HEART;

A Social Novel. 

by

MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER, A. M. , F. R. S. 

Author ofProverbial Philosophy. 

Hartford:Published by Silas Andrus & Son. 1851. 

HEART. 

CHAPTER I. 

WHEREIN TWO ANXIOUS PARENTS HOLD A COLLOQUY. 

"Is he rich, ma'am? is he rich? ey? what--what? is he rich?"

Sir Thomas was a rapid little man, and quite an epicure in the use ofthat luscious monosyllable. 

"Is he rich, Lady Dillaway? ey? what?"

"Really, Thomas, you never give me time to answer, " replied thequintescence of quietude, her ladyship; "and then it is perpetually thesame question, and--"

"Well, ma'am, can there be a more important question asked? I repeat it, is he rich? ey? what?

"You know, Sir Thomas, we never are agreed about the meaning of thatword; but I should say, very. "

As Lady Dillaway always spoke quite softly in a whisper, she had failedto enlighten the knight; but he seemed, notwithstanding, to have caughther intention instinctively; for he added, in his impetuous, imperiousway, "No nonsense now, about talents and virtues, and all such trash; butquick, ma'am, quick--is the man rich?"

"In talents, as you mention the word, certainly, very rich; a moreclever or accomplished--"

"Cut it short, ma'am--cut it short, I say--I'll have no adventurers, wholive by their wits, making up to my daughter--pedantic puppies, good forushers, nothing else. What do they mean by knowing so much? ey? what?"

"And then, Sir Thomas, if you will only let me speak, a man of purermorals, finer feelings, higher Christian--"

"Bah! well enough for curates: go on, ma'am--go on, and make haste tothe point of all points--is he rich?"

"You know I never will make haste, Thomas, for I never can havepatience, and you shall hear; I am little in the habit of judging peopleentirely by their purses, not even a son-in-law, provided there is asufficiency on the one side or the other for--"

"Quick, mum--quick--rich--rich? will the woman drive me mad?" and SirThomas Dillaway, Knight, rattled loose cash in both pockets morevindictively than ever. But the spouse, nothing hurried, still crept onin her _sotto voce adantino_ style, "Mr. Clements owes nothing, has something, and above and beside all hisgood heart, good mind, good fame, good looks, good family, possesses acontented--"

"Pish! contented, bah!" our hasty knight's nose actually curled upwardsin utter scorn as he added, "Now, that's enough--quite enough. I'll beta plum the man's poor. Contented indeed! did you ever know a rich manyet who was contented--ey? mum--ey? or a poor one that wasn't--ey? what?I've no patience with those contented fellows: it's my belief theysteal away the happiness of monied men. If this Mr. Clements wasrich--rich, one wouldn't mind so much about talents, virtues, andcontentment--work-house blessings; but the man's poor, I knowit--poo-o-or!"

Sir Thomas had a method quite his own of pronouncing those contradictorymonosyllables, rich and poor: the former he gave out with an unctuous, fish-saucy gusto, and the word seemed to linger on his palate as adelicious morsel in the progress of delightful deglutition; but when heuttered the word poor, it was with that "mewling and puking" miserableface, appropriated from time immemorial to the gulping of a blackdraught. 

"No, Lady Dillaway, right about's the next word I shall say to thatsmooth-looking pauper, Mr. Henry Clements--to think of his impudence, making up to my daughter, indeed! a poo-o-o-r man, too. "

"I did not tell you he was poor, Sir Thomas: you have run away with thatidea on your own account: the young man has enough for the present, owesnothing for the past, and reasonable expectations for the--

"Future, I suppose, ey? what? I hate futures, all the lot of 'em: cashdown, ready money, bird in the hand, that's my ticket, mum:expectations, indeed! Well, go on--go on; I'm as patient as a--as amule, you see; go on, will you; I may as well hear it all out, LadyDillaway. "

"Well, Sir Thomas, since you think so little of the future, I will notinsist on expectations; though I really can only excuse your methods ofjudging by the fancy that you are far too prudent in fearing for thefuture: however, if you will not admit this, let me take you on your ownground, the present; perhaps Mr. Clements may not possess quite as muchas I could wish him, but then surely, dear Thomas, our daughter musthave more than--"

I object to seeing oaths in print; unless it must be once in a way, as aneedful point of character: probably the reader's sagacity will supplymany omissions of mine in the eloquence of Sir Thomas Dillaway andothers. But his calm spouse, nothing daunted, quietly whispered on--"Youknow, Thomas, you have boasted to me that your capital is doubling everyyear; penny-postage has made the stationery business most prosperous;and if you were wealthy when the old king knighted you as lord mayor, surely you can spare something handsome now for an only daughter, who--"

"Ma'am!" almost barked the affectionate father, "if Maria marries money, she shall have money, and plenty of it, good girl; but if she willpersist in wedding a beggar, she may starve, mum, starve, and all herpoverty-stricken brats too, for any pickings they shall get out of mypocket. Ey? what? you pretend to read your Bible, mum--don't you knowwe're commanded to 'give to him that hath, and to take away from himthat--'"

"For shame, Sir Thomas Dillaway!" interrupted the wife, as well shemight, for all her quietude: she was a good sort of woman, and herbetter nature aroused its wrath at this vicious application of a truthso just when applied to morals and graces, so bitterly iniquitous in thecase of this world's wealth. I wish that our ex-lord mayor's distortedtext may not be one of real and common usage. So, silencing her lord, whose character it was to be overbearing to the meek, but cringing toany thing like rebuke or opposition, she forthwith pushed heradvantages, adding--

"Your income is now four thousand a-year, as you have told me, Thomas, every hour of every day, since your last lucky hit in the governmentcontract for blue-elephants and whitey-browns. We have only John andMaria; and John gets enough out of his own stock-brokering business tokeep his curricle and belong to clubs--and--alas! my fears are many formy poor dear boy--I often wish, Thomas, that our John was not so wellsupplied with money: whereas, poor Maria--"

"Tush, ma'am, you're a fool, and have no respect at all for monied men. Jack's a rich man, mum--knows a trick or two, sticks at nothing on'Change, shrewd fellow, and therefore, of course I don't stint him: ha!he's a regular Witney comforter, that boy--makes money--ay, for all hisseeming extravagance, the clever little rogue knows how to keep it, too. If you only knew, ma'am, if you only knew--but we don't blab to fools. "

I dare say "fools" will hear the wise man's secret some day. 

"Well, Thomas, I am sure I have no wish to pry into businesstransactions; all my present hope is to help the cause of our poor dearMaria. "

"Don't call the girl 'poor, ' Lady Dillaway; it's no recommendation, Ican tell you, though it may be true enough. Girls are a bad spec, unlessthey marry money. If our girl does this, well; she will indeed be to mea dear Maria, though not a poo-o-o-r one; if she doesn't, let her bide, and be an old maid; for as to marrying this fellow Clement's, I'll cuthim adrift to-morrow. "

"If you do, Sir Thomas, you will break our dear child's heart. "

"Heart, ma'am! what business has my daughter with a heart?" [what, indeed?] "I hate hearts; they were sent, I believe, purposely to makethose who are plagued with 'em poo-o-o-r. Heart, indeed! When did heartever gain money? ey? what? It'll give, O yes, plenty--plenty, tocharities, and churches, and orphans, and beggars, and any thing else, by way of getting rid of gold; but as to gaining--bah! heartindeed--pauperizing bit of muscle! save me from wearing under mywaistcoat what you're pleased to call a heart. No, mum, no; if the girlhas got a heart to break, I've done with her. Heart indeed! she eithermarries money and my blessing, or marries beggary and my curse. But Ishould like to know who wants her to marry at all? Let her die an oldmaid. "

Probably this dialogue need go no farther: in the coming chapter we willtry to be didactic. Meantime, to apostrophize ten words upon that lastheartless sentence:

"Let her die an old maid. " An old maid! how many unrecorded sorrows, howmuch of cruel disappointment and heart-cankering delay, how often-timesunwritten tragedies are hidden in that thoughtless little phrase! O, themass of blighted hopes, of slighted affections, of cold neglect, andfoolish contumely, wrapped up in those three syllables! Kind heart, kindheart, never use them; neither lightly as in scorn, nor sadly as inpity: spare that ungenerous reproach. What! canst thou think that from afeminine breast the lover, the wife, the mother, can be utterly spongedaway without long years of bitterness? Can Nature's wounds becicatrized, or her soft feelings seared, without a thousand secretpangs? Hath it been no trial to see youthful bloom departing, and middleage creep on, without some intimate one to share the solitude of life?Ay, and the coming prospect too--hath it greater consolations than theretrospect? How faintly common friends can fill that hollow of theheart! How feebly can their kindness, at the warmest, imitate thesympathies and love of married life! And in the days of sickness, or thehour of death--to be lonely, childless, husbandless, to be lightly caredfor, little missed--who can wonder that all those bruised and brokenyearnings should ferment within the solitary mind, and some, times sourup the milk of human kindness? Be more considerate, more just, moreloving to that injured heart of woman; it hath loved deeply in its day;but imperative duty or untoward circumstances nipped those earlyblossoms, and often generosity towards others, or the constancy ofyouthful blighted love, has made it thus alone. There was an age in thisworld's history, and may be yet again (if Heart is ever to be monarch ofthis social sphere), when those who lived and died as Jephthah'sdaughter, were reckoned worthily with saints and martyrs; Heed thou, thus, of many such, for they have offered up their hundred warmyearnings, a hecatomb of human love, to God, the betrothed of theiraffections; and they move up and down among this inconsiderate world, doing good, Sisters of Charity, full of pure benevolence, and beneficentbeyond the widow's mite. Heed kinder then, and blush for very shame, Oman and woman! looking on this noble band of ill-requited virgins;remember all their trials, and imitate their deeds; for among the legionof that unreguarded sisterhood whom you coldly call old maids, are oftenseen the world's chief almoners of warm unselfish sympathy, generous inmind, if not in means, and blooming with the immortal youth of charityand kindliness. 

CHAPTER II. 

HOW THE DAUGHTER HAS A HEART; AND, WHAT IS COMMONER, A LOVER. 

Yes, Maria Dillaway, though Sir Thomas's own daughter, had a heart, awarm and good one: it was her only beauty, but assuredly at once thebest adornment and cosmetic in the world. The mixture of two suchconflicting characters as her father and mother might (with commonProvidence to bless the pair) unitedly produce heart; although theirplebeian countenances could hardly be expected without a direct miracleto generate beauty. Maria inherited from her father at once hisimpetuosity and his little button-nose: although the latter was neitherpurple nor pimply, and the former was more generous and better directed:from her mother she derived what looked to any one at first sight verylike red hair, along with great natural sweetness of disposition: albeither locks had less of fire, and her sweetness more of it: sympathy wasadded to gentleness, zeal to patience, and universal tenderness to ageneral peace with all the world; for that extreme quietude, almostapathy, alluded to before, having been superseded by paternalimpetuosity, the result of all was Heart. She doated on her mother; and(how she contrived this, it is not quite so easy to comprehend) shefound a great deal loveable even in her father. But in fact she lovedevery body. Charity was the natural atmosphere of her kind and feelingsoul--always excusing, assisting, comforting, blessing; charity lentmusic to her tongue, and added beauty to her eyes--charity gave grace toan otherwise ordinary figure, and lit her freckled cheek with the spiritof loveliness. Let us be just--nay, more: let us be partial, to the goodlooks of poor dear Maria. Notwithstanding the snub nose (it is notsnub; who says it is snub?--it is _mignon_, personified goodnature)--notwithstanding the carroty hair (I declare, it was nothing buta fine pale auburn after all)--notwithstanding the peppered face (oh, how sweetly rayed with smiles!) and the common figure (gentle, unobtrusive, full of delicate attentions)--yes, notwithstanding allthese unheroinals, no one who had a heart himself could look upon Mariawithout pleasure and approval. She was the very incarnation ofcheerfulness, kindness, and love: you forgot the greenish colour ofthose eyes which looked so tenderly at you, and so often-times weredimmed with tears of unaffected pity; her smile, at any rate, was mostenchanting, the very sunshine of an amiable mind; her lips droppedblessings; her brow was an open plain of frankness and candour;sincerity, warmth, disinterested sweet affections threw such a lustre ofloveliness over her form, as well might fascinate the mind alive tospiritual beauty: and altogether, in spite of natural defects anddisadvantages--_nez retroussé_, Cleopatra locks, and all--no one butthose constituted like her materialized father and his kind, ever lookedupon Maria without unconsciously admiring her, he scarcely knew forwhat. Though there appeared little to praise, there certainly was everything to please; and faulty as in all pictorial probability was eachlineament of face and line of form, taken separately and by detail, theveil of universal charity softened and united them into one harmoniouswhole, making of Maria Dillaway a most pleasant, comfortable, wife-likelittle personage. 

At least, so thought Henry Clements. Neither was it any suddenfortnight's fancy, but the calm consideration of two full years. Maria'swas a character which grew upon your admiration gradually--a characterto like at first just a little; then to be led onwards imperceptiblyfrom liking to loving; and thence from fervid summer probably to feverheat. She dawned upon young Henry like the blush of earliest morn, stillshining brighter and fairer till glorious day was come. 

He had casually made her acquaintance in the common social circle, andeven on first introduction had been much pleased, not to say captivated, with her cordial address, frank unsophisticated manners, and winsomelooks; he contrasted her to much advantage with the affected coquette, the cold formal prude, the flippant woman of fashion, the empty headsand hollow hearts wherewithal society is peopled. He had long beenwearied out with shallow courtesies, frigid compliments, and otherconventional hypocrisies, up and down the world; and wanted somethingbetter to love than mere surface beauty, mere elegant accomplishment--ina word, he yearned for Heart, and found the object of his longings inaffectionate Maria. 

This first casual acquaintance he had of course taken every opportunityto improve as best he might, and happily found himself more and morecharmed on every fresh occasion. How heartily glad she was to see him!how unaffectedly sincere in her amiable joy! how like a kind sister, asympathizing friend, a very true-love--a dear, cheerful, warm-heartedgirl, who would make the very model for a wife!

It is little wonder that, with all external drawbacks, now well-nighforgotten, the handsome Henry Clements found her so attractive; northat, following diligently his points of advantage, he progressed fromacquaintanceship to intimacy, and intimacy to avowed admiration; andthence (between ourselves) to the resolute measure of engagement. 

I say between ourselves, because nobody else in the world knew it butthe billing pair of lovers; and even they have got the start of us onlyby a few hours. As for Henry Clements, he was a free man in all senses, with nobody to bias his will or control his affections--an orphan, unclogged by so much as an uncle or aunt to take him to task on thescore of his attachment, or to plague him with impertinent advice. Hisfather, Captain Clements of the seventieth, had fallen "gloriously" onthe bloody field of Waterloo, and the pensioned widow had survived hergallant hero barely nine winters; leaving little Henry thrown upon thewide world at ten years of age, under the nominal guardianship of somevery distant Ulster cousin of her own, a Mackintosh, Mackenzie, orMacfarlane--it is not yet material which; and as for the lad's littleproperty, his poor patrimony of two hundred a-year had hitherto amplysufficed for Harrow and for Cambridge (where he had distinguishedhimself highly), for his chambers in the Temple, and his quietbachelor-mode of life as a man of six-and-twenty. 

Accordingly, our lover took counsel of nobody but Maria's beaming eyes, when he almost unconsciously determined to lay siege to her: he reallycould not make up his mind to the preliminary formal process of stormingSir Thomas in his counting-house, at the least until he had made surethat Maria's kind looks were any thing more particular than universalcharity; and as to Lady Dillaway, it was impossible to broach sodelicate a business to her till the daughter had looked favourably asaforesaid, set aside her ladyship's formidable state of quiescence, andapparent (though only apparent) lack of sympathy. So the lover stillwent on sunning his soul from time to time in Maria's kindly smiles, until one day, that is, yesterday, they mutually found out by some happyaccident how very dear they were to each other; and mutually vowed everto continue so. It was quite a surprise this, even to both of them--anextemporary unrehearsed outburst of the heart; and Maria discoveredherself pledged before she had made direct application to mamma aboutthe business. However, once done, she hastened to confide the secret toher mother's ear, earnestly requesting her to break it to papa. With howlittle of success, we have learnt already. 

CHAPTER III. 

PATERNAL AMIABILITIES. 

Maria, as we know, loved her father, for she loved every thing thatbreathes; but she would not have been human had she not also feared him. In fact, he was to her a very formidable personage, and one would havethought any thing but an amiable one. Over Maria's gentle kindness hecould domineer as loftily as he would cringe in cowardly humiliation tothe boisterous effrontery of that unscrupulous and wily stock-jobber, "my son Jack. " With the tyranny proper to a little mind, he wouldtrample on the neck of a poor meek daughter's filial duty, desiring tohonour its parent by submission; and then, with consistent meanness, would lick the dust like a slave before an undutiful only son, who hadamply redeemed all possible criminalities by successful (I did not sayhonest) gambling in the funds, and otherwise. 

Yes! John Dillaway was rich; and, climax to his praise, rich by his ownkeen skill, independent of his father, though he condescended still tobleed him. In this "money century, " as Kohl, the graphic traveller, hascalled it, riches "cover the multitude of sins;" leaving poor Maria'scharity to cover its own naked virtues, if it can. So John was thefather's darling, notwithstanding the very heartless and unbecomingconduct he had exhibited daily for these thirty years, and the markedscorn wherewithal he treated that pudgy city knight, his dearprogenitor; but then, let us repeat it as Sir Thomas did--Jack wasrich--rich, and such a comfort to his father; whereas Maria, poor fool, with all her cheap unmarketable love and duty, never had earned apenny--never could, but was born to be a drain upon him. Therefore didhe scorn her, and put aside her kindnesses, because she could not "makemoney. "

For what end on earth should a man make money! It is reasonable toreply, for the happiness' sake of others and himself; but, in thefrequent case of a rich and cold Sir Thomas, what can be the object insuch? Not to purchase happiness therewith himself, nor yet to distributeit to others; a very dog in the manger, he snarls above the hay hecannot eat, and is full of any thoughts rather than of giving: whilst, as for his own pleasure, he manifestly will not stop a minute to enjoy ataste of happiness, even if he finds it in his home; nay, more, if itmeets him by the way, and wishes to cling about his heart, he will befound often to fling it off with scorn, as a reaper would the wild sweetcorn-flower in some handful of wheat he is cutting. O, Sir Thomas! isnot poor Maria's love worth more than all your rich rude Jack's suddenflush of money? is it not a deeper, higher, purer, wiser, more abundantsource of pleasure? You have yet to learn the wealth of her affections, and his poverty of soul. 

It was not without heart-sickness, believe me, sore days and weepingnights, that affectionate Maria saw her father growing more and moreestranged from her. True, he had never met her love so warmly that itwas not somewhat checked and chilled; true, his nature had reversed thelaw of reason, by having systematically treated her with less and lessof kindness ever since the nursery; she did seem able to remembersomething like affection in him while she was a prattling infant; but asthe mental daylight dawned apace, and she grew (one would fancy)worthier of a rational creature's love, it strangely had diminished yearby year; moreover, she could scarcely look back upon one solitaryoccasion, whereon her father's voice had instructed her in knowledge, spoken to her in sympathy, or guided her footsteps to religion. Still, habituated as she long had now become to this daily martyrdom of heart, and sorely bruised by coarse and common worldliness as had been everyfibre of her feelings, she could not help perceiving that things gotworse and worse, as the knight grew richer and richer; and often-timesher eyes ran over bitterly for coldness and neglect. There was, indeed, her mother to fly to; but she never had been otherwise than a very quietcreature, who made but little show of what feeling she possessed; andthen the daughter's loving heart was affectionately jealous of herfather too. 

"Why should he be so cold, with all his impetuosity? so formal, in spiteof his rapidity? so little generous of spirit, notwithstanding all hiswonderful prosperity?"

Ah, Maria, if you had not been quite so unsophisticated, you would haveleft out the latter "notwithstanding. " Nothing hardens the heart, dearchild, like prosperity; and nothing dries up the affections moreeffectually than this hot pursuit of wealth. The deeper a man digs intothe gold mine, the less able--ay, less willing--is he to breathe thesweet air of upper earth, or to bask in the daylight of heaven:downward, downward still, he casts the anchor of his grovellingaffections, and neither can nor will have a heart for any thing butgold. 

Moreover, have you wondered, dear Maria, at the common fact (one sees itin every street, in every village), that parental love is oftenest atits zenith in the nursery, and then falls lower and lower on thefirmament of human life, as the child gets older and older? Look at alldumb brutes, the lower animals of this our earth; is it not thus bynature's law with them? The lioness will perish to preserve that verywhelp, whom she will rend a year or two hence, meeting the young lion inthe forest; the hen, so careful of her callow brood, will peck at them, and buffet them away, directly they are fully fledged; the cow forgetshow much she once loved yonder well-grown heifer; and the terrier-bitchfights for a bit of gristle with her own two-year-old, whom she used tonurse so tenderly, and famished her own bowels to feed. And can youexpect that men, who make as little use as possible of Heart, thatunlucrative commodity--who only exercise Reason for shrewd purposes ofgain, not wise purposes of good, and who might as well belong toCunningham's "City of O, " for any souls they seem to carry about withthem--can you expect that such unaffectioned, unintelligent, unspiritualized animals, can rise far above the brute in feeling fortheir offspring? No, Maria; the nursery plaything grows into the exiledschool-boy; and the poor child, weaned from all he ought to love, sooncomes to be regarded in the light of an expensive youth; he is kept atarm's length, unblest, uncaressed, unloved, unknown; then he grows upapace, and tops his father's inches; he is a man now, and may well beturned adrift; if he can manage to make money, they are friends; but ifhe can only contrive to spend it, enemies. Then the complacent fathermoans about ingratitude, for he did his duty by the boy in sending himto school. 

O, faults and follies of the by-gone times, which lingered even to ageneration now speedily passing away!--ye are waning with it, and abetter dawn has broken on the world. Happily for man, the multiplicationof his kind, and pervading competition in all manner, of thingsmercantile, are breaking down monopolies, and hindering unjustaccumulation, with its necessary love of gain. "Satisfied with little"is young England's cry; a better motto than the "Craving after much" oftheir fathers. No longer immersed, single-handed, in a worldly business, which seven competitors now relieve him of; no longer engrossed with themint of gold gains, which a dozen honest rivals now are sharing with himeagerly, the parent has leisure to instruct his children's minds, totake an interest in their pursuits, and to cultivate their bestaffections. Home is no longer the place perpetually to be driven from;the voices of paternal duty and domestic love are thrillingly raised tolead the tuneful chorus of society; and fathers, as well as mothers, arebeginning to desire that their children may be able to remember themhereafter as the ever-sympathizing friend, the wisely indulgent teacher, the guide of their religion, and the guardian of their love; quite asmuch as the payer of their bills and the filler of their purses. 

The misfortune of a past and passing generation has been, too much moneyin too few hands; its faults, neglect of duty; its folly, to expecttherefrom the too-high meed of well-earned gratitude; and from thistriple root has grown up social selfishness, a general lack of Heart. Noparent ever yet, since the world was, did his duty properly, as Godintended him to do it, by the affections of the mind and the yearningsof the heart, as well as by the welfare of the body with its means, andlived to complain of an ungrateful child. He may think he did his duty;oh yes, good easy man! and say so too, very, very bitterly; and theworld may echo his most partial verdict, crying shame on the unnaturalGoneril and Regan, bad daughters who despise the Lear in old age, or onthe dissolute and graceless youth, whose education cost so much, andyields so very little. But money cannot compensate that maiden or thatyouth for early and habitual injustice done to their budding minds, their sensitive hearts, their craving souls, in higher, deeper, holierthings than even cash could buy. "Home affections"--this was the magicphrase inscribed upon the talisman they stole from that graceless youth;and the loss of home affections is scantily counterbalanced at the bestby a critical acquaintance with '_Dawes's Canons_, ' and '_Bos onEllipses_, ' in his ardent spring of life, and by a little more of thepaternal earnings which the legacy-office gives him in his manhood. 

But let us not condemn generations past and passing, and wink at ourown-time sins; we have many motes yet in our eyes, not to call them verybeams. The infant school, the factory, the Union, and other wholesalecentralizations, ruin the affections of our poor. O, for thespinning-wheel again within the homely cottage, and those difficultspellings by the grand-dame's knee! There is wisdom and stability in aland thick-set with such early local anchorages; but the other is allfalse, republican, and unaffectioned. So, too, the luxurious city clubhas cheated many a young pair of their just domestic happiness, for thehusband grew dissatisfied with home and all its poor humilities; whilsta bad political philosophy, discouraging marriage and denouncingoffspring, has insidiously crept into the very core of private families, setting children against parents and parents against children, because acold expediency winks at the decay of morals, and all united socialinfluences strike at the sacrifice of Heart. 

We are forgetting you, poor affectionate Maria, and yet will it comfortyour charity to listen. For the time is coming--yea, now is--when a moregenerous, though poorer age will condemn the Mammon phrensy of thatwhich has preceded it. Boldly do we push our standards in advance, pressing on the flying foe, certain that a gallant band will follow. Fearlessly, here and there, is heard the voice of some solitary zealot, some isolated missionary for love, and truth, and philanthropic good, some dauntless apostle in the cause of Heart, denouncing selfish wealthas the canker of society: and, hark! that voice is not alone; there is amurmur on the breeze as the sound of many waters; it comes, it comes!and the young have caught it up; and manhood hears the thrilling strainthat sinks into his soul; and old age, feebly listening, wonders (nevertoo late) that he had not hitherto been wiser; and the whole socialuniverse electrically touched from man to man, I hear them in theirnew-born generosities, penitently shouting "God and Heart!" even louderthan they execrate the memory of Dagon. 

CHAPTER IV. 

EXCUSATORY. 

It really may be numbered among doubts whether it is possible toexaggerate the dangers into which a fictionist may fall. My marvel is, that any go unstabbed. How on earth did Cervantes continue to grow old, after having pointed the finger of derision at all grave Spain? There isBoccaccio, too; he lived to turn threescore, in spite of the thousandhusbands and wives, who might pretty well imagine that he spoke of them. Only consider how many villains, drawn to the life, Walter Scottcreated. What! were there no heads found to fit his many caps, hats, helmets, and other capillary properties? What! are we so blind, so fewof friends, that we cannot each pick out of our social circles Mrs. Gore's Dowager, Mrs. Grey's Flirt, Mrs. Trollope's Widow, and Boz's Mrs. Nickleby? Who can help thinking of his lawyer, when he makesacquaintance with those immortal firms Dodson and Fogg, or Quirk, Snap, and Gammon? Is not Wrexhill libellous, and Dr. Hookwell personal? Arise!avenge them both, ye zealous congregations! Why slumber pistols that, should damage Bulwer? Why are the clasp-knives sheathed, which shouldhave drunk the blood of James? Hath every "[dash] good-natured friend"forgotten to be officious, and neglected to demonstrate to relations andacquaintances that this white villain is Mr. A. , and that old virginpoor Miss B. ? Speak, Plumer Ward, courageous veteran, Have the criticsyet forgiven Mr. John Paragraph--forgotten, is impossible? and how isit no house-keeper has arsenicked my soup, O rash recruit, for themysteries of perquisite divulged in Mrs. Quarles?

A dangerous craft is the tale-wright's, and difficult as dangerous. Human nature goes in casts, as garden-pots do. Lo, you! the crowd ofthumb-pots; mean little tiny minds in multitudes, as near alike aspossible. Then there are the frequent thirty-twos, average "clevercreatures" in this mental age, wherein no one can make an ordinaryhow-d'ye-do acquaintance without being advertised of his or hersurprising talents: and to pass by all intermediate sizes, here andthere standing by himself, in all the prickly pride of an immortal aloe, some one big pot monopolizes all the cast of earth, domineering over theconservatory as Brutus's colossal Caesar, or his metempsychosis in aWellington. 

Again: no painter ever yet drew life-likeness, who had not the livingmodels at least in his mind's eye: but no good painter ever yet betrayedthe model in his figure; unless (though these instances are rarish too)we except, _pace_ Lawrence, the mystery of portraiture. He takes indeeda line here and a colour there; but he softens this and heightens that;so that none but he can well discover any trace of Homer's noble head inyonder sightless beggar, or Juno's queenly form in the Welsh womantrudging with her strawberry load to Covent Garden market. 

Flatter not thyself, fair Helen, I have not pictured thee in gentleGrace: tremble not, my little white friend Clatter, thou art by no meansSimon Jennings. Dark Caroline Blunt, it is true thou hast fine eyes;nevertheless, in nothing else (I am sorry to assure thee) art thou atall like Emily Warren. Flaunting Lady Busbury, be calm; if you had notbeen so wrathful, I never should have thought of you--undoubtedly youare not the type of Mrs. Tracy. 

Why will all these people don my imaginary characters? Truly, it mayseem to be a compliment, as proving that they speak from heart to heart, of universal human nature, not unaptly; still is their inventor orcreator embarrassed terribly by such unwelcome honours; your preciousbalms oppress him, gentle friends; lift off your palm branches; indeed, he is unworthy of these petty triumphs; and, to be serious, he deteststhem. 

No: once and for all, let a plain first person say it, I abjurepersonalities; my arrows are shot at a venture; and if they hit any oneat all, it is only that he stands in my shaft's way, and the harness ofhis conscience is unbuckled. The target of my feeble aim is general--topierce the heart of evil, evil in the form of social heartlessness: itis no fault of mine, if some alarmed particulars will crowd about themark. Ideal characters, ideal incidents, ideal scenes--to these Ihonestly pledge myself: but as most men have two eyes, being neithernaturally monocular nor triocular, so most men of their own special casthave similar distinguishable sympathies. 

The overweening love of money is a seed, a soil, and a sun thatgenerates a certain crop: the aim of my poor husbandry is only to reapthis; but my sickle does not wish to wound the growers: let them standaside; or, better far, let them help me cut those rank and cloggingtares, and bind them up in bundles to be burned. Heart is asweet-smelling shrub, ill to stand against the chilling breath ofworldliness: my small care desires to cherish this; gather round it, friends! shelter it beside me. How many fragrant flowers now arebursting into beauty! how cheering is their scent! how healthful thearoma of their bloom! Pluck them with me; they are sweet, delicate, andlustrous to look upon, even as the night-blowing cereus. 

Henceforth then, social circle, feel at peace with such as I am, whosepublic parable would teach, without any thought of personality, entirelydisclaiming private interpretations: there are other people stoutbesides one's uncle, other people deaf besides one's aunt. Sir ThomasDillaway is not Alderman Bunce, nor any other friend or foe I wot of; amere creature of the counting-house, he is a human ledger-mushroom: rubaway the mildew from your hearts, if any seem to see yourselves in him:neither have I ventured to transplant Miss Cassiopeia Curtis's red hairto dear Maria's head: imitate her graces, if you will, maiden; butcharge me not with copying your locks. Though "my son Jack" be aboisterous big rogue, on 'Change, and off it--let not mine own honeststock-broker put that hat upon his head, in the mono-mania that it fitshim, because he may heretofore have been both bull and bear; and as forany other heroes yet to come upon this scene, to enact the tragedy orcomedy of Heart--"Know all men by these presents, "--your humbleservant's will is to smite bad principles, not offending persons; tocrusade against evil manners, not his guilty fellow-men. 

Wo is me! who am I, that I should satirize my brethren?--Yet, wo isme--if I silently hide the sin I see. Make me not an offender for aword, seeing that my purposes are good. Be not hypercritical, forHeart's sake, against a man whose aim it is to help the cause of Heart. Neither count it sufficient to answer me with an inconclusive "_tuquoque_:" I know it, I feel it, I confess it, I would away with it. Heaven send to him that writes, as liberally as to those who read (yea, more, according to his deeper needs and failings) the grace tocounteract all mammonizing blights, and to cultivate this garden of theHeart. 

CHAPTER V. 

WHEREIN A WELL-MEANING MOTHER ACTS VERY FOOLISHLY. 

Returned from her unsuccessful embassage, Lady Dillawaydetermined--kind, calm soul--to hide the bitter truth from poor Maria, that her father was inexorably adverse. A scene was of all things thatindentical article least liked by the quiescent mother; and that herwarm-hearted daughter would enact one, if she heard those echoes ofpaternal love, was clearly a problem requiring no demonstration. 

Accordingly, with well-intentioned kindliness, but shallowish wisdom, and most questionable propriety, Maria was persuaded to believe that herfather had hem'd and haw'd a little, had objected no doubt to Henry'slack of money, but would certainly, on second thoughts, consider theaffair more favourably:

"You know your father's way, my love; leave him to himself, and I amsure his better feeling will not fail to plead your cause: it will beprudent, however, just for quiet's sake, to see less of Henry Clementsfor a day or two, till the novelty of my intelligence blows over. Meantime, do not cry, dear child; take courage, all will be well; and Iwill give you my free leave to console your Henry too. "

"Dearest, dearest mamma, how can I thank you sufficiently for all this?But why may I not now at once fly to papa, tell him all I feel and wishcordially and openly, and touch his dear kind heart? I am sure he wouldgive us both his sanction and his blessing, if he only knew how much Ilove him, and my own dear Henry. "

"Sweet child, " sighed out mamma, "I wish he would, I trust he would, Ibelieve indeed he will some day: but be advised by me, Maria, I knowyour father better than you do; only keep quiet, and all will come roundwell. Do not broach the subject to him--be still, quite still; and, above all, be careful that your father does not yet awhile meet Mr. Clements. "

"But, dearest mamma, how can I be so silent when my heart is full? andthen I hate that gloomy sort of secresy. Do let me ask papa, and tellhim all myself. Perhaps he himself will kindly break the ice for me, nowthat your dear mouth has told him all, mamma. How I wish he would!"

"Alas, Maria, you always are so sanguine: your father is not very muchgiven, I fear, to that sort of sociality. No, my love; if you only willbe ruled by me, and will do as I do, managing to hold your tongue, Ithink you need not apprehend many conversational advances on yourfather's part. "

Poor Maria had more than one reason to fear all this was true, too true;so her lip only quivered, and her eyes overflowed as usual. 

Thereafter, Lady Dillaway had all the talk to herself, and she smoothlywhispered on without let or hindrance; and what between really hopingthings kindly of her husband's better feelings, and desiring to lightenthe anxieties of dear Maria's heart, she placed the whole affair in sucha calm, warm, and glowing Claude-light, as apparently to supply anemendation (no doubt the right reading) to the well known aphorism--

 "The course of true love never did run smooth-_er_. "

In fine, our warm and confiding Maria ran up to her own room quiteelated after that interview; and she heartily thanked God that thosedreaded obstacles to her affection were so easily got over, and that herdear, dear father had proved so kind. 

It is quite a work of supererogation to report how speedily the welcomenews were made known, by _billet-doux_, to Henry Clements; but theyrather smote his conscience, too, when he reflected that he had not yetmade formal petition to the powers on his own account. To be sure, they(the lovers, to wit) were engaged only yesterday, quite in anunintended, though delightful, way: and, previously to that important_tête-à-tête_, however much he may have thought of only dearMaria--however frequently he found himself beside her in the circle oftheir many mutual friends--however happily he hoped for herlove--however foolishly he reveried about her kindness in the solitudeof his Temple garret--still he never yet had seen occasion to screw hiscourage to the sticking point, and boldly place his bliss at hard SirThomas's disposal. Some day--not yet--perhaps next week, at any rate notexactly to-day--these were his natural excuses; and they availed himeven to the other side of that social Rubicon, engagement. Nevertheless, now at length something must decidedly be done; and, within half anhour, Finsbury's deserted square echoed to the heroic knock of Mr. HenryClements, fully determined upon claiming his Maria at her father'shands. 

The knight was out; probably, or rather certainly, not yet returned fromhis counting-house in St. Benet's Sherehog. So, perforce, our hero couldonly have an audience with his lady. 

The same glossing over of unpalatable truths--the same quiet-breathingcounsel--the same tranquil sort of hopefulness--fully satisfied thelover that his cause was gained. How could he think otherwise? In thefather's absence, he had broached that mighty topic to the mother, whoeven now hailed him as her son, and promised him his father's favour. What could be more delicious than all this? and what more honourable, while prudent, too, and filial, than to acquiesce in Lady Dillaway'sfears about her husband's nervousness at the sight of one who was totake from him an only and beloved daughter? It was delicacyitself--charming; and Henry determined to make his presence, for thefirst few days, as scarce as possible in the sight of that affectionatefather. 

And thus it came to pass that two open and most honourable minds, pledged to heartiest love, could not find one speck of sin in loving onclandestinely. Nay, was it clandestine at all? Is it, then, merely alegal fiction, and not a religious truth, that husband and wife are one?and is it not quite as much a matrimonial as a moral one that father andmother are so too? Was it not decidedly enough to have spoken to thelatter, especially when she undertook to answer for the former? SirThomas was a man engrossed in business; and, doubtless, left suchaffairs of the Heart to the kinder keeping of Lady Dillaway. No; therewas nothing secret nor clandestine in the matter; and I entirely absolveboth Henry and Maria. They could not well have acted otherwise if anyharm should come to it, the mother is to blame. 

Lady Dillaway, without doubt, should have known her husband better; buther tranquil love of our dear Maria seemed to have infatuated her intosimply believing--what she so much wished--her happiness secure. Sheheeded not how little sympathy Sir Thomas felt with lovers; and onlyencouraged her innocent child to play the dangerous game of unconsciousdisobedience. Accordingly, consistent with that same quiet kindness ofcharacter which had smoothed away all difficulties hitherto, theindulgent mother now allowed the loving pair to meet alone, for thefirst time permissively, to tell each other all their happiness. LadyDillaway left the drawing-room, and sent Maria to the heart that beatwith hers. 

Who shall describe the beauty of that interview--the gush of firstaffections bursting up unchecked, unchidden, as hot springs round theHecla of this icy world! They loved and were beloved--openly, devotedly, sincerely, disinterestedly. Henry had never calculated even once howmuch the city knight could give his daughter; and as for Maria, if shehad not naturally been a girl all heart, the home wherein she wasbrought up had so disgusted her of still-repeated riches, that (it iseasy of belief) the very name of poverty would be music to her ears. Accordingly, how they flew into each other's arms, and shed many happytears, and kissed many kindest kisses, and looked many tenderest things, and said many loving words, "let Petrarch's spirit in heroics sing:" asfor our present prosaical Muse, she delights in such affections toonaturally and simply to wish to cripple them with rhymes, or confinethem in sonnets; she despises decoration of simple and beautifulNature--gilding gold, and painting lilies; and she loves to throw a veilof secret sanctity over all such heaven-blest attachments. "Hence! yeprofane, "--these are no common lovers: I believe their spirits, stillunited in affections that increase with time, will go down to the valleyof death unchangeably together; and will thence emerge to brighter blisshand in hand throughout eternity--a double Heart with one pulse, lovingGod, and good, and one another!

CHAPTER VI. 

PLEASANT BROTHER JOHN. 

"Ho, ho! I suspected as much; so this fellow Clements has been hangingabout us at parties, and dropping in here so often, for the sake of MissMaria, ey?"--For the door had noisily burst open to let in Mr. JohnDillaway, who under grumbled as above. 

"Dear John, I am so rejoiced to see you; I am sure it will make you ashappy as myself, brother, to hear the good news: papa and mamma are sokind, and---- I need not introduce to you my---- you have often met himhere, John--Mr. Henry Clements. "

"Sir, your most obedient. " The vulgar little purse-proud citizen made animpudent sort of distant bow, and looked for all the world like a coatedCaliban sarcastically cringing to a well-bred Ferdinand. 

Poor Henry felt quite taken aback at such frigid formality; and dearMaria's very heart was in her mouth: but the brother tartly added, "IfMr. Clements wishes to see Sir Thomas--that's his knock: he wasfollowing me close behind: I saw him; but, as I make it a point neverto walk with the governor, perhaps it's as well for you two I droppedin first by way of notice, ey?"

It was a dilemma, certainly--after all that Lady Dillaway had said andrecommended: fortunately, however, her lord the knight, when the streetdoor was opened to him, hastened straightway to his own "study, " wherehe had to consult some treatise upon tare and tret, and a recentpamphlet upon the undoubted social duty, '_Run for Gold_;' so thatawkward rencounter was avoided; and Mr. Clements, taking up his hat, wasenabled to accomplish a dignified retreat. 

"Dear John, your manner grieves me; I wish you had been kinder to my--toHenry Clements. "

"Oh, you do, do you? does the governor know of all this? the fellow's abeggar. "

"For shame, John! you shall not call my noble Henry such names: ofcourse papa has heard all. "

"And approves of all this spooneying, ey, miss?"

"Brother, brother, do be gentler with me: mamma's great kindness hassmoothed away all objections, and surely you will be glad, John, to haveat last a brother of your own to love you as I do. "

"Ey? what? another thief to go shares with me when the governor cuts up?Thank you, miss, I'd rather be excused. You are quite enough, I can tellyou, for you make my whole a half; nobody wants a third: much obliged toyou, though. " [Interjections may as well be understood. ]

"O, dear brother, you hurt me, indeed you do: I am sure (if it wereright to say so) I would not wish to live a minute, if poor Maria'sdeath could--could make you any happier;--O John, my heart will----"[Her tears can as readily be understood as his interjections. ]

If a domestic railroad could have been cleverly constructed to Maria'schamber from every room in that great house, it would have stood her ingood stead; for every day, from some room or other, this poor girl offeeling had to rush up stairs in a torrent of grief. Yearning aftersympathy and love, neither felt nor understood by the minds with whomshe herded, a trio of worldliness, apathy, and coarse brutality, herbosom ached as an empty void: treated with habitual neglect and coldindifference, made various (as occasion might present) by stern rebukeor bitter sarcasm, her heart was sore within its cell, and the poor dearchild lived a life of daily martyrdom, her feelings smitten upon thedesecrated altar of home by the "foes of her own household. "

And not least hostile in the band of those home-foes was this onlybrother, John. Look at him as he stands alone there, muttering after heras she ran up stairs, "Plague take the girl!" and let me tell you what Iknow of him. 

That thick-set form, with its pock-marked face, imprisons as base aspirit as Baal's. He was a chip of the old block, and something more. Ifthe father had a heart with "gold" written on it, the son had no heartat all, but gold was in its place. Thoroughly unscrupulous as to waysand means, and simply acting on the phrase "_quocunque modo rem_, " heseemed to have neither conscience of evil, nor dread of danger. In twowords, he was a "bold bad" man, divested equally of fear and feeling. The memoirs of his past life hitherto, without controversy very littleedifying, may be guessed with quite sufficient accuracy for allcharacteristic purposes from the coarse, sensual, worldly, andiniquitous result now standing for his portraiture before us. We willwaste on such a type of heartlessness as few words as possible: let hisconduct show the man. 

Just now, this worthy had risen into high favour with his father: wealready know why; he had suddenly got rich on his own account, and forthat very sufficient reason drew any additional sums he pleased on "thegovernor's. " The trick or two, whereat Sir Thomas hinted, and which sowise a man would not have blabbed to fools, are worthy of record; notmerely as illustrative of character, but (in one case at least, as wemay find hereafter) for the sake of ulterior consequences. 

John Dillaway's first exploit in the money-making line was a clever one. He managed to possess himself of a carrier-pigeon of the Antwerp breed, one among a flock kept for stock-jobbing purposes, by a certain greatcapitalist; and he contrived that this trained bird should wheel downamong the merchants just at noon one fine day in the Royal Exchange. Thebillet under its wing contained certain cabalistic characters, and theplain-spoken intelligence, "_Louis Philippe est mort!_" In a minuteafter these most revolutionizing news, French funds, then at one hundredand twelve, were toppling down below ninety, and our prudent John wasbuying stock in all directions: nay, he even made some considerablebargains at eighty-seven. There was a complete panic in the market, andwretched was the man who possessed French fives. The afternoon's work sobeautifully finished, John spent that night as true-born Britons arereported to have done before the battle of Hastings, rioting in drunkenbliss, and panting for the morrow; and when the morrow came, and theParis post with it, I must leave it to be understood with whatcomplacency of triumph our enterprising stock-jobber hastened to sellagain at one hundred and fourteen, pocketing, in the aggregate, adifference of several thousand pounds. It was a feat altogether toravish a delighted father's heart, and no wonder that he counted John sogreat a comfort. 

Trick number two had been at once even more lucrative and moredangerous. As a stock-broker, this enterprising Mr. Dillaway hadpeculiar opportunities of investigating closely certain records in theoffice for unclaimed dividends: he had an object in such closeinspection, and discovered soon that one Mrs. Jane Mackenzie, ofBallyriggan, near Belfast, was a considerable proprietor, and had madeno claim for years. Why should so much money lie idle? Was the womandead? Probably not; for in that case executors or administrators wouldhave touched it. Legatees and next of kin are little apt to forget suchmatters. Well, then, if this Mrs. Jane Mackenzie is alive, she must be acareless old fool, and we'll try if we can't kill her on paper, and socome in for spoils instead of kith and kin. "Shrewd Jack, " as theycalled him in the Alley, chuckled within himself at so feasible a plot. 

Accordingly, in an artful and well-concocted way, which we may readilyconceive, but it were weary to detail, John Dillaway managed to forge awill of Jane Mackenzie aforesaid; and inducing some dressed-up "ladies"of his acquaintance to personate the weeping nieces of deceased(doubtless with no lack of Irish witnesses beside, competent to swear toany thing), he contrived to pass probate at Doctors' Commons, and gettwelve thousand two hundred and forty-three pounds, bank annuitiestransferred, as per will, to the two ladies legatees. As the munificent_douceur_ of a thousand pounds a-piece had (for the present) stopped themouths of those supposititious nieces, who stipulated for not a farthingmore nor less, clever John Dillaway a second time had the filialopportunity of rejoicing his father's heart by this wholesalemoney-making. Ten thousand pounds bank stock was manifestly another goodday's work; and seeing our John had not appeared at all in thetransaction, even as the ladies' stock-broker, things were made so safe, that the chuckling knight, when he heard all this (albeit he didtenderly fy, fy a little at first), was soon induced to think "my sonJack" the very best boy and the very cleverest dog in Christendom: atonce a parent's pride and joy. Yes, Lady Dillaway--such a comfort! Andthe worshipful stationer apostrophized "rich Jack" with lips that seemedto smack of Creasy's Brighton sauce, whilst his calm spouse appeared toacquiesce in her amiable John's good fortune. The mystified motherlittle guessed that it was felony. 

This good son's new-born wealth, besides the now liberal paternallargess (for his allowance grew larger in proportion as he might seem toneed it less), of course availed to introduce him to some fashionableand estimable circles of society, whither it might not at all times bediscreet in us to follow him; amongst other places, whether or not thePandemonium in Jermyn street proved to him another gold mine, we havenot yet heard; but John Dillaway was often there, the intimate friend ofmany splendid cavaliers who lived upon their industry, familiar with awhole rookery of blacklegs, patron of two or three pigeonable citysparks, and, on the whole, flusher of money than ever. His quiet mother, if she cared about her son at all, and probably she did care when herhealth permitted, might well be apprehensive on the score of thatincreasing wealth which made the father's joy. 

However, with all his prosperity Mr. John as yet professed himself by nomeans satisfied; he was far too greedy of gain, and ever since he hadcome to man's estate, had amiably longed to be an only child. Not thathe heeded a monopoly of the parental feelings and affections, nor eventhat he meditated murdering Maria--oh dear, no: rather too troublesomethat, and quite unnecessary; it would be entirely sufficient if he couldmanage so to influence his father as to cut that superfluous sisterMaria very short indeed in the matter of cash. With this generous andamiable view, he now for a course of sundry years had whispered, back-bitten, and lied; he had, as occasion offered, taken meanadvantages of Maria's outspeaking honesty, had set her warm-heartedsayings and charitable doings in the falsest lights, and had entirely"mildewed the ear" of her listening papa. The knight in truth listenedunreluctantly; it was consolation, if not happiness to him, if he couldmake or find excuses for harshness to a being who would not worshipwealth; it would be joy and pride, and an honour to his idol, if heshould keep Maria pretty short of cash, and so make her own itspreciousness; triumphant would he feel, as a merely-moneyed man, to seetroublesome, obtrusive Heart, with all its win-ways, and whimperings, and incomprehensible spirituality, with its sermons and its prayers, bending before him "for a bit of bread. " Yes, poor loving disinterestedMaria ran every chance of being disinherited, from the false witness ofher brother, simply because she gave him antecedent opportunities, byher honest likings and dislikings, by her bold rebuke of wrong and openzeal for right, by her scorn of hypocrisies as to what she did feel, ordid not feel, and by the unpopular fact that she wore a heart, andrefused to be the galley-slave of gold. 

"Oh, ho, then!" said our crafty John, "we shall soon set this all rightwith our governor; thank you for the chance, Miss Maria. If fatherdoesn't kick out this Clements, and cut you off with a shilling, he isnot Sir Thomas, and I am not his son. "

CHAPTER VII. 

PROVIDENCE SEES FIT TO HELP VILLANY. 

"Now that's what I call bones. "

It was a currish image, suggestive of the choicest satisfaction. Let ustry to discover what good news such an idiosyncrasy as that of JohnDillaway would be pleased to designate as "bones. " He had forthwith goneto his father's room as merry at the chance of ousting poor Maria, asthe heartlessness of avarice could make him; and omnipresent authorshipjotted down the dialogue that follows:

"So, governor, there's to be a wedding here, I find; when does it comeoff?"

"Ey? what? a wedding? whose?"

"Oh, ho! you don't know, ey? I guessed as much: what do you think now ofour laughing, and crying, and kissing, and praying Miss Maria with--

"Not that beggar Clements? Ey? what? d----" &c. , &c. 

"Ha, ha, ha, ha! I thought so; why not, governor? Are you an old mole, that you haven't seen it these six weeks? Are you stone deaf, that alltheir pretty speeches have been wasted on you? All I can say is, that ifMr. And Mrs. Clements an't spliced, it's pretty well time they shouldbe, and--

"Sir Thomas Dillaway rattled out so terrible an oath about Maria'sdisinheritance if she ventured upon a marriage, that even John wasstaggered at such a dreadful curse; nevertheless, an instantaneousreflection soon caused that curse to be viewed metaphorically as a'bone;' and the generous brother cautiously proceeded--

"Why, governor, all this is very odd, must say; when I caught 'emkissing up there ten minutes ago, they were sharp enough to swear thatyou knew all about it, and that you were so 'very, very kind. '"

How is it possible, intelligent reader, to avoid perpetual allusion toan oath? We must not pare the lion's claws, and give bad men softspeeches: pr'ythee, supply an occasional interjection, and believe thatin this place Sir Thomas swore most awfully; then, in a completephrensy, he vowed that he "would turn Maria out of house and home thisminute. " This was another "bone, " clearly. 

But it was now becoming politic to calm him. Shrewd Jack was well awarethat Maria would relinquish all, and sacrifice, not merely her ownheart, but her Henry's too, rather than be guilty of filialdisobedience. All this storming, hopeful as it looked, might still bepremature, and do no substantial good; nay, if this wrath broke out toosoon, Maria would at once give way, become more dutiful than ever, andhis golden chance was gone. No: they were not married yet. Let thewedding somehow first take place, and then--! and then!--for now he knewwhich way the wind blew; so the scheming youth calmed his risingtriumphs, and counselled his progenitor as follows:

"Well, governor, I never saw so green a blade in all my born days. Can'tyou see, now, that it's all cram this, just to put you in spirits, oldboy, in case of such things happening? It was wicked too of me to teaseyou so--but I'm so jolly, governor; such luck in Jermyn street--I knewyou'd like a joke served up with such rich sauce as this is, ey? onlylook!" It was half a hatful of bank notes raked up at the hazard table. 

Sir Thomas's gray eyes darted swiftly at the spoil; often as he hadwarned and scolded Jack about the matter of Jermyn street (for Jack wasbold enough never to conceal one of his little foibles), the father hadnow nothing to object; for, in his philosophy, the end justified themeans. With most of this wise world, he looked upon success as in thenature of virtue, and failure as the surest sign of vice; accordinglyhis ire was diverted on the moment, and blazed in admiration of sonJack: and that estimable creature immediately determined it was wise tospeak in tones of unwonted affection respecting his sister. 

"Now, governor, I put it to you plump, isn't this hatful enough to makea man beside himself, so as not to stick at a white lie or two? DearMaria there is no more going to become a Mrs. Clements than you are; shecut the fellow dead long ago: so mind, that's a tough old bird, youdon't say one word to her about him; it would be just raking up thecinders again, you know, and you might be fool enough to raise a flame. No, governor, if it's any consolation to you, that pauper connection hasbeen all at an end this month; not but what the beggar's got my mother'sear still, I fancy; but as to Maria, she detests him. So take my advice, and don't tease the poor girl about the business. Now, then, that thisis all settled, and now that you 're the merrier for that silly bit ofstorming at nothing, just listen: the wedding's my own! isn't JackDillaway a clever fellow now, to have caught a Right HonourableLadyship, with a park in Yorkshire, a palace in Wales, and a mansion inGrosvenor square?"

At this _extempore_ invention, the delighted parent rained so manyblessings on his progeny, that John knew the tide was turned at once. Our ex-lord mayor had high ambitions, dating from the year of gloryonwards; so that nothing could be more prudent or well-timed that thisideal aristocratic connection. Jack was a good fellow, a dear boy; andhe added to his apparent amiabilities now by reiterating counsels ofkindness and silence towards "poor dear sister Maria, whom he had beenmaking the scape-goat all this time;" after which done, our stock-jobberfeigned a pressing engagement with some fashionable friends, and lefthis father to ruminate upon his worth in lonely admiration. 

Well; if that clever and gratuitous lie was not another "bone, " I am ata loss to know what could be a "bone" to such a hound: therefore itappears that Dillaway had three of them at least to gladden him insolitude; and he went on revealing to wonder-stricken angels, and to us, the secrets of his crafty soul, as he thus soliloquized:

"Yes, marry the fools first, and then for spoils at leisure; it won't beeasy though, she's so consummate filial, and he so bloated up withhonour. They'll never wed, I'm clear, unless the governor's by to bless'em; and as to managing that, and the cutting-adrift scheme too, onekills the other. How the deuce to do it? Eh--do I see a light?"

He did. A light lurid sulphurous gleam upon the midnight of his mindseemed to show the way before him, as wisp-fire in a marsh. He did see alight, and its character was this:

Quite aware of his mother's tranquil hopefulness, and that his kind goodsister was ingenuous as the day, he soon apprehended the state ofaffairs; and, resolving to increase those misunderstandings on allsides, he quickly perceived that he could triumph in the keenMachiavellian policy, "_divide et impera_. " The plan became more obviousas he calmly thought it out. Evidently his first step must be toingratiate himself with both Henry and Maria, as the sympathizingbrother, a very easy task among such charitable fools: number two shouldbe to persuade them, as the mother did, that Sir Thomas, generally areserved unsocial man at home (and that in especial to Maria), was verynervous at the thought of losing his dear daughter, and (while heacquiesced in the common fate of parents and the usual way of the world)begged that his coming bereavement might be obtruded on him as little aspossible--Mr. Clements always to avoid him, and Maria to hold hertongue: number three, to amuse his father all the while by the prospectof his own high alliance, so as effectually to hoodwink him from whatwas going on: and, number four, to send him up to Yorkshire a week hence(on some fool's errand to inquire after the imaginary countess'simaginary mortgages), leaving behind him an autograph epistle (which ourJohn well knew how to write), recommending "that the ceremony beperformed immediately and in his absence, to spare his feelings on thespot, " mentioning "son John as his worthy substitute to give dear Mariaaway, " and enclosing them at once his "blessing and a hundred pound noteto help them on their honey-moon. "

"John Dillaway, if craft be a virtue, thou art an archangel: but ifHeaven's chief requirement is the heart, thou art very like adevil--very. If selfishness deserves the meed of praise, who morehonourable than thou art? But if a heartless man can never reach tohappiness, I know who will live to curse the hour of his birth, and isdoomed to perish miserably. "

It was a clever scheme, and had unscrupulous hands to work it. Mystifiedby quiet Lady Dillaway as our lovers had been from the first, entirelyunsuspicious of all guile, and rejoicing in their brother's marvellousamiability, never surely were such happy days; always together while theknight was at his counting-house, they gladly acquiesced in hisbeautifully paternal nervousness; it was a delightful trait of characterin the dear old man; and a very respectable proof that love is keen-eyedenough to believe what it wishes, but is stone-blind to any thing thatmight possibly counteract its hopes. Then again, the mother was a closeally; for having set her quiet heart upon the match, Lady Dillaway atonce encouraged all John's sympathetic scheme, on the prudent principleof getting the young couple inextricably married first, and thenobliging her lord to be reconciled afterwards to what he could not help. Sir Thomas himself, poor blinkered creature, was full of the mostaristocratical and wealthy fancies, and only yearned to inspect theacres of his future honourable grand-children. He was, from thesefanciful causes, unusually affable and indulgent to Maria; spoke sokindly always that she was all but dissolving thrice a-day; and, fromhis constant reveries about the countess, appeared perpetually to bebrooding over dear Maria's soon approaching loss. Poor girl! more thanonce she had determined to give it all up, and make her father happy byserving him still in single blessedness: but then, how could she breakdear Henry's heart, as well as her own? No, no: they should live verynear to Finsbury square, and be in and out constantly, and papa shouldnever miss her: how delightful was all this!

As for John himself, (our heartless model-man, strange contrast toMaria's perfect charity!) he chuckled hugely as his scheme now ripenedfast. He had long been putting all things in train for the weddingto-morrow. Every body knew it except Sir Thomas who--what between Jack'sprudent watchfulness, his habitual counting-house hours, his usuallyunsocial silence, and his now asserted wish for "not one word upon thesubject, "--was at once kept in total ignorance of all; and yet, asambassadorial John constantly gave out to Clements and Maria, in anamiable nervous state of natural acquiescence. Next day, then, thebesotted father was about to be packed post for Yorkshire; the importantletter, with its enclosed bank note, was already written and sealed, aslike the governor's hand as possible; a license had been long agoprovided, and the clergyman bespoke, by the brotherly officiousness ofJohn; neither Henry Clements, who was too delicate, too unsuspecting forprudent business-papers, nor Maria, whose heart was never likely to haveconceived the thought, had even once alluded to a settlement; LadyDillaway was lying, as her wont was, on her habitual sofa, in tranquilecstasy, at to-morrow morning's wedding: and Holy Providence, for wisepurposes no doubt, had seen fit to aid a villain in his deep-laidtreacherous designs. 

The Wednesday dawned: Sir Thomas was to be off early, poor man, all agogfor right honourable acres; and Maria could no longer restrain theexpression of her glad and grateful feelings. Up she got by six, threwherself in her kind dear father's way; and though, to spare hisfeelings, she said not a word about the marriage, prayed him on herknees for a blessing. The startled parent, believing all this franticshow of feeling was sufficiently to be accounted for by his own long andno doubt dangerous journey, blessed her as devoutly as ever he could;and when the carriage drove away, left her in his study, overcome withjoy, affection, and admiration of his fine heart, exquisitesensibilities, and generous feelings. Then, as a crowning-stone to allthe bliss, if any lingering doubt existed in the mind of Clements, whohad more than once expressed dislike at Sir Thomas's silent andunsatisfying sympathy--the letter--the letter, whereof kind brotherJohn, secretly initiated, had some days forewarned them of itsprobability--that letter, which explained at once all a father's kindanxieties, and made up for all his cold reserve, was found on SirThomas's own table! How amiable, how beautifully sensitive, how liberaltoo! Lady Dillaway plumed herself in a whispering transport upon herjust appreciation of the father's better feelings; a kinder heartmanifestly never existed than her husband's, though he did take strangemethods of proving it: the bridesmaids, two daughters of a friend andneighbour, privy to the coming mystery three days, approved highly of sounobtrusive an old gentleman: Maria was all pantings, blushings, weepings, and rejoicings; Henry Clements, handsome, pale, and agitated;perhaps, misgiving too, and a little displeased at the father's absence;however, Mr. John Dillaway gave away the bride with a most paternal air;and, just as Sir Thomas was changing horses at Huntingdon, our innocentlovers were indissolubly married. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE ROGUE'S TRIUMPH. 

Never was there such a happy couple; nor a more auspicious day. Awaythey went, in deep delight, too joyful to be merry, in a holy transportof affection, and its dearest hope fulfilled. They seemed to be in lovewith all the world, for every thing around them wore a lustre ofdeliciousness: and when the smoking posters left them at Salt hill, andthat well-matched husband and wife sat down to their first boiled fowl, it would probably be a bathos to allude to angelic bliss; but theynevertheless were, and knew they were, the happiest of mortals. If anything could add to Henry's self-complacency at that moment, it was therecollection of his own truly disinterested conduct; for only yesterdayhe had transferred all his little property to that kind and brotherlyfellow John Dillaway, in trust for Maria Clements, should any possiblereverse of fortune affect her father's or his own prosperity. Yes; andJohn had been so wise as to make the two hundred a-year already a thirdmore, by investing (as he said) what had been a few thousands of threeper cents. In some capital "independent" bank shares ofAustralasia--safe as a mountain, and productive as a valley. 

All this appeared very prosperous and pleasant: but we of the initiatedinto the secrets of character, may reasonably apprehend that Henry'slittle all would have been safer any where than in Dillaway'spossession: and "possession, " I am sorry to declare, is a word usedadvisedly; for Mr. John required a largish floating capital to enablehim to go to the desperate lengths he did at hazard and _rouge-et-noir_;and I am afraid that if Mr. Or Mrs. Clements were to receive any ofthose so-called Austral dividends, they would only have been takingthree hundred pounds a-year out of their principal moneys in John'simmaculate keeping. 

Leaving then those wedded lovers to their honey-moon of joy, and shrewdJack gloating not merely over the full success of his nefarious plan, but also over this unexpected acquisition of poor Clement's fewthousands, let us return to Sir Thomas--or, to be quite accurate, let usreturn with him. 

In high dudgeon, full of fire and fury, back rushed the knight, soreunder the sense of having been made an April-fool of in July; for no onein the place whereto he went, had ever heard of a widow'd Countess ofLancing; and her ladyship's acres, if any where at all, were undoubtedlynot in the North Riding. But clever son John, meeting his indignantfather on the threshold, soon made all that right by a word. 

"Well, if ever! why, stupid, I said Diddlington, not Darlington. "

Into the accuracy of this distinction it is needless to inquire: andthen the ingenuous youth went on to observe--

"But all's right as it is now; you may as well not have seen theproperty, and better, too, as things have turned out roughly, governor:the match is off, and you may well congratulate me. Such an escape--Ijust discovered it, and was barely in time: you hadn't been gone twohours when I found it all out, through a clever devil of a lawyer, whowas hired by my father's son to look into incumbrances, and keep a sharplook-out for a mutual settlement; that old harridan of a ladyship isover head and ears in debt; and, it seems, I was to have paid allstraight, or _i. E. _ you, governor, ey? As to the Yorkshire acres, theold woman had but a life interest in the mere bit that wasn't deeplymortgaged--and not a very long life either, seeing she is seventy. So, bless your clever boy again, old governor, he's free. "

The knight had nothing to object: Jack's ready lie had plenty of reasonsin it: and so he blessed his clever boy again. 

"But I say, governor, I rather think that you've astonished us all: whaton earth made you turn so soft of a sudden, and write that letter?"

"What letter? ey? what?"--Sir Thomas might well inquire. 

"That's a good joke, governor--you keep it up to the last, I see; what aclose old file it is! What letter? why, the letter you wrote to Mariaand her lord, telling them to marry. "

"Marry? ey? what, Maria? what--what is it all?" The poor old man wasthoroughly bewildered. 

"Well done, governor--bravo! you can carry it off as cleverly as if youwere an actor; do you mean to say now you didn't leave a letter behindyou here upon your table, bidding Maria marry in your absence to spareyour paternal feelings (kind old boy, it is, too!) and enclosing themone hundred pounds for the honey-moon?"

The mystified father made some inarticulate expression of ignorantamazement, and our stock-jobber went on:

"So of course they're married and off--Mr. And Mrs. Cle----"

A whirlwind of disastrous imprecations cut all short; and then in avoice choked with passion he gasped out--

"But--but are they married--are they married? how do you know it? can'twe catch 'em first, ey? what!"

"How do I know it? that's a good un now, father, when I had it underyour hand to give the girl away myself instead of you. Do you mean tosay you didn't write that letter?"

"Boy, I tell you, I've written nothing--I know nothing; you speak inriddles. "

"Well then, governor, if I do, I'll to guess 'em: I begin to see how itwas all brought about--but they did it cleverly too, and were quite toomany for me. Only listen: that fellow Clements, ay, and Miss Maria too(artful minx, I know her), must have forged a letter as if from you toget poor fools, me and my mother, to see 'em spliced, while you weretooling to Yorkshire. "

"Impossible--ey? what? I'll--I'll--I'll--"

"Now, governor, don't stand there doing nothing but denying all I say;only you go yourself, and ask my mother if she didn't see the letter--ifthey didn't marry upon it, and if that precious sister of mine doesn'trichly deserve every thing she'll some day get from her affectionate, her excellent, her ill-used father?"

Iago's self, or his master, smooth-tongued Belial, could not havemanaged matters better. 

The incredulous knight, scarcely able to discover how far it might notstill be all a joke, especially after his Yorkshire expedition, rushedup to Lady Dillaway; on her usual sofa, quietly knitting, and thinkingof her Maria's second day of happiness. 

"So, ma'am--ey? what? is it true? are they married? is it true?married--ey? what?"

"Certainly, Thomas, they were only too glad, and I will add, so was I, to get your kind--"

"Mine? I give leave? ey? what? Madam, we're cheated, fooled--I neverwrote any letter. "

"Most astonishing; I saw it myself, Thomas, your own hand; and our dearJohn too. "

"Ay, ay--he sees through it all, and so do I now--ey? what? thatprecious pair of rogues forged it! Now, ma'am, what don't they deserve, I should like to know?"

It was quite a blow, and a very hard one, to the poor tranquil mother. Could her dear Maria really have been so base, and that noble-lookingHenry too? how dreadfully deceived in them, if this proved true! And howcould she think it false? A letter contrived to expedite their marriagein the father's casual absence, which no one could have thought ofwriting but Sir Thomas himself, or the impatient lovers. So poor LadyDillaway could only fall a-crying very miserably; whereupon her husbandmore than half suspected her of being an accomplice in the despicableplot. 

"Now then, ma'am, I'm determined: as they are married, the thing's at anend; we can't untie that knot--but, once tied, I've done with the girl;they may starve, for any help they'll get of me: and as for you, mum, give 'em money at your peril; stay, to make sure of it, Lady Dillaway, Ishall stint you to whatever you choose to ask me for out of my ownpocket; never draw another cheque on Jones's, do you hear? ey? what? foryour cheques shall not be honoured, ma'am. And now, from this hour, youand I have only one child, John. "

"Oh, Thomas--Thomas! be merciful to poor Maria! indeed, she wasdeceived; she believed it all--poor Maria!"

"Ma'am, never mention that woman again--ey? what? deceived? Yes, shedeceived you and me, and John, and all. Wicked wretch! and all to marrya beggar! Well, ma'am, there's one comfort left; the fellow married herfor money, and he's caught in his own trap; never a penny of mine shalleither of them see. Henceforth, Lady Dillaway, we have no daughter; dearJohn is the only child left us for old age. "

In spite of himself, of wrath, and disappointment, the father spoke in amoved and broken manner; and his weeping wife attempted to explain, console, and soothe him; but all in vain--he was inexorable andinveterate against those mean deceivers. To say truth, the poor motherwas staggered too, especially when her managing son set all the matterin what he stated to be the right light; for he had, the whole businessthrough, whispered so separately to each, and had seemed to say solittle openly (making his mother believe that his sister told him of thecoming letter, and a choice variety of other embellishments), that hewas now looked upon as the very martyr to roguish plotting, in havingbeen induced to give away his sister. Excellent, mistaken John!

And forthwith John became installed sole heir, proving the most dutifulof sons: how glibly would he tell them any sort of welcome news, original or selected; how many anecdotes could he invent to prove hisown merits and certain other folks' deficiencies; how amiably would hefetch and carry slippers and smelling-bottles, and write notes, and readnewspapers, and make himself every thing by turns (he devoutly hoped itwould be nothing long) to his poor dear parents, as became an onlychild! It was quite affecting--and both father and mother, softened inspite of themselves at the loss of that Maria, often would talk over thenew-found virtues of their most exemplary son. His character came outnow with five-fold lustre when contrasted with his former usualruggedness: no widow ever had a one sick child more tender, moreconsiderate, more dutiful, than rude Jack Dillaway. 

He gained his end; saw the new will signed; earwigged the lawyer; andkept a copy of it. 

CHAPTER IX. 

FALSE-WITNESS KILLS A MOTHER, AND WOULD WILLINGLY STARVE A SISTER. 

Day by day, letters, doubtless full of happiness and Heart, were left bythe promiscuous and undiscerning postman at the house in Finsburysquare, from our excellent calumniated couple; but, seeing that therewere always two sieves waiting ready to sift it before it came to LadyDillaway's turn--to wit, John in the hall, and Sir Thomas in his study, it came to pass that every letter with those malefactors' hand and sealon it got burnt instanter, and unopened. 

How many troubles might mankind be spared if they would only stop tohear each other's explanations! How many ailments, both of body andsoul, if explanations only came more frequently and freely! Melancholyfrom that dreadful doubt, and all these cold delays, viewing herdaughter as a criminal, the husband as a swindler, and all this longcourse of silence as very, very heartless and seemingly conclusive oftheir guilt, the poor mother sickened fast upon her couch: she had foryears always been an invalid, wan and wo-begone, living upon ether, gum, and chicken-broth; but her white skin now grew whiter, her faint voicefainter, the energies of life in her debilitated frame weaker than ever;it was no mere hypochondria, or other fanciful malady: her calm heartseemed to be dying down within her, as a plant that has earth-grubsgnawing at its root--she grew very ill. Days, weeks of silence--herheart was sick with hope deferred. How could Maria, with all her seemingwarmth, treat her with such utter negligence? But now the honey-moon wascoming to an end: they must call and see her some day again, surely; howstrangely unkind not to answer those motherly and anxious letters, sentto their first known stage, Salt hill, and thereafter to be forwarded. 

O, cold continued crime! Bad man, bad man, thy mother's own hand-writingshall plead against thee at the last dread day. For those covetedletters of affection, often sent on both those loving parts, had beenregularly and ruthlessly intercepted, opened, mocked, and burnt! Howcould the man have stood case-proof against those letters--his mother'sanxious outbursts of affection towards a lost, an innocent, acalumniated sister? For selfishness had dried up in that hard and wilyman all the milk of human kindness. 

And our loving pair, upon their travels, were as much hurt and surprisedat this long silence as poor Lady Dillaway herself: it was mostmysterious, inexplicable. The only letter they had received ever sincethey had left home was one--only one, from John, which had frightenedthem exceedingly. Some practical joker (the bridesmaid's brother wassuspected), by way of giving Maria a present on her approaching wedding, as it would seem, had cleverly imitated her father's hand-writing, and--that letter was a forgery! to every body's great amazement. Nobodycould, according to his own account, be kinder than John, who had donemore than mortal things to appease his father; but the old man remainedimplacable. It was a meanly-contrived clandestine match, he said; and henever intended to set eyes on them again! As for John, he in that letterhad strongly counselled them to keep away, and trust to him for bringinghis father round. In the midst of their terrible dilemma, kind brotherJohn seemed as an angel sent by Heaven to assist them. 

Dear children of affection and calamity! how innocently did they walkinto the snare; and how closely doth the wicked man draw his toilsaround them. Who can accuse them of any wrong (the hopefulness of loveconsidered) in point either of honour or duty? And shall they not berighted at the last? It may be so--it shall be so: but Holy Providencehath purposes of good in plunging those twin wedded hearts deep beneaththe billows of earthly destitution. The wicked must prosper for a while, in this as in a million other cases, and the good for their seasonstruggle with adversity; that the one may be destroyed for ever, and theothers may add to this world's wealth the incalculable riches ofanother. 

They had spent the few first weeks of marriage among the pleasant lakesand hills of Westmoreland and Cumberland, wandering together, indelightful interchange of thought, from glen to glen, from tairn totairn, all about Ambleside, Helvellyn, and Lodore, Ullswater, Saddleback, and Schiddaw. Maria's ever-flickering smile seemed to throwa sun-beam over the darkest moor, even in those darkest hours of doubt, heart-sickening anxiety, and grief at the neglect which theyexperienced; while Henry's well-informed good sense not only availed tocheer the sad Maria, but made every rock a point of interest, and showedevery little flower a miracle of wisdom. There were hundreds ofextemporaneous "lover's seats, " where they had "rested, to be thankful"for the past, joyful for the present, and hopeful for the future; andevery ramble that they took might deservedly take the name, style, andtitle of a "lover's walk!" Happy times--happy times! but still theremight be happier; yes, and happiest, too, they seemed to whisper, ifever they should have a merry little nursery of prattling boys andgirls! But I am not so entirely in the confidence of those young folksas to be certain about what they seemed to whisper: in that prettyprattling sentence were they not getting a little beyond the honey-moon?Yes--yes, young Hymen is too full of new-found pleasure to heed thoseholier joys of calm old marriage; for wedded love is as a coil of line, lengthening with the lapse of years, fitted and intended, day after day, to be continually sounding a lower and a lower deep in the ocean ofhappiness. 

Returned to town, it was the immediate care of our fond, confused, andunfortunate young couple to call at the old house in Finsbury square;where, to their great dismay and misery, they encountered a formalstanding order for their non-admission. The domestics were new, had beenstrictly warned against the name of Clements, and, in effect, werecreatures of the worthy John. It was a deplorable business; they did notknow what to think, nor how to act. Letters left at the door, couched inwhatever terms of humility, kindliness, and just excuse, were equallyunavailing; for the Cerberus there was too well sopped by pleasantbrother John ever to deliver them to any one but him. It was entirelyhopeless--extraordinary--a most wretched state of things. What were theyto do? The only practicable mode of getting at Sir Thomas, and, therefore, at some explanation of these mysteries, was obviously towatch for him, and meet him in the street. As for Lady Dillaway, she wasvery ill, and kept her chamber, which was as resolutely guarded fromincursion or excursion as Danae's herself--yea, more so, for gold wasadded to her guards: Sir Thomas, going to and from his counting-house, appeared to be the only weak point in the enemy's fortifications. 

Poor old man! he was, or thought he was, harder, colder, more inveteratethan ever: and his duteous son John rarely let him venture out alone, for fear of some such meeting, casual or intended. Accordingly, one daywhen the Clements and the Dillaways mutually spied each other afar off, and a junction seemed inevitable, John's promptitude bade his father(generously as it looked, for paternal peace of mind's sake) return afew paces, get into a cab, and so slip home, the while he valiantlystepped forward to meet the enemy. 

"Mr. Clements! my father (I grieve to say) will hear no reason, nor anyexcuse whatever; he totally refuses to see you or Mrs. Clements. "

"O, dearest John! what have I done--what has Henry done, that papa, andyou, and dear mamma, should all be so unkind to us?"

"You have married, Mrs. Clements, contrary to your father's wish andknowledge: and he has cast you off--I must say--deservedly. "

"Brother, brother! you know I was deceived, and Henry too. This iscruel, most cruel: let me see my beloved father but one moment!"

"His commands are to the contrary, madam; and I at least obey them. Henceforth you are a stranger to us all. "

The poor broken-hearted girl fell into her husband's arms, stone-white:but her hard brother, making no account whatever of all that show offeeling, only took the trouble quietly to address Henry Clements. "Misfortunes never come single, they say; it is no fault of mine if theproverb hits Mr. Henry Clements. I am sorry to have to tell you, sir, that the Austral Independent bank has stopped payment, and is notexpected to refund to its depositors or shareholders one penny in thepound. "

"Impossible, Mr. Dillaway! You answered for its stability yourself: andthe proposition came originally from you. I hope surely, surely, you mayhave been misinformed of these bad news. "

"It is true, sir--too true for you: the wisest man on 'change is oftenout of reckoning. I have nothing now of yours in my hands, sir: you areaware that no writings passed between us. "

"Great Heaven! be just and merciful! Are we, then, to be utterlyruined?"

"Really, sir, you know your own affairs better than I can. --Yourservant, Mr. Clements. "

O, hard and wicked heart!--what will not such a miscreant do for money?Nothing, I am clear, but the cowardly fear of discovery prevents JohnDillaway from becoming a positive parricide by very arsenic or razor, soas to grasp his cheated father's will and wealth. And this assertionwill appear not in the least uncharitable, when the reader is in thisplace reminded that Henry Clements's own little property had never beenAustralized at all, but was still safe and snug in the coffers of craftyJohn. Jermyn street--or the sharpers congregated there--had drained himvery considerably; all his own ill-got gains had been gradually rakedaway by the croupier at the gaming-table; and unsuspecting Henry'slittle trust-fund was to be the next bank on which the brother played. 

Poor Henry and Maria! What will they do? where will they go? how willthey live? Hard questions all, not to be answered in a hurry. We shallsee. There was one comfort, though, amidst all their misery;--they didnot find the adage a true one, which alludes to poverty coming in at thedoor, and love flying out of the window; for they never loved each othermore deeply--more devotedly--than when daily bread was growing ascarcity, and daily life almost a burden. But we are anticipating. 

And how fared the parents all this while? was the erring daughterentirely forgotten? No, no. Son John, indeed, took good care to hinderany amicable feelings of relapse to intrude upon his father'sresolution. But the old man was not easy, nevertheless; often thought ofpoor Maria; and could not clearly make out who had forged the letter. Had it not been for that wicked brother John, a meeting--anexplanation--a reconciliation--would undoubtedly have taken place: buthe was shrewd enough to keep them asunder, and did not take much toheart his father's altered spirits and breaking state of health: hiswill and wealth were seemingly all the nearer. 

And what of that poor stricken mother? Wasted to a shadow, feverish andweak, she lay for weeks, counting the dreary hours, till she heard ofdear, though unnatural, Maria. Oh! the heartless caitiff, John! will hethus watch his mother die by inches, when one true word from his lipscould restore her to tranquillity and health? Yes, he would--he did--thewretch! She gradually pined--waned--wasted; the candle of her life burntdown into the hollow socket--glimmering awhile--flared and reeled, andthen--one night, quietly and suddenly--went out! She entered on theworld of spirits, where all secrets show revealed; and there she read, almost before she died--whilst yet the black curtain of eternity wasgradually rising to receive her--the innocence of good Maria, and thedeep-stained villany of John. Her last words--uttered supernaturallyfrom her quiescence, with the fervour of a visionary whose ken is morethan mortal--were "Look, look, Thomas!--beware of John. O poor, poorinnocent outcast!--O rich, rich heart of love--Maria! my Mari--a--!"

CHAPTER X. 

HOW TO HELP ONE'S SELF. 

Where then did they live, and how--that noble and calumniated couple?They had done no wrong, nor even, as it seems to us, the semblance ofwrong, unless it be by having acquiesced in the foolishness of secresy, and thus aided the contrivance of false witness; for aught else, theironly social error had been lack of business caution among business men. Feeling generously themselves, they gave others credit for the like goodfeeling; acting upon honourable impulse, they believed that other menwould act so too. Heart was the hindrance in their way;--too muchsensitiveness towards all about them; too swift a surrender of thejudgment to the affections: too imprudent a reliance upon other men ofthe world; though, when they trusted to a father's love, and a brother'shonesty, prudence herself might have almost been dispensed with. Machinations of the wicked and the shrewd hemmed them in to theirun-doing: and really, they, children more or less of affluent homes, born and bred in plenty, who had moved all their lives long in circlesof comparative wealth and wastefulness, now seemed likely to come to thegalling want of necessary sustenance. Was it not to teach them deeperfeeling for the poor, if ever God again should give them riches? Was itnot, by poverty, to try those hearts which had passed so blamelesslythrough all the ordeals and temptations of wealth, in order that theyworthily might wear the double crown given only to such as remainunhardened by prosperity, unembittered by adversity? Was it not todiscipline our warm Maria's love, and to chasten her Henry's verygentlemanly pride into the due Christian proportions--self-respect withself-humiliation? Was it not, chiefest and best, to school their heartsfor heaven, and, by feeding them on miseries and wrongs a little while, to fix their affections on things above rather than on things of thisworld? Yes: Providence has many ends in view, and they all tendconsistently to one great focus--the ultimate advantage of the good bymeans of the confusion of the wicked. 

Meanwhile came trouble on apace. Henry Clements justly felt aggrieved, insulted; and the sentiment of pride, improper only from excess, determined him to make no more advances: all that man could do, thatis, which a gentleman ought to do, he had done; but letters and visitsproved equally unavailing. He had come to the resolution that he wouldmake no more efforts himself, nor scarcely let Maria make any. As forher, poor soul! she was now in grievous tribulation, with sad, sufficient reason for it too; seeing that, in addition to her father'sanger, still protracted--in addition to that vile forgery imputed to hercraft, and whereof she had been made the guilty victim--in addition totheir own soon pressing money-wants, and that heartless fraud of John'sagainst her husband's little all (though she counted of it only as aluckless speculation)--she had just become acquainted, through thepublic prints, of her dear good mother's death, even before she hadheard of any illness. What bitter pangs were there for her, poor child!That she should have lost that mother just then, without forgiveness, without blessing--whilst all was unexplained, and their whole conduct ofaffections without guile, wore the hideous mask of base, undutifulcontrivance! Cheer up, Maria; cheer up! only in this bad world caninnocence be sullied with a doubt: cheer up! the spirit of that motherwhom you loved on earth knows it well already; learned it while yet shewas leaving the body of her death: cheer up! she is still near youboth--dear children of affliction and affection! and God hascommissioned her for good to be your ministering angel. 

With reference to means of living, they appeared limited at once to alittle ready money, and a few personal chattels and trinkets; without somuch as one pound of capital to back the young house-keepers, or ashilling's-worth of interest or dividend or earnings coming in forweekly bills. Clements had been utterly confounded in all his economicalarrangements by that sudden bitter breach of trust; and, albeit (as wehave hinted), his aim in marriage was not money; still, without much ofworldly calculation, he might prudently have looked for some provisionon Maria's part at least equal to his own: in fact, the fond youngcouple had reasonably set their hearts upon that golden mean--fourhundred a-year to begin with. Now, however, by two fell swoops--brotherJohn's dishonesty and Sir Thomas's resolve of disinheritance--all thisrational and moderate expectation had been dashed to atoms; and thecottage of contented competence appeared but as a castle in theclouds--a mere airy matter of undiluted moonshine. Thus, when thathappiest of honeymoons had dwindled down the hundred-pound bank-note(shrewd John's well-expended bait) to the fractional part of a ten, andour newly-married pair came to put together their united resources, wherewithal to travel through the world, they could muster but verylittle:--considering, too, the future, and the promise of an earlyincrease to provide for, forty-seven pounds was not quite a fortune; anda few articles of jewellery did not much increase it. 

We need not imagine that Henry calmly acquiesced without a struggle inthe roguish fraud which had impoverished him; but, notwithstanding allhis best endeavours, he found, to his dismay, that the case wasirremediable: the transfer-books, indeed, were evidence; and equitywould give credit for the trust: but that the "Independent bank" hadfailed was a simple fact; and so long as John stood ready to swear hehad invested in it, there was an end to the business. Be sure, shrewdJack was not likely to leave any thing dubious or unsatisfactory in theaffair. Austral papers were easily got at now, cheap as whitey-brown;and for any help the law could give him, poor Henry Clements might aswell engage the wind-raising services of a Lapland witch. 

He must put his shoulder to the wheel without delay; manifestly, hisprofession of the law, however unlucrative till now, must be the mightylever that should raise him quickly to the summit of opulence and fame:and he vigorously set to work, as the briefless are forced to do, inditing a new law-book, which should lift him high in honour with thosemagnates on the bench; being, as he was, a court-counsel, not a chamberone, an eloquent pleader too (if the world would only give him ahearing), he unluckily took for his thesis the questionable '_Doctrineof Defence_;' combating magnanimously on the loftiest moral grounds allmanner of received opinions, time-honoured fictions, legitimatedquibbles, and other things which (as he was pleased to put it) "renderthe majesty of the law ridiculous to the ears of common sense, andiniquitous in the sight of Christian judgment. " Rash youth! forensicQuixote! better had you plodded on, without this extra industry andskill, in the hopeless idleness and solitude of your Templegarret--better had you burnt your wig and gown outright, with all theairy briefs to come that fluttered round them, than have owned yourselfthe author of that heretical piece of moral mawkishness--'_The Doctrineof Defence_, by Henry Clements. '

He had with difficulty found a publisher--a chilling incident enough initself, considering an author's feelings for his book-child; and whenfound, the scarcely satisfactory arrangement was insisted on, of mutualparticipation in profit and loss: in other parlance, the booksellerpocketing the first, and the author unpocketing the second. Thus it cameto pass, that after three months' toil and enormous collation ofcases--after extravagant indulgence of the most ardent hopes--glory, good, and gold, consequent instantaneously on this happypublication--after reasonably expecting that judges would quote it intheir ermine, and sergeants consult it in their silk--that London wouldbe startled by the event from the humdrum of its ordinary routine--andthe wondering world applaud the name of Henry Clements--O, heart-sickening reality! what was the result of his exertions?

"So, that puppy Clements has taken upon himself to put us all to schoolabout whom we may defend, and how, I see---- Hang the fellow'simpudence!" grunted a fat Old Bailey counsel to his peers, well awarethat the luckless author sat nervously within ear-shot. 

"I know whose junior that modest swain shall never be;" simperedSergeant Tiffin. 

"The fellow's done for himself, " was the simultaneous verdict of awell-wigged band of brothers. And what else they might have added intheir charity poor Clements never knew, for he crept away to his garret, stricken with disappointment. There he must encounter other trials ofthe heart: two or three reviews and newspapers lay upon his table, justsent in by the bookseller, as per order; for they contained, inspirit-stirring print, notices of '_Clements on Defence_. ' Unluckily forhis present peace of mind, poor fellow, the periodicals in question werenone of the humaner sort; no kindly encouraging '_Literary Register_, 'no soft-spoken '_Courtier_, ' no patient '_Investigator_, ' nogenerously-indulgent '_Critical Gazette_:' these more amiable journalswould be slower in the field--some six weeks hence, perhaps, creeping onwith philanthropic sloth: but fiercer prints, which dart hebdomadalwrath at every trembling seeker of their parsimonious praise, had whiptup their malice to deliver the first swift blow against our haplessneophyte in print. Thus, when, with nervous preboding, Henry took up the'_Watchman_, ' in eager hope for favour to his poor dear book, he turnedquite sick at heart to find the lying verdict run as follows, though thesmall type in which it spake was a comfort too:

"A careless compilation of insignificant cases, clumsily throwntogether, and calculated to set its author high indeed upon the rolls offame; proving to the world that a Mr. Henry Clements can reason veryfeebly; that his premises are habitually false; and that presumptuouspreaching is the natural accompaniment of extreme ignorance. "

By all that worries man, but this was too bad: "careless?"--every wordhad been a care to him: "clumsy?"--in composition it was Addison's ownself: "feeble?"--if he was good for any thing, he was good for logic:"false?"--not one premise but stood on adamant, not one conclusion butit was fixed as fate: "presumptuous?"--it was bold and masculine, certainly, but humble too; here and there almost deferential:"ignorant?"--ye powers that live in looks, testify by thousands howClements had been studying!--And yet this most lying sentence, acongeries or sorites of untruths, hastily penned by some dyspepticscribe, who perhaps had barely dipped into the book, was at the momentcirculating in every library of the kingdom, proclaiming our poorbarrister a fool!

O, thou watchful scribe, forbear! for it is cowardly--they cannot smiteagain: forbear! for it is cruel--the hearts of wife and mother and loverache upon your idle words: forbear! it is unreasonable--for often-timesa word would prove that Rhadamanthus' self is wrong: forbear, calumniousscribe! and heed the harms you do, when you rob some poor struggler ofhis character for sense, and make the bread of the hungry to fail. 

'_The Corinthian_, ' another snarling watch-dog in the courts of thetemple of Fame, followed instinctively the same injurious wake: it was aleisurely sarcastic anatomization, quite enough to blight any youngcandidate's prospects, supposing that mankind respected such a verdict;if not to make him cut his throat, granting that the victim should besensitive as Keats. The generous review in question may be judged of byits first line and last sentence; as Hercules from his advancing foot, or Cuvier's Megatherium from the relics of its great toe. Thus itcommenced:

"When a disappointed man, intolerant of fortune, " &c. , &c. , and it woundup many stinging observations with this grateful climax following:

 "We trust we have now said enough to prove that if a man will be bold enough to 'depreciate censure, '--will attack what he is pleased to consider abuses, however countenanced by high authority--and will obtrude his literary eloquence into our solemn courts of law, he deserves--what does he not deserve?--to be addressed henceforth by a name suggestive at once of ignorance, presumption, and conceit, as Mr. Henry Clements. "

Now, will it be believed that a trivial error of the press mainlyconduced to occasion this hostility? Our poor author had been weakenough to "deprecate censure" in his penny-wise humility, and theprinter had negatived his meaning as above: "_hinc illæ lachrymæ_. " Oh, but how the ragged tooth of calumny gnawed his very heart!

'_The Legal Recorder_' was another of those early unfavourables; beingas a matter of course adverse too, and not very disinterestedly either:for it played the exalted part of pet puffer to a rival publisher, whowanted no other reason for condemning this book of Mr. Clements thanthat it came from the legal officina of an opponent in his trade. Therewas another paper or two, but Clements felt so utterly disheartened thathe did not dare to look at them. I wish he had; they would havecomforted him, pouring balm upon his wounded pride by their kind andcordial praises: but ill-luck ruled the hour, so he burnt themforthwith, and lost much literary comforting. 

To sauce up all this pleasantry with a smack of concreted pleasureitself, the last and only remaining document upon the table was a civilnote from Mr. Wormwood, publisher and bookseller, enclosing thefollowing items with his compliments:

 To 500 copies '_Doctrine of Defence_, ' £124 3 To advertising ditto, 25 0 To 10 per cent. On sales, &c. Supplied to author, 12 copies, &c. Given to periodicals for review, 15 copies, &c. 

Against all which was the solitary offset of "three copies sold;"leaving as our Henry's _share_ of now certain loss a matter of eightypounds: which, between ourselves, was only a very little more than thewhole cost of that untoward publication. Mr. Wormwood hoped to hear fromMr. Clements at his earliest convenience, as a certain sum was to bemade up on a certain day, and the book-trade never had been at a lowerebb, and prompt payment would be esteemed a great accommodation, and--all that stereotyped sort of thing. 

Poor Clements--reviled author, ruined lawyer, almost recklesswight--here was an extinguisher indeed to the morning's brilliant hopes!What an overwhelming debt to that ill-used couple in their alteredcircumstances! How entirely by his own strong effort had he swamped hislegal expectations! Just as a man who cannot swim splashes himself intocertain suffocation; whereas, if he would but lie quite still, he wascertain to have floated on as safe as cork. 

Well: to cut a long story short, our unlucky author found that he mustpay, and pay forthwith, or incur a lawyer's bill for his debt to Mr. Wormwood: so he gave up his Temple garret, sold his books, nicknacks, and superfluous habiliments, added to the proceeds their forty pounds ofcapital, and a neck-chain of Maria's; and, at tremendous sacrifices, found himself once more out of danger, because out of debt. But it was abad prospect truly for the future--ay, and for the present too; a fewpounds left would soon be gone--and then dear Maria's confinement wasapproaching, and a hundred wants and needs, little and great:accordingly, they made all haste to get rid of their suburban dwellingin the City Road, collected their few valuables remaining, and retreatedwith all economical speed to a humble lodging in a cheap back street atIslington. 

That little parlor was a palace of love: in the midst of her deepsorrow, sweet Maria never failed of her amiable charities--nay, she waseven cheerful, hopeful--happy, and rendering happy: a thousand times aday had Henry cause to bless his "wedded angel. " And, showing his loveby more than words, he resolutely set about another literary enterprise, anonymous this time for very fear's sake; but Providence saw fit tobless his efforts with success. He wrote a tragedy, a clever and a goodone too; though '_The Watchman_' did sneer about "modern Shakspeares, "and '_The Corinthian_, ' pouncing on some trifling fault, pounded it withwould-be giant force: nevertheless, for it was a famous English theme, he luckily got them to accept it at the Haymarket, and '_Boadicea_' drewfull houses; so the author had his due ninth night, and pocketed, instead of fame (for he grimly kept his secret) enough to enable him toprint his tragedy for private satisfaction; and that piece of vanityaccomplished, he still found himself seven pounds before-hand with theworld. 

CHAPTER XI. 

FRAUD CUTS HIS FINGERS WITH HIS OWN EDGED TOOLS. 

Unpleasant as it is to feel obliged to be the usher of ill company, Imust now introduce to the fastidious public a brace of characters anything but reputable. It were possible indeed to slur them over with aword; but I have deeper ends in view for a glance so superficial: we maylearn a lesson in charity, we may gain some schooling of the heart, evenfrom those "ladies-legatees. "

Do you remember them, the supposititious nieces, aiders and abetters inour stock-jobber's forged will? Two flashy, showy women, _not_ of easyvirtue, but of none at all--special intimates of John Dillaway, and thegenus of his like, and habitual frequenters of divers choice andpleasant places of resort. 

The reason of their introduction here is two-fold: first, they have toplay a part in our tale--a part of righteous retribution; and, secondly, they have to instruct us incidentally in this lesson of true morals andhuman charity--dread, denounce, and hate the sin, but feel a justcompassion for the sinner. Let us take the latter object first, and bearwith the brief epitome of facts which have blighted those unfortunatesto what they are. 

Look at these two women, impudent brawlers, foul with vice: can there beany excuses made for them, considered as distinct from their condition?God knoweth: listen to their histories; and fear not that thy virtuousglance will be harmed or misdirected, or a minute of thy precious timeill-spent. 

Anna Bates and Julia Manners (their latest _noms de guerre_ will serveall nominative purposes as well as any other) had arrived at the samelowest level of female degradation by very different downward roads. Anna's father had been a country curate, unfortunate through life, because utterly imprudent, and neither too wise a man nor too good aone, or depend upon it his orphan could not have come to this: "Neversaw I the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread. " But thefather died carelessly as he had lived--in debt, with all his littleaffairs at sixes and sevens; and his widow with her budding daughter, saving almost nothing from the wreck, set up for milliners at Hull. Thendid the mother pique herself upon playing her cards cleverly; forgallant Captain Croker was quite smitten with the girl. Poor child--sheloved, listened, and was lost; a more systematic traitor of affectionnever breathed than that fine man; so she left by night her softintriguing broken-spirited mother, followed her Lothario from barrack tobarrack, and at last--he flung her away! Who can wonder at the recklessand dissolute result? Whom had she to care for her--whom had she tolove? She must live thus, or starve. Without credit, character, or hope, or help, the friendless unprotected wretch was thrown upon the town. When the last accounts are opened, oblivious General Croker will find anell-long score of crimes laid to his charge, whereof he little reckonsin his sear and yellow leaf. The trusting victim of seduction has alegion of excuses for the wretched one she is. 

Again; for another case whereon the better-favoured heart may ruminatein charity. Miss Julia Manners had a totally different experience butman can little judge how mainly the iron hand of circumstance confinedthat life-long sinner to the ways and works of guilt. In the nervouslanguage of the Bible--(hear it, men and women, without shrinking fromthe words)--that poor girl was "the seed of the adulterer and thewhore:" born in a brothel, amongst outcasts from a better mass oflife--brought up from the very cradle amid sounds and scenes of uttervice (whereof we dare not think or speak one moment of the many yearsshe dwelt continuously among them)--educated solely as a profligate, andignorant alike of sin, righteousness, and a judgment to come--had shethen a chance of good, or one hopeful thought of being better than shewas? The water of holy baptism never bedewed that brow; the voice ofmotherly counsel never touched those ears; her eyes were unskilled toread the records of wisdom; her feet untutored to follow after holiness;her heart unconscious of those evils which she never knew condemned; hersoul--she never heard or thought of one! Oh, ye well-born, well-bred, yekindly, carefully, prayerfully instructed daughters of innocence andpurity, pause, pause, ere your charity condemns: hate the sin, but lovethe sinner: think it out further, for yourselves, in all those detailswhich I have not time to touch, skill to describe, nor courage toencounter; think out as kindly as ye may this episode of justindulgence; there is wisdom in this lesson of benevolence, andafter-sweetness too, though the earliest taste of it be bitter; think itout; be humbler of your virtue, scarcely competent to err; be moregrateful to that Providence which hath filled your lot with good; and begentler-hearted, more generous-handed unto those whose daily lifeis--all temptation. 

Now, these two ladies (who extenuates their guilt, caviller? whobreathes one iota of excuse for their wicked manner of life? who doesnot utterly denounce the foul and flagrant sin, whilst he leaves to asecret-searching God the judgment of the sinner?)--these two ladies, Isay, had of late become very sore plagues to Mr. John Dillaway. They hadflared out their hush-money like duchesses, till the whole town rangabout their equipage and style; and now, that all was spent, theypestered our stock-jobber for more. They came at an unlucky season, aseason of "ill luck!" such a miraculous run of it, as nothing couldexplain to any rational mind but loaded dice, packed cards, contrivanceand conspiracy. Nevertheless, our worthy John went on staking, andbetting, and playing, resolute to break the bank, until it was nowonder at all to any but his own shrewd genius, that he found himselfone feverish morning well nigh penniless. At such a moment then, calledour ladies-legatees, clamorous for hush-money. 

As a matter most imperatively of course, not a farthing more should beforthcoming, and many oaths avouched that stern determination. Theyought to be ashamed of themselves, after such an enormous bribe toeach--as if shame of any kind had part or lot in those feminineaccomplices: it was a sanguine thought of Mr. John Dillaway. But theladies were not ashamed, nor silenced, nor any thing like satisfied. So, having thoroughly fatigued themselves with out-swearing andout-threatening, our sneerful stock-jobber, they resolved upon exposinghim, come what might. For their own guilty part in that transaction ofMrs. Jane Mackenzie's pseudo-will, good sooth, the wretched women had nocharacters to lose, nor scarcely aught else on which one could set avalue. Danger and the trial would be an excitement to their pallidspirits, possible transportation even seemed a ray of hope, since anything was better than the town; and in their sinful recklessness, liberty or life itself was little higher looked on than a dice's stake. Moreover, as to all manner of personal pains and penalties, there wasevery chance of getting off scot-free, provided they lost no time, wentnot one before the other, but doubly turned queen's evidence at onceagainst their worthy coadjutor and employer. In the hope, then, ofruining him, if not of getting scathelessly off themselves, theseladies-legatees mustered once more from the mazes of St. Giles's thepack of competent Irish witnesses, collected whatever documentary orother evidence looked likeliest to help their ends, and then one earlyday presented themselves before the lord-mayor, eager to destroy at ablow that pleasant Mr. Dillaway. 

The proceedings were long, cautious, tedious, and secret: emissaries toBelfast, Doctors' Commons, and the bank: the stamp office was stirred toits foundations; and Canterbury staggered at the fraud. Thus within aweek the proper officials were in a condition to prosecute, and theissue of immense examinations tended to that point of satisfaction, thehaling Mr. Dillaway to prison on the charge of having forged a will. 

CHAPTER XII. 

HEART'S CORE. 

They were come into great want, poor Henry and Maria: they had notwherewithal for daily sustenance. The few remaining trinkets, books, clothes, and other available moveables had been gradually pledged away, and to their full amount--at least, the pawnbroker said so. That unluckypublication of the law book, so speedily condemned and heartlesslyridiculed, had wrecked all Henry's possible prospects in the courts; andas for help from friends--the casual friends of common life--he was tooproud to beg for that--too sensitive, too self-respectful. Relations hehad none, or next to none--that distant cousin of his mother's, theMac-something, whom he had never even seen, but who, nevertheless, hadacted as his guardian. 

Much as he suspected Dillaway in the matter of that bitter breach oftrust, he had neither ready money to proceed against him, (nor, when hecame to think it over) any legal grounds at all to go upon; for, as wehave said before, even granting there should be evidence adduced of thetransfer of stock from the name of Clements to that of Dillaway, stillit was a notorious fact that the "Independent bank" had failed, wheretothe stock-broker could swear he had intrusted it. In short, shrewd Jackhad managed all that affair to admiration; and poor Clements was ruinedwithout hope, and defrauded without remedy. 

Then, again, we already know how that Lady Dillaway was dead, so helpfrom her was simply impossible; and the miserable father Sir Thomas waskept too closely up to the mark of resolute anger by slanderous John, togive them any aid, if they applied to him; but, in truth, as to personalapplication, Henry would not for pride, and Maria now could not, for hernear-at-hand motherly condition. Her frequent letters, as we may besure, were intercepted; and, even if Sir Thomas now and then yearnedafter his lost child, it had become a matter of physical impossibilityto find out where she lived. Thus were they hopelessly sinking, day byday, into all the bitter waves of want. Not but that Henry strived, aswe have seen, and shall yet see: still his endeavours had been verynearly fruitless--and, perchance, till all available moveables had beenpawned outright, very feeble too. Now, however, that Maria, in hersorrow and her need, must soon become a mother, the state of things grewterrible indeed; their horizon was all over black with clouds. 

No: not all over. There is light under the darkness, a growing lightthat shall dispel the darkness; a precious light upon their souls, theearly dawn of Heaven's eternal day; God's final end in all theirtroubles, the reaping-time of joy for their sowing-time of tears. 

Without cant, affectation, or hypocrisy, there is but one panacea forthe bruised or broken heart, available alike in all times, all places, and all circumstances: and he who knows not what that is, has more tolearn than I can teach him. That pure substantial comfort is born ofHeaven's hope, and faith in Heaven's wisdom; it is a solid confidence inGod's great love, but faintly shadowed out by all the charities ofearth. Human affections in their manifold varieties are little otherthan an echo of that Voice, "Come unto me; Comfort ye, comfort ye; Iwill be a Father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and my daughters; thyMaker is thy Husband; he hath loved thee with an everlasting love; whenthou goest through the fire, I will be with thee, through the waters, they shall not overflow thee; eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neitherhath it entered into the mind of man to conceive the blessings which Hislove hath laid in store for _thee_. "

Heart's-ease in heart's-affliction--this they found in God; turning toHim with all their hearts, and pouring out their hearts before Him, theytrusted in Him heartily for both worlds' good. Therefore did He givethem their heart's desire, satisfying all their mind: wherefore did theylove each other now with a newly-added plenitude of love, mutually inreference to Him who loved them, and gave Himself for them: thereforedid they feel in their distresses more gladness at their hearts, than inthe days of luxury and affluence, the increase of their oil and theirwine. 

For this is the great end of all calamities. God doth not willinglyafflict: trouble never cometh without an urgent cause; and though man inhis perverseness often misses all the prize of purity, whilst he paysall the penalty of pain; still the motive that sent sorrow was thesame--O, that there were a better heart in them!

In many modes the heart of man is tried, as gold must be refined, bymany methods; and happiest is the heart, that, being tried by many, comes purest out of all. If prosperity melts it as a flux, well; butbetter too than well, if the acid of affliction afterwards eats away allunseen impurities; whereas, to those with whom the world is in theirhearts, affluence only hardens, and penury embitters, and thus, thoughburnt in many fires, their hearts are dross in all. Like those sullenchildren in the market-place, they feel no sympathies with heaven orwith earth: unthankful in prosperity, unsoftened by adversity, well mayit be said of them, Hearts of stone, hearts of stone!

Not of such were Henry and Maria: naturally warm in affections andgenerous in sympathies, it needed but the pilot's hand to steer theirhearts aright: the energies of life were there, both fresh and full, lacking but direction heavenwards; and chastisement wisely interposed towean those yearning spirits from the brief and feverish pursuits ofunsatisfying life, to the rest and the rewards of an eternity. Then werethey wedded indeed, heart answering to heart; then were they strongagainst all the ills of life, those hearts that were established bygrace; then spake they often one to another out of the abundance oftheir hearts; and in spite of all their sorrows, they were happy, fortheir hearts were right with God. 

Let the grand idea suffice, unencumbered by the multitude of details. Whatsoever things are true, honest and just; whatsoever things are pure, lovely, or of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be anypraise--believe of those twin hearts that God had given them all. Patience, hope, humility; faith, tenderness, and charity; prayer, trust, benevolence, and joy: this was the lot of the afflicted! It was good forthem that they had been in trouble; for they had gained from it a wealththat is above the preciousness of rubies, deservedly dearer to theirhearts than the thousands of gold and silver. 

What a contrast then was shown between God's kindness and man'scoldness! No one of their fellows seemed to give them any heed: but Hecared for them, and on Him they cast their cares. Former friendsappeared to stand aloof, self-dependent and unsympathizing; but God wasever near, kindly bringing help in every extremity, which always seemedat hand, yet ever kept away: smoothing the pillow of sickness, comforting the troubled spirit, and treading down calamity and calumnyand care; as a conqueror conquering for them. So, they learned thepriceless wisdom which adversity would teach to all on whom shefrowneth; when earthly hopes are wrecked, to anchor fast on God; and ifaffluence should ever come again, to aid the poor afflicted withheartiness, beneficence, and home-taught sympathy. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

HOPE'S BIRTH TO INNOCENCE, AND HOPE'S DEATH TO FRAUD. 

John Dillaway's sudden loss of property, his character exploded as amonied man, and the strong probability of his turning out a felon, had agreat effect on the spirits of Sir Thomas. He had called upon hispromising son in prison, had found him very sulky, disinclined forsocial intercourse, and any thing but filial; all he condescended togrowl, with a characteristic d---- or two interlarding his eloquence, was this taunting speech:

"Well, governor, I may thank you and your counsels for this. Here's aprecious end to all my clever tricks of trade! I wish you joy of yourson, and of your daughter too, old man. Who wrote that letter? What, notfound out yet? and does she still starve for it? Who gained money as youbade him--never mind how? And is now going to do honour to the familyall round the world, ey?--Ha, ha, ha!"

The poor unhappy father tottered away as quickly as he could, while yetthe brutal laughter of that unnatural son rang upon his ears. He wasquite miserable, let him turn which way he would. On 'Change the namehad been disgraced--posted up for scorn on the board of degradation: athome, there was no pliant son and heir, to testify against Maria, and toclose the many portals of a wretched father's heart. He grew verywretched--very mopy; determined upon cutting adrift shrewd Jack himself, as a stigma on the name which had once held the mace of mayoralty; madehis will petulantly, for good and all, in favour of Stationer's hall, and felt very like a man who had lived in vain. "Cut it down; whycumbereth it the earth?"

Meanwhile, in those two opposite quarters of the world of London, Newgate and Islington, Sir Thomas's two discarded children were bearingin a different way their different privations. Poor Maria's hour ofperil had arrived; and amidst all those pains, dangers, and necessities, a soft and smiling babe was born into the world; gladness filled theirhearts, and praise was on their tongues, when the happy father andmother kissed that first-born son. It was a splendid boy, they said, andshould redeem his father's fortunes: there was hope in the future, letthe past be what it may; and this new bond of union to that happywedded pair made the present--one unclouded scene of gratitude and love. Who shall sing of the humble ale-caudle, and those cheerful givings tosurrounding poor, scarcely poorer than themselves? Who shall record howkind was Henry, how useful was the nurse, how liberal the doctor, howsympathizing all? Who shall tell how tenderly did Providence step inwith another author's night of that same tragedy, and how other avenuesto literary gain stood wide open to industry and genius? It washappiness all, happiness, and triumph: they were weathering the stormfamously, and had safely passed the breakers of False witness. 

Amidst the other part of London sate a sullen fellow, quite alone, inNewgate, looking for his trial on the morrow, and prophesying accuratelyenough how some two days hence, he, John Dillaway, of Broker's alley, son and heir of the richest stationer in Europe, was to appear in thecharacter of a convicted felon, and be probably condemned totransportation for life. A pleasant retrospect was his, a pleasanteraspect, and a pleasanter prospect; all was pleasure assuredly. 

And the morrow duly came; with those implacable approvers, thoseaccurate Irish witnesses, those tell-tale documents, that prosecutingcrown and bank, that dogged jury, and that sentencing recorder: so then, by a little after noon, to the scandal of Finsbury square, John Dillawaydiscovered that the "wise man's trick or two in the money market" wasabout to be rewarded with twenty-one years of transportation. 

Of this interesting fact Henry Clements became acquainted by anoccasional peep into the public prints; and he perceived to hisastonishment, that the defrauded Mrs. Jane Mackenzie, of Ballyriggan, near Belfast, could surely be none other than his mother's Ulstercousin, the nominal guardian of his boyhood! To be sure, it matteredlittle enough to him, for the old lady had never been much better than astranger to him, and at present appeared only in that useless characterto an expectant, a person despoiled of her money; nevertheless, of thatidentical money, certain sanguine friends had heretofore given himexpectations in the event of her death, seeing that she had nobody toleave it to, except himself and the public charities of the UnitedKingdom: clearly, this cousin must have been the defrauded bankannuitant, and he could not help feeling more desolate than ever; forJohn Dillaway's evil influences had robbed him now of name, fame, fortune, and what hope regards as much as any--expectations. Yet--mustnot the bank of England bear the brunt of all this forgery, and accountfor its stock to that innocent depositor? Old Mrs. Jane was sinkinginto dotage, probably had plenty of other money, and scarcely seemed tostir about the business; therefore, legitimately interested as Henryindubitably was, he took upon him to write to his antiquated relative, and in so doing managed to please her mightily: renewed whateverinterest she ever might have felt in him, enabled her to enforce herjust claim, and really stood a likelier chance than ever of coming infor competency some day. However, for the present, all was penury still. Clements had been too delicate for even a hint at his deplorablecondition: and his distant relative's good feeling, so providentiallyrenewed, served indeed to gild the future, but did not avail togingerbread the present. So they struggled on as well as they could:both very thankful for the chance which had caused a coalition betweensensitiveness and interest; and Maria at least more anxious than everfor a reconciliation with her father, now that all his ardent hopes hadbeen exploded in son John. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

PROBABLE RECONCILIATION. 

It was no use--none at all. Nature was too strong for him; and a higherforce than even potent Nature. In vain Sir Thomas pish'd, and tush'd, and bah'd; in vain he buried himself chin-deep amongst the century ofledgers that testified of gainful years gone by, and were now mustilyrotting away in the stagnant air of St. Benet's Sherehog: interest hadlost its interest for him, profits profited not, speculation's self haddull, lack-lustre eyes, and all the hard realities of utilitarian lifewere become weary, flat, and stale. Sir Thomas was a miserable man--abereaved old man--who nevertheless clung to what was left, and strugglednot to grieve for what was lost: there was a terrible strife going onsecretly within him, dragging him this way and that: a little, lightningflash of good had been darted by Omnipotence right through thestone-built caverns of his heart, and was smouldering a concentred flamewithin its innermost hollow; a small soft-skinned seed had been droppedby the Father of Spirits into that iron-bound soil, and it was swellingday by day under the case-hardened surface, gradually with gentleviolence, despite of all the locks and gates, and bolts and bars, asilent enemy had somehow crept within the fortress of his feelings, ready at any unguarded moment to fling the portals open. The rock had asealed fountain leaping within it, as an infant in the womb. The poorold man, the worldly cold old man, was giving way. 

Happy misery! for his breaking heart revealed a glorious jewel at thecore. Oh, sorrow beyond price! for natural affections, bursting up amidthese unsunned snows, were a hot-spring to that Iceland soul. Oh, bitter, bitter penitence most blest! which broke down the money-proudman, which bruised and kneaded him, humbled, smote, and softened him, and made him come again a little child--a loving, yearning, littlechild--a child with pity in its eyes, with prayer upon its tongue, withgenerous affection in its heart. "Oh, Maria! precious, cast-off child, where art thou, where art thou, where art thou--starving? And canstthou, blessed God, forgive? And will not thy great mercy bring her to meyet again? Oh, what a treasury of love have I mis-spent; what riches ofthe Heart, what only truest wealth, have I, poor prodigal, beensquandering! Unhappy son--unhappy father of the perjured, heartless, miserable John! Wo is me! Where art thou, dear child, my pure and bestMaria?"

We may well guess, far too well, how it was that dear Maria came notnear him. She had been, prior to confinement, very, very ill: nigh todeath: the pangs of travail threatened to have seized upon her all toosoon, when wasted with sorrow, and weakened by want. She lay, longweeks, battling for life, in her little back parlour, at Islington, tended night and day by her kind, good husband. 

But did she not often (you will say) urge him, earnestly as the dyingask, to seek out her father or brother (she had not been told of hisconviction), and to let them know this need? Why, then, did he so oftenput her off with faint excuses, and calm her with coming hopes, and doany thing, say any thing, suffer any thing, rather than execute thefervent wish of the affectionate Maria? It is easily understood. With, and notwithstanding, all the high sentiments, strong sense, and warmfeelings of Henry Clements, he was too proud to seek any succour of theDillaways. Sooner than give that hard old man, or, beforetime, that keenmalicious young one, any occasion to triumph over his necessitouscondition, he himself would starve: ay, and trust to Heaven his darlingwife and child; but not trust these to them. Never, never--if theheart-divorcing work-house were their doom--should that father or thatbrother hear from him a word of supplication, or one murmur ofcomplaint. Nay; he took pains to hinder their knowledge of this trouble:all the world, rather than those two men. Let penury, disease, the veryparish-beadle triumph over him, but not those two. It was a naturalfeeling for a sensitive mind like his--but in many respects a wrong one. It was to put away, deliberately, the helping hand of Providence, because it bade him kiss the rod. It was a direct preference of honourto humility. It was an unconsciously unkind consideration of himselfbefore those whom he nevertheless believed and called more dear to himthan life--but not than honour. Therefore it was that the hand-bills hehad so often seen pasted upon walls were disregarded, that the numerousnewspaper advertisements remained unanswered, and that all the effortsof an almost frantic father to find his long-lost daughter were in vain. 

Meanwhile, to be just upon poor Clements, who really fancied he wasdoing right in this, he left no stone unturned to obtain a provision forhis beloved wife and child. Frequently, by letters (as little urgent asaffection and necessity would suffer him), he had pressed upon somepowerful friends for that vague phantom of a gentlemanlylivelihood--"something under government;" a hope improbable ofaccomplishment, indefinite as to view, but still a hope: especially, since very civil answers came to his request, couched in terms ofofficial guardedness. He had called anxiously upon "old friends, " inpretty much of his usual elegant dress (for he was wise enough, or proudenough, never to let his poverty be seen in his attire), and they mademany polite inquiries after "Mrs. Clements, " and "Where are you living?"and "How is it you never come our way?" and "Clements has cut us alldead, " and so forth. It was really entirely his own fault, but he nevercould contrive to tell the truth: and when one day, in a careless toneof voice, he threw out something about "Do you happen to have ten poundsabout you?" to a dashing young blood of his acquaintance--the dashingyoung blood affected to treat it as a joke--"You married men, luckydogs, with your regular establishments, are too hard upon us poorbachelors, who have nothing but clubs to go to. I give you my honour, Clements, ten pounds would dine me for a fortnight:--spare me this time, there's a fine fellow: take the trouble to write a cheque on yourbankers--here's paper--and my tiger shall get it cashed for you whileyou wait: we poor bachelors are never flush. " But Clements had alreadyowned it was a mere "_obiter dictum_, "--nothing but a joke of prudentmarriage against extravagant bachelorship. 

Ah, what a bitter joke was that! On the verge of that yes or no, to beuttered by his frank young friend, trembled reluctant honour;home-affections were imploring in that careless tone of voice; hungerput that off-hand question. It was vain; a cruel killing effort for hispride: so Henry Clements never asked again; withdrew himself fromfriends; grew hopeless, all but reckless; and his only means of livingwere picked up scantily from the by-ways of literature. An occasionalguinea from a magazine, a copy of that luckily anonymous tragedy now andthen sold by him from house to house (he always disguised himself atsuch times), a little indexing to be done for publishers, and a littlecorrecting of the press for printers--these formed the trifling anduncertain pittance upon which the pale family existed. Poor HenryClements, proud Henry Clements, you had, indeed, a dose of physic foryour pride: bitter draughts, bitter draughts, day after day; but, forall that weak and wasted wife, dearly, devotedly beloved; for all thepining infant, with its angel face and beautiful smiles: for all thestrong pleadings of affection, yea, and gnawing hunger too, the strongman's pride was stronger. And had not God's good providence provedmercifully strongest of them all, that family of love would have starvedoutright for pride. 

But Heaven's favour willed it otherwise. By something little short ofmiracle, where food was scant and medicine scarce, the poor emaciatedmother gradually gained strength--that long, low fever left her, healthcame again upon her cheek, her travail passed over prosperously, thebaby too thrived, (oh, more than health to mothers!) and Maria Clementsfound herself one morning strong enough to execute a purpose she hadlong most anxiously designed. "Henry was wrong to think so harshly ofher father. She knew he would not spurn her away: he must be kind, forshe loved him dearly still. Wicked as it doubtless was of her [dearinnocent girl] to have done any thing contrary to his wishes, she wassure he would relieve her in her utmost need. He could not, could not beso hard as poor dear Henry made him. " So, taking advantage of herhusband's absence during one of his literary pilgrimages, she took herlong-forgotten bonnet and shawl, and, with the baby in her arms, flew onthe wings of love, duty, penitence, and affection to her dear old homein Finsbury square. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE FATHER FINDS HIS HEART FOR EVER. 

He had been at death's door, sinking out of life, because he had nothingnow to live for. He still was very weak in bed, faint, and worn, andwhite, propped up with pillows--that poor, bereaved old man. Ever sinceLady Dillaway's most quiet death he had felt alone in the world. True, while she lived she had seemed to him a mere tranquil trouble, a uselesscomplacent piece of furniture, often in his way; but now that she wasdead, what a void was left where she had been--mere empty space, coldand death-like. She had left him quite alone. 

Then again--of John, poor John, he would think, and thinkcontinually--not about the little vulgar pock-marked man of 'change, thebroker, the rogue, the coward--but of a happy curly child, withsparkling eyes--a merry-hearted, ruddy little fellow, romping with hissister--ay, in this very room; here is the identical China vase hebroke, all riveted up; there is the corner where he would persist tonestle his dormice. Ah, dear child! precious child! where is henow?--Where and what indeed! Alas, poor father! had you known what I do, and shall soon inform the world, of that bad man's awful end, one more, one fiercest pang would have tormented you: but Heaven spared that pang. Nevertheless, the bitter contrast of the child and of the man had madehim very wretched--and to the widower's solitude added the father'ssadness. 

And worst of all--Maria's utter loss--that dear, warm-hearted, innocent, ill-used, and yet beloved daughter. Why did he spurn her away? and keepher away so long?--oh, hard heart, hard heart! Was she not innocent, after all? and John, bad John, too probably the forger of that letter, as the forger of this will? And now that he should give his life to seeher, and kiss her, and--no, no, not forgive her, but pray to be forgivenby her--"Where is she? why doesn't she come to hold up my poor weakhead--to see how fervently my dead old heart has at last learnt tolove--to help a bad, and hard, a pardoned and penitent old man to die inperfect peace--to pray with me, for me, to God, our God, my daughter!Where is she--how can I find her out--why will she not come to me allthis sorrowful year? Oh come, come, dear child--our Father send thee tome--come and bless me ere I die--come, my Maria!"

Magical, or contrived, as it may seem to us, the poor old man wasactually bemoaning himself thus, when our dear heroine of the Heartfaintly knocked at her old home door. It opened; a faded-looking woman, with a baby in her arms, rushed past the astonished butler: and, just asher father was praying out aloud for Heaven to speed her to him, thatdaughter's step was at the bed-room door. 

Before she turned the handle (some house-maid had recognised her on thestairs, and told her, with an impudent air, that "Sir Thomas was illa-bed"), she stopped one calming instant to gain strength of God forthat dreaded interview, and to check herself from bursting in upon thechamber of sickness, so as to disquiet that dear weak patient. So, sheprayed, gently turned the handle, and heard those thrillingwords--"Come, my Maria!"

It was enough; their hearts burst out together like twin fountains, rolling their joyful sorrows together towards the sea of endless love, as a swollen river that has broken through some envious and constrainingdam! It was enough; they wept together, rejoiced together, kissed andclasped each other in the fervour of full love: the babe lay smiling andplaying on the bed: Maria, in a torrent of happiest tears, fondled thatpoor old man, who was crying and laughing by turns, as little childrendo--was praising God out loud like a saint, and calling down blessingson his daughter's head in all the transports of a new-found Heart. Whata world of things they had to tell of--how much to explain, excuse, forgive, and be forgiven, especially about that wicked letter--howfervently to make up now for love that long lay dormant--how heartily tobless each other, and to bless again! Who can record it all? Who caneven sketch aright the heavenly hues that shone about that scene of theaffections? Alas, my pen is powerless--yea, no mortal hand can tracethose heavenly hues. Angels that are round the penitent's, the goodman's bed--ye alone who witness it, can utter what ye see: ye alone, rejoicingly with those rejoicing, gladly speed aloft frequentambassadors to Him, the Lord of Love, with some new beauteous trait, some rare ecstatic thought, some pure delighted look, some more burningprayer, some gem of Heaven's jewellery more brilliant than the rest, which raises happy envy of your bright compeers. I see your shiningbands crowding enamoured round that scene of human tenderness; while nowand then some peri-like seraph of your thronging spiritual forms willgladly wing away to find favour of his God for a tear, or a prayer, or aholy thought dropped by his ministering hands into the treasury ofHeaven. 

But the cup of joy is large and deep: it is an ocean in capacity: andmantling though it seemeth to the brim, God's bounty poureth on. 

Another step is on the stairs! You have guessed it, Henry Clements. Returning home wearily, after a disheartening expedition, and findinghis wife, to his great surprise, gone out, sick and weak, as still hethought her, he had calculated justly on the direction whereunto herheart had carried her; he had followed her speedily, and, with manyself-compunctions, he had determined to be proud no more, and to help, with all his heart, in that holy reconciliation. See! at the bed-side, folding Maria with one arm, and with his other hand tightly clasped inboth of that kind and changed old man's, stands Henry Clements. 

Ay, changed indeed! Who could have discovered in that joy-illuminedbrow, in those blessing-dropping lips, in those eyes full of penitence, and pity, and peace, and praise, and prayer, the harsh old usurer--thecrafty money-cankered knave of dim St. Benet's Sherehog--the coldhusband--the cruel father--the man without a heart? Ay, changed--changedfor ever now, an ever of increasing happiness and love. Who or what hadcaused this deep and mighty change? Natural affection was the sword, andGod's the arm that wielded it. None but he could smite so deeply; andwhen he smote, pour balm into the wound: none but He could kill death, that dead dried heart, and quicken life within its mummied caverns: nonebut the Voice, which said "Let there be light, " could work this commonmiracle of "Let there be love. "

He grew feebler--feebler, that dying kind old man: it had been too muchfor him, doubtlessly; he had long been ill, and should long ago havedied; but that he had lived for this; and now the end seemed near. Theynever left his bed-side then for days and nights, that new-found son anddaughter: physicians came, and recommended that the knight be quitealone, quite undisturbed: but Sir Thomas would not, could not--it werecruelty to force it; so he lay feebly on his back, holding on eitherside the hands of Henry and Maria. 

It was not so very long: they had come almost in the nick of time: a fewdays and hours at the most, and all will then be over. So did they watchand pray. 

And the old man faintly whispered:

"Henry--son Henry: poor John, forgive him, as you and our God have nowforgiven me; poor John--when he comes back again from those long yearsof slavery, give him a home, son--give him a home, and enough to keephim honest; tell him I love him, and forgive him; and remind him that Idied, praying Heaven for my poor boy's soul. 

"Henry and Maria--I had, since my great distresses, well nigh forgottenthis world's wealth; but now, thank God, I have thought of it all foryour sakes: in my worst estate of mind I made a wicked will. It is inthat drawer--quick, give it me. 

"Thanks--thanks--there is time to tear it; and these good friends, Dr. Jones and Mr. Blair, take witness--I destroy this wicked will; and myonly child, Maria, has my wealth in course of law. Wealth, yes--if wellused, let us call it wealth; for riches may indeed be made a mine ofgood, and joy, and righteousness. I am unworthy to use any of it well, unworthy of the work, unworthy of the reward: use it well, my holierchildren, wisely, liberally, kindly: God give you to do great good withit; God give you to feel great happiness in all your doing good. Myhands that saved and scraped it all, also often-times by evil hardness, now penitently washed in the Fountain of Salvation, heartily renouncethat evil. Be ye my stewards; give liberally to many needy. Oh me, mysin! children, to my misery you know what need is: I can say no more;poor sinful man, how dare I preach to others? Children, dearest ones, Iam a father still; and I would bless you--bless you!

"I grow weak, but my heart seems within me to grow stronger--I go--I go, to the Home of Heart, where He that sits upon the throne is Love, andwhere all the pulses of all the beings there thrill in unison with him, the Great Heart of Heaven! I, even I, am one of the redeemed--my heartis fixed, I will sing and give praise; I, even I, the hardest and theworst, forgiven, accepted! Who are ye, bright messengers about my bed, heralds of glory? I go--I go--one--one more, Maria--one last kiss; wemeet--again--in Heaven!"

Had he fainted? yes--his countenance looked lustrous, yet diminishing inglory, even as a setting sun; the living smile faded gradually away, anda tranquil cold calm crept over his cheeks: the angelic light which madehis eyes so beautiful to look at, was going out--going out: all waspeace--peace--deep peace. 

O death, where is thy victory? O grave, where is thy sting?

CHAPTER XVI. 

A WORD ABOUT ORIGINALITY AND MOURNING. 

When a purely inventive genius concocts a fabulous tale, it is clearlycompetent to him so to order matters, that characters shall not die offtill his book is shortly coming to an end: and had your obedient servantnow been engaged in the architecture of a duly conventional story, arranged in pattern style, with climax in the middle and a brace of upsand downs to play supporters, doubtless he might easy have kept aliveboth father and mother to witness the triumph of innocence, and haveproduced their deaths at the last as a kind of "sweet sorrow, " or honiedsting, wherewithal to point his moral. Such, however, was not myauthorship's intention; and, seeing that a wilful pen must have its way, I have chosen to construct my own veracious tale, respecting theincidents of life and death, much as such events not unfrequently occur, that is, at an inconvenient season: for though such accessories to thefact of dying, as triumphant conversion, or a tranquil going out, mayappear to be a little out of the common way, still the circumstance ofdeath itself often in real life seems to come as out of time, as yourwisdom thinks in the present book of Heart. People will die untowardly, and people will live provokingly, notwithstanding all that novelistshave said and poets sung to the contrary: and if two characters out ofour principal five have already left the mimic scene, it will now be myduty only to show, as nature and society do, how, of those threesurviving chief _dramatis personæ_, two of them--to wit, our hero andheroine of Heart--gathered many friends about their happy homestead, dida world of good, and, in fine, furnish our volume with a suitablecounterpoise to the mass of selfish sin, which (at its height in theonly remaining character) it has been my fortune to record and tocondemn as the opposite topic of heartlessness. 

If writers will be bound by classic rules, and walk on certain roadsbecause other folks have gone that way before them, needs must thatill-starred originality perish from this world's surface, and findrefuge (if it can) in the gentle moon or Sirius. Therefore, let usboldly trespass from the trodden paths, let us rather shake off theshackles of custom than hug them as an ornament approved: and, notwithstanding both parental deaths, seemingly ill-timed for thehappiness of innocence, let us acquiesce in the facts, as plain mattersof history, not dubious thoughts of fiction; and let us gather to theend any good we can, either from the miserable solitude of a selfishDillaway, or from the hearty social circle of our happy married pair. 

Need I, sons and daughters, need I record at any length how Mariamourned for her father? If you now have parents worthy of your love, ifyou now have hearts to love them, I may safely leave that theme to youraffections: "now" is for all things "the accepted time, " now is the dayfor reconciliations: our life is a perpetual now. However unfilial youmay have been, however stern or negligent they, if there is now the willto bless, and now the heart to love, all is well--well at the last, wellnow for evermore--thank Heaven for so glad a consummation. Oh, that mypen had power to make many fathers kind, many children trustful! Oh, that by some burning word I could thaw the cold, shame sarcasms, andarouse the apathetic! Oh that, invoking upon every hearth, whereto thisbook may come, the full free blaze of home affections, my labour of lovebe any thing but vain, when God shall have blessed what I am writing!

Yes, children, dear Maria did mourn for her father, but she mourned asthose who hope; his life had been forgiven, and his death was as asaints's: as for her, rich rewarded daughter at the last, one word ofwarm acknowledgement, one look of true affection, one tear of deepcontrition, would have been superabundant to clear away all the manyclouds, the many storms of her past home-life: and as for our Maker, with his pure and spotless justice, faith in the sacrifice had passedall sin to him, and love of the Redeemer had proved that faith the trueone. How should a daughter mourn for such a soul? With tears of joy;with sighs--of kindred hopefulness; with happiest resolve to live as hehad died; with instant prayer that her last end be like his. 

There is a plain tablet in St. Benet's church, just within thealtar-rail, bearing--no inscription about Lord Mayoralty, Knighthood, orthe Worshipful Company of Stationers--but full of facts more gloriousthan every honour under heaven; for the words run thus:

 SORROWFUL, YET REJOICING, A DAUGHTER'S LOVE HAS PLACED THIS TABLET TO THE MEMORY OF T H O M A S D I L L A W A Y; A MAN WHO DIED IN THE FAITH OF CHRIST, IN THE LOVE OF GOD, AND IN THE HOPE OF HEAVEN. 

Noble epitaph! Let us so live, that the like of this may be truth on ourtomb-stones. Seek it, rather than wealth, before honour, instead ofpleasure; for, indeed, those words involve within their vastsignificancy riches unsearchable, glory indestructible, and pleasure forevermore! Hide them, as a string of precious pearls, within the casketof your hearts. 

I had almost forgotten, though Maria never could, another neighbouringtablet to record the peaceful exit of her mother; however, as this hadbeen erected by Sir Thomas in his life-time, and was plastered thickwith civic glories and heathen virtues, possibly the transcript may bespared: there was only one sentence that looked true about the epitaph, though I wished it had been so in every sense; but, to common eyes, ithad seemed quite suitable to the physical quietude of living LadyDillaway, to say, "Her end was peace;" although, perhaps, the husbandlittle thought how sore that mother's heart was for dear Maria's loss, how full of anxious doubts her mind about Maria's sin. Poor soul, however peaceful now that spirit has read the truth, in the hour of herdeparture it had been with her far otherwise: her dying bed was as atroubled sea, for she died of a broken heart. 

Yearly, on the anniversaries of their respective deaths, the growingclan of Clements make a solemn pilgrimage to their grand paternalshrine, attending service on those days (or the holiday nearest tothem), at St. Benet's Sherehog; and Maria's eyes are very moist on suchoccasions; though hope sings gladly too within her wise and cheerfulheart. She does not seem to have lost those friends; they are only gonebefore. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE HOUSE OF FEASTING. 

But in fact, with our happy married folks an anniversary of some sort isperpetually recurring: wedding-days, birth-days, and all manner offestival occasions, worthy (as the old Romans would have said) to benoted up with chalk, happened in that family of love weekly--almostdaily. They cultivated well the grateful soil of Heart, by a thousandlittle dressings and diggings; courting to it the warm sunshine of theskies, the zephyrs of pleasant recollections, and the genial dews ofsympathy. And very wise were all those labours of delight; for theirsons and their daughters grew up as the polished corners in the temple;moulded with delicate affections, their moral essence sharp, and clearlyedged with sensitive feelings, as if they had sprung fresh from thehands of God, their sculptor, and the world had not rubbed off themaster-touches of His chisel. For, in this dull world, we cheatourselves and one another of innocent pleasures by the score, throughvery carelessness and apathy: courted day after day by happy memories, we rudely brush them off with this indiscriminating bosom, the sternmaterial present: invited to help in rendering joyful many a patientheart, we neglect the little word that might have done it, andcontinually defraud creation of its share of kindliness from us. Thechild made merrier by your interest in his toy; the old domesticflattered by your seeing him look so well; the poor, better helped byyour blessing than your penny (though give the penny too); the labourer, cheered upon his toil by a timely word of praise; the humble friendencouraged by your frankness; equals made to love you by the expressionof your love; and superiors gratified by attention and respect, andlooking out to benefit the kindly--how many pleasures here for any handto gather; how many blessings here for any heart to give! Instead ofthese, what have we rife about the world? Frigid compliment--for warmthis vulgar; reserve of tongue--for it is folly to be talkative;composure, never at fault--for feelings are dangerous things;gravity--for that looks wise; coldness--for other men are cold;selfishness--for every one is struggling for his own. This is all false, all bad; the slavery chain of custom riveted by the foolishness offashion; because there ever is a band of men and women, who have nothingto recommend them but externals--their looks or their dresses, theirrank or their wealth--and in order to exalt the honour of these, theyagree to set a compact seal of silence on the heart and on the mind;lest the flood of humbler men's affections, or of wiser men'sintelligence, should pale their tinsel-praise; and the warm and the wisetoo softly acquiesce in this injury done to heartiness shamed by theeffrontery of cold calm fools, and the shallow dignity of an emptypresence. Turn the tables on them, ye truer gentry, truer nobility, truer royalty of the heart and of the mind; speak freely, love warmly, laugh cheerfully, explain frankly, exhort zealously, admire liberally, advise earnestly--be not ashamed to show you have a heart: and if somecold-blooded simpleton greet your social effort with a sneer, repayhim--for you can well afford a richer gift than his whole treasurypossesses--repay him with a kind good-humoured smile: it would haveshamed Jack Dillaway himself. If a man persists to be silent in a crowdfor vanity's sake, instead of sociable, as good company expects, counthim simply for a fool; you will not be far wrong; he remembers thecopy-book at school, no doubt, with its large-text aphorism, "Silence iswisdom;" and thinking in an easy obedience to gain credit from mankindby acting on that questionable sentence, the result is what youperpetually see--a self-contained, self-satisfied, selfish, and reservedyoung puppy. Hint to such an incommunicative comrade, that the fashionnow is coming about, to talk and show your wisdom; not to sit in shallowsilence, hiding hard your folly; soon shall you loosen the flood-gatesof his speech; and society will even thank you for it; for, bore as thechatterer may oft-times be, still he does the frank companion's duty;and at any rate is vastly preferable to the dull, unwarmed, unsympathetic watcher at the festal board, who sits there to exhibit hispainted waistcoat instead of the heart that should be in it, andpatiently waits, with a snakish eye and a bitter tongue, to aidconversation with a sarcasm. 

Henry and Maria had many hearty friends to keep their manyanniversaries. They were well enough for wealth, as we may guess withoutmuch trouble; for the knight had left three thousand a-year behind him, and Maria, as sole heiress, had no difficulty in establishing her claimto it; but it may be well to put mankind in memory how hospitably, howcharitably, how wisely, and how heartily they stewarded it. I need notstop to tell of local charities assisted, good societies supported, andof philanthropic good done by means of their money, both at home andabroad: nor detail their many dinners, and other festal opportunities, rivets in the lengthening chain of ordinary friendship: but I do wish tomake honourable mention of one happiest anniversary, which, while itcommemorated fine young Master Harry's birth, rejoiced the many poor ofLower-Sack street, Islington. 

The birth-day itself was kept at home with all the honours, in their oldhouse at Finsbury square; Maria would not leave that house, for oldacquaintance sake. Master Harry, a frank-faced, open-hearted, curly-headed boy of ten (at least when I dined there, for he hasprobably grown older since), was of course the happy hero of the feast, ably supported by divers joyful brothers and sisters, who had allcontributed to their elder brother's triumph on that day, by thecontribution of their various presents--one a little scent bag, anothera rude drawing, another a book-marker, and so forth, all probablyworthless in the view of selfish calculation, but inestimable accordingto the currency of Heart. Half-a-dozen choice old friends closed thelist of company; and a noisy rout of boys and girls were added in theearly evening, full of negus, and sponge-cake, snap-dragon, andblindman's-buff, with merry music, and a golden-flood of dances anddelight. 

We dined early; and, to be very confidential with you, I thought (untilI found out reasons why), that the bill-of-fare upon the table wasinordinately large, not to say vulgar; for the board was overloaded withsolid sweets and savouries: so, in my uncharitable mind, I set all thatdown to the uncivilized hospitality asserted of a citizen's feast, and(for aught I know) still rife in St. Mary Axe and Finsbury square. 

Never mind how the dinner passed off, nor how jovially the children keptit up till near eleven: for I learnt, in an incidental way, what wasregularly done upon the morrow; and I am sure it will gratify my readersto learn it too, as a trait of considerate kindness which will gladdenman and woman's heart. 

On the seventh of April in every year (Harry's birth-day was the sixth), Henry and Maria used to go on an humble pilgrimage to Lower Sack street, Islington. Not to shame the poor by fine clothes or their usualequipage, they sedulously donned on that occasion the same now fadedsuits they had worn in their adversity, and made their progress in ahackney-coach. They would have walked for humility's sake and sympathy, but that the coach in question was crammed full of eatables anddrinkables, nicely packed up in well-considered parcels, consisting ofthe vast _débris_ of yesterday's overwhelming feast, with a sackful oftea and sugar added. Their pockets also, as I took the liberty ofinquiring at Sack street afterwards, must have been well stored, fortheir largess was munificent. Then would they go to that identicallodgings of years gone by, where they had so struggled with adversity, now in the happy contrast of wealth and peace and thankfulness toHeaven, and of joy at doing good. That parlour was right liberally hiredfor the day, and all the poor in Sack street were privileged to call, where Mrs. Clements held her levee. They came in an orderly stream, clean for the occasion, and full of gratitude and blessings; and, to bejust upon the poor, no impostor had ever been known to intrude upon theprivilege of Sack street. As for dear Maria, she regularly broke downjust as the proceedings commenced, and Henry's manlier hand had to giveaway the spoil; whilst Maria sobbed beside him, as if her heart wouldbreak. Then did the good old nurse come in for a cold round of beef, with tea, sugar, and a sovereign; and the bed-ridden neighbour up-stairsfor jellied soup, and other condiments, with a similar royal climax; andthe cobbler over the way carried off ham and chickens, with apple-puffsand a bottle of wine: and so some thirty or forty families weregladdened for the hour, and made wealthy for a week. Altogether theydivided amongst them a coachful of comestibles, and a pocketful of coin. 

It would be impertinent in us to intrude so far on privacy, as to recordhow Henry and Maria passed much time in prayer and praise on thatinteresting anniversary; it is unnecessary too, for in fact they did notstop for anniversaries to do that sort of thing. Be sure that goodthoughts and good words are ever found preceding good and gratefuldeeds. It is quite enough to know that they did God service in doinggood to man. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE END OF THE HEARTLESS. 

There is plenty of contrast in this poor book, if that be any virtue. Let us turn our eyes away from those scenes of love and cheerfulness, ofbenevolence and peace. Let us leave Maria in her nursery, hearing thelittle ones their lessons; and Henry cutting the leaves of a nice newbook, fresh from the press, while his home-taught son and heir isplaying at pot-hooks and hangers in a copy-book beside him. Let usrecollect their purity of mind, their holiness of motive, and theirhappiness of life; these are the victims of false-witness. And how faresthe wretch that would have starved them?

The fate of John Dillaway is at once so tragical, so interesting, and soinstructive, that it will be well for us to be transported for awhile, and give this rogue the benefit of honest company. 

For many months I had seen a sullen lowering fellow, with cropped head, ironed-legs, and the motley garments of disgrace, driven forth at earlymorning with his gang of bad compeers; a slave, toiling till night-fallin piling cannon-balls, and chipping off the rust with heavy hammers; asentinel stood near with a loaded musket; they might not speak to eachother, that miserable gang; hope was dead among them; life had nodelights; they wreaked their silent hatred on those hammeredcannon-balls. The man who struck the fiercest, that sullen convict withthe lowering brow, was our stock-jobber, John Dillaway. 

Soon after that foretaste of slavery at Woolwich, the ship sailed, freighted with incarnate crime; her captain was a ruffian; (could hehelp it with such cargoes?) her crew, the offscouring of all nations;and the Chesapeake herself was an old rotten hull, condemned, after onemore voyage, to be broken up; a creaking, foul, unsafe vessel, full ofrats, cockroaches, and other vermin. 

The sun glared ungenially at that blot upon the waters, breedinginfectious disease; the waves flung the hated burden from one to theother, disdainful of her freight of sin; the winds had no commission forfair sailing, but whistled through the rigging crossways, howling in theears of many in that ship, as if they carried ghosts along with them:the very rocks and reefs butted her off the creamy line of breakers, assea-unicorns distorting; no affectionate farewell blessed her departure;no hearty welcomes await her at the port. 

And they sailed many days as in a floating hell, hot, miserable, andcursing; the scanty meal was flung to them like dog's-meat, and theylapped the putrid water from a pail; gang by gang for an hour they mightpace the smoking deck, and then and thence were driven down to fester inthe hold for three-and-twenty more. O, those closed hatches by night!what torments were the kernel of that ship! Suffocated by the heat andnoxious smells; bruised against each other, and by each other's blows, as the black unwieldy vessel staggered about among the billows, thewretched mass of human misery wore away those tropical nights in horridimprecation; worse than crowded slaves upon the Spanish Main, from theblister of crime upon their souls, and their utter lack of hopefulnessfor ever. 

And now, after all the shattering storms, and haggard sufferings, anddegrading terrors of that voyage, they neared the metropolis of sin;some town on Botany Bay, a blighted shore--where each man, looking athis neighbour, sees in him an outcast from heaven. They landed indroves, that ironed flock of men; and the sullenest-looking scoundrel ofthem all was John Dillaway. 

There were murderers among his gang; but human passions, which hadhurried them to crime, now had left them as if wrecked upon a leeshore--humbled and remorseful, and heaven's happier sun shed some lightupon their faces: there were burglars; but the courage which could darethose deeds, now lending strength to bear the stroke of punishment, enabled them to walk forth even cheerily to meet their doom of labour:there was rape; but he hid himself, ashamed, vowing better things: fieryarson, too, was there, sorry for his rash revenge: also, conspiracy andrebellion, confessing that ambition such as theirs had been wickednessand folly; and common frauds, and crimes, and social sins; bad enough, God wot, yet hopeful; but the mean, heartless, devilish criminality ofour young Dagon beat them all. If to be hard-hearted were a virtue, thebest man there was Dillaway. 

And now they were to be billeted off among the sturdy colonists asfarm-servants, near a-kin to slaves; tools in the rough hands of men whopioneer civilization, with all the vices of the social, and all thepassions of the savage. And on the strand, where those task-masterscongregated to inspect the new-come droves, each man selected accordingto his mind: the rougher took the roughest, and the gentler, thegentlest; the merry-looking field farmer sought out the cheerful, andthe sullen backwoods settler chose the sullen. Dillaway's master was aswarthy, beetled-browed caitiff, who had worn out his own seven years ofpenalty, and had now set up tyrant for himself. 

As a hewer of wood and a drawer of water, in a stagnant little clearingof the forest, our convict toiled continually--continually--likeCaliban: all days alike; hewing at the mighty trunk and hacking up thestraggling branches; no hope--no help--no respite; and the iron ofservile tyranny entered into his very soul. Ay--ay; the culpritconvicted, when he hears in open court, with an impudent assurance, thepunishment that awaits him on those penal shores, little knows theterrors of that sentence. Months and years--yea, haply to gray hairs anddeath, slavery unmitigated--uncomforted; toil and pain; toil and sorrow;toil, and nothing to cheer; even to the end, vain tasked toil. Oldhopes, old recollections, old feelings, violently torn up by the roots. No familiar face in sickness, no patient nurse beside the dying bed: nohope for earth, and no prospect of heaven: but, in its varying phases, one gloomy glaring orb of ever-present hell. 

It grew intolerable--intolerable; he was beaten, mocked, and almost amaniac. Escape--escape! Oh, blessed thought! into the wild free woods!there, with the birds and flowers, hill and dale, fresh air and liberty!Oh, glad hope--mad hope! His habitual cunning came to his aid; heschemed, he contrived, he accomplished. The jutting heads of the rivetshaving been diligently rubbed away from his galling fetter by a bigstone--a toil of weeks--he one day stood unshackled, having watched histime to be alone. An axe was in his hand, and the saved single dinner ofpea-bread. That beetled-browed task-master slumbered in the hut; thatbrother convict--(why need he care for him, too? every one for himselfin this world)--that kinder, humbler, better man was digging in theopen; if he wants to escape, let him think of himself: John Dillaway hasenough to take care for. Now, then; now, unobserved, unsuspected; now isthe chance! Joy, life, and liberty! Oh, glorious prospect--for thisinland world is unexplored. 

He stole away, with panting heart, and fearfully exulting eye; heran--ran--ran, for miles--it may have been scores of them--tillnight-fall, on the soft and pleasant greensward under those high echoingwoods. None pursued; safe--safe; and deliciously he slept that nightbeneath a spreading wattle-tree, after the first sweet meal of freedom. 

Next morning, waked up like the starting kangaroos around him (for JohnDillaway had not bent the knee in prayer since childhood), off he settriumphant and refreshed: his arm was strong, and he trusted in it, hisaxe was sharp, and he looked to that for help; he knew no other God. Offhe set for miles--miles--miles: still that continuous high acacia wood, though less naturally park-like, often-times choked with briars, andhere and there impervious a-head. Was it all this same starving forestto the wide world's end? He dug for roots, and found some acrid bulbsand tubers, which blistered up his mouth; but he was hungry, and atethem; and dreaded as he ate. Were they poisonous? Next to it, Dillaway;so he hurried eagerly to dilute their griping juices with the mountainstreams near which he slept: the water was at least kindly cooling tohis hot throat; he drank huge draughts, and stayed his stomach. 

Next morning, off again: why could he not catch and eat some of thosehalf-tame antelopes? Ha! He lay in wait hours--hours, near the torrentto which they came betimes to slake their thirst: but their beautifulkeen eyes saw him askance--and when he rashly hoped to hunt one downafoot, they went like the wind for a minute--then turned to look at himafar off, mockingly--poor, panting, baffled creeper. 

No; give it up--this savoury hope of venison; he must go despondently onand on; and he filled his belly with grass. Must he really starve inthis interminable wood! He dreamt that night of luxurious city feasts, the turtle, turbot, venison, and champagne; and then how miserably weakhe woke. But he must on wearily and lamely, for ever through thiswood--objectless, except for life and liberty. Oh, that he could meetsome savage, and do him battle for the food he carried; or that a deadbird, or beast, or snake lay upon his path; or that one of thoseskipping kangaroos would but come within the reach of his oft-aimedhatchet! No: for all the birds and flowers, and the free wild woods, andhill, and dale, and liberty, he was starving--starving; so he browsedthe grass as Nebuchadnezzar in his lunacy. And the famished wretch wouldhave gladly been a slave again. 

Next morning, he must lie and perish where he slept, or move on: heturned to the left, not to go on for ever; probably, ay, too probably, he had been creeping round a belt. Oh, precious thought of change! forwithin three hours there was light a-head, light beneath the tangledunderwood: he struggled through the last cluster of thick bushes, longing for a sight of fertile plain, and open country. Who knows? arethere not men dwelling there with flocks and herds, and food and plenty?Yes--yes, and Dillaway will do among them yet. You envious boughs, delayme not! He tore aside the last that hid his view, and found that he wasstanding on the edge of an ocean of sand--hot yellow sand to thehorizon!

He fainted--he had like to have died; but as for prayer--he onlymuttered curses on this bitter, famishing disappointment. He dared notstrike into the wood again--he dared not advance upon that yellow seaexhausted and unprovisioned: it was his wisdom to skirt the wood; and sohe trampled along weakly--weakly. This liberty to starve is horrible!

Is it, John Dillaway? What, have you no compunctions at that wordstarve? no bitter, dreadful recollections? Remember poor Maria, that ownmost loving sister, wanting bread through you. Remember Henry Clements, and their pining babe; remember your own sensual feastings andfraudulent exultation, and how you would utterly have starved the good, the kind, the honest! This same bitter cup is filled for your own lips, and you must drink it to the dregs. Have you no compunctions, man?nothing tapping at your heart? for you must _starve_!

No! not yet--not yet! for chance (what Dillaway lyingly calledchance)--in his moments of remorse at these reflections, when God hadhoped him penitent at last, and, if he still continued so, might savehim--sent help in the desert! For, as he reelingly trampled along on therank herbage between this forest and that sea of sand, just as he wasdying of exhaustion, his faint foot trod upon a store of life andhealth! It was an Emeu's ill-protected nest; and he crushed, where hehad trodden, one of those invigorating eggs. Oh, joy--joy--nothanks--but sensual joy! There were three of them, and each one meat fora day; ash-coloured without, but the within--the within--full of sweetand precious yolk! Oh, rich feast, luscious and refreshing: cheerup--cheer up: keep one to cross the desert with: ay--ay, luck will comeat last to clever Jack! how shrewd it was of me to find those eggs!

Thus do the wicked forget thee, blessed God! thou hast watched this badman day by day, and all the dark nights through, in tender expectationof some good: Thou hast been with him hourly in that famishing forest, tempting him by starvation to--repentance; and how gladly did Thineeager mercy seize this first opportunity of half-formed penitence tobless and help him--even him, liberally and unasked! Thanks toThee--thanks to Thee! Why did not that man thank Thee? Who more grievedat his thanklessness than Thou art? Who more sorry for the righteous andnecessary doom which the impenitence of heartlessness drags down uponitself?

And Providence was yet more kind, and man yet more ungrateful; mercyabounding over the abundant sin. For the famished vagrant diligentlysought about for more rich prizes; and, as the manner is of thoseunnatural birds to leave their eggs carelessly to the hatching of thesunshine, he soon stumbled on another nest. "Ha--ha!" said he, "cleverJack Dillaway of Broker's alley isn't done up yet: no--no, trust him fortaking care of number one; now then for the desert; with these four hugeeggs and my trusty hatchet, deuce take it, but I'll manage somehow!"

Thus, deriving comfort from his bold hard heart, he launchedunhesitatingly upon that sea of sand: with aching toil throughthe loose hot soil he ploughed his weary way, footsore, forleagues--leagues--lengthened leagues; yellow sand all round, before, andon either hand, as far as eye can stretch, and behind and already in thedistance that terrible forest of starvation. But what, then, is the nameof this burnt plain, unwatered by one liquid drop, unvisited even bydews in the cold dry night? Have you not yet found a heart, man, tothank Heaven for that kind supply of recreative nourishment, sweet asinfant's food, the rich delicious yolk, which bears up still yourhalting steps across this world of sand? No heart--no heart offlesh--but a stone--a cold stone, and hard as yonder rocky hillock. 

He climbed it for a view--and what a view! a panorama of perfectdesolation, a continent of vegetable death. His spirit almost failedwithin him; but he must on--on, or perish where he stood. Taking nocount of time, and heedless as to whither he might wander, so it be notback again along that awful track of liberty he longed for, he crept onby little and little, often resting, often dropping for fatigue, nightand day--day and night: he had made his last meal; he laid him down todie--and already the premonitory falcon flapped him with its heavy wing. Ha! what are all those carrion fowls congregated there for? Are theybattening on some dead carcase? O, hope--hope! there is the smell offood upon the wind: up, man, up--battle with those birds, drive themaway, hew down that fierce white eagle with your axe; what right havethey to precious food, when man, their monarch, starves? So, the pooremaciated culprit seized their putrid prey, and the scared fowls hoveredbut a little space above, waiting instinctively for this new victim:they had not left him much--it was a feast of remnants--pickings fromthe skeleton of some small creature that had perished in the desert--awombat, probably, starved upon its travels; but a royal feast it was tothat famishing wretch: and, gathering up the remainder of thosepriceless morsels, which he saved for some more fearful future, again hecrept upon his way. Still the same, night and day--day and night--for hecould only travel a league a-day: and at length, a shadowy line betweenthe sand and sky--far, far off, but circling the horizon as a bow ofhope. Shall it be a land of plenty, green, well-watered meadows, thepleasant homes of man, though savage, not unfriendly? O hope, unutterable! or is it (O despair!) another of those dreadful woods, starving solitude under the high-arched gum-trees. 

Onward he crept; and the line on the horizon grew broader and darker:onward, still; he was exulting, he had conquered, he was bold and hardas ever. He got nearer, now within some dozen miles; it was anindistinct distance, but green at any rate; huzza--never mindnight-fall; he cannot wait, nor rest, with this Elysium before him: sohe toiled along through all the black night, and a friendly storm ofrain refreshed him, as his thirsty pores drank in the cooling stream. Aha! by morning's dawn he should be standing on the edge of that greenparadise, fresh as a young lion, and no thanks to any one but his ownshrewd indomitable self. 

Morning dawned--and through the vague twilight loomed some high andtangled wall of green foliage, stretching seemingly across the veryworld. Most sickening sight! a matted, thorny jungle, one of thoseprimeval woods again, but closer, thicker, darker than the park-likeone before; rank and prickly herbage in a rotting swamp, crowding upabout the stately trees. Must he battle his way through? Well, then, ifit must be so, he must and will; any thing rather than this hot andblistering sand. If he is doomed by fate to starve, be it in the shade, not in that fierce sun. So, he weakly plied his hatchet, flinginghimself with boldness on that league-thick hedge of thorns; his way waschoked with thorns; he struggled under tearing spines, and throughprickly underwood, and over tangled masses of briery plants, clinging tohim every where around, as with a thousand taloned claws; he isexhausted, extrication is impossible; he beats the tough creepers withhis dulled hatchet, as a wounded man vainly; ha! one effort more--adying effort--must he be impaled upon these sharp aloes, andstrange-leafed prickly shrubs; they have caught him there, those thirstypoisoned hooks, innumerable as his sins; his way, whichever way helooks, is hedged up high with thorns--thick-set thorns--sturdy, tearingthorns, that he cannot battle through them. Emaciated, bleeding, rent, fainting, famished, he must perish in the merciless thicket into whichhard-heartedness had flung him!

Before he was well dead, those flapping carrion fowls had found him out;they were famishing too, and half forgot their natural distaste forliving meat. He fought them vainly, as the dying fight; soon there wereother screams in that echoing solitude, besides the screeching falcons!and when they reached his heart (if its matter aptly typified itsspirit), that heart should have been a very stone for hardness. 

So let the selfish die! alone, in the waste howling wilderness; so lethim starve uncared-for, whose boast it was that he had never felt forother than himself--who mocked God, and scorned man--whose mottothroughout life, one sensual, unsympathizing, harsh routine, was this:"Take care of the belly, and the heart will take care of itself!"--whonever had a wish for other's good, a care for other's evil, a thoughtbeyond his own base carcase; who was a man--no man--a wretch, without aheart. So let him perish miserably; and the white eagles pick hisskeleton clean in yonder tangled jungle!

CHAPTER XIX. 

WHEREIN MATTERS ARE CONCLUDED. 

Certain folks at Ballyriggan, near Belfast, observe to me, with not alittle Irish truth, that it is by no means easy to conclude a historynever intended to be finished. It so happens that my good friends theclan Clements are still enjoying life and all it sweets, beneficent intheir generation; and as for their hearts' affections, that storywithout an end will still be heard, ringing on its happy changes, in thepresence of God and of his immortal train, when every reader of theserecords shall have been to this world dead. Out of the heart are theissues of life, and within, it is life's well-spring. Death is but alittle narrow gate, in a dark rough pass among the mountains, where eachmust go alone, one by one, in solemn silence, for the avalanches hangingoverhead; one by one, in breathless caution, for there is but barely afooting; one by one, for none can help his brother on the track: thesteady eye of faith, the firm foot of righteousness, the staff of hopeto comfort and support--these be the only helps. And each one carrieswith him, as his sole possession on that lonely journey, no heaps ofwealth--no trappings of honour; these burdens of the camel must all belifted off, ere he can struggle through that gully in the rocks--"TheNeedle's Eye;" but the sole possession which every wayfarer must takewith him into those broad plains where only Spirit can be seen, and Sinno longer can be hid, is the shrine of his affections, the casket of hisprecious pearls in life--his Heart, unmantled and unmasked. And if intime it had been a well of love, flowing towards God in penitence, andirrigating this world's garden with charities and blessed works, thatlittle sparkling stream shall then burst forth from this rocky portal ofthe grave, a river of joy and peace, to gladden even more the sunnyprovinces of heaven. For the heart with its affections, never dieth:they may, indeed, flow inward, and corrupt to selfishness; becomingthen, in lieu of fountains of waters, gushing forth to everlasting life, a bottomless volcano of hot lava, tempestuous and involved, setting upthe creature as his own foul god, and living the perpetual death-bed ofthe damned; or they may nobly burst the banks of self, and, risingmomentarily higher and higher, till every Nilometer is drowned, willseek for ever, with expanding strength, to reach the unapproachablelevel of that source in the Most Highest whence they originally sprung. For this cause, the kindest fatherly word which ever reached man's ear, the surest scheme for happiness that ever touched his reason, was onefrom God's own heart--"My son, give me thy heart. "

They lived upon the blessing of that Word, our noble, kindly pair. Toenlarge upon the thought as respects a better world is well for thosewho will: for if He that made the eye and framed the ear, by thestronger argument Himself must see and hear, so he that fashionedloveliness and moulded the affections, how well-deserving must thatBeautiful Spirit be of his rational creature's heart! Away with mawkishcant and stale sentimentalities! let us think, and speak, and feel asmen, framed by nature's urgent law to the lovely and to hate the vile. Oh, that the advocates for Him, the Good One, would oftener plead Hiscause by the human affections--by generosity, by sympathy, by gentlenessand patience, by self-denying love, and soul absolving beauty; for theseare of the essence of God, and their spiritual influence on reason. Achild writes upon his heart that warmer code of morals, which the irontool of threatening availeth not to grave upon the rock, while the voiceof love can change that rock into a spring of water. 

But we must descend from our altitudes, and speak of lower things; forthe time and space forbid much longer intrusion on your courtesy. A fewravelling threads of this our desultory tale have yet to be gathered up, as tidily as may be. Suffer, then, such mingling of my thoughts: the webI weave has many threads, woven with divers colours. Human nature isnothing if not inconsistent; and I have no more notion of irreverence inturning from a high topic to a low one, than a bee may be fancied tohave of irrelevant idleness in flitting from the sweet violet to thescented dahlia. We may gather honey out of every flower. Have you notoften noticed, that riches generally come to a man, when he least standsin need of them? Directly a middle-aged heir succeeds to hislong-expected heritage, half-a-dozen aunts and second cousins are sureto die off and leave him super-abounding legacies, any one of whichwould have helped his poverty stricken youth, and made him ofindependent mind throughout his servile manhood. The other day (the idearemains the same, though the fact is to be questioned) the richest lordin Europe dug up a chest of hoarded coins, many thousand pound's worth, simply because he didn't want it: and, if such particularization werenot improper or invidious, you or I might name a brace of friendsa-piece, who, having once lacked bread in the career of life, suddenlyhave found themselves monopolizing two or three great fortunes. As toofew things are certain, novel writers less like truth in theirdescriptions, than where ample wealth falls upon the hero just in thenick of time. Providence intends to teach by penury: yes, and byprosperity too: and we almost never see the reward given, or the no lessreward withheld, just as the scholar has begun to spell his lesson, andbefore he has had the chance of getting it by heart. 

That another death should occur, in the progress of this tale, must becounted for no fault of mine; especially as I am not about to introduceanother death-bed. One need not have the mummy always at our feasts. Surely, too, these deaths have ever been on fit occasion: one brokenheart; one bereaved, yet comforted; and one which perished in its sin ofuttermost hard-heartedness. And here, if any insurance clerk, or otherinterested person, will show cause why Mrs. Jane Mackenzie should notdie at the age of ninety-two, I would keep her alive if I could; but thefact is, I cannot: she died. Henry Clements never saw her, any more thatI, nor dear Maria. But that was no earthly reason wherefore--

_First_, Maria should not bewail the dear old relative's loss with allher heart and eyes, and children and household in mourning. 

Nor, _secondly_, wherefore Mrs. Jane Mackenzie, aforesaid, ofBallyriggan, province of Ulster, should not leave her estate ofBallyriggan, aforesaid, and a vast heap of other property, to the onlysurviving though distant scion of her family, Henry Clements. 

Nor, _thirdly_, wherefore I should not record the fact, as duly bound inmy capacity of honest historian. 

This accession of property was large, almost overwhelming, when added toMaria's patrimony of three thousand a-year, the produce of St. Benet'sSherehog: for besides and beyond a considerable breadth of Irish acres, sundry houses in Belfast, and an accumulation of half-forgotten funds, the Bank of England found itself necessitated (from particularcircumstances of ill-caution in its servants) to refund the whole ofthat twelve thousand forty-three pounds bank annuities, which JackDillaway and his ladies had already made away with. 

Rich, however, as Clements had become, he felt himself only as a greatlord's steward to help a needy world; and I never heard that he spent asixpence more upon himself, his equipage, or his family, from being somethousands a-year richer: though I certainly did hear that, owing to thislegacy, every tenant upon Ballyriggan, and a vast number of strugglingfamilies in Spitalfields and round about St. Benet's, had ample causeto bless Heaven and the good man of Finsbury square. As for dear Maria, it rejoiced her generous heart to find that Henry (whose gentlemanlypride had all along been reproaching him for pauperism) was now becomepretty well her equal in wealth; even as her humility long had known himher superior in mind, good looks, and good family. 

Another thread in my discourse, hanging loosely on the world, concernsour lady-legatees. What became of Miss Julia, after the safe andsuccessful issue of that vengeful trial, I never heard: and, perhaps, itmay be wise not to inquire: if she changed her name, she did not changeher nature: and is probably still to be numbered among the sect ofStrand peripatetics. 

But of Anna Bates I have pleasanter news to tell. With respect torepentance, let us be charitable, and hope, even if we cannot be sosanguine as firmly to believe; but at any rate we may rest assured of anoutward reformation, and an honest manner of life. The miracle happenedthus: After the trial and condemnation of Dillaway, poor Anna Bates feltentirely disappointed that she had not the chance of better thingspresented to her mind by transportation; the two approvers, to herdismay--poor thing!--were graciously pardoned for their evidence; and, whereas, the one of them returned to her old courses more devotedly thanever, the other resolved to make one strong effort to extricate herloathing self from the gulf in which she lay. Fortunately for her, ourMaria had the heart to pity and to help a frail and fallen sister; andwhen the poor disconsolate woman, finding her to be the sister of thatevil paramour, came to Mrs. Clements in distress, revealing all her pastsins and sorrows, and pleading for some generous hand to lift her out ofthat miserable state, she did not plead in vain. Maria spurned her notaway, nor coldly disbelieved her promise of amendment; but, takingcounsel of her husband, she gave the poor woman sufficient means ofsetting up a milliner's shop at Hull, where, under her paternal name ofStellingburne, our Fleet street lady-legatee still survives, earning adecent livelihood, and little suspected amongst her kindly neighbours ofever having been much worse than a strictly honest woman. 

For another thread, if the reader, in his ample curiosity, wishes to beinformed how it became possible for me to learn the fate of Dillaway, let him know, that up to the hour of escape, I derived it easily fromliving witnesses; and thereafter, that certain settlers, having set outto explore the country, found a human skeleton stretched upon a thicketwhich, from the _débris_ of convicts' clothes, and the hatchet stampedwith his initials, was easily decided to be that bad man's. It alwayshad struck me, as a remarkable piece of retribution, that whereas Johnmade Austral shares a plea for ruining Henry Clements, a howling Australwilderness was made the means of starving him. Maria never heard whatbecame of her brother; but still looks for his return some day withaffectionate and earnest expectation. 

Another little matter to be mentioned is the fact, that Henry Clements, in his leisure from business, and freedom from care, resolved to attainsome literary glories; and first, he published his now-renowned tragedyof '_Boadicea_, ' with his name at length, giving a mint of proceeds tothat very proper charity the Theatrical Fund. Secondly, he followed uphis tragic triumph by a splendid '_Caractacus_, ' by way of a companionpicture. Thirdly, he turned to his maligned law-treatise on _Defence_, and boldly published a capital vindication thereof, flinging down hisgauntlet to the judges both of law and literature. It was strange, bythe way, and instructive also, to find with what a deferential air thewealthy writer now was listened to; and how meekly both '_Watchman_' and'_Corinthian_' kissed the smiling hand of the literary genius, who--gavesuch sumptuous dinners; for Henry, of his mere kindness, (notbribery--don't imagine him so weak, ) now that he was known as a Mæcenasamongst authors, made no invidious distinctions between literarymagnates, but effectually overcame evil with good by his heartyhospitality to '_Corinthian_' and '_Watchman_' editors, as well as toother potent wielders of the pen of fame, who had erst-while favouredthe productions of his genius. 

The last dinner he gave, I, an old friend of the family, was present;and when the ladies went up-stairs, I had, as usual, the honour ofenacting vice. It was according to Finsbury taste and custom, to producetoasts and speeches; whether cold high-breeding would have sanctionedthis or not, little matters: it was warm and cordial, and we all likedit; moreover, finding ourselves at Rome, we unanimously did as otherRomans do: and this I take to be politeness. Among the speeches, thatwhich proposed the health of the host and hostess caused the chiefestroar of clamorous joy: it was a happy-looking friend who spoke, and whathe said was much as follows:

"Clements, my dear fellow, you are the happiest man I know--exceptmyself; at least, in one thing I am happier--for I can call you friend, whereas you can only return the compliment with such a sorry substituteas I am. "

[This ingenious flattery was much ridiculed afterwards; but I pledge myword the man intended what he said; moreover, he went on, utterlyregardless of surrounding critics, in all the seeming egotism of a warmand open heart. ]

"Clements--I cannot help telling you how heartily I love you;" (Hear, hear!) "and I wish I had known you thirty years instead of three, tohave said so with the unction of my earliest recollections: but wecannot help antiquity, you know. Let us all the rather make up now byheartiness for all lost time. I think, nay, am sure, that I speak thelanguage of all present in telling you I love you:" (an enormoushear-hearing, which rose above the drawing-room floor; Harry Clementssingularly distinguished himself, in proving how he loved his father; afine young fellow he grows too, and I wish, between ourselves, to catchhim for a son-in-law some day;)--"Yes, Clements, I do love you, and yourchildren, and your wife, for there is the charm of heart about you all:in yourself, in your Maria, in that fine frank youth, and those dearwarm girls up stairs" (every word was bravoed to the echo), "in everyone of you, all the charities and amenities, all the kindnesses and thecheerfulness of life appear to be embodied; you love both God and man;the rich and the poor alike may bless you, Clements, and your admirableMaria; whilst, as for yourselves, you may both well thank God, whosemercy made you what you are. "

Clements hid his face, and Harry sobbed with joyfulness. 

"Friends! a toast and sentiment, with all the honours: 'This happyfamily! and may all who know them now, or come to hear of them infuture, cultivate as they do all the home affections, and acknowledgethat there is no wealth of man's, which may compare with riches of theheart. '"