, contrived to get appointed solicitor to the comm. of bankruptcy sued out against Mr Dudleigh ; and he enhanced the bitterness and agony incident to the judicial proceedings he was employed to conduct, by the cruelty and insolence of his de- meanour. He would not allow the slightest indulgence to the poor bankrupt, whom he was selling out of house and home ; but re- morselessly seized on every atom of goods and furniture the law al- lowed him, and put the heart-broken, helpless family to all the inconvenience his malice could suggest. His conduct was, through- out, mean, tyrannical— even diabolical, in iiscontemptuousdisregard of the best feelings of human nature. Mr Dudieigh's energies were too much exhausted to admit of remonstrance or resistance. The only evidence he gave of smarting under the man's insolence, was, after enduring an outrageous violation of his domestic pri- vacy — a cruel interference with the few conveniences of his dying daughter, and sick wife — when he suddenly touched the attorney's arm, and, in a low, broken tone of voice, said, " lir , I am a poor, heart-broken man, and have no one to avenge me, or you would not dare to do this ;" and he turned away in tears ! The house and furniture in Square, with every other item of property that was available, being disposed of, on winding up the affairs, it prov- ed that the creditors could obtain a dividend of about fifteen shillings in the pound. So convinced were they of the uuimpeach- ed— the unimpeachable integrity of the poor bankrupt, that they not only spontaneously released him from all i'ulw claims, but entered into a subscription amounting to 3000/., which the] put 376 THE RUINED MERCHANT. into his hands, for the purpose of enabling him to recommence housekeeping, on a small scale, and obtain some permanent means of livelihood. Under their advice, or rather direction— for he was passive as an infant— he removed to a small house in Chelsea, and commenced business as a coal merchant, or, agent for the sale of coals, in a small and poor way, it may be supposed. His new house was very small, but neat, convenient, and situated in a quiet and creditable street. Yes, in a little one-storied house, with about eight square feet of garden frontage, resided the once wealthy and celebrated 3Ir Dudleigh ! The very first morning after Mrs Dudleigh had been removed to her new quarters, she was found dead in her bed : for the fa- tigues of changing her residence, added to the remorse and chagrin which had so long preyed upon' her mind, had extinguished the last spark of her vital energies. ",_._, When I saw her, which was not till (he evening of the second day after her decease, she was lying in her coffin ; and I shall not soon forget the train of instructive reflections elicited by the spectacle. Poor creature— her features looked indeed haggard and grief-worn ! Mr Dudleigh wept over her remains like a child, and kissed the cold lips and hands with the liveliest transports of regret. At length came the day of the fu- neral, as plain and unpretending a one as could be. At the press- ing solicitations of Mr Dudleigh,; I attended her remains to the grave. It was an affecting thought, that the daughter was left dying in the house from which her mother was carried out to burial. Mr Dudleigh went through the whole of the melancholy ceremony with a calmness— and even cheerfulness— which surpri- sed me. He did not betray any emotion when leaving the ground ; except turning to look into the grave, and exclaiming, rather faintly, — " Well — here we leave youjpoor wife ! " On our return home, about three o'clock in the afternoon, he begged to oe left alone for a few minutes, with pen, ink, and paper, as he had some important letters to write; and requested me to wait for him, in Miss Dudleigh's room, where he would rejoin me, and accompany me part of my way up to town. I repaired, therefore, to Miss Dudleigh's chamber. She was sitting up, and dressed in mourning. The marble paleness of her even then beautiful features, was greatly enhanced l>\ contrast with the deep black drapery she wore. She reminded me of the snowdrop she bad an hour or two 1 efore laid on the pall of her mother's coffin ! Her beauty was fast withering away under the blighting influence of sorrow; and disease! She reclined in an easy-chair, her head leaning on her small snowy THE RULNED MERCHANT. 377 band, the taper fingers of which were half concealed beneath her dark, clustering, uncurled tresses — Like a white rose, glistening 'mid evening gloom. " How did he bear it?" she whispered, with a profound sigh, as soon as I had taken my place beside her. I told her that he had gone through the whole with more calmness and fortitude than could have been expected. " Ah !— 'tis unnatural! lie's grown strangely altered within these last few days, Doctor! He never seems to feel any thing! His troubles have stunned his heart, I'm afraid ! Don't you think he looks altered ?" " Yes, my love, he is thinner, certainly." * ' Ah — his hair is white ! He is old — he won't be long behind us !" " I hope, that now he is freed from the cares and distractions of business" " Doctor, is the grave deep enough for three?'' inquired the poor girl, abruptly, as if she had not heard me speaking. " Our family has been strangely desolated, Doctor — has not it ? My mo- ther gone ; the daughter on her deathbed ; the father wretched, and ruined ; the son — flown from his country — perhaps dead, or dying ! But it has all been our own fault" " You have nothing to accuse yourself of, Miss Dudleigh," said I. She shook her head, and burst into tears. This was the melan- cholv vein of our conversation, when Mr Dudleigh made his ap- pearance, in his black gloves, and crape-covered hat, holding two letters in his hand. " Come, Doctor," said he, rather briskly, "you've a long walk before you ! I'll accompany you part of the way, as I have some letters to put into the post." " Oh, don't trouble yourself about that, Mr Dudleigh ! I'll put them into the post, as I go by." '• No, no— thank you— thank you," he interrupted me, with ra- ther an embarrassed air, I thought; "I've several other little mat- ters to do, and we had better be starting." I rose, and look my leave of Miss Dudleigh. Her father put his arms round her neck, and kissed her very fondly. "Keep up your spirits, Agnes!— and see and get into bed as soon as possible, for you are quite exhaust- ed ! " He walked towards the door. " Oh, bless your little heart, my love! " said he, suddenly returning to her, and kissing her more fondly, if possible, than before. " We shall not be apart long, I dare say ! " We set off on our walk towards town; and Mr Dudleigh con- 378 THE RUINED MERCHANT' versed with great calmness, speaking of bis affairs, even in an en- couraging tone. At length we separated. " Remember me kindly to Mrs " said he, mentioning my wife's name, and shaking me warmly by ilie hand. The next morning, as I sat at breakfast, making out my daily list, my wife, who had one of the morning papers in her hand, suddenly let it fall, and, looking palely at me, exclaimed — "Oh, sorely — surely, my dear, this can never be — MrDudleigh! " I in- quired what she meant, and she pointed out the following para- graph:— "Attempted Suicide. — Yesterday evening, an elderly gentle- man, dressed in deep mourning, was observed walking for some lime near the water-side, a little above Chelsea Reach, and pre- sently stepped on board one of the barges, and threw himself from the outer one into the river. Most providentially this latter move- ment was seen by a boatman who was rowing past, and who suc- ceeded, after some minutes, in seizing hold of the unfortunate poi- son, and lifting him into the boat — but not till the vital spark seemed extinct. He was immediately carried to the public-house by the water-side, where prompt and judicious means were made use of — and with success. He is now lying at the public- house; but, as there were no papers or cards about him, his name is at present unknown. The unfortunate gentleman is of middling stature — rather full made, of advanced years — his hair very gray, and he wears a mourning ring on his left hand." I rang the bell, ordered a coach, drew on my boots, and put on my walking-dress ; and in a little more than three or four minutes was hurrying on my way to the house mentioned in the news- paper. A twopenny postman had the knocker in his hand at the moment of my opening the door, and put into my hand a paid let- ter, which I tore open as 1 drove along. Good God! it was from — Mr Dudleigh. It afforded unequivocal evidence of the insanity which had led him to attempt his life. It was written in a most extravagant and incongruous strain, and acquainted me with the writer's intention to "bid farewell to his troubles thai evening." It ended with informing me that I was left a legacy in his will for :>(MM)/. — and hoping thai when his poor daughter died, "I would see her magnificently buried." by the time 1 had arrived at the house where he lay, I was almost fainting with agitation : and 1 >\as compelled to wait some minutes below before I could ciently recover my self-possession. < hi entering the bedroom where he lay, I found him undressed, and fast asleep. Th< no ap- THE RUINED MERCHANT. Tui) pearance whatever of discomposure in the features. His hands were clasped closely together — and in that position he had con- tinued for several hours. The medical man who had been sum- moned in over night, sat at his bedside, and informed me that his patient was going on as well as could be expected. The treatment he had adopted had been very judicious and successful ; and I had no doubt that, when next Mr Dudleigh awoke, he would feel little if any the worse for w hat he had suffered. All my thoughts were now 7 directed to Miss Dudleigh ; for I felt sure that, if the intelligence had found its way to her, it must have destroyed her. I ran every inch of the distance between the two houses, and knocked gently at the door with my knuckles, that I might not disturb Miss Dud- leigh. The servant girl, seeing my discomposed appearance, would have created a disturbance, by shrieking, or making some other noise, had I not placed my fingers on her mouth, and, in a whisper, asked how her mistress was? " 3Iaster went home with you, Sir, did not he?" she inquired, with an alarmed air. "Yes — yes," I replied, hastily. " Oh , I told Miss so ! I told her so ! " replied the girl, clasping her hands, and breathing freer. "Oh, she has been uneasy about his not coming home last night— eh? — Ah— I thought so this morning, and that is what has brought me here in such a hurry," said 1, as calmly as I could. After waiting down stairs to recover my breath a little , I repaired to Miss Dudleigh's room. She was awake. The mo- ment I entered, she started up in bed, — her eyes straining, and her arms stretched towards me. "My — my — father!" she gasped; and before I could open my lips, or even reach her side, she had fallen back in bed, and — as I thought — expired. She had swooned : and during the whole course of my experience , I never saw T a swoon so long and closely resemble death. For more than an hour, the nurse, servant girl, and I, hung over her in agonizing and breathless suspense , striving to detect her breath — which made np impression whatever on the glass I from time to time held over her mouth. Her pulse fluttered and fluttered — feebler and feebler, till I could not per- ceive that it beat at all. " Well !" thought I, at last removing my fingers, " you are gone, sweet Agnes Dudleigh, from a world that has but few as fair and good!" — when a slight undulation of the breast, accompanied by a faint sigh, indicated slowly return- ing consciousness. Her breath came again, short and faint; but she did not open her eyes for some time after. 580 THE RU1.NED MERCHANT. " Well, my sweet girl," said I, presently observing her eyes fixed steadfastly on me; "why all this? What has happened? What is the matter with you?" and I clasped her cold fingers in my hand. By placing my ear so close to her lips that it touched them, I distinguished the sound — " My fa — father !" " Well! and what of your father? He is just as usual, and sends his love to you." Iler eyes, as it were, dilated on me; her breath came quicker and stronger, and her frame vibrated with emotion. " He is coming home shortly, by — by — (our o'clock this afternoon — yes, four o'clock at the latest. Thinking that a change of scene might revive his spirits, I prevailed on him last night to walk on with me home — and — and he slept at my house." She did not attempt to speak, but her eye continued fixed on me with an unwavering look that searched my very soul! " My wife and Mi' Dudleigh will drive down together," I continued, firmly, though my heart sank within me at the thought of the improbability of suchbeingthe case; "and I shall return here by the time they arrive, and meet them. Come, come, Miss Dudleigh— this is weak — absurd!" said T, observing that what I said seemed to make no impression on her. I ordered some port wine and water to be brought, and forced a few tea-spoonfuls into her mouth. They re- vived her , and I gave her more. In a word , she rapidly reco- vered from the slate of uttermost exhaustion into which she had fallen; and before I left, she said solemnly to me, " Doctor ! If — if you have deceived me! — if any thing dreadful has really — really" I left, half distracted to think of the impossibility of fulfilling the promise I had made her, as well as of accounting satisfactorily for not doing so. What could 1 do? I drove rapidly homewards, and requested my wife to hurry down immediately to Miss Dudleigh, and pacify her with saying that her father was riding round with me, for the sake of exercise, and that we should come to her toge- ther. I then hurried through my few professional calls, and repair- ed to Mr Dudleigh. To my unutterable joy and astonishment, I found him up, dressed — for his clothes had been drying all night — and sitting quietly by the lire, in company with the medical man. His appearance exhibited no traces whatever of the accident which had befallen him. But, alas! on looking close at him — on examin- ing his features— Oh, that eye! thai smile! they told me of depart- ed reason! — I was gazing on an uUotl OGodl What was to become of Miss Dudleigh? Nov, was I to bring father and daughter face to face? My knees smote together, while 1 sat beside him! But it THE RUINED MERCHANT. 38 i must be done, or Miss Dudleigh's life would be the forfeit! The only project I could hit upon for disguising the frightful stale of the case, was to hint to Miss Dudleigh, if she perceived any thing wild or unusual in his demeanour, that he was a little flustered with wine ! But what a circumstance to communicate to the dying girl ! And even if it succeeded, what would ensue on the next morning? Would it be safe to leave him with her? I was perplexed and con- founded between all these painful conjectures and difficulties ! He put on his hat and great-coal, and we got into my chariot together. He was perfectly quiet and gentle, conversed on indif- ferent subjects, and spoke of having had "a cold bath" last night, which had done him much good! My heart grew heavier and heavier as we neared the home where I was to bring her idiot father lo Miss Dudleigh ! I felt sick with agitation, as we descended the carriage steps. But I was for some time happily disappointed. He entered her room with eagerness, ran up to her and kissed her with his usual affectionate energy. She held him in her arms for -some time, exclaiming, — "Oh, father, father! How glad I am lo see you ! I thought some accident had happened to you ! Why did you not tell me that you were going home with Dr ?" My wife and I trembled, and looked at each other despairingly. " Why," replied her father, sitting down beside her, "you see, ray love, Dr recommended me a cold bath." "Acold batliai this time of the year! " exclaimed Miss Dudleigh, looking at me with astonishment. I smiled, with ill-assumed non- chalance. "It is very advantageous at — at — even this season of the year," I stammered, for I observed Miss Dudleigh's eye fixed on me like a ray of lightning. "Yes ; but they ought to have taken off my clothes first," said 3Ir Dudleigh, with a shuddering mo! ion. His daughter suddenly laid her hand on him, uttered a faint .shriek, and fell back in her bed in a swoon. The dreadful scene of the morning was all acted over again. I think I should have rejoiced to see her expire on the spot ; but no ! Providence had allotted her a farther space, that she might drain the cup of sorrow to the dregs! Tuesday, 18th July 18 — . I am still in attendance on poor un- fortunate Miss Dudleigh. The scenes I have to encounter are often anguishing, and even heart-breaking. She lingers on day after day, and week after week, in increasing pain ! By the bedside of 582 THE RUINED MERCHANT. the dying girl, sits the figure of an elderly gray-haired man, dress- ed in neat and simple mourning — now gazing into vacancy with " lack lustre eye" — and then suddenly kissing her hand with child- ish eagerness, and chattering mere gibberish to her ! It is her idiot father ! Yes, he proves an irrecoverable idiot — but is uni- formly quiet and inoffensive. We at first intended to have sent him to a neighbouring private institution for the reception of the insane ; but poor Miss Dudleigh would not hear of it, and threatened to destroy herself, if her father was removed. She insisted on his being allowed to continue with her, aid consented that a proper person should be in constant attendance on him. She herself could manage him, she said ! and so it proved. He is a mere child in her hands. If ever he is inclined to be mischievous or obstreperous — which is very seldom — if she do but say, " hush !"' or lift up her trembling finger, or fix her eye upon him reprovingly, he is in- stantly cowed, and runs up to her to " kiss and be friends." He often falls down on his knees, when he thinks he has offended her, and cries like a child. She will not trust him out of her sight for more than a few moments together — except when he retires with his guardian, to rest : and, indeed, he shows as little inclination to leave her. The nurse's situation is almost a sort of sinecure ; for the anxious officiousness of Mr Dudleigh leaves her little to do. He alone gives his daughter her medicine and food, and does so with exquisite gentleness and tenderness. He has no notion of her real state — that she is dying ; and finding that she could not succeed in her efforts gradually to apprize him of the event, which he always turned off with a smile of incredulity, she gives into his humour, and tells him — poor girl ! — that she is getting better ! He has taken it into his head that she is to be married to Lord , as soon as she recovers, and talks with high glee of the magnificent repairs going on at his former house in Square ! lie always accom- panies me to the door ; and sometimes writes me cheques for 50/. — which, of course, is a delusion only — as he has no banker, and few funds to put in his hands ; and at other times, slips a shilling or a sixpence into my hand at leaving — thinking, doubtless, that he has given me a guinea. Friday. — The idea of Miss Dudlcigh's rapidly approaching mar- riage continues still uppermost in her father's head; and he is incessantly pestering her to make preparations for the event. To- day he appealed to me, and complained that she would not order her wedding-di k ' Father, dear father !" said Miss Dudleigh, faintly, laying !it, and— it may be considered— most mournful extract from my Diary. It appeal's to me a touching and terrible disclosure of the misery, disgrace, and ruin consequent on Gam- bling. Not that I imagine it possible, even by the most moving exhibition, to soften the more than nether millstone hardness of a gamester's heart, or enable a voluntary victim to break from the meshes in which he has suffered himself to be entangled ; but the lamentable cries ascending from this pit of horror, may scare oil those who are thoughtlessly approaching its brink. The moral of the following events may be gathered up into a word or two :— Oh ! be wise — and be vise in time! 1 look more than ordinary pains to acquaint myself with the transactions which are hereafter specified ; and some ol the means T adopted are occasionally mentioned, as I go on with the narrative. It may be as well to slate, that the events detailed, are assigned a date which barely comes within the present century. I have rea- son, nevertheless, to know, that at leastpne of the guilty agents still survives to pollute the earth with his presence; and if that indivi- 25 386 MOTHER AND SON. dual should presume to gainsay any portion of the following nar rative, his impotent efforts will meet with the disdain they merit! Mr Beauchamp came to the full receipt of a fortune of two or three thousand a-year, which, though hereditary, was at his absolute disposal, about the period of his return from those continental pere- grinations which are judged essential to complete an English gen- tleman's education. External circumstances seemed to combine in his favour. Happiness and honour in life were ensured him, at the cost of very moderate exertions on his own part, and those requisite, not to originate, or continue his course — but only to guide it. WO one was better apprized than himself, of the precise position he occupied in life; yet the apparent immunity from the cares and anxieties of life, which seemed irrevocably secured to him, instead of producing its natural effect on a well-ordered mind, of Stimulating it to honourable action, led to widely different, most melancholy, but by no means unusual results, — a prostitution of his energies and opportunities to the service of fashionable dissipation. The res- traints to which, during a long minority, he had been subjected by his admirable mother, who nursed his fortune as sedulously, but more successfully, than she cultivated his mind and morals— served, alas! little other purpose than to whet his appetite for the pleasur- able pursuits to which he considered himself entitled, and from which he had been so long and unnecessarily debarred*. All these forbidden fruits clustered before* him in tempting, but unhallowed splendour, the instant that Oxford threw open its portals to receive him. He found there many spirits as ardent and dissatisfied with past restraints as himself. The principal features of his character were flexibility and credulity ; and his leading propensity — one that, like the wrath of Achilles, drew after it innumerable sorrows — the love of play. The first false step he made was an unfortunate selection of a tutor; a man of agreeable and compliant manners, but utterly worthless in point of moral character: one who had impoverished himself, when firs! ai College, by gaming, but who, bating learned " ir'istlnm," was now a subtle and cautious gamester. Be was one of a set of notorious pinchers, among whom, shameful to relate. found several young men of rank : and whose business it was to seek "lit Ire^imen for their dupes. Kccles — the name 1 shall give the tutor — was ;mi able mathematician ; and that was the only thing that Beauchamp looked to in selecting him. L>eauchamp got MOTHER AND SON. "87 regularly introduced to the set to which his tutor belonged ; but his mother's lively and incessant surveillance put it out of his power to embarrass himself by serious losses. He was long enough, however, apprenticed to guilt, to form the habits and disposition of a game- ster. The cunning Eccles, when anxiously interrogated by Mrs Beauchamp about her son's general conduct, gave his pupil a flourishing character, both for moral excellence and literary at- tainments, and acquitted him of any tendency to the vices usually- prevalent at College. And all this, when Eccles knew that he had seen, but a few weeks before, among his pupil's papers, copies of long bills, accepted payable on his reaching twenty-one — to the tune of 1500/.; and farther, that he, the tutor himself, was the holder of one of these acceptances , which ensured him 500/. for the 500/. he had kindly furnished for his pupil ! His demure and plausible air, quite took with the unsuspicious Mrs Beauchamp ; and she thought it impossible that her son could find a fitter companion to the Continent ! On young Beauchamp's return to England, the first thing he did was to despatch his obsequious tutor into the country, to trumpet his pupil's praises to his mother, and apprize her of his coming. The good old lady was in ecstasies at the glowing colours in which her son's virtues were painted by Eccles,— such uniform modera- tion and prudence, amidst the seductive scenes of the Continent —such shining candour— such noble liberality!— In the fulness of her heart, Mrs Beauchamp promised the tutor, who was educated for the church, the next presentation to a living which was expected very shortly to fall vacant— as some "small return for the 'invalu- able services he had rendered her son ! " It was a memorable day when young Beauchamp armed at the Hall in shire, stood suddenly before his transported mother, in all the pride of person, and of apparent accomplishments. He was indeed a fine young fellow to look at. His well-cast features beamed with an expression of frankness and generosity ; and his manners were exquisitely tempered with cordiality and elegance. He had brushed the bloom off continental flowers, in passing, and caught their glow and perfume. It was several minutes before he could disengage himself from the embraces of his mother, who laughed and wept by turns, and uttered the most passionate exclamations of joy and affection. "Oh, that your poor old father could see you ! " she sobbed, and almost cried herself into hysterics. Young Beauchamp was deeply moved with this display of parental tenderness. He saw and felt that his 388 MOTHER AND SON. mother's whole soul was bound up with his own ; and, wiih the rapid resolutions of youth, he had in five minutes changed the whole course and scope of his life, — renounced the pleasures of London, and resolved to come and settle on his estates in the coun- t! y, live under the proud and fond eye of his mother, and, in a word, tread in the steps of his father. He felt suddenly imbued with the spirit of the good old English country gentleman, and re- solved to live the life of one. There was, however, a cause in operation, and powerful operation, to bring about this change of feeling, to which I have not yet adverted. His cousin, Ellen Beau- champ, happened to be thought of by her aunt, as a lit person to be slaving with her when her son arrived. Yes— the little blue- eyed girl with whom he had romped fifteen years ago, now sat be- side him in the bloom of budding womanhood— her peachy cheeks alternately pale and flushed, as she saw her cousin's inquiring eye settled upon her, and scanning her beautiful proportions. Mr Beauchamp too"k the very first opportunity he could seize of asking his mother, with some trepidation, "whether Ellen was engaged." " I think she is not* replied his delighted mother, bursting into tears, and folding him in her arms — " but I wish somebody would take the earliest opportunity of doing so." " xVh, ha! — Then she's Mrs Beauchamp, junior!" replied her son, with enthusiasm. Matters were quickly, quietly, and effectually arranged to bring about that desirable end— as they always are, when all parties un- derstand one another ; and young Beauchamp made up his mind to appear in a new character— that of a quiet country gentleman, the friend and patron of an attached tenantry, and a promising aspirant after county honours. AVhat is there in life like the sweet and freshening feelings of the wealthy young squire, stepping into the sphere of his hereditary honours and influence, and becoming at once the revered master of household and tenantry, grown gray in his father's service— the prop of his family — and the" rising man" in the county ! Young Beauchamp experienced these salutary and reviving feelings in their lull force. They diverted the current of his ambition into a new course, and enabled him keenly to appre- ciate his own capabilities. The difference between the life he had just determined on, and that he had formerly projected, was simp^ — so to speak — the difference between being a Triton among min- i,.,\\s, and a minium among Tritons. At home, residing on bis own property, surrounded by his own dependents, and by neigh- bours who were solicitous to secure his good graces, be could feel MOTHER AND SON. 380 and enjoy his own consequence. Thus, in evejy point of view, a country life appeared preferable to one in the " gay and whirlpool crowded town." There was, however, one individual at Hall, who viewed these altered feelings and projects with no satisfaction — it was Mr Eccles. This mean and selfish individual saw at once, that, in the event of these alterations being- carried into effect, his own nefarious services would be instantly dispensed with, and a state of feelings brought into play, which would lead his pupil to look with disgust at the scenes to which he had been introduced at. College, and on the continent. He immediately set to work to frustrate the plans of his pupil. He selected the occasion of his being sent for one morn- ing by Mr Beauchamp into his library, to commence operations. He was not discouraged, when his ci-devant pupil, whose eyes had really, as Eccles suspected, been opened to the iniquity of his tutor's doings, commenced thanking him in a cold and formal style for his past services, and requested presentation of the bill he held against him for 500/., which he instantly paid. He then proceeded, without interruption from the mortified Eccles, to state his regret at being unable to rew r ard his services with a liv- ing, at present ; but that if ever it were in his power, he might rely on it, etc. etc. Mi-'Eccles, with astonishment, mentioned the living of which Mrs Beauchamp had promised him the reversion ; but received an evasive reply from Mr Beauchamp, who was at length so much irritated at the pertinacity, and even the reproachful tone with which his tutor pressed his claim, that he said sharply, " Mr Eccles, when my mother made you that promise, she never consulted me, in whose sole gift the living is. And besides, Sir, what did she know of our tricks at French Hazard, and Rouge et Noir? She must have thought your skill at play an odd recommen- dation for the duties of the Church." High words, mutual recri- minations, and threats ensued, and they parted in anger. The tutor resolved to make his "ungrateful" pupil repent of his miscon- duct, and he lacked neither the tact nor the opportunities neces- sary for accomplishing his purpose. The altered demeanour of Mrs Beauchamp, together with the haughty and constrained civility of her son, soon warned Mr Eccles that his departure from the Hall should not be delayed; and he very shortly withdrew. Mr Beauchamp began to breathe freely, as it were, when the evil spirit, in his tutor's shape, was no longer at his elbow, poisoning his principles, and prompting him to vice and debauchery. He resolved, forthwith, to be all that his tutor had represented him to 590 MOTHER AND SOX. his mother ; and to atone for past indiscretions, by a life of so- briety and virtue. All now went on smoothly and happily at the Hall. The new squire entered actively on the duties devolving upon him, and was engaged daily driving his beautiful cousin over his estate, and showing to his obsequious tenantry their future lady. On what trifling accidents do often the great changes of life de- pend ! — Mr Beauchamp, after a three months' continuance in the country, was sent for by his solicitor to town, in order to complete the final arrangements of his estate; and which, he supposed, would occupy him but a few days. That London visit led to his ruin ! It may be recollected, that the execrable Eccles owed his pupil a grudge for the disappointment he had occasioned him, and the time and manner of his dismissal. What does the reader imagine was the diabolical device he adopted, to bring about the utter ruin of his unsuspicious pupil ? Apprized of Mr Beauchamp's visit to London, — (Mr Eccles had removed to lodgings but a little distance from the Hall, and was, of course, acquainted with the leading movements of the family,)— he wrote the following letter to a Baronet in London, with whom he had been very intimate as a "Plucker" at Oxford — and who having ruined himself by his devotion to play — equally in respect of fortune and character — was now become little else than a downright systematic sharper: — "Dear Sir Edward, "Young Beauchamp, one of our quondam pigeons at Oxford, who has just come of age, will be in London next Friday or Satur- day, and put up at his old hotel, the . He will bear plucking. Verb. suf. The bird is somewhat shy— but you are a good shot. Don't frighten him. He is giving up life, and going to turn saint ! The fellow has used me cursedly ill ; he has cut me quite, and re- fused me old Dr 's living. I'll make him repent it ! I will, by .! " Yours ever, most faithfully, Peter Eccles." " To Sir Edward Streighton. " P. S. If Beauchamp plucks well, you won't press me for the trifle I owe — will you? Burn this note." This infernal letter, which, by a singular concurrence of events, got into the hands where I saw it, laid the train for such a series of plotting and manoeuvring as in the end ruined poor Beauchamp, and gave Eccles his coveted revenge. When Beauchamp quitted tin- Hall, his mother and Ellen bad the moat lotemn assurances ih;ii his stay in town would not be protract- MOTHER AND SON. oi)I ed bcvoiid the week. Nothing but this could quiet the good old lady's apprehensions, who expressed an unaccountable conviction that some calamity or other was about to assail their house. She had had a dreadful dream, she said ! but when importuned to till it, answered, that if Henry came safe home, then she would tell them her dream. In short, his departure was a scene of tears and gloom, which left an impression of sadness on his own mind, that lasted all the way up to town. On his arrival, he betook himself to his old place, the Hotel, near Piccadilly ; and, in order to expedite his business as much as possible, appointed the evening of the very day of his arrival for a meeting with his solicitor. The morning papers duly apprized the world of the important fact, that " Henry Beauchamp, Esquire, had arrived at 's from his seat in shire ; " and scarcely ten minutes after he had read the officious annunciation at breakfast, his valet brought in the card of Sir Edward Streighton. " Sir Edward Streighton ! " exclaimed Beauchamp, with astonish- ment, laying down the card ; adding, after a pause, with a cold and doubtful air, " Show in Sir Edward of course." In a few moments the Baronet was ushered into the room — made up to his old " friend," with great cordiality, and expressed a thousand winning civilities. He was attired in a style of fashion- able negligence; and his pale, emaciated features ensured him, at least, the show of a welcome, with which he would not otherwise have been greeted ; for Beauchamp, though totally ignorant of the present pursuits and degraded character of his visitor, had seen enough of him in the heyday of dissipation, to avoid a renewal of their intimacy. Beauchamp was touched with the air of languor and exhaustion assumed by Sir Edward, and asked kindly after his health. The wily Baronet contrived to keep him occupied with that topic for nearly an hour, till he fancied he had established an interest for himself in his destined victim's heart. He told him, with a languid smile, that the moment he saw Beauchamp's arrival in the papers, he had hurried, ill as he was, to pay a visit to his "old chum," and " talk over old times." In short, after laying out all his powers of conversation, he so interested and delighted his quondam associate, that he extorted a reluctant promise from Beau- champ to dine with him the next evening, on the plausible pretext of his being in too delicate health to venture out himself at night- lime. Sir Edward departed, apparently in a low mood, but really exulting in the success with which he considered he had opened his infernal campaign. He hurried to the house of one of his com- rades in guilt, whom he invited to dinner on the morrow. Now, the fiendish object of this man, Sir Edward Streighton, in asking Beauchamp to dinner, was to revive in his bosom the half-extin- guished embers of his love for play ! There are documents now in existence to show that Sir Edward and his companions had made the most exact calculations of poor Beauchamp's properly, and even arranged the proportions in which the expected spoils were to be shared among the complotters ! The whole conduct of the affair was intrusted, at his own instance, to Sir Edward ; who, with a smile, declared that he " knew all the crooks and crannies of young Beauchamp's heart;" and that he had already settled his scheme of operations. lie was himself to keep for some time in the back ground, and on no occasion to come forward till he was sure of his prey. At the appointed hour, Beauchamp, though not without having experienced some misgivings in the course of the day, found him- self seated at the elegant and luxurious table of Sir Edward, in company with two of the Baronet's " choicest spirits." It would be superfluous to pause over the exquisite wines, and luscious cookery, which were placed in requisition for the occasion, or the various piquant and brilliant conversation that Hashed around the table. Sir Edward was a man of talent and observation; and foul as were the scenes in which he had latterly passed his life, was full of rapid and brilliant repartee, and piquant sketches of men and manners, without end. Like the poor animal whose palate is for a moment tickled with the bait alluring it to destruction, Beauchamp was in ecstasies! There was, besides, such a flattering deference paid to every thing that fell from his lips— so much eager cariosity excited by the accounts he gave of one or two of his foreign ad- ventures — such an interest taken in the arrangements he con- templated lor augmenting his estates in shire, etc., etc. that Beauchamp never felt better pleased with himself, nor with his companions. About eleven o'clock, one of Sir Edward's friends proposed a rubber at whist, " thinking they had all of them talked one another hoarse," but Sir Edward promptly negatived it. The proposer insisted, but Sir Edward coldly repeated bis refusal. "/ am not tired of my friends' conversation, though they may be of mine! An I I fancy, Beauchamp," he continued, shaking his head with a serious air, "you and I have burnt our fingers too often at college, to be desirous of renewing our pranks." " Why, good God, Sir Edward!" rejoined the proposer, " what MOTHER AND SON. 393 do you mean? Are you insinuating that I am fond of deep play? —I, I that have been such a sufferer?" How was it that such shallow trickery could not be seen through by a man who knew any thing of the world? The answer is obvious— the victim's pe- netration had deserted him : Flattery and wine— what will they not lead a man to ? In short, the farce was so well kept up, that Beau- champ, fancying he alone stood in the way of the evening's amuse- ments, felt himself called upon to u beg they would not consult trim, if they were disposed for a rubber : as he would make a hand with the greatest pleasure imaginable." The proposer and his friend looked appealingly to Sir Edward. "Oh! God forbid that I should hinder you, since you're all so disposed," said the Baronet, with a polite air; and in a few minutes the four friends were sealed at the whist table. Sir Edward wo* obliged to send out and. buy, or borrow cards! "He really so seldom," etc. "especially in his poor health," etc. ! There was nothing whatever, in the conduct of the game, calculated to arouse a spark of suspicion. The three confederates acted their parts to admiration, and maintained throughout the matter-of-fact, listless air, of men who have sat down to cards, each out of complaisance to the others. At the end of the second rubber, which was a long one, they paused a while, rose, and betook themselves to refresh- ments. "By the way, Apsley," said Sir Edward, suddenly, "have you heard how that extraordinary affair of General 's ter- minated?" "Decided against him," was the reply; but I think wrongly. At 's," naming a celebrated coterie, "where the affair was ultimately canvassed, they were equally divided in opinion; and on the strength of it the General swears he won't pay." "It is certainly one of the most singular things in the world ! " "Pray, what might the disputed point be?" inquired Beauchamp, sipping a glass of liqueur. "Oh, merely a bit of town little-tattle," replied Sir Edward, carelessly, "about a Bouge et Noir bet between Lord and General , I dare say, you would feel no interest in it what- ever." But Beauchamp did feel inlet ested enough to press his host for an account of the matter; and he presently found himself listen- ing to a story told most graphically by Sir Edward, and artfully calculated to interestand inflame the passions of his hearer. Beau- champ drank in eagerly every word. He could not help iden- 594 MOTHER AND SON. lifying himself with the parties spoken of. A saianic smile flickered occasionally over the countenances of the conspirators, as they beheld these unequivocal indications that their prey was en- tering their toils. Sir Edward represented the hinge of the story to be a moot point at Rouge et Noir :^and when he had concluded, an animated discussion arose. Beauchamp took an active part in the dispute, siding with 3Ir Apsley. Sir Edward got flustered! and began to express himself rather heatedly. Beauchamp also felt him- self kindling, and involuntarily cooled his ardour with glass after glass of the wine that stood before him. At length, out leaped a bold bet from Beauchamp, that he would make the same point with General . Sir Edward shrugged his shoulders, and, with a smile, "declined winning his money," on a point clear as the noonday sun ! Mr Hillier, however, who was of Sir Edward's opinion, instantly took Beauchamp ; and, for the symmetry of the thing, Apsley and Sir Edward, in spite of the latter's protestation to Beauchamp, betted highly on their respective opinions. Some- body suggested an adjournment to the "establishment" at Street, where they might decide the question ; and thither, accord- ingly, after great show of reluctance on the part of Sir Edward, they all four repaired. The reader need not fear that I am going to dilate upon the sickening horrors of a modern " Hell ! " for into such a place did Beauchamp find himself introduced. The infernal splendour of the scene by which he was surrounded, smote his soul with a sense of guilty awe the moment he entered, flushed though he was, and un- steady, with wine. A spectral recollection of his mother and Ellen, wreathed with the haloes of virtue and purity, glanced across his mind ; and for a moment he thought himself really in hell ! Sick and faint, he sat down for a few seconds at an unoccupied table. He felt half determined to rush out from the room. His kind friends perceived his agitation. Sir Edward asked him if he were ill ? But Beauchamp, with a sickly smile, referred his sensations to a healed room, and the unusual quantity of wine he had drunk. Half ashamed of himself, and dreading their banter, he presently rose from his seat, and declared himself recovered. After standing some time beside the Uouge et Noir tabic, where tremendous Slakes were playing for, amidst profound and agitating silence — where he marked the sallow features of General and Lord , the parties implicated in the affair mentioned at Sir Edward's table, and who, having arranged their dispute, were now over head and ".us in a ueir transaction— the four friends withdrew i<» one of the MOTHER AND SON. 398 private tables to talk over their bet. Alas ! half-an-hour's time beheld them all at Hazard ! — Beauchamp playing ! and with excite- ment and enthusiasm equalling any one's in the room. Sir Edward maintained the negligent and reluctant air of a man overpersuaded into acquiescence in the wishes of his companions. Every time that Beauchamp shook the fatal dice-box, the pale face of his mother looked at him ; yet still he shook, and still he threw— for he won freely from Apsley and Hillier. About four o'clock he took his departure, with bank-notes in his pocket-book to the amount of 95/., as his evening's winning. He walked home to his hotel, weary and depressed in spirits, ashamed and enraged at his own weak compliances and irresolution. The thought suddenly struck him, however, that he would make amends for his misconduct, by appropriating the whole of his un- hallowed gains to the purchase of jewellery for his mother and cousin. Relieved by this consideration, he threw himself on his bed, and slept, though uneasily, till a late hour in the morning. His first thought on waking was the last that had occupied his mind over-night ; but it was in a moment met by another and more startling reflection,— What would Sir Edward, Hillier, and Apsley think of him, dragging them to play, and winning their money, without giving them an opportunity of retrieving their losses ! The more he thought of it, the more was he embarrassed ; and, as he tossed about on his bed, the suspicion flashed across his disturbed mind, that he was embroiled with gamblers. With what credit could he skulk from the attack he had himself provoked? Per- plexed and agitated with the dilemma he had drawn upon himself, he came to the conclusion, that, at all events, he must invite the Baronet and his friends to dinner that day, and give them their revenge, when he might retreat with honour, and for ever. Every- one who reads these pages will anticipate the event. Gaming is a magical stream; if you do but wade far enough into it, to wet the soles of your feet, there is an influence in the waters, which draws you irresistibly in, deeper and deeper, till you are sucked into the roaring vortex, and perish. If it were not unduly paradoxical, one might say with respect to gaming, that he has come to the end, who has made a beginning ! Mr Beauchamp postponed the business which he had himself fixed for transaction that evening, and received Sir Edward — who had found out that he could now venture from home at nights — and his two friends, with all appearance of cheerfulness and cordiality. In his heart he fell ill at ease ; but his uneasiness vanished with every ~<)6 MOTHER AND SON. {•lass of wine he drank. His guests were all men of conversation ; and they took care to select the most interesting topics. Beauchamp was delighted. Some slight laughing allusions were made by Hil- lier and Apsley to their overnight's adventure ; but Sir Edward coldly characterised it as an " absurd affair," and told them they deserved to suffer as they did. This was exactly the signal for which Beauchamp had long been waiting ; and he proposed in a moment that cards and dice should be brought in to finish the even- ing with. Hillier and Apsley hesitated : Sir Edward looked at his watch, and talked of the opera. Beauchamp, however, was peremptory, and down they all sat — and to Hazard ! Beauchamp was fixedly determined to lose that evening a hundred pounds, in- clusive of his overnight's winnings; and veiled his purpose so flim- sily, that his opponents saw T in a moment " what he was after." Mr Apsley laid down the dice-box with a haughty air, and said, "Mr Beauchamp, I do not understand you, Sir. You are play- ing neither with boys nor swindlers : and be pleased, besides, to recollect at whose instance we sat down to this evening's Ha- zard." Mr Beauchamp laughed it off, and protested he did his best. Apsley, apparently satisfied, resumed his play, and their victim felt himself in their meshes — that the " snare of the fowler was upon him." They played with various success for about two hours ; and Sir Edward was listlessly intimating his intention to have a throw for the first time, " for company's sake," when a card of a young nobleman, one of the most profligate of the profligate set whom Beauchamp had known at Oxford, was brought in. " Ah! Lord !" exclaimed Sir Edward, with joyful surprise, " an age since I saw him! — How very strange — how fortunate that I should happen to be here ! — Oh, come, Beauchamp,"— seeing his host disposed to utter a frigid " not at home," — " come, mast ask him in! The very best fellow in life!" Now Lord and Sir Edward were bosom friends, equally unprincipled, and that very morning had they arranged this most unexpected visit of his Lordship! As soon as the ably sustained excitement and enthusiasm of his Lordship had subsided, he of course assured them that he should leave immediately, unless they proceeded with their play, and he stationed himself as an onlooker beside Beauchamp. The infernal crew now began te see they had it "all their own way." Their tactics might have been finally frustrated, had Beau- champ bill possessed suflieieul moral courage to yield to ihe loud promptings of his better judgment, and firmly determined to stop MOTHER AM) SON. 397 in time. Alas ! however, he had taken into his bosom the torpid snake, and kept it there till it revived. In the warmth of excitement he forgot his fears, and his decaying propensities to play were ra- pidly resuscitated. Before the evenings close he had entered into the spirit of the game with as keen a relish as a professed gamester ! With a sort of frenzy, he proposed bets, which the cautious Baronet and his coadjutors hesitated, and at last refused, to take! About three o'clock they separated, and, on making up accounts, they found that so equally had profit and loss been shared, that no one had lost or gained more than 207. Beaucliamp accepted a seat in Lord 's box at the opera for the next evening ; and the one following that he engaged to dine with Apsley. After his guests had retired, he betook himself to Led, with comparatively none of those heart smitings which had kept him sleepless the night before. The men with whom he had been playing were evidently no professional gamblers, and he felt himself safe in their hands. To the opera, pursuant to promise, he went, and to Apslev's. At the former he recognised several of his college acquaintance ; and at the latter's house he spent a delightful evening, never having said better things, and never being more flatteringly attended to; and the night's social enjoyment was wound up with a friendly rub- ber for slakes laughably small. This was Sir Edward's scheme, for he was not, it will be recollected, to " frighten the bird." The doomed Beauchamp retired to rest, better satisfied with himself and his friends than ever; for he had transacted a little real business during the day ; written two letters to the country, and despatched them, with a pair of magnificent bracelets to Ellen; plaved the whole evening at unpretending whist, and won two guineas, instead of accompanyingLord and Hillier to the establishment in - Street, where he mkjlu have lost hundreds. A worthy old English Bishop says, " The devil then maketh sure of us, when we do make sure of ourselves," — a wise maxim ! Poor Beauchamp now began to feel confidence in his own strength of purpose. He thought he had been weighed in the balance, and nut found wanting. He was as deeply convinced as ever of the pernicious effects of an inordinate love of play : but had he that passion ? No ! He recollected the health- ful thrill of horror and disgust with which he listened to Lord 's entreaties to accompany him to the gaming-house, and was satis- fied. He took an early opportunity of writing home, to apprize his mother and cousin that he intended to continue in tov.n a month or six weeks, and assigned satisfactory reasons for his protracted stay. He wrote in the warmest terms to both of them, and said he 398 MOTHER A>D SON. should be counting the days till he threw himself into their arms. " Tis this tiresome Twister, our attorney, that must answer for my long stay. There is no quickening his phlegmatic disposition ! When I would hurry and press him, he shrugs his shoulders, and says there's no' r doing law by steam . He says he fears the Chancery affairs will prove very tedious ; and they are in such a slate just now, that, were I to return into the country, I should be summoned up to town again in a twinkling. Now I am here, I will get all this business fairly off my hands. So, by this day six weeks, dearest coz, expect to see at your feet, yours eternally,— H. B." But, alas ! that day saw Ueauchamp in a new and startling cha- racter—that of an infatuated gamester!— During that fatal six weeks, he had lost several thousand pounds, and had utterly ne- glected the business which brought him up to town,— for his whole heart was with French Hazard and Rouge et Noir ! Even his out- ward appearance had undergone a strauge alteration. His cheeks and forehead wore ;the sallow hue of dissipation— his eyes were weak and bloodshot— his hands trembled— and every movement indicated the highest degree of nervous irritability. He had be- come vexed and out of temper with all about him, but especially with himself, and never could "bring himself up to par" till seven or eight o'clock in the evening, at dinner, when he was warming with wine. The first thing in the mornings, also, he felt it neces- sary to fortify himself against the agitations of the day, by a smart draught of brandy or liqueur ! If the mere love of temporary ex- citement had been sufficient, in the first instance, to allure him on to play, the desire for retrieving his losses now supplied a stronger motive for persevering in his dangerous and destructive career. Ten thousand pounds, the lowest amount of his losses, was a sum he could not afford to lose, without very serious inconvenience. Gracious God ! — what would his aged mother — what would Ellen say, if they knew the mode and amount of his losses ? The thought distracted him ! He had drawn out of his banker's hands all the floating balance he had placed there on arriving in town ; and, in short, he had been at last compelled to mortgage one of his fa- vourite estates for 8000/. ;— and how to conceal the transaction from his mother, without making desperate and successful efforts to recover aisnsetf at play, he did not know. He had now got in- extricably involved with Sir lid wan I and his set, who never al- lowed him a moment's lime to come to himself, but were ever ready with diversified sources ol amusement. l T nder their damned tu- lelage, Beauchamp commenced ihe systematic life of a "man about MOTHER AND SON. 399 town,"— in all, except the fouler and grosser vices, to which, I be- lieve, he was never addicted. His money flew about in all directions. He never went to the establishment in Street, but his overnight's I.O.I' s stared him in the face the next morning like reproachful fiends!— and he was daily accumulating bills at the fashionable tradesmen's, whom he gave higher prices, to ensure longer credit. While he was com- pelled to write down confidentially to old Pritcharcl, his agent, for money, almost every third or fourth post, his correspondence with his mother and cousin gradually slackened, and his letters, short as they were, indicated effort and constraint on the part of the writer. It was long, very long, before Mrs Beauchamp suspected that anv thing was going wrong. She was completely cajoled by her son's accounts of the complicated and harassing affairs in Chancerv, and considered that circumstance fully to account for the brevity and infrequency of his letters. The quicker eyes of Ellen, however, soon saw, in the chilling shortness and formality of his letters to her, that even if his regard for her personally were not diminishing, he had discovered such pleasurable objects in town, as enabled him to bear, with great fortitude, the pangs of absence! Gaming exerts a deadening inlluence upon all the faculties of the soul, that are not immediately occupied in its dreadful service. The heart it utterly withers; and it was not long, therefore, before Beauchamp was fully aware of the altered state of his feelings towards his cousin, and satisfied with them. Play — play — PLAY, was the name of his new and tyrannical mistress ! INeed I utter such common-places as to say, that the more Beauchamp played, the more he lost ; that the more he lost, the deeper he played ; and that the less chance there was, the more reckless he became? — I cannot dwell on this dreary portion of my narrative. It is suffi- cient to inform the reader, that employed in the way I have men- tioned, Beauchamp protracted his stay in London to five months. During this lime he had actually gambled away three-fourths of his whole fortune. He was now both ashamed and afraid of return- ing home. Letters from his poor mother and Ellen accumulated upon him, and often lay for weeks unanswered. Mrs Beauchamp had once remonstrated with him on his allowing any of his affairs to keep him so long in town under the peculiar circumstances in which he was placed with respect to Ellen ; but she received such a tart reply from her son, as effectually prevented her future in- terference. She began to grow very uneasy — and to suspect that something or other unfortunate had happened to her son. Her 400 MOTHER AND SON. i'ears hurried her into a disregard of his menaces ; and at length she wrote up privately to Mr Twister, to know what was the state of affairs, and what kept Mr Beauchamp so harassingly employed. The poor old lady received for answer — the attorney knew of no- thing that need have detained Mr Beauchamp in tow 7 n beyond a w eek ; and that he had not been at Mr Twister's office for several months! Pritchard, Mr Beauchamp s agent, was a quiet and faithful fel- low, and managed all his master's concerns with the utmost punc- tualitv and secrecy. He had been elevated from the rank of a com- mon servant in the family to his present office, which he had filled for thirty years, with unspotted credit. He had been a great fa- vourite with old Mr Beauchamp, who committed him to the kind- ness of Mrs Beauchamp, and requested her to continue him in his office till his son arrived at his majority. The good old man was therefore thoroughly identified with the family interests ; and it was natural that he should feel both disquietude and alarm at the demands for money, unprecedented in respect of amount and fre- quency, made by Mr Beauchamp during his stay in town. He was kept in profound darkness as to the destination of the money ; and confounded at having to forward up to London the title-deeds and papers relating to most of the property. "What can my young squire be driving at?" said Pritchard to himself; and as he could devise no satisfactory answer, he began to fume and fret, and to indulge in melancholy speculations. He surmised that " all was not <*oing on right at London," for he was loo much a man of business to be cajoled by the flimsy reasons assigned by Mr Beauchamp for requiring the estate papers. He began to suspect that his young master was " takingjo bad courses ; " but being enjoined silence at his peril, be held his tongue, and, shrugging his shoulders, "hoped the best." He longed every day to make, or find, an opportunity for communicating with his old mistress ; yet how could ho break his master's confidence, and risk the threatened penalty !— lie re- ceived, however, a letter dne morning which decided him. The fearful contents were as follows:— " Dear and faithful old Pritchard,— There are now only two ways in which you can show your regard for me— profound secrecy, and immediate attention to my directions. 1 have been engaged for some time in extensive speculations in London, and have been dreadfitUy m fortunate. 1 must have fifteen, or, ai the very low- est, ten thousand pounds, by this day week, Of be ruined ; and I pur- pose raising that sum by a mortgage on my properly in shire. MOTHER AND SON. 401 I can see no other possible way of meeting my engagements, without compromising the character of our family — the ho- nour of my name. Let me, therefore, have all the needful pa- pers in time, in two days' time at the. latest. — Dear old man ! — for the love of God, and the respect you bear my father's memory, keep all this to yourself, or consequences may follow, which I tremble to think of! I am, etc. etc. " Henry Beauchamp." " Hotel, 4 o'clock, a. m.*' This letter was written with evident hurry and trepidation ; but not with more than its perusal occasioned the affrighted steward. He dropped it from his hands, elevated them and his eyes towards heaven, and turned deadly pale. He trembled from head to foot ; and the only words he uttered were in a low moaning tone, " Oh, my poor old master! Wouldn't it raise your bones out of the grave?" — Could he any longer delay telling his mistress of the dreadful pass things were come to? After an hour or two spent in terror and tears, he resolved, come what might, to set off for the Hall, seek an interview with Mrs Beauchamp, and disclose every thing. He had scarcely got half way, when he was met by one of the Hall servants who stopped him, saying — " Oh, Mr Steward, I was coming down for you. Mistress is in a way this morning, and wants to see you directly." The old man hardly heard him out, and hurried on as fast as possible to the Hall, which was pervaded with an air of excitement and suspense. He was instantly conducted into Mrs Beauchamp's private room. The good old lady sat in her easy-chair, her pallid features full of grief, and her gray locks straying in disorder from under the border of her cap. Every limb was in a tremor. On one side of her sat Ellen, in the same agitated condition as her aunt; and on the other stood a table, with brandy, hartshorn, etc., and an open letter. " Be seated, Pritchard," said the old lady, faintly. The steward placed his chair beside the table. "Why, what is the matter with you, Pritchard?" inquired Miss Beauchamp, startled by the agita- tion and fright manifested in the steward's countenance. He drew his hand across his forehead, and stammered that he was grieved to see them in such trouble, when he was interrupted by Mrs Beau- champ putting the open letter into his hand, and telling him to read it. The steward could scarcely adjust his glasses ; for be trembled like an aspen leaf. He read — 20 40-2 MOTHER AND SON. 14 Madam, 44 My client, Lady Hester Gripe, having consented to advance a farther sum of 22,000/. to Mr Henry Beaucbamp, your son, on mortgage of his estates in n — shire, I beg to know whether you have any annuity or rent-charge issuing therefrom, and if so, to what amount. I beg you will consider this inquiry strictly confi- dential, as between Lady Hester and Mr Beauchamp, or the nego- tiations will be broken off ; for her ladyship's extreme caution has induced me to break through my promise to Mr Beauchamp, of not allowing vou, or any one else, to know of the transaction. As, however, Mr Beauchamp said, that even if you did know, it was not of much consequence, I presume I have not gone very far wrong in yielding to her ladyship's importunities. May I beg the favour of a reply, per return of post? I have the honour, etc. etc. etc. " Furnival's Inn, London." Before the staggered steward had got through half this letter, he was obliged to lay it down for a moment or two, to recover from his trepidation. " A farther sum ! " he muttered. He wiped the cold perspira- tion from his forehead, dashed out the tears from his half-blinded eves, and resumed his perusal of the letter, which shook in his hands. No one spoke a syllable ; and when he had finished reading, he laid down the letter in silence. Mrs Beauchamp sat leaning back in her chair, with her eyes closed. She murmured something, which the straining ear of the steward could not catch. " What was my Lady saying, Miss?" he inquired. Miss Beau- champ shook her head, without speaking or removing her hand- kerchief from her face. " Well, God's holy will be done!" exclaimed Mrs Beauchamp, feebly, tasting a little brandy and water ; " but I'm afraid my poor Henrv— and all of us— are ruined !" "God grant not, my Lady ! Oh, don't— don t say so, my Lady !" sobbed the steward, dropping involuntarily upon his knees, and elevating his clasped hands upwards.— "Tis true, my Lady," he continued, " Master Henry— for I can't help calling him so— has been a little wild in London— but all is not yet gone— oh, no, my Lady, no!" "You must, of course, have known all along of his doings— you must, Pritchard !" said Mrs Beauchamp, in a low tone. " Why yes, my Lady, 1 have— but I've gone down on my knees every bjessed night, and prayed that I might find a way of letting vou know" MOTHER AND SOX. 403 "Why could you not have told me?" inquired Mrs Beauchamp, looking keenly at the steward. " Because, my Lady, I was his steward, and bound to keep his confidence. He would have discharged me the moment I had open- ed my lips : he told me so often ! " Mrs Beauchamp made no reply. She saw the worthy man's di- lemma, and doubted not his integrity, though s he had entertained momentarily a suspicion of his guilty acquiescence. " Have you ever heard, Pritchard, how the money has gone in London?" " Never a breath, my Lady, that I could rely on." "What have you heard? — That he frequents gaming-houses?" inquired Mrs Beauchamp, her features whitening as she went on. The steward shook his head. There was another mournful pause. " Now, Pritchard," said Mrs Beauchamp, with an effort to mus- ter up all her calmness—" tell me, as in the sight of God, how much money has my son made away with since he left ?" The steward paused and hesitated. "I must not be trifled with, Pritchard," continued Mrs Beau- champ, solemnly, and with increasing agitation. The steward seemed calculating a moment. "Why, my Lady, if I must be plain, I'm afraid that twenty thou- sand pounds would not cover" "Twenty thousand pounds ! " screamed Miss Beauchamp, spring- ing out of her chair wildly; but her attention was in an instant ab- sorbed by her aunt, who, on hearing the sum named by the stew- ard, after "moving her fingers for a moment or two, as if she were trying to speak, suddenly fell back in her seat, and swooned. To describe the scenes of consternation and despair which ensued, would be impossible. Mrs Beauchamp's feelings were several times urging her on the very borders of madness ; and Miss Beauchamp looked the image of speechless, breathless horror. At length, however, Mrs Beauchamp succeeded in overcoming her feelings — for she was a woman of unusual strength of mind — and instantly addressed herself to meet the naked horrors of the case, and see if it were possible to discover or apply a remedy. After a day's an- xious thought, and the show of a consultation with her distracted niece, she decided on the line of operation she intended to pursue. To return, however, to her son : Things went on as might be supposed from the situation in which we left him, worse and worse. Poor Beauchamp's life might justly be said to be a perpetual frenzv — -passed in alternate paroxysms of remorse, despair, rage, fear. 40 i MOTHER AND SON. and all ihe other baleful passions that can tear and distract the hu- man soul. He had become stupified, and could not fully compre- hend the enormous ruin which he had precipitated upon himself — crushing at once "mind, body, and estate." His motions seemed actuated by a species of diabolical influence. He saw the nest of hornets which he had lit upon, yet would not forsake the spot! Alas ! Beauchamp was not the first who has felt the fatal fascination of play, the utter obliviousness of consequences which it induces ! The demons who fluttered about him, no longer thought of mask- ing themselves, but stood boldly in all their naked hideousness be- fore him. For weeks together he had one continual run of bad luck, yet still he lived and gambled on from week to week, from day to day, from hour to hour, in the delusive hope of recovering himself. His heart was paralysed— its feelings all smothered be- neath the perpetual pressure of a gamester's anxieties. It is not, therefore, difficult for the reader to conceive the ease with which he dismissed the less and less frequently intruding images— the pale, reproachful faces — of his mother and cousin ! Sir Edward Streighton, the most consummate .tactician, sure, that ever breathed, had won thousands from Beauchamp, without affording him a tangible opportunity of breaking with him. On the contrary, the more Beauchamp became involved— the deeper he sank into the whirl) >ool of destruction— the closer he clung to Sir Edward ; as if clinging to the devil in hell, would save one from its fires ! The wily Baronet had contrived to make himself, in a man- ner, indispensable to Beauchamp. It was Sir Edward, who taught him the quickest way of turning lands into cash — Sir Edward, who familiarized him with the correctest principles of betting and hand- ling the dice— Sir Edward, who put him in the way of evading and delving his minor creditors— Sir Edward, who feasted and feted him out of his bitter ennui and thoughts of shire — Sir Edward, who lent him hundreds at a moment's warning, and gave him the longest credit ! Is it really conceivable that Beauchamp could not see through the plausible scoundrel? inquires, perhaps, a reader. No, he did not — till the plot began to develope itself in the latter acts of the tragedy ! And even when he did, lie still went on — and on— and on — trusting that in time he should outwit the subtle devil. Though he was a little shocked at finding himself so easily capable of such a thing, he resolved at last, in the forlorn hope ol retrieving his cir- cumstances, to meet fraud with fraud. A delusion not uncommon among the desperate victims of gambling, is the notion that they MOTHER AND SON. 40o have suddenly hit on some trick by which they must infallibly win. This is the ignis fatuus which often lights them to the fata! verge. Such a crotchet had latterly been flitting through the fancy of Beau- champ; and one night — or rather morning — after revolving the scheme over and over again in his racked brain, be started out of bed, struck a light, seized a pack of cards, and, shivering with cold — for it was winter — sat calculating and manoeuvring with them till he had satisfied himself of the accuracy of his plan; when he threw them down, blew out his candle, and leaped into bed again in a lit of guilty ecstasy. The more he turned the project in his mind, the more and more feasible did it appear. He resolved to intrust no one breathing with his secret. Confident of success, and that with but little effort he had it in his power to break the bank, whenever, and as often as he pleased— he determined to put his plan into execution in a day or two, on a Jarge scale ; stake every penny he could possibly scrape together, and win triumphantly, He instantly set about procuring the requisite funds. His attorney —a gambler himself, whom he had latterly picked up, at the in- stance of Hillier, as "a monstrously convenient fellow,"— soon con- trived to cash his I.O.U.'s to the amount of 5000/., on discovering that he had still available property in shire, which he learned at a confidential interview with the solicitor in Furmval's Inn, who was negotiating the loan of 22,000/. from Lady Gripe*. He re- turned to make the hazardous experiment on the evening of the day on which he received the 5000/. from his attorney. On the morning of that day he was, farther, to hear from his steward in the country respecting the mortgage of his last and best property. That was a memorable— a terrible day to Beauchamp. It began with doubt— suspense— disappointment; for, after awaiting the call of the postman, shaking with agitation, he caught a glimpse of his red jacket passing by his door — on the other side of the street. Al- most frantic, he threw up the window, and called out to him — but the man had "none to-day." Beauchamp threw himself on his sofa, in agony unutterable. It was the first lime that old Pritchard had ever neglected to return an answer in course of post, when never so slightly requested. A thousand fears assailed him. Had his letter miscarried? Was Pritchard ill, dying— or dead? Had he been frightened into a disclosure to Mrs Beauchamp ? And did • It is my intention, on a future occasion, to publish some account of the extraor- dinary means by which this old woman amassed a splendid fortune. She was an inveterate swindler at cards; and so successful, that, from her gains at ordinary plav, she drew a capital with which she traded in the manner mentioned above. 406 MOTHER AND SON. his Mother, at length — did Ellen — know of his dreadful doings ? The thought was too frightful to dwell upon !— thoroughly unnerved, he flew to brandy — fiery fiend, lighting up in the brain the flames of madness! — He scarcely knew how to rest during the interval between breakfast and dinner ; — for at seven o'clock, he, together with the rest of the infernal crew, were to dine with Apsley. There was to be a strong muster ; for one of the decoys had en- trapped a wealthy simpleton, who was to make his " first appear- ance " that evening. After walking for an hour, to and fro, he set out to call upon me. He was at my house by twelve o'clock. Du- ring his stay in town, I had frequently received him in quality of a patient, for trifling fits of indisposition, and low spirits. I had looked upon him merely as a fashionable young fellow, who was *' upon town," doing- his best to earn a little notoriety, such as was sought after by most young men of spirit — and fortune ! I also had been able to gather from what he let fall at several interviews, that the uneven spirits he enjoyed, were owing to his gambling propen- sities : that his excitement or depression alternated with the good or ill luck he had at play. I felt interest in him ; for there was about him an air of ingenuousness and straight-forwardness, which captivated every one who spoke with him. His manners had all the ease and blandness of the finished gentleman ; and when last 1 saw him, which was about two months before, he appeared in good health and cheerful spirits — a very fine, if not strictly handsome man. But now when he stood before me, wasted in person, and haggard in feature — full of irritability and petulance — I could scarcely believe him the same man ! — I was going to ask him some question or other, when he hastily interrupted me, by extending towards me his two hands, which shook almost like those of a man in the palsy, exclaiming—" This— tins, Doctor, is what I have come about. Can you cure this — by six o'clock to-day?" There was a wildness in his manner, which led me to suspect that his intellect was disordered. He hurried on before I had time to get in -a word — "If you cannot steady my nerves for a few hours, I am " he suddenly paused, and with some confusion, repeated his question. The extravagant impetuosity of his gestures, and his whole de- meanour, alarmed me. "Mr Beauchamp," said I, seriously, "it is now two months since you honoured me with a visit; and your appearance since then is wofully changed. Permit me, as a respectful friend, to ask whether" lie rose abruptly from his seat, and in a tone bor- dering on insult, replied, "Dr , I came, not to gratify curiosity, MOTHER AND SON. 107 but to receive your advice on the stale of my health. If you are not disposed to afford it me, I am intruding." " You mistake me, Mr Beauchamp," I replied, calmly, " motives and all, I do not wish to pry into your affairs. I desired only to ascertain whether or not your mind was at ease." While I was speaking, he seemed boiling over with suppressed irritability ; and when I had done, he took his hat and stick, flung a guinea on my desk : and, before T could recover from the astonishment his ex- traordinary behaviour occasioned me, strode out of the room. How he contrived to pass the day he never knew; but about live o'clock, he retired to his dressing-room, to prepare for dinner*. His agitation had reached such a height, that after several ineffec- tual attempts to shave himself, he was compelled to send for some one to perform that operation for him. When the duties of the dressing-room were completed, he returned to his sitting-room, took from his escrutoire the doomed bank notes for 5000/., and placed them in his pocket-book. A dense film floated before his eyes, when he attempted to look over the respective amounts of the bills, to see that all was correct. He then seized a pack of cards, and tried over and over again, to test the accuracy of his calcula- tions. He laid them aside, when he had satisfied himself — locked his door, opened his desk, and took out pen and paper. He then with his penknife pricked the point of one of his fingers, filled his pen with the blood issuing from it, and wrote in letters of blood a solemn oath, that if he were but successful that evening, in " win- ning back his own," he would forsake cards and dice for ever, and never again be found within the precincts of a gaming-house, to the latest hour of his life. I have, seen that singular and affecting do- cument. The letters, especially those forming the signature, are more like the tremulous handwriting of a man of eighty, than of one but twenty-one ! Perceiving that he was late, he hurriedly af- fixed a black seal to his signature,— once more ran his eye over tiie doomed 5000/., and sallied out to dinner. When he reached Mr Apsley's he found all the company as- sembled, apparently in high spirits, and all eager for dinner. You would not have thought of the black hearts that beat beneath sucli gay and pleasing exteriors as were collected round Apsley's table! Not a syllable of allusion was made during dinner-lime to the sub- ject which filled every one's thoughts,— play. As if by mutual consent, that seemed the only interdicted topic; but as soon as * Mr Beauchamp had removed from his hotel into private lodgings near Pall Mall, about a month before the above-mentioned visit to me. 408 MOTHER AMD SON. dinner and dessert, both of them first-rate, were over, a perfectly understood pause took place; and Beauchamp, who, with the aid of frequent draughts of champagne, had worked himself up to the proper pitch, was the first to propose with eagerness the fatal ad- journment to the gaming-table. Every one rose in an instant from his seat, as if by appointed signal, and in less than five minutes' time they were all, with closed doors, seated around the tables. Here piles of cards, and there the damned dice. They opened with Hazard. Beauchamp was the first who threw, and he lost ; but as the stake was comparatively trifling, he neither was, nor appealed to be, annoyed. He was saving himself for Rouge et Np.ir '.—The rest of the company proceeded with the game, and got gradually into deeper play, till at length heavy betting was begun. Beauchamp, who declined joining them, sat watching with peculiar feelings of mingled sympathy and contempt the poor fellow whom the gang were "pigeoning." How painfully it reminded him of his own initiation ! A throng of bitter recollections crowded ir- resistibly through his mind, as he sat for a while with leisure for contemplation. The silence that was maintained was broken only by the ratiling of the dfce-box, and an occasional whisper when the dice were thrown. The room in which they were sitting, was furnished with splen- dour and elegance. The walls were entirely concealed beneath va- luable pictures, in massive and tasteful frames, the gilding of which glistened with a peculiarly rich effect beneath the light of a noble ormolu lamp, suspended from the ceiling. Ample curtains of yellow flowered satin, drawn closely together, concealed the three windows with their rich draperies; and a few Gothic-fashioned bookcases, well filled, were stationed near the corners of the room, with rare specimens of Italian statuary placed upon them. The furniture was all of the most fashionable and elegant patterns ; and as the trained eye of Beauchamp scanned it over, and marked the correct taste with which every thing was disposed, the thought forced itself upon him— r" how many have been beggared to pay for all this!" His heart fluttered. lie gazed on the flushed features, the eager eyes, the agitated gestures of those who sat at the table. Directly opposite was Sir Edward Strefgbton, looking attentively at the caster— his fine expansive forehead bordered with slight streaks of black hair, and his large lustrous eyes glancing like lightning from the thrower to the dice, and from the dice to the betters. His Features, regular, and once even handsome, bore now the deep MOTHER AND SON. ' 409 traces of long and harrowing anxiety. u Oh, that one," thought Beauchamp, "so capable of better things, bearing on his brow na- ture's signet of superiority, should have sunk into — a swindler! 9 * While these thoughts were passing through his mind, Sir Edward suddenly looked up, and his eyes settled for an instant on Beau- champ. Their expression almost withered him ! He thought he was gazing on " the dark and guilty one," who had coldly led him up to i urns brink, and was waiting to precipitate him. His thoughts then wandered away to long banished scenes,— his aged mother, his ruined forsaken Ellen, both of whom he was beggaring, and breaking their hearts. A mist seemed diffused through the room — his brain reeled ; his long-stunned heart revived for a moment, and smote him heavily. "Oh! that 1 had but an opportunity— never so slight an opportunity," he thought, " of breaking from this horrid enthralment, at any cost ! " He started from his painful reverie, and stepped to a side-table, on which a large bowl of cham- pagne punch had just been placed, and sought solace in its intoxicat- ing fumes. He resumed his seat at the table ; and he had looked on scarcely a few minutes, before he felt a sudden, unaccountable impulse to join in at Hazard. He saw Apsley placing in his pocket- book some bank-notes, which he had that moment received from the poor victim before spoken of— and instantly belted with him heavily on the next throw. Apsley, somewhat surprised, but not ruffled, immediately took him ; the dice were thrown— and to his own astonishment, and that of all present, Beauchamp won 500/., — acluallv, bona fide, won 300/. from Apsley, who for once was off his guard ! The loser was nettled, and could with difficulty conceal his chagrin; but he had seen, while Beauchamp was in the act of opening his pocket-book, the amount of one or two of his largest bills, and his passion subsided. At length his hour arrived. Rouge et Noir followed Hazard, and Beauchamp" s pulse quickened. When it came to his turn, he took out his pocket-book and coolly laid down stakes which aimed at the bank. >"ot a word was spoken ; but looks of wonder and doubt glanced darkly around the table. What was the fancied manoeuvre which Beauchamp now proceeded to practise, 1 know not ; for, thank God, I am ignorant— except on hearsay — of both the prin- ciples and practice of gaming. The eagle eye of Apsley, the tattler, was on Beauchamp's every movement. He tried — he lost, half his large stake! He pressed his hand upon his forehead— he saw that every thing depended on his calmness. The voice of Apsley sounded indistinctly in his ears, callingout, " apres!" Beau- 410 MOTHER AND SON. champ suffered his stakes to remain, and be determined by the next event. He still had confidence in his scheme; but, alas! the bub- ble at length burst, and Beauchamp in a trice found himself minus 5000/. All hope was now over, for his trick was clearly worth no- thing, and he had lost every earthly opportunity of recovering him- self. Yet he went on — and on — and on- — and on ran the los- ing colour, till Beauchamp lost every thing he had brought with him ! He sat down, sunk his head upon his breast, and a ghastly hue overspread his face. He was offered unlimited credit. Apsley gave him a slip of paper with I.O.U. on it, telling him to fill it up with his name, and any sum he chose. Beauchamp threw it back, exclaiming, in an under tone, "No — swindled out of all." " What did you say, Sir?" inquired Apsley, rising from the table, and approaching his victim. "Merely that I had been swindled out of all my fortune," re- plied Beauchamp, without rising from his seat. There was a dead silence. "But, my good Sir! don't you know that such language will never do ? " inquired Apsley, in a cold contemptuous tone, and with, a manner exquisitely irritating. Half maddened with his losses— with despair and fury — Beau- champ sprang out of his chair towards Apsley, and with an abso- lute howl, dashed both his fists into his face. Consternation seized every one present. Table, cards, and bank-notes, all were de- serted, and some threw themselves round Beauchamp, others round Apsley, who, sudden as had been the assault upon him, had so quickly thrown up his arms, that he parried the chief force of Beau- champ's blow, and received but a slight injury over his right eye. " Pho! pho ! the boy is drunk" he exclaimed coolly, observing his frantic assailant struggling with those who held him. " Ruffian ! swindler ! liar ! " gasped Beauchamp. Apsley laughed aloud. " What! dare not you strike me in return?" roared Beauchamp. "Ay, ay, my fine fellow," replied Apsley, with imperturbable nonchalance ; " but dare you have struck me when you were in cold blood, and I on my guard?" "Struck you, indeed, you abhorred" "Let us sec, then, what we can do in the morning, when we've slept over it," retorted Apsley, pitching his card towards him con- temptuously. "But, in the mean lime, we must send for con- stables, unless our young friend here becomes quiet. Come, Strcighton, you are croupier — come, Hillier — Bruton — all of you, MOTHER AND SON. 411 come— play out the stakes, or we shall forget where we were." Poor Beauchamp seemed suddenly calmed when Apsley's card was thrown towards him, and with such cold scorn. He pressed his hands to his bursting temples, turned his despairing eyes up- wards, and muttered as if he were hall-choked, "Not yet— not yet ! " He paused— and the dreadful paroxysm seemed to subside. He threw one of his cards to Apsley, exclaiming hoarsely, "When, where, and how you will, Sir ! " M Why, come now, Beau, that's right— that's like a man ! " said Apsley, with mock civility. "Suppose we say to-morrow morn- ing ? I have cured you of roguery to-night, and, with the blessing of God, will cure you of cowardice to-morrow. But, pardon me, your last stakes are forfeit," he added abruptly, seeing Beauchamp approach the spot where his last stake, a bill for 100/., was lying, not having been taken up. He looked appealingly to the company, who decided instantly against him. Beauchamp, with the hurry and agitation consequent on his assault upon Apsley, had for- gotten that he had really played away the note. "Well, Sir, there remains nothing to keep me here," said Beau- champ, calmly— with the calmness of despair— "except settling our morning's meeting. Name your friend, Sir," he continued sternly —yet his heart was breaking within him. " Oh— ay," replied Apsley, carelessly looking up from the cards he was shuffling and arranging. " Let me see. Hillier, will you do the needful for me? I leave every thing in your hands." After vain attempts to bring about a compromise — for your true gamblers hate such affairs, not from personal fear, but the publicity they occa- sion to their doings— matters were finally arranged, Sir Edward Streighton undertaking for Beauchamp. The hour of meeting was half-past six o'clock in the morning; and the place, afield, near Knightsbridge. The unhappy Beauchamp then withdrew, after shaking Sir Edward by the hand, who promised to call at his lodg- ings by four o'clock — "for we shall break up by that time, I dare say," he whispered. When the door was closed upon Beauchamp, he reeled off the steps and staggered along the street like a drunken man. Whether or not he was deceived he knew not; but in passing under the windows of the room where the fiendish conclave were silting, he fancied he heard the sound of a loud laughter. It was about two o'clock of a winter's morning. The snow fell fast, and the air was freezingly cold. Not a soul but himself seemed stirring. A watch- man, seeing his unsteady gait, crossed the street, touched his hat, H-2 MOTHER AND SON. and asked if he should call him a coach ; but he was answered with such a ghastly imprecation, that he slunk back in silence. Tongue cannot tell the distraction and misery with which Beau- champ's soul was shaken. Hell seemed to have lit its raging fires within him. He felt affrighted at being alone in the desolate, dark, deserted streets. His last six months' life seemed unrolled sud- denly before him like a blighting scroll, written in letters of fire. Overcome by his emotions, his shaking knees refused their sup- port, and he sat down on the steps of a house in Piccadilly. He told me afterwards, that he distinctly recollected feeling for some implement of destruction ; and that if he had discovered his pen- knife, he should assuredly have cut his throat. After sitting on the stone for about a quarter of an hour, bareheaded — for he had re- moved his hat, that his burning forehead might be cooled— he made towards his lodgings. He thundered impetuously at the door, and was instantly admitted. His shivering half-asleep servant fell back before his master's affrighting countenance, and glaring bloodshot eyes. "Lock the door, Sir, and follow me to my room," said Beauchamp in a loud voice. " Sir — Sir— Sir," stammered the servant, as if he were going to ask some question. "Silence, Sir !" thundered his master; and the man, laying down his candle on the stairs, went and barred the door. Beauchamp hurried up stairs, and opened the door of his sitting-room. Pie was astonished and alarmed to find a blaze of light in the room. Sus- pecting fire, he rushed into the middle of the room, and beheld — his mother and cousin bending towards him, and staring fixedly at him with the hue and expression of two marble images of horror! His mothers while hair hung dishevelled down each side of her ghastly features; and her eyes, with those of her niece, who sat beside her, clasping her aunt convulsively round the waist, seemed on the point of starling from their sockets. They moved not — they spoke not. The hideous apparition vanished in an instant from the darkening eyes of Beauchamp, for he dropped tin 1 candle he held in his hand, and fell at full length senseless on the floor. It was no ocular delusion — nothing spectral — but horror looking out through breathing flesh and blood, in the persons of Mrs Beau- champ and her niece. The resolution winch Mrs Beauchamp had formed, on an occa- sion which will he remembered by the reader, was to go op direct lo London, and try tbe effect of a sudden appearance before her MOTHER AND SON. 4*3 erring, but she hoped not irreclaimable son. Such an interview might startle him into a return to virtue. Attended bv the faithful Pritchard, they had arrived in town that very day, put up at a hotel in the neighbourhood, and, without pausing to take refreshments, hurried to Mr Beauchamp's lodgings, which thev reached only two hours after he had gone out to dinner. Seeing his desk open, and a paper lying upon it, the old lady tuok it up. and, freezing with fright, read the oath before named, evidently written in Mood. Her son, then, was gone to the gaming-table in the spirit of a forlorn hope, and was that night to complete his and their ruin ! Yet what could they do? M* Beauchamp's valet did nut know where his master was gone tu dinner, nor did any one in the house, or they would have sent off instantly to apprize him of their arrival. As it was, however, they were obliged to wait for it ; and it may therefore be conceived in what an ecstasy of agony these two poor ladies had been sitting, without tasting wine or food, till half past two o'clock in the morning, when they heard his startling knock — his fierce voice speaking in curses to the valet, and at length beheld him rush, madman-like, into their presence, as has been described. When the valet came up stairs from fastening the street-door, he saw the sitting-room door wide open ; and peeping through, on his way up to bed, was confounded to see three prostrate figures on the floor — his master here, and there the two ladies, locked in one another's arms, ail motionless. He hurried to the bell, and pulled it till it broke, but not before it had rung such a startling peal, as woke every body in the house, who presently heard him shouting at the top of his voice, " Murder! murder! murder!" All the af- frighted inmates were in a few seconds in the room, half-dressed, and their faces full of terror. The first simultaneous impression on the minds of the group was, that the persons lying on the floor had been poisoned; and under such impression was it that I and two neighbouring surgeons were summoned un the scene. Bv the time 1 had arrived, Mrs Beauchamp was surviving; but her niece had swooned away again. The first impulse of the mother, as soon as her tottering limbs could support her weight, was to # crawl trem- bling to the insensible body of her son. Supported in the arms of two female attendants, who had not as yet been able to lift her from the floor, she leant over the prostrate form of Beauchamp, and murmured, "0, Henry! Henry! love! — my only love!" Her hand played slowly over his damp features, and strove to part the hair from the forehead — but it suddenly ceased to move — and, on looking narrowly at her, she was found to have swooned again. Of 414 MOTHER AND SON. all the sorrowful scenes it has been my fate to witness, I never en- countered one of deeper distress than tins— Had I known at the time the relative situations of the parties ! 1 directed all my attentions to Mr Beauchamp, while the other medical gentlemen busied themselves with Mrs Beauchamp and her niece. I was not quite sure whether my patient were not in a fit of epilepsy or apoplexy, for he lay motionless, drawing his breath at long and painful intervals, with a little occasional convulsive twitching of the features. I had his coat taken off immediately, and bled him from the arm copiously; soon after which he recover- ed his consciousness, and allowed himself to be led to bed. He had hardly been undressed, before he fell fast asleep. His mother was bending over him in speechless agony — for, ill and feeble as she was, we could not prevail on her to go to bed— and I was watch- ing both with deep interest and curiosity, convinced that I was wit- nessing a glimpse of some domestic tragedy, when there was heard a violent knocking and ringing at the street door. Every one start- ed, and with alarm inquired what that could be? Who could be seeking admission at four o'clock in the morning? Sir Edward Streighton !— whose cabriolet, with a case of duel- ling pistols on the seat, was standing at the door, waiting to convey himself and Beauchamp to the scene of possible slaughter fixed on over-night. He would take no denial from the servant ; declared his business to be of the most pressing kind; and affected to disbe- lieve the fact of Beauchamp's illness — " It was all miserable fudge," and he was heard muttering something about " cowardice!" The strange pertinacity of Sir Edward brought me down stairs. He stood fuming and cursing in the hall ; but started on seeing me come down, with a candle in my hand, and he turned pale. "Doctor !" he exclaimed, taking off his hat; for he had once or twice seen me, and instantly recognised me, " Why, in the name of heaven, what is the matter? Is he ill? Is he dead? What?" " Sir Edward," I replied, coldly, " Mr Beauchamp is in danger- ous, if not dying, circumstances." " Dying circumstances!" he echoed, with an alarmed air. " Why — has he — has he attempted to commit suicide?" he stammered. " No, but he has had a fit, and is insensible in bed. You will permit me to say, Sir Edward," I continued, a suspicion occurring lo me of his design in calling, " that this untimely visit looks as if" "That is my business, Doctor," he replied, haughtily, "not yours. My errand is of the highest importance; and it is fitting I MOTHER AND SON. 4 IS should be assured, r on your solemn word of honour, of the reality of Mr Beauchainp's illness." " Sir Edward Streighton," said I, indignantly, " you have had my answer,* which you may believe or disbelieve, as you think proper ; but 1 will, at all events, take good care that you do not ascend one of these^stairs to-day." "I understand it all!" he answered, with a significant scowl, and left the house. I then hastened back to my patient, whom I now viewed with greater interest than before ; for I saw that he was to have fought a duel that mor ning. Coupling present appear- ances with Mr .Beauchanip's visit to me the day before, and the known character of Sir Edward, as a professed gambler, the key to the whole seemed to me, that there had been a gaming-house quarrel. The first sensible words that Mr Beauchamp spoke, were to me : " Has Sir Edward Streigh ton called ?— Is it four o'clock yet?" and he started up in his* bed, staring wildly around him. Seeing himself in bed— candles about him— and me at his side, he exclaim- ed, " Why, I recollect nothing of it! Am I wounded? What is become of Apsley ? " He placed his hand on the arm from which he had been bled, and, feeling it bandaged,— 4 ' Ah !— in the arm _How strange that I have forgotten it all !— How did I get on at Hazard and Rouge et Noir ?— Doctor, am I badly wounded ?— Bone broken?" My conjecture was now verified beyond a doubt. He dropped asleep, from excessive exhaustion, while I was gazing at him. I had answered none of his questions— which were proposed in a dreamy unconnected style, indicating that his senses were disturb- ed. Finding that I could be of no farther service at present, I left him, and betook myself to the room to which Mrs Beauchamp had been removed, while I was conversing with Sir Edward. I found her imbed, attended by 3Iiss :Beauchamp, who, though still ex- tremely languid, and looking the picture of broken-heartedness, had made a great exertion to rouse herself. Mrs Beauchamp looked dreadfully ill. The nerves seemed to have received a shock from which she might be long in recovering, f* Now, what is breaking these ladies' hearts?" thought I, as I looked from one agitated face to the other. " How is my son?" inquired Mrs Beauchamp, faintly. I told her I thought there was no danger ; and that, with repose, he would soon recover. " Prav, Madam, allow me to ask— Has lie had any sudden fright 7 I suspect" Both shook their heads, and hung them down. " Well— he is alive, thank Heaven— but a beggar!" murmured Mrs Beauchamp. Oh, Doctor, he hath fallen among thieves ! They have robbed, and would have slain my son— my first born — my only son !" I expressed deep sympathy. I said, " I suspect, Madam, that something very unfortunate has happened." She interrupted me by asking, after a pause, if I knew nothing of his practices in London for the last few months, as she had seen my name several times mentioned in his letters, as his medical adviser. I made no reply. I did not even hint my suspicions that he had been a frequenter of the gaming-table ; but my looks startled her. " Oh, Doctor , for the love of God, be frank, and save a w idowed mother's heart from breaking ! Is there no door open for him to escape?" Seeing they could extract little or no satisfactory explanation from me, they ceased asking, and resigned themselves to tears and sorrow. After rendering them what little service was in my power, and looking in at Mr Beauchamp's room, where I found him still in a comfortable sleep, I took my departure ; for the dull light of a winter morning was already stealing into the room, and I had been there ever since a little before four o'clock. All my way home I felt sure that my patient was one of the innumerable victims of gambling, and had involved his family in his ruin. Mr Beauchamp, with the aid of quiet and medicine, soon recover- ed sufficiently to leave his bed ; but his mind was evidently ill at ease. Had I known at the time what I was afterwards apprized of, with what intense and sorrowful interest should I have regard- ed him ! The next week was all agony, humiliation, confessions, and for- giveness. The only one item in the black catalogue which lie omitted or misrepresented, was the duel he was to have fought. He owned, after much pressing, in order to quiet his mother and cousin, that he had fought, and escaped unhurt. But Beauchamp, in his own mind, was resolved, at all events, to give Apsley the meeting on the very earliest opportunity. His own honour was at stake ! — his own revenge was to be sated ! The first thing, therefore, that Beauchamp did, after he was sufficiently recovered to be left alone, was to drop a hasty line to Sir Edward Slreighton, informing him that he was now ready and willing — nay, anxious to MOTHER A_\D SON. 417 give Apsley the meeting which he had been prevented doing, only by his sudden and severe illness. He entreated Sir Edward to continue, as heretofore, his friend, and to hasten the matter as much as possible; adding, that whatever event might attend it, was a matter of utter indifference to one who was weary of life. Sir Edward, who began to wish himself out of a very disagreeable af- fair, returned him a prompt, polite, but not very cordial answer ; the substance of which was, that Apsley, who happened to be with Sir Edward when Beauchamp's letter arrived, was perfectlv ready to meet him at the place formerly appointed, at seven o'clock, on the ensuing morning. Beauchamp was somewhat shocked at the suddenness of the affair. How was he to part, overnight — pos- sibly for ever — from his beloved, and injured as beloved, mother and cousin ? Whatever might be the issue of the affair, what a monster of perfidy and ingratitude must he appear to them ! Full of these bitter, distracting thoughts, he locked his room door, and proceeded to make his will. He left " every thing he had remaining on earth, in any shape," to his mother, except a hundred guineas to his cousin to buy a mourning ring. That over, and some few other arrangements completed, he repaired, with a heart that smote him at every step, to his mother's bedside ; for it was night, and the old lady, besides, scarcely ever left her bed. The unusual fervour of his embraces, together with momentarv fits of absence, might have challenged observation and suspicion; but they did not. He told me afterwards, that the anguish he suffered, while repeating and going through the customary evening adieus to his mother and cousin, might have atoned for years of guilt ! After a nearly sleepless night, Beauchamp rose about five o'clock, and dressed himself. On quitting his room, perhaps the last time he should quit it alive, he had to pass by Ins mother's door. There he fell down on his knees : and continued with clasped hands and closed eyes, till his smothering emotions warned him to be gone. He succeeded in getting out of the house without alarming any one ; and, muffled in his cloak, made his way as fast as possible to Sir Edward Streighton's. It was a miserable morning. The un- trodden snow lay nearly a foot deep on the streets, and was yet fluttering fast down. Beauchamp found it so fatiguing to plunther on through the deep snow, and was so benumbed with cold, that he called a coach. He had great difficulty in rousing the driver, who, spite of the bitter inclemency of the weather, was sitting on his box, poor fellow, fast asleep, and even snoring— a complete hillock of snow, which lay nearly an inch thick upon him. How 418 MOTHER VXD SOX. Beauchamp envied him ! The very horses, too, lean and scraggy as they looked— fast asleep— their scanty harness all snow-laden— how he envied them ! It was nearly six o'clock, when Beauchamp reached Sir Edward's residence. The Baronet was up, and waiting for him. " How d'ye do, Beauchamp— how d'ye do?— How the d are yon to fight in such a fog as this?" he inquired, looking through the window, and shuddering at the cold. "It must be managed, I suppose. Put us up as close as you like," replied Beauchamp, gloomily. "I've done all in my power, my dear fellow, to settle matters amicably, but 'tis in vain, I'm afraid. You must exchange shots, you know!— 1 have no doubt, however," he continued, with a sig- nificant smile, "that the thing will be properly conducted. Life is valuable, Beauchamp ! You understand me? " " It is not to me— I hate Apsley as I hale hell." "My God, Beauchamp! What a bloody humour you have risen in ! " exclaimed the Baronet, with an anxious smile. He paused, as if for an answer, but Beauchamp continued silent.— "Ah, then, the sooner to business the better. And harkee, Beau- champ," said Sir Edward, briskly, "have your wits about you, for Apsley, let me tell you, is a splendid shot ! " " Pooh ! " exclaimed Beauchamp, smiling bitterly. He felt cold from head to foot, and even trembled; for a thousand fond thoughts p-ushed over him. He felt faint, and would have asked for a glass of wine or spirits : but after Sir Edward's last remark, that was out of the question. It might be misconstrued ! They were on the ground by seven o'clock. It had ceased snow- ing, and in its stead a small drizzling rain was falling. The fog continued so dense as to prevent their seeing each other dislinclly at more than a few yards' distance. This puzzled the parties not a little, and threatened to interfere with business. "Everything, by , is against us to-day!" exclaimed Sir Edward, placing under his arm the pistol he was loading, and but- toning his great-coat up to the chin,— "this fog will hinder your seeing one another, and this rain will soak through to the priming! In fact, you must be pot up within eight or ten feet of one another." " Settle all that as soon, and as you like," replied Beauchamp, walking away a few sfc "Hallo— here!— here ! "eri.-.l Sir Edward— "Here! here we are, ffiffier," seeing three figures, within a few yards of them, searching MOTHER AMD SON 419 about for ihem. Apsley had brought with him Hillier and a young surgeon. The fog thickened rapidly as soon as they had come together, and Apsley and Beauchamp took their stand at a little distance from their respective friends. 44 Any chance of apology?" inquired Hillier,— a keen-eyed, hawk- nosed, ci-devant militaire. 44 The devil a bit. Horridly savage." " Then let us make haste," replied Hillier, with sang froid. "Apsley got drunk after you left this morning, and I've had only half an hour's sleep," continued Hillier, little suspecting that every word they were saying was overheard by Beauchamp, who, shrouded by the fog, was standing at but three or four yards' distance. 44 Apsley drunk? Then 'twill give Beauchamp, poor devil, a bit of a chance." 44 And this fog ! How does he stand it ? Cool ? " 44 As a cucumber. That is to say, he is cold— very cold— ha, ha ! But I don't think he funks either. Told me he hated Apsley like hell, and we might put him up as we liked ! But what does your man say?" 44 0h, full of 'pooh-poohs!' and calls it a mere bagatelle." 44 Do mischief?— eh?" "Oh— he's going to try for the arm or knee, for the fellow hurt his eye the other night." 44 What— in this fog ! My ! " 44 Oh, true! Forgot that— Ha, ha!— What's to be done?— Come, it's clearing off a bit." 44 1 say, Hillier," whispered Sir Edward in a low tone — " suppose mischief should be done ? " 44 Suppose!— and suppose— it should'nt? You'll never get your pistol done !— So, now ! " "Now, how far?" 44 Oh, the usual distance. Step them out the baker's dozen. Give them every chance, for God favours them." 44 But they won't see one another any more than the dead ! Tis a complete farce — and the men themselves will grumble. How can they mark? " 44 Why, here's a gate close by. I came past it. Tis white and large. Put them in a line with it." 44 Why, Beauchamp will be hit, poor devil ! " 44 Never mind— deserves it, d fool ! " 420 MOTHER AND SON. The distance duly stepped out, each stationed his man. "I shall not stand against this gate, Streighton," said Beau- champ, calmly. The Baronet laughed, and replied, "Oh, you're right, my dear fellow. We'll put you, then, about three or four yards from it on one side." They were soon stationed, and pistols put into their hands. Both exclaimed loudly that they could not see their man. ' ' So much the better. A chance shot ! — We sha'nt put you any nearer," said Sir Edward — and the principals sudden- ly acquiesced. " Now, lake care to shoot at one another, not at us, in this cursed fog," said Sir Edward, so as to be heard by both. "We shall move off about twenty yards away to the right here. I will say- one! two! three!— and then, do as you like." "The Lord have mercy on you ! " added Ilillier. "Come, quick! quick!— 'Tis cursedly cold, and I must be at 's by ten," cried Apsley, petulantly. The two seconds and the surgeon moved off. Beauchamp could not catch even a glimpse of his antagonist— to whom he was equally invisible. " Well," thought they, " if we miss, we can fire again!" In a few mo- ments Sir Edward's voice called out loudly— " One !— two !— three!" Both pistol-fires Hashed through the fog at once, and the seconds rushed up to their men, " Beauchamp, where are you?"—" Apsley, where are you?" "Here!" replied Beauchamp; but there was no answer from Apsley. He had been shot through the head, and in groping about, terror-struck, in search of him, ihey stumbled over his corpse. The surgeon was in an instant on his knees beside him, with his instruments out, but in vain. It was all over with Apsley. That heartless villain was gone to his account. Beauchamp's bullet, chance-shot as it was, had entered the right temple, passed through the brain, and lodged in the opposite temple. The only blood about him was a little which had trickled from the wound, down the cheek, on the shirt-collar. " Is he killed f" groaned Beauchamp, bending over the body, and staring at it affrighledly; but before he could receive an answer from Sir Edward or Ilillier, who, almost petrified, grasped each a hand of the dead body— he had swooned. The first words he heard, on recovering his senses, were — "Fly! fly! fly!" Not comprehending their import, he languidly opened his eyes, and saw people, some Standing round him, and others bearing away the dead body. Again he relapsed into unconsciousness— from which MOTHER AND SOX. 4-2! he was aroused by some one grasping him rather roughlv bv the shoulder. His eyes glanced on the head of a constable's staff, and he heard the words — " You're in my custody, Sir." He started, and stared in the officer's face. " There's a coach awaiting for you, Sir, by the roadside, to take you to Office." Beauchamp offered no resistance. He whis- pered merely, — " Does my mother know? " How he rode, or with whom, ke knew not ; but he found himself, about nine o'clock, alighting at the door of the police-office, more dead than alive. While Beauchamp had lain insensible on the ground, the fog had completely vanished ; and Sir Edward and Hillier, finding it dan- gerous to remain, as passengers from the roadside could distinctly see the gloomy group, made off, leaving Beauchamp and the sur- geon with the corpse of Apsley. Sir Edward flew to his own house, accompanied by Hillier. The latter hastily wrote a note to Apslev's brother, informing him of the event ; and Sir Edward despatched his own valet confidentially to the valet of Beauchamp, commu- nicating to him the dreadful situation of his master, and telling him to break it as he could to his friends. The valet instantlv set off for the field of death, not, however, without apprizing, bv his ter- rified movements, his fellow-servants, that something terrible had happened. He found a few people still standing on the fatal spot, from whom he learned that his master had been conveyed a few minutes before to the Street Office — whither he repaired as fast as a hackney coach could carry him. When he arrived, an officer was endeavouring to rouse Mr Beauchamp from his stupor, by forcing on him a little brandy and water, in which he partly suc- ceeded. Pale and breathless, the valet rushed through the crowd of officers and people about the door, and flung himself at his mas- ter's feet, wringing hrs hands, and crying — "Oh, master! — dear master ! — what have you done ! You'll kill your mother ! " Even the myrmidons of justice seemed affected at the poor fellow's an- guish ; but his unhappy master only stared at him vaeantlv, without speaking. When he was conducted into the presence of the ma- gistrate, he was obliged to be supported with a chair ; for he was overcome, not only by the horrible situation to which he had brought himself, but his spirits and health were completely broken down, as well by his recent illness, as the wasting anxieties and agonies he had endured for months past. The brother of Apsley was pre- sent, raving like a madman; and he pressed the case vehemently against the prisoner. Bail, to a ver y great amount, was offered, lll.\J X til-ill JT.11JLF OUil but refused ; and Beauchamp was eventually committed to Newgate, to take his trial at the next Old Bailey Sessions. Sir Edward Streighton and Hillier surrendered in the course of the day, but were liberated on their own heavy recognisances, and two sureties, each in a thousand pounds, to appear and take their trial at the Old Bailey. But what tongue can tell, what pen describe, the maddening hor- rors— the despair — of the mother and the betrothed bride? Not mine. Their sorrows shall be sacred for me. For not to me belongs To sound the mighty sorrows of thy breast, But rather far off stand, with head and hands Hung down, in fearful sympathy. Thy Ark of grief Let me not touch, presumptuous. To keep up, however, in some degree, the continuity of this me- lancholy narrative, I shall state merely, that I— who was called in to both mother and niece a few minutes after the news had smitten tfiem like the stroke of lightning to the earth — wondered, was even confounded to find either of them survive it, or retain a glimpse of reason. The conduct of Ellen Beauchamp ennobled her, in my estimation, into something above humanity. She succeeded, at length, in overmastering her anguish and agitation, in order that she might minister to her afflicted aunt, in whose sorrow all con- sciousness or appreciation of her own seemed to have merged. For a whole week Mrs Beauchamp hovered, so to speak, about the open door of death, held back, apparently, only by a sweet spirit of sym- pathy and consolation, — her niece! The first words she distinctly articulated, after many hours spent in delirious muttering, were, — " I will see my son !— I will see my son ! " It was not judged safe to trust her alone, without medical assistance, for at least a fortnight. Poor Prilchard, for several nights, slept outside her bedroom door ! The first twenty-four hours of Beauchamp's incarceration in Newgate were horrible. He who, on such slight temptation, had beggared himself, and squandered away in infamy the fortunes of his fathers, — who had broken the hearts of his idolizing mother — his betrothed wife, — who had murdered a man, — was now alone! — alone, in the sullen gloom of a prison ! The transaction above detailed, made much noise in London ; and disguised as it here is, in respect of names, dates, and places, there must be many who will recollect the true facts. There is one whose heart these pages will wilher while he is reading ! .Most of the journals, inllueneed by the vindictive misrepresen- MOTHER AND SON. 423 ;^ons of Apsley's brother, gave a most distorted version of the affair, and, presumptuously anticipating: the decrees of justice, threw a gloomy hue over the prospects of the prisoner. He would certainly be convicted of murder, they said, executed, and dissect- ed ! The Judges were, or ought to be, resolved to put down duelling, and " never was there a more fitting opportunity for making a solemn example," etc. etc. etc. One of the papers gave dark hints, that on the day of trial some extraordinary and incul- pating disclosures would be made concerning the events which led to the duel. Mrs Beauchamp made three attempts during the third week of her son's imprisonment, to visit him, but, on each instance, fainted on being lifted into the carriage ; and at length desisted, on my representing the danger which accompanied her attempts. Her niece also seemed more dead than alive when she attended her aunt. Pritchard, however — the faithful, attached Pritchard— often went to and fro between Newgate and the house where Mrs Beauchamp lodged, two or three times a-day, so that they were thus enabled to keep up a constant but sorrowful correspondence. Several members of the family had hurried up to London the instant they received intelligence of the disastrous circumstances above detailed, and it was well they did. Had it not been for their affectionate interference, the most lamentable consequences might have been anticipated to mother, niece, and son. 1 also,atMrsBeauchamp's pressing instance, called several limes on her son, and found him , on each visit, sinking into deeper and deeper despondency; yet he seemed hardly sensible of the wretched reality and extent of his misery. Many a time when I entered his room — which was the most comfortable the governor could supply him— I found him seated at the table, with his head buried in his arms ; and I was sometimes obliged to shake him, in order that 1 might arouse him from his lethargy. Even then he could seldom be drawn into conversation. When he spoke of his mother and cousin, it was with an apathy which affected me more than the most passionate lamentations. I brought him one day a couple of while winter roses from his mother and Ellen, telling him they were sent as pledges of love and hope. He snatched them out of my hands, kissed them, and buried them in his bosom, saying "Lie you there, emblems of innocence, and blanch this black heart of mine, if you can !" I shall never forget the expression, nor the stern and gloomy manner in which this was uttered. I sat silent for some minutes. 4iii MOTHER AND SON. " Doctor, Doctor," said he hastily, placing his hands on his breast, "they are— J feel they are— thawing my frozen feelings! — they are softening my hard heart ! God ! merciful God ! I am becoming human again !" He looked at me with an eagerness and vivacity to which he had long been a stranger. He extended to me both his hands ; I clasped them heartily, and he burst into tears. He wept loud and long. " The light of eternal truth breaks in upon me ! Oh, my God ! hast thou then not forgotten me?" He fell down on his knees, and continued, "Why, what a wretch— what a monster have I been!" He started to his feet. "Ah, ha, I've been in the lion's den, and am plucked out of it !" I saw that his heart was over- burdened, and his head not yet cleared. 1 said therefore little, and let him go on by fits and starts. " Why, I've been all along in a dream! Henry Beauchamp! — in Newgate!— on a charge of murder!— Frightful !" He shud- dered. "And my mother— my blessed mother !— where— how is she? Her heart bleeds— but no— no— no, it is not broken !— and Ellen— Ellen— Ellen !" After several short choking sobs, he burst again into a torrent of tears. I strove to soothe him, but " he would not be comforted." " Doctor, say nothing to console me!— Don't, don't, or I shall go mad ! Let me feel all my guilt; let it crush me !" My time being expired, I rose and bade him adieu. He was in a musing mood, as if he were striving, with painful effort, to pro- pose some subject to his thoughts— to keep some object before his mind— but could not. I promised to call again, between then and the day of his trial, which was but a week off. The excruciating anxiety endured by these unhappy ladies, Mrs Boaiicliamp and her niece, as the day of trial approached— when the life or death of one in whom both their souls were bound up, must be decided on — defies description. I never saw it equalled. To look on the settled pallor— the hollow haggard features— the quivering limbs of Mrs Beauchamp— was heart-breaking. She seemed like one in the palsy. All the soothing, as well as strength- ening medicines, which all my experience could suggest, were rendered unavailing to such a "mind diseased," to "raze" such "a written sorrow from the brain." Ellen, too, was wasting by her side to a mere shadow. She had written letter after letter to her cousin, and the only answer she received was, — " Cousin Ellen ! How can you — how dare you — write to such a wretch as — Henry Beauchamp ?" MOTHER AND SON. 42b These two lines almost broke the poor girl's heart. What was to become of her ? Had she clung to her cousin through guilt and through blood, and did he now refuse to love her, or receive her proffered sympathy ? She never wrote again to him till her aunt implored, nay, commanded her to write, for the purpose of in- ducing him to see them if they called. He refused. He was inflexible. Expostulation was useless. He turned out poor Pritchard, who had undertaken to plead their cause, with violence from his room. Whether he dreaded the effects of such an interview on the shat- tered nerves, the weakened frame, of his mother and cousin, or feared that his own fortitude would be overpowered — or debarred himself of their sweet but sorrowful society, by way of penance, I know not; but he returned an unwavering denial to every such application. I think the last mentioned was the motive which actuated him ; for I said to him, on one occasion, " Well, but, Beau- champ, suppose your mother should die before you have seen her, and received her forgiveness?'" He replied, sternly, "Well, I shall have deserved it." I could thus account for his feelings, without referring them to sullenness or obstinacy. His heart bled at every pore under the unceasing lashings of remorse ! On another occasion, he said to me, " It would kill my mother to see me here. She shall never die in a prison ! " The day previous to his trial I called upon him, pursuant to my promise. The room was full of counsel and attorneys ; and nume- rous papers were lying on the table, which a clerk was beginning to gather up into a bag when I entered. They had been holding their final consultation ; and left their client more disturbed than I had seen him for some days. The eminent counsel who had been retained , spoke by no means encouragingly of the expected issue of the trial, and reiterated the determination to "do the very uttermost on his behalf." They repeated, also, that the prosecutor was following him up like a blood-hound ; that he had got scent of some evidence, against Beauchamp in particular, which would tell terribly against him— and make out a case of " malice prepense." — And, as if matters had not been already sufficiently gloomy, the attorney had learned, only that afternoon, that the case was to be tried by one of the judges who, it was rumoured, was resolved to make an example of the first duellist he could convict! "1 shall undoubtedly be sacrificed, as my fortune has been al- ready," said Beauchamp, with a little trepidation. " Every thing seems against me. If I should be condemned to death — what is to become of my mother and Ellen?" 426 MOTHER AND SON. "I feel assured of your acquittal, Mr Beauehamp," said I, not knowing exactly why, if he had asked me. "I am a little given to superstition, Doctor," he replied— "and I feel a persuasion-— an innate conviction— that the grand finishing stroke has yet to descend — my misery awaits its climax." "Why, what can you mean, my dear Sir?— Nothing new has been elicited." "Doctor," he replied, gloomily — M I'll tell you something. 1 feel I ought to die ! " "Why, Mr Beauehamp?" I asked , with surprise. "Ought not he to die who is at heart a murderer? " he inquired. "Assuredly." "Then I am such a one. I meant to kill Apsley. I prayed to God that I might. I would have shot breast to breast, but I would have killed him, and rid the earth of such a ruffian," said Beau- champ, rising with much excitement from his chair, and walking hurriedly to and fro. I shuddered to hear him make such an avowal, and continued silent. I felt my colour changed. "Are you shocked, Doctor?" he inquired, pausing abruptly, and looking me full in the face. "I repeat it," clenching his fist— "I would have perished eternally, to gratify my revenge. So would you," he continued, "if you had suffered as I have." With the last words he elevated his voice to a high key, and his eye glanced on me like lightning, as he passed and repassed me. "How can we expect the mercy we will not show?" I inquired, mildly. "Don't mistake me, Doctor," he resumed, without answering my last question — "It is not death I dread, disturbed as I appear, but only the mode of it. Death 1 covet, as a relief from life, which has grown hateful ; but, great Heaven, to be hung like a dog ! " "Think of hereafter ! " I exclaimed. "Pshaw ! I'm past thoughts of that. Why did not God keep me from the snares into which 1 have fallen?" At that moment came a letter from Sir Edward Streighlon. When he recognised the superscription, he threw it down on the table, exclaiming, " There! this is the first time I have heard from this accomplished scoundrel, since the day I killed Apsley." He opened it, a scowl of liny and contempt on his brow, and read the following flippant and unfeeling letter : — " Dear Brother in the bonds of blood ! "My right trusty and well beloved counsellor, and thine — Sillier, and ihy unworthy E. 8., intend duly to take our stand MOTHER AND SON. W beside thee, at nine o'clock to-morrow morning, in the dock of the Old Bailey, as per recognisances. Be not thou cast down, my soul ; but "throw thou fear unto the dogs ! There's never a jury in England will convict us, even though, as Ihear, that bloody-minded old is to trv us! We've got a good fellow (on reasonable terms, considering,) to swear he happened to be present, and that we put you up at forty paces! and that he heard you tender an apologv to Apsley ! The sweet convenient rogue ! ! ! What think vou of that, dear* Beau ? Yours ever— but not on the gallows. "Edw. Streighton. "P. S. I wish Apsley, by the way, poor devil! had paid me a trifling hundred or two he owed me, before going home. But he went in a hurry, 'lis true. Catch me ever putting up another man before asking him if he has any debts unprovided for ! " " There, there, Doctor!" exclaimed Beauchamp, flinging the letter on the floor, and stamping on it—' ' ought not I to go out of the world, for allowing such a fellow as this to lead me the dance of ruin! " I shook my head. "Oh, did you but know the secret history of the last six months," he continued", bitterly, " the surpassing folly— the black ingratitude — the villanies of all kinds with which it was stained— you would blush to sit m the same room with me ! Would not it be so?" "Come, come, Mr Beauchamp, you are raving!" 1 replied, giv- ing him my hand, while the tears half-blinded me ; for he looked the picture of contrition and hopelessness. " Well, then," he continued, eyeing me steadfastly, "I may do what I have often thought of. You have a kind considerate heart, and I will trust you. By way of the heaviest penance I could think of— but, alas, how unavailing!— I have employed the last week in writing my short, but wretched history. Read it— and curse, as you go on, my folly, my madness, my villany ! I've often laid down my pen, and wept aloud, while writing it ; and yet the con- fession has eased my heart. One thing, I think, you will see plain- ly,— that all along I have been the victim of some deep diabolical conspiracy. Those two vile fellows who will stand beside me to- morrow in the dock, like evil spirits— and the monster I have killed— have been the main agents throughout. I'm sure some- thing will, ere long, come to light, and show you I am speaking the truth. Return it me," he continued, taking a packet from his table-drawer, sealed with black, " in the event of my acquittal, that I may burn it ; but, if 1 am to die, do what you will with it. Kven if the world know of it, it cannot hurt me in the grave, and it 43« MOTHER AND SON. may save some from Hazard and Rouge et Noir! Horrible sounds ! " I received the packet in silence, promising him to act as he wished. " How will my mother — how will Ellen — get over to-morrow ! Heaven have them in its holy keeping ! My own heart quails at to- morrow ! — I must breathe a polluted atmosphere ; I must stand on the precise spot which has been occupied by none but the vilest of my species ; I shall have every eye in court fixed upon me — some with horror, others detestation — and some pity — which is worse than either. I must stand between two whom 1 can never look on as other than devils incarnate ! My every gesture and motion — every turn of my face— will be noted down and published all over the kingdom, with severe, possibly insulting comments. Good God !— how am I to bear it all?" "Have you prepared your defence, Mr Beauchamp?" I in- quired. He pointed languidly to several sheets of foolscap, full of scorings out, and said, with a sigh, "I'm afraid it is labour lost. I can say little or nothing. I shall not lie, even for my life ! I have yet to finish it." " Don't, then, let me keep you from it ! May God bless you, my dear Sir, and send you an acquittal to-morrow!— What shall I say to your mother — to Miss Beauchamp, if I see them to-night? " His eyes glistened with tears — he trembled — shook his head, and whispered, <4 What can be said to them ?" I shook him fervently by the hand. As I was quitting the door, he beckoned me back. " Doctor," he whispered, in a shuddering tone, "there is to be an execution to-morrow! Five men will be hanged within ten yards of me ! I shall hear them, in the night, putting up the — gal- lows ! " The memorable morning — for such it was, even tome — atlength dawned. The whole day was rainy, cold, and foggy, as if the ele- ments, even, had combined to depress hearts already prostrate ! After swallowing a hasty breakfast, 1 set off for the Old Bailey, calling, for a few minutes, on Mis Beauchamp, as I had promised her. Poor old lady ! She had not slept half an hour dining the whole night ; and when I entered the room, she was lying in bed, with her hands clasped together, and her eyes closed, listening to one of the church prayers, which her niece was reading her. I sat down in silence ; and when the low tremulous voice of Miss Beau- champ had ceased, I shook her cold hand, and took my seat by her aunt. I pushed the curtain aside that I might see her distinctly. MOTHER AND SON. 429 Her features looked ghastly. What savage work grief had wrought there ! "I don't think I shall live through this dreadful day," said she ; " I feel every thing dissolving within me !— I am deadly sick every moment ; my heart flutters as if it were in expiring agonies ; and my limbs have little in them more than a corpse !— Ellen, too, my sweet love ! she is as bad ; and yet she conquers it, and attends me like an angel ! " " Be of good heart, my dear Madam," said I; " matters are by no means desperate. This evening— 111 slake my life for it— you shall have your son in your arms ! " "Ha!" quivered the old lady, clapping her hands, while a faint hysteric laugh broke from her colourless lips. " Well, I must leave you — for I am going to hear the opening of the trial; I promised your son as much last night." "How was he?" faintly inquired Miss Beauchamp, who was sitting beside the fire, her face buried in her hands, and her el- bows resting on her knees. The anguished eyes of her aunt also asked me the question, though her lips spoke not. I assured them that he was not in worse spirits than I had seen him, and that I left him preparing his defence. "The Lord God of his fathers bless him, and deliver him!" moaned Mrs Beauchamp. As, however, time passed, and I wished to look in one or two patients in my way, I began to think of leaving, though I scarcely knew how. I enjoined them to keep constantly by Mrs Beauchamp a glass of brandy and water, with half a tea-spoonful of laudanum in it, that she or her niece might drink of it whenever they felt a sudden faintness come over them. For farther security, I had also stationed for the day, in her bed- room, a young medical friend, who might pay her constant atten- tion. Arrangements had been made, I found, with the attorney, to report the progress of the trial every hour by four regular runners. Shaking both the ladies affectionately by the hand, I set off. After seeing the patienls I spoke of, I hurried on to the Old Bailey. It was striking ten by St Sepulchre's clock when I reached that gloomy street. The rain was pouring down in drenching showers. I passed by the gallows, which they were taking down, and on which five men had been executed only two hours before. Horrid sight! — The whole of the street along the sessions' house was co- vered with straw, thoroughly soaked with wet; and my carriage- wheels rolled along it noiselessly. I felt my colour leaving me, and 430 MOTHER AND SON. my heart beating fast, as I descended, and entered the area before the court-house, which was occupied with many anxious groups conversing together, heedless of the rain, and endeavouring to get admittance into the court. The street entrance was crowded ; and it was such a silent— gloomy crowd, as I never before saw!— I found the trial had commenced— so I made my way instantly to the counsel's benches. The court was crowded to suffocation; and, among the spectators, I recognised several of the nobility. Three prisoners stood in the dock— all of gentlemanly appearance; and the strong startling light thrown on them from the mirror over- head, gave their anxious faces a ghastly hue. How vividly is that group, even at this distance of time, before my eyes! On the right hand side stood Sir Edward Streighton — dressed in military style, with a black stock, and his blue frock-coat, with velvet collar, buttoned up close to his neck. Both his hands rested on his walk- ing-slick ; and his head, bent a little aside, was attentively directed towards the counsel for the crown, who was stating the case to the jury. Hillier leaned against the left hand side of the dock, his arms folded over his breast, and his stern features, clouded with anxiety, but evincing no agitation, were gathered into a frown, as he listened to the strong terms in which his conduct was being de- scribed by the counsel. Between these stood poor Beauchamp, with fixed and most sorrowful countenance. He was dressed in black, with a full black stock, in the centre of which glistened a dazzling speck of diamond. Both his hands leaned upon the dock, on which stood a glass of spring water ; and his face was turned full towards the judge. There was an air of melancholy compo- sure and resignation about his wasted features; and he looked dreadfully thin and fallen away. His appearance evidently ex- cited deep and respectful sympathy. How my heart ached to look at him, when my thoughts reverted for an instant to his mother and cousin ! There was, however, one other object of the gloomy picture,. which arrested my attention, and has remained with me ever since. Just beneath the witness-box, there was a savage face fixed upon the counsel, gloating upon his exaggerated violence of tone and manner. It was Mr Frederick Apsley, the relentless pro- secutor. I never saw such an impersonation of malignity. On his knees lay his lists, clenched, and quivering with irrepressible fury ; and the glances he occasionally cast towards the prisoners were absolutely fiendish. The counsel for the prosecution distorted and aggravated every <)<•( •uiTcnn'on the fatal night of the quarrel. Hillier and Streighton, MOTHER AND SON. 43* as he went on, exchanged confounded looks, and muttered between their teeth : but Beauchamp seemed unmoved — even when the counsel seriously asserted he should be in a condition to prove, that Beauchamp came to the house of the deceased with the avowed in- tention of provoking him into a duel ; that he had been attempting foul play throughout the evening ; and that the cause of his inveteracy against the deceased, was the deceased's having won considerably. " Did this quarrel originate, then, in a gaming-house?" inquired the judge, sternly. " Why— yes, my Lord— it did, undoubtedly." "Pray, are the parties professed gamblers ? " The counsel hesitated. " I do not exactly know what your Lord- ship means by professed gamblers, my Lord? " "Oh! " exclaimed the judge, significantly, "go on— go on, Sir." I felt shocked at the virulence manifested by the counsel ; and I could not help suspecting him of uttering the grossest falsehoods, when I saw all three of the prisoners involuntarily turn towards one another, and lift up their hands with amazement. As his ad- dress seemed likely to continue much longer, profound as was the interest I felt in the proceedings, I was compelled to leave. I stood up for that purpose, and to take a last look at Beauchamp — when his eye suddenly fell upon me. He started— his lips moved— he looked at me anxiously — gave me a hurried bow, and resumed the attentive attitude in which he had been standing. I hurried away to see my patients, several of whom were in most critical circumstances. Having gone through most on my list, and being in the neighbourhood, I stepped in to see how Mrs Beau- champ was going on. When I entered her bedroom, after gently tapping at the door, I heard a hurried feeble voice exclaim, " There ! there! who is that?" It was Mrs Beauchamp, who endeavoured, but in vain, to raise herself up in bed, while her eyes stared at me with an expression of wild alarm, which abated a little, on seeing who I was. She had mistaken me, I found, for the hourly mes- senger. I sat down beside her. Several of her female relatives were in the room— a pallid group— having arrived soon after I had left. "Well, my dear Madam, and how are you now?" I inquired, taking the aged sufferer's hand in mine. " I may be better, Doctor — but cannot be worse. Nature tells me, the hour is come!" " I am happy to see you so well— so affectionately attended in these trying circumstances," said I, looking around the room. She 432 MOTHER AND SON. made me no reply— but moaned—" Oh ! Henry, Henry, Henry ! —I would to God you had never been born !— Why are you thus breaking the heart that always loved you so fondly !" She shook her head, and the tears trembled through her closed eyelids. Miss Beauchamp, dressed in black, sat at the foot of the bed, speechless, her head leaning against the bedpost, and her pale face directed towards her aunt. " How are you, my dear Miss Beauchamp?" inquired I. She made me no answer, but continued looking at her aunt. " My sweet love!" said her mother, drawing her chair to her, and proffering her a little wine and water, *' Doctor is speaking to you. He asks you how you are?" Miss Beauchamp looked at me, and pressed her white hand upon her heart, without speaking. Her mother looked at me, significantly, as if she begged I would not ask her daughter any more questions, for it was evident she could not bear them. I saw several slips of paper lying on a vacant chair beside the bed. They were the hourly billets from the Old Bailey. One of them was, — " 12 o'clock, 0. B. Not quite so encouraging. Our counsel can't make much impression in cross-examination. Judge seems rather turning against prisoner." " 1 o'clock, 0, B. Nothing particular since last note. Prisoner very calm and firm." " 2 o'clock, 0. B. Still going as in last." " 5 o'clock, 0. B. Mr Beauchamp just read his defence. Made favourable impression on the court. Many in tears. Acknowledg- ed himself ruined by play. General impression, prisoner victim of conspiracy." Such were the hourly annunciations of the progress of the trial, forwarded by the attorney, in whose handwriting each of them was. The palsying suspense in which the intervals between the receipt of each had passed, and the trepidation with which they were opened and read, no one daring scarcely to touch them but Mr , the medical attendant, cannot be described. Mr 31 informed me that Mrs Beauchamp had been wandering deliriously, more or less, all day, and that the slightest noise in the street, like hurrying foot- steps, spread dismay through the room, and nearly drove the two principal sufferers frantic. Miss Beauchamp, I found, had been twice in terrible hysterics, but, with marvellous self-possession, calmlv left the room when she felt them coming on, and retired to the farthest pail of lli< 1 house. While Mr M and I were con- versing in a low whisper near the lire-place, a heavy, but muffled knock at the street door, announced the arrival of another express MOTHER AND SOX. 433 from the Old Bailey. Mrs Beauchamp trembled violently, and the very bed quivered under her, as she saw the billet delivered into my hands. I opened it, and read aloud, — " 4 o'clock, O. B. Judge summing up— sorry to say, a little un- favourably to prisoner. Don't think, however, prisoner will be capitally convicted." Within this slip, was another, which was from Beauchamp himself, and addressed, — 4 * Sweet loves!— Courage! The crisis approaches. I am not in despair. God is merciful ! May he bless you for ever and ever, my mother, my Ellen! — H. B." The gloomy tenor of the last billet— for we could not conceal them from either, as they insisted on seeing them alter we had read them— excited Mrs and Miss Beauchamp almost to frenzv. It was heart-rending to see them both shaking in every muscle, and utter- ing the most piteous moans. I resolved not to quit them till the event was known one way or another, and dismissed Mr M , begging him to return home with the carriage, and infor m my wife that I should not dine at home. I then begged that some refresh- ment might be brought in, ostensibly for my dinner, but really to give me an opportunity of forcing a little nourishment on mv wretch- ed patients. My meal, however, was scanty and solitary ; for I could scarcely eat myself, and could not induce any one else to touch food. M This must be a day of fasting V sighed Mrs Beauchamp; and I desisted from the attempt. M Mrs Beauchamp," inquired her sister-in-law, " would you like to hear a chapter in the Bible read to you? " " Y — ye — yes !" she replied, eagerly ; " Let it be the parable of the prodigal son; and perhaps Dr— — will read it to us?" What an affecting selection ! — Thinking it might serve to occupy their minds for a short time, I commenced reading it, but not very steadily or firmly. The relieving tears gushed forth freely from Mrs Beauchamp, and every one in the room, as I went on with that most touching, beautiful, and appropriate parable. When I had concluded, and amidst a pause of silent expectation, another billet was brought : — "5 o'clock, 0. B. Judge still summing up with great pains. Symptoms of leaning towards the prisoner." Another agitating hour elapsed— how, I scarcely know; and a breathless messenger brought a sixth billet : — " 6 o'clock, 0. B. Jury retired to consider verdict — been absent half an hour. Rumoured in court that two hold out against the rest — not known on which side." 28 l&l MOTHER AND SON. After the reading of this torturing note, which Mrs Beauchamp did not ask to see, she lifted up her shaking hands to Heaven, and seemed lost in an agony of prayer. After a few minutes spent in this way, she gasped, almost inaudibly, — " Oh! Doctor, read once more the parable you have read, beginning at the twentieth verse." I took the Bible in my hands, and tremulously read, — " And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion,"— (a short, bitter, hysteric laugh broke from 3Irs Beauchamp,) — " and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. " And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it ; and let us eat and be merry ; " For this my son was dead and is alive again ; he was lost and is found : and they began" The deathlike silence in which my trembling voice was listened to, was broken by the sound of a slight bustle in the street beneath, and the noise of some approaching vehicle. We scarcely breath- ed. The sound increased. Miss Beauchamp slowly dropped on her knees beside the bed, and buried her ashy face in the clothes. The noise outside increased; voices were heard; and at length a short faint " huzza !" was audible. " There !— I told you so ! He is free ! — My son is acquitted !" exclaimed Mrs Beauchamp, sitting in an instant upright in bed, stretching her arms upwards, and clapping her hands in ecstasy. Her features were lit up with a glorious smile. She pushed back her dishevelled gray hair, and sat straining her eye and ear, and stretching forward her hands, as if to enjoin silence. Then was heard the sound of footsteps rapidly ascending the stairs ; the door was knocked at, and before I could reach it, for the purpose of preventing any sudden surprise, in rushed the old steward, frantic with joy, waving his hat over his head. "Not Guilty! Not Guilty I — Not Guilty, my Lady!" he gasped, all in a breath, in defiance of my cautioning movements. 44 lie's coming! He's coming ! He's coming, my Lady ! " Miss Beau- champ sank in an instant on the floor, with a faint scream, and was earned out of the room in a swoon. Mrs Beauchamp again clapped her hands, ller son rushed into the room, flung himself at her feet, and threw his arms around her. For several moments be kicked her in his embraces, kissing her wiili convulsive fondaasa. "My mQtherl my own mother! — Your sou'/' lie gasped ; but ^he beard him not. She had expired in his arms. MOTHER AND SON. 4o3 To proceed with my narrative, after recounting such a lamentable catastrophe, is like conducting a spectator to the death-strewn plain, after the day of battle! All, in the once happy family of Beauchamp, was thenceforth sorrow, sickness, broken-hearted- ness, and death. As for the unhappy Beauchamp, he was released from the horrors of a prison, only to " turn his pale face to the wall," on a lingering, languishing bed of sickness, which he could not quit, even to follow the poor remains of his mother to their final resting-place in shire. He was not only confined to his bed, but wholly unconscious of the time of the burial, for a fierce nervous fever kept him in a state of continual delirium. Another physician and myself were in constant attendance on him. Poor Miss Beauchamp also was ill, and, if possible, in a worse plight than her cousin. The reader cannot be surprised that such long and in- tense sufferings should have shattered her vital energies— should have sown the seeds of consumption in her constitution. Her pale, emaciated, shadowy figure, is now before me!— After continuing under my care for several weeks, her mother carried her home into shire, in a most precarious state, hoping the usual bene- ficial results expected from a return to native air ! Poor girl ! she gave me a little pearl ring, as a keepsake, the day she left ; and intrusted to me a rich diamond ring, to give to her cousin, Henry. "It is too large now for my fingers," said she, with a sigh, as she dropped it into my hand, from her wasted finger. "Tell him," said she, "as soon as you consider it safe, that my love is his— my whole heart ! And though we may never meet on this side the grave, let him wear it to think of me, and hope for happiness here- after ! " These were among the last words that sweet young wo- man ever spoke to me. As the reader, possibly, may think he has been long enough de- tained among these sorrowful scenes, I shall draw them now to a close, and omit much of what I had set down for publication. Mr Beauchamp did not once rise from his bed during two months, the greater part of which time was passed in a state of stupor. At other periods he was delirious, and raved dreadfully about scenes with which the manuscript he committed to me in prison had made me long and painfully familiar. He loaded himself with the heaviest curses, for the misery he had occasioned to his mother and Ellen. He had taken it into his head that the latter was also dead, and that he had attended her funeral. He was not convinced to the i"ib MOTHER AND SOX. contrary, till I judged it safe to allow him to open a letter she had addressed to him, under cover to me. She told him she thought she was "getting strong again;" and that if he would still accept her heart and hand, in the event of his recovery, they were his un- changeably. Nothing contributed so much to Beauchamp's re- covery as this letter. With what fund transports did he receive the ring Ellen had intrusted to my keeping ! His old steward, Pritchard, after accompanying his venerated lady's remains into the country, returned immediately to town, and scarcely ever after left his master's bedside. His officious affec- tion rendered the office of the valet a comparative sinecure. Main- were the piques and heart-burnings between these two zealous and emulous servants of an unfortunate master, on account of the one usurping the other's duty ! One of the earliest services that old Pritchard rendered his mas- ter, as soon as I warranted him in so doing, was to point out who had been the "serpent in his path" — the origin — the deliberate, diabolical, designer of his ruin — in the person of his tutor. The shock of this discovery rendered Beauchamp speechless for the re- mainder of the day. Strange and wise are the ways of Providence ! How does the reader imagine the disgraceful disclosures were brought about? Sir Edward Streighton, who had got into his hands the title-deeds of one of the estates, out of which lie and his scoundrel companions had swindled Beauchamp, had been hardy enough— quern Deus vult perdere, jnius dementia — to venture into a court of law, to prosecute his claim ! In spite of threatened dis- closures, he pressed on to trial ; when such a series of flagrant ini- quities was developed, unexpectedly to all parties, as compelled Sir Edward, who was in court incognito, to slip away, and, with- out even venturing home, embark for the Continent, and from thence to that common sewer of England, — America \ His papers were all seized under a judge's order, by Mr Beauchamp's agents; and among them was found the letter addressed to him by I coolly commending his unsuspicious pupil to destruction ! Under Beauchamp's order, bis steward made a copy of the let- ter, and enclosed it, with the following lines, to the tutor, who had since contrived to gain a vicarage ! * His companion in villain, who in lln's narrative is called Wilier, brazened out Ibe affair with unequalled effrontery, and continued in England till within the last rery few v ;,, ' s ; when, rank with regnery, he tumbled into the grave, and so cheated justice. The hoary \illain might be seen nightly at — Street, with huge green glam o up to bis knees in cards- and then endeavouring, with palsied hand. tO shake the dice with which he had ruined mi main I MOTHER AND SOX. 457 u To the Reverend Peter Eccles, vicar of . "Sir,— A letter, of which the following is a copy, has been discovered, in your handwriting, among the papers of Sir Edward Streighton; and the same post which brings you this, encloses y oar own original letter to Sir Edward, with all necessary explanations, to the bishop of your diocese. "The monstrous perfidy it discloses will be forthwith made as pu- blic as the journals of the day can make it. "Tuomas PniTcnARD, Agent for Mr Beauchamp** What results attended the application to the bishop, and whether or not the concluding threat was carried into effect, J have reasons for concealing. There are, who do not need information on those points. The first time that I saw Mr Beauchamp down stairs, after his long, painful, and dangerous illness, was on an evening in the Jul\» following. He was sitting in his easy-chair, which was drawn close to a bow-window, commanding an uninterrupted view of the setting sun. It was piteous to see how loosely his black clothes hung about him. If you touched any of his limbs, they felt like those of a skeleton clothed with the vestments of the living. His long thin fingers seemed attenuated and blanched to a more than femi- nine delicacy of size and hue. His face was shrunk and sallow, and his forehead bore the searings of a " scorching woe." His hair, naturally black as jet, was now- of a sad iron-gray colour ; and his eyes were sunk, but full of vivid, though melancholy expres- sion. The air of noble frankness, spirit, and cheerfulness, which had heretofore graced his countenance, was fled for ever. In short, to use the quaint expression of a sterling old English writer, " care had scratched out the comeliness of his visage." He appeared to have lost all interest in life, even though Ellen was alive, and they were engaged to be married within a few months ! In his right hand was a copy of Bacon's Essays; and on the little linger of his left I observed the rich ring given him by his cousin. As he sat, I thought him a fit subject for a painter ! Old Pritchard, dressed also in plain mourning, sat at a table, busily engaged with account-books and piles of papers, and seemed to be consulting his master on the affairs of his estate, when I entered. " 1 hope, Doctor, you'll excuse Mr Pritchard continuing in the room with us. He's in the midst of important business," he continued, seeing the old man preparing to leave the room ; " he is my friend now, as well as steward ; and the oldest, I may say only, 438 MOTHER AND SON. friend I have left !" I entreated him not to mention the subject, and the faithful old steward bowed, and resumed his seat. "Well," said Mr Beauchamp, after answering the usual inquiries respecting his health, " I am not, after all, absolutely ruined in point of fortune. Pritchard has just been telling me that I have more than four hundred a-ycar left" "Sir, Sir, you may as well call it a good 500/. a-year," said Pritchard, eagerly, taking off his spectacles. " I am but 20/. a-year short of the mark, and I'll manage that, by hook or by crook, and you — see if I don't !" Beauchamp smiled faintly. " You see, Doctor, Pritchard is determined to put the best face upon matters." "Well, Mr Beauchamp," I replied, " taking it even at the lower sum mentioned, lam sincerely rejoiced to find you so comfortably provided for." While I was speaking the tears rose in his eyes .—trembled there for a few moments — and then, spite of all at- tempts to prevent them, overflowed. " W T hat distresses you? I inquired, taking his slender fingers in mine. When he had a little recovered himself, he replied, with emotion, " Am I not comparatively a beggar? Does it suit to hear that Henry Beauchamp is a beggar ! Alas ! I have nothing now but misery— hopeless misery ! Where shall I go, what shall 1 do, to find peace? Wherever I go, I shall carry a broken heart, and a consciousness that I have deserved it! 1 — I, the murderer of two" " Two, Mr Beauchamp? What can you mean? The voice of justice has solemnly acquitted you of murdering the miserable Aps- ley — and who the other is" "My mother! my poor, fond, doating mother! I have killed her, as certainly as I slew the guilty wretch that ruined me! My ingratitude pierced her heart, as my bullet his head ! That it is which distracts — which maddens me ! The rest 1 might have borne — even the anguish I have occasioned my sweet forgiving Ellen, and the profligate destruction of the fortunes of my house! " I saw he was in one of the frequent fits of despondency to which he was latterly subject, and thought it best not to interrupt the strain of his bitter retrospections. I therefore listened to his self-accusations iu silence. " Surely you have ground for comfort and consolation in the un- alterable, the increasing attachment of your cousin ?" said I, after :i melancholy pause. "Ah, my God! it is that which drives the nail deeper! I can- MOTHER AND SON. 439 not, cannot bear it! How shall I dare to wed her ! To bring her to an impoverished house — the house of a ruined gamester — when she has a right to rule in the halls of my fathers? To hold out to her the arms of a murderer!" He ceased abruptly — trembled, clasped bis hands together, and seemed lost in a painful reverie. " God has, after all, intermingled some sweets in the cup of sor- rows you have drained : why cast them scornfully away, and dwell on the state of the bitter?" " Because my head is disordered; my appetites are corrupted. I cannot now taste happiness. I know it not ; the relish is gone for •jvcr ! " "In what part of the country do you propose residing?" I in- quired. " I can never be received in English society again — and I will not remain here in a perpetual pillory — to be pointed at ! — I shall quit England for ever" "You shan't, though!" exclaimed the steward, bursting into tears, and rising from his chair, no longer able to control himself — "You sha'n't go," — he continued, walking hurriedly to and fro, snapping his fingers. "You sha'n't— no, you sha'n't, Master Beauchamp— though I say it that shouldn't !— You shall trample on my old bones, first." " Come, come, kind old man ! — Give me your hand !" — exclaimed Mr Beauchamp, affected by this lively show of feeling, on the part of his old and tried servant.—" Come, I won't go, then— I won't! " " Ah ! — point at you — point at you ! did you say, Sir ? I'll be if I won't do for any one that points at you, what you did for that rogue Aps" "Hush, Pritchard!" said his master, rising from his chair,, and looking shudderingly at him. The sun was fast withdrawing, and a portion of its huge blood- red disk was already dipped beneath the horizon. Is there a more touching or awful objecl in nature?— AYe who were gazing at it, felt that there was not. A 11 before us was calmness and repose. Beauchamp's kindling eye assured me that his soul sympathized with the scene. "Doctor— Doctor,"— heexclaimed, suddenly,— "AYhat has come to me? Is there a devil mocking me ? Or is it an angel whisper- ing that I shall yet be happy ? May I listen— inay I listen to it ? " —He paused. His excitement increased. "Oh! yes, yes! I feel intimately— I know I am reserved for happier days ! God smileth 440 MOTHER AND SOX. on me, and my soul is once more warmed and enlightened ! " — An air of joy diffused itself over his features. I never before saw the gulf between despair and hope passed with such lightning speed! — Was it returning delirium only? " How can he enjoy happiness who has never tasted misery ? " he continued, uninterrupted by me. "And may not he most re- lish peace, who has been longest tossed in trouble!— Why — why have I been desponding ? — Sweet, precious Ellen ! I will write to you! We shall soon meet; we shall even be happy together! — Pritchard," he exclaimed, turning abruptly to the listening steward — " what say you ? — Will you be my major-domo, — eh? — Will you be with us our managing man in the country, once again?" — "Ay, Master Beauchamp," — replied Pritchard, crying like a child,— "as long as these old eyes, and hands, and head, can serve you, they are yours ! I'll be any thing you'd like to make me." " There's a bargain, then, between you and me ! — You see, Doctor, Ellen will not cast me off; and old Pritchard will cling to me ; why should I throw away happiness? " "Certainly — certainly — there is much happiness before you" "The thought is transporting, that I shall soon leave the scenes of guilt and dissipation for ever, and breathe the fresh and balmy atmosphere of virtue once again ! How I long for the time ! Mo- ther, will you watch over your prodigal son?" How little he thought of the affecting recollections he had called forth in my mind, by mentioning — the prodigal son! I left him about nine o'clock, recommending him to retire to rest, and not expose himself to the cool of the evening. I felt ex- cited, myself, by the tone of our conversation, which, I suspected, however, had on his part verged for into occasional Mightiness. / had not such sanguine hopes for him, as he entertained for himself. I suspected that his constitution, however it might rally for a time, from its present prostration, had received a shuck before which it must ere while fall! About five o'clock the next morning, I and all my family wore alarmed by one of the most violent and continued ringings and thunderings at the door 1 ever heard. On looking out of my bedroom window, 1 saw Mr Beauchamp's valet below, wringing his hands, and stamping about the steps like one distracted. Full of fearful apprehension, 1 dressed myself in an instant, and came down stairs. "In the name of God, what is the matter? " I inquired, seeing the man pale as ashes. MOTHER AND SOX. 441 "Oh, my master!— come— come"— be gasped, and could get out no more. AVe both ran at a top speed to Mr Beauchamp's lodg- ings. Even at that early hour, there was an agitated group before the door. I rushed up stairs, and soon learnt all. About a quarter of an hour before, the family were disturbed by hearing Mr Beau- champ's Newfoundland dog, which always slept at his master's bed- room door, howling, whining, and scratching against it. The valet and some one else came to see what was the matter. They found the dog trembling violently, his eyes fixed on the floor ; and, on looking down, they saw blood flowing from under the door. The valet threw himself half-frantic against the door, and burst it open; he rushed in, and saw all ! Poor Beauchamp, with a razor grasped in his right hand, was lying on the floor lifeless ! I never now hear of a young man — especially of fortune — fre- quenting the gaming-table, but I think with a sigh of Henry Beau- champ. I cannot resist the opportunity of appending to this narrative the following mournful testimony to its fidelity, which appeared in the Morning Herald newspaper of the 19th October, 1851 : — Sir, — There is an awful narrative in the current number of Blackwood's Magazine, of the fate of a gamester, which, in ad- dition to the writer's assurances, bears intrinsic evidence of truth. Independent even of this, I can believe it all, highly coloured as some may consider it, — for lam a ruined gamester! Yes, Sir, I am here lying as. it were rotting in gaol, because I have, like a fool, spent over the gaming-table all my patrimony! Twenty-five thousand pounds are all gone at Rouge ct Noir and Hazard ! All gone ! I could not help thinking that the writer of that terrible account had me in his eye, or has been told something of my history ! When I shall be released from my horrid prison I know not; but even when I am, life will have lost all its relish, for I shall be a beggar! If I had a hundred pounds to spare, I would spend it all in reprinting the "Gambler*' from Blackwood's Magazine, and dis- tributing it among the frequenters of C 's and F s, and other hells ! I am sure its overwhelming truth and power would shock some into pausing on the brink of ruin! 442 MOTHER AND SOX. I address you, because your paper lias been one of the most de- termined and successful enemies to gaming. — I am, Sir, yours obediently, A RUINED GAMESTER. Prison, Oct. 17. THE END. ■a tr-