The Night adventurer : or, The Palaces and dungeons of the heart. A romance

Preface

. In concluding these brief chronicles of his doings by the light of the moon the " Night Adventurer * has, with a feeling of the most intense gratification, to acknowledge the great pubhc patronage which has been bestowed upon the work. The extent of that patronage has afforded yet another strong evidence of the fact — the well-known fact we may call it — that these rational episodes of real life, which appeal successfully to the feelings and the hearts of all persons, will ever be the most popular reading. Even at this time of day, there are those who eontend that the masses are best pleased with that wild, romantic literature, which either goes completely into the realms of improbability, or so nearly, that it is a most difficult |task to draw the Une of demarcation. A more practical refutation of such an assertion could not be found, than in the success of works like the present, which do not deal in the marvellous, but which attract on account of their truthfulness.

Possibly, at some future time, the " Night Adventurer " may, with enervated spirits, renew those scenes of feeling, and, he hopes, of usefulness, through which his readers have so kindly followed. He hopes that once again circumstances will permit him to open the leaves of his chronicles, and to present to his kind patrons — the public — what is there in brief set down. In the meantime, he can but now, with a most grateful remembrance of the past, say — Adien ! and if any of his youthful readers should feel inclined to make the attempt to follow in his steps, and go out by the "Glimpses of the pale moon,' in search of adventure, he advises them to forsake the interesting for the useful, and rather to make themselves knights-errant in the cause of virtue, than be dazzled by any adventure which presents nothing but its glitter to recom mend it. London, November, 1846. on, THE PALACES AND DUNGEONS OF THE HEART. a -Romance. BY THE AUTHOR OF "NEWGATE." BOOK THE FIRST— 1846.

Chapter I. The Night Adventurer Introduces Himself To His Readers

There are people who have affected to have become acquainted with the habits, the manners, the hopes, the passions, and the modes of life of the inhabitants of this great city, by walking into the broad day-light of existence, and looking around them upon the artificial life that blazes in a noon-tide sun. Is this the way to dive into that arcana of thought — that depth of feeling, and to explore those hidden recesses of the human heart that contain its choicest treasures, or its most hideous viees ? There are birds and beasts that shun the day light, and there should be men and women who do so likewise : there are, but they are few in number, while the many, the imc*-'V'!e ma-ority, wearing a day-light face. No. 1. because they know it can be scanned, even as some young beauty puts on her most enchanting simper in the refulgent light of a ball-room, but te whom the expression that they wear belongs not in truthfulness, because it is that which is dictated by the head, and not by the heart.

Expediency bids a smile play upon the lips, real feeling will overflow the eyes with tears ; but this is in day-light, when all who run may read the human face; when men and women feel that they must seem to be that which is sanctioned by an arbitrary code of fashion or of morals, and not really show themselves as what they are. He who would seek in the day-light for the romance of existence, may get some of its reflected beams, but he must wait until the sun has really sunk beneath the horizon's verge, ere he can really revel in an appreciation of the heart's joyousness, or of tke heart's agony, when it shakes off the weary trammels of deceit that have clung to it for the live-long day, and gives free expression to its pent-up sorrows; or, by the happy fire -side of contentment, expands in beauty, like that fair night flower we read of, that hides its gentle head beneath the garish light of day, ta unfold its sweetest blossoms to the mystic night.

Yes, it is after dark, when toil has ceased its avocations, when there are hours to intervene before active duties summon again to labour those who arc weary of the day. It is after dark, when, in a summer's prime, the gentle breezes fan the cheeks of beauty ; and when, in the deep winter, in which wild birds of the forest die, the cheerful blaze arises from the genial hearth, and the cold, sterile season is shut out by many a shutter and warmth-giving curtain, that the heart expands and human nature becomes more natural. It is after dark, when maidens listen to their lovers' vows, and not a blush is seen, for though the gentle cheek may be tinged by love's own ensign, the soft shadows from the sighing trees will hide the roseate tinge, while they impart a deeper-whispered tenderness to every gentle word then spoken, to be dreamt of as purest happiness in years to come.

It is after dark, when the evil passions that dare not show themselves to the bright eye ofthe morn, but cower and hide themselves like thieves in a tangled brake, behind fairer and more innocent objects, blaze out again, nor fear detection, lt is after dark that those collisions of the passions, which make up some of the most appalling episodes of human life occur. Mankind act a part in the daytime. Put out the glorious sun-light, and Vice stalks abroad, fancying that it makes as brave a show as Virtue, and that in the dim obscurity of earth and heaven it may, for a moment, by some unwary person be mistaken. It is after dark that the assassin lies in wait for his victim ; and it is at the soft twilight hour, and in those that follow it, that those moral assassins — those worse than bravos, who arm themselves with the pistol and the knife — whisper to trusting ears of innocence and beauty their seductive counsels, covering themselves with an odium which shall be eternal, and a contempt that shall be withering.

It is at such times that the nearest and dearest connections are uprooted, and when the glossy human serpent, with a frightful practised art, glozes over his subtleties, and does the villain with abundant grace. It is ni^ht when the robber leaves the hiding-place in which he has dosed away the day, to pursue his unlawful calling ; and it is at night that the timid tremble, for well they know what hosts of evil passions spring into existence when the last bright ray of the departing sun is quenched for many an hour. When night has spread its black and spangk-d canopy over the green earth— when all is, or should be repose among the good and the beautiful, and when there should be abundance of faith in human nature, because the deeds of men are hidden, but when in reality humanity is armed against humanity, and until the bright sun rises, and again there is doubt, apprehension, and in some cases despair.

It is night when the vigilance of those who are appointed to be watchful while others sleep, is considered to be most impoitant, thereby proving lhat that period is by common consent considered to be likely to be more rife with incidents than the bright and glittering day. It is at night that one individual, a young, ardent, enthusiastic man— one who has seen much, and4'profited more, from his intercourse with the great world— rises i from his couch, and opens bis casement, at that hour when others are closing theirs, and he is our " Night Adventurer." Let him speak for himself. ****** The sun has sunk in the glowing west, and the weary are seeking rest. The din of conflict, when conflict has been raging, is over — the night-cloud has lowered, and " The cardinal stars set their watch in the sky ;" but he — the person to whom we have alluded— rises at that hour from the couch on which he has slept all the day, and commences the business of his existence.

It is a strange — a very strange fancy, but it has been his for more than a year — when others rise he retires to rest — when others retire to rest he rises. During the day the shutters of his chamber are closed — the heavy tapestry of his couch drawn close around him, the night-bolt fast at his door, and he reposes, knowing nothing, heeding nothing, of the great world around him, or of all its cares, its hopes, its anxieties, and its follies. The sun may shine, or clouds may obscure its lustre, he cares not — knows not — he sleeps securely. But what's his objeet in all this ? Wherefore does he thus turn night to day, and keep himself off, as it were, from the most glorious part of his existence? Has he no sympathies with the beautiful day-light? Has he done aught that should make him shun the sweet sunshine ?

Is he at war with his kiad ; and will he not therefore go forth among them until the sombre shades of night are around and about him? No, this is not his reason. No man ever lived who loved his species better. He is no misanthrope, but he is a student of nature, and this his belief — that at no time can he study it better than at night. Therefore is it that he takes that rest in the day-time which is necessary, in order to enable him to be active and alert in mind and body, during those hours when it is his favourite pastime to be out, and observing human nature in such aspects as beneath the light of day it never could show itself. He has risen, and is rapidly attiring himself, while an old decrepit woman, who attends upon him, prepares what he properly enough, so far as regards the deriva tion of the word, called his breakfast.

But he had a stout battle with this old domestic, to induce her to allow him to give the meal such a name ; she looked not to derivations of words, but would insist that it was his tea, although he took no tea at it, but simply because it happened to be at that hour when she took her meal, which early habit induced her to call it by that name. "Ah!" she exclaimed, as she laid the equipage for breakfast, "some people are cracked, I think, and completely out of their senses ; the idea, now, of sleeping all day, and getting up just about the time when other people are thinking of going to bed, and then calling his tea his breakfast ! but I won't have that — it is tea, and it shall be his tea, whether he likes it or not ; I will have it so — it is his tea." And he who will be our hero was talking to himself of his favourite pursuit:— " Yes," he said, " the time has come again, the delightful time, when I can walk abroad, and feel the delicious cool night air playing upon my brow.

The sweet time has come round again, when, with invigorated strength, after many hours' repose, I can go forth to study that most interesting leaf in the great book of hman nature which treats of man, his excellences and his frailties, his good and his bad passions, and all the miseries and enjoyments which he is heir to— a delightful time to me — a time full of enjoyment, full of expectation ; 1 stand as it weie aloof from the rest of my kind, a spectator of, but scarcely an actor in, the ordinary affairs of existence ; and what abundant stores of knowledge do I not reap from such a source — stores which shall at one time be opened freely to all who are interested in human existence, and there shall be found pictures drawn from real life, which sometimes, if they shall lack the highest and most gorgeous colouring of art, shall at least be true to nature.

And nothing shall be there extenuate, nothing there set down in malice — no false arguments to make the worst appear the better reason — nothing which shall tend to lend an aspect to vice which shall make it seem a libel upon virtue. No, the truth of existence and of incident shall adorn the page, and of truth only. I am the Night Adventurer ; and from the records of my existence shall be drawn most rare materials for thinking, strange delineations of character, most remarkable episodes in human life. " It shall be my task on some day, perchance distant from the present, to place upon record all the strange and wonderful that I have seen and heard. I will write a book, which shall prove that in ordinary life there are incidents moie full of existence than the most fertile brain of the novelist ever succeeded in giving birth to.

I will prove that fiction presents itself but in weak colours by the side of truth. I will prove, and prove abundantly, that there are heroes and heroines in every day life far transcending any that can be found in the pages of romance. These shall be my confessions, and they will be such as shall present a picture of the times, that generations yet to come shall study them, and feel that they are acquiring a knowledge most intimate of those who have been before them in the march of mind." " There's your tea, sir," said the oM woman, looking into the apartment. " You mean breakfast, good Martha — you mean my breakfast." " Indeed then, sir, I do not ; it's tea-time, and therefore tea it is, and you can't make it anything else." " But it's breakfast, if I break my fast by taking it." " Rubbish ! it's tea, and you know it.

Can you mean to say, sir, you are going out again all night long V " I am afraid — I do most certainly." " Oh, yes ! you are very much afraid, of course. I do wonder how you can make yourself so ridiculous ; you used tc have some sense." " Had 1 really? Well, Martha, you ean enjoy your own opinion, and in the mean, time I will enjoy my breakfast." " Your tea, you mean 1" « No, I don't." " But I say you do, and I won't be contradicted." The Night Adventurer laughed, but he well knew the real worth and honest attachment of his ancient servant ; he knew that beneath the strange exterior she possessed one of the kindliest of human hearts, and therefore was it that he could well afford most indulgently to put up with her remonstrances, and replied with such abundant good humour to the disapproving remarks she made concerning his habits.

The night was growing on apace. A bank of dark clouds had risen up from out ofthe eastern sky, the wind was howling by in strange and fitful gusts, and old Martha, as she moved the blind of one of the windows aside, to look out upon the aspect of the night, did so with a sigh at the thought of what she considered her master's mad perseverance, in seeking adventures at such a time. She made an effort to dissuade him from the course he was pursuing. "Sir," she said; "it's time you gave up dozing all day, when other people are awake, and prowling about all night, like an old torn cat : cannot you do as other folks do, and get up at a proper hour in the morning, taking your breakfast, dinner, tea and supper, like a Christian ; and then go to hed like a respectable person?" " No," said the Night Adventurer with a smile ; 'I am afraid I cannot.

You know, Martha, that I am alone in the world ; you know that I have no relations, and that I make but few intimates — indeed, I may almost say none, but we must all have some pursuit, or we should die of slow ennui. Now, my fancy is, to sleep in the day-time, for I don't care about people with their artificial looks, and daylight hypocrisies." " But I have known you go out in the day-time." "Exactly, Martha; I seek adventures at night, and, if I encounter one that jequires to be carried out in the day, then I do not shrink from the sun-light. I detest oppression, and if, at midnight, I find that it exists, I am happy enough at mid-day, if an opportunity presents itself, to do my best to crush it ; so now farewell, until the morning's light, for I have had my breakfast." " Your tea, you mean," said the old woman ; for not only was she determined to have the last word, but the question of ' tea versus breakfast,' was one she had made up her mind not to be defeated upon.

The Night Adventurer said no more, but went from his house full of pleasing anticipations, that that evening would produce something that would enable him to enter a record upon his projected journal of an interesting character.

Chapter II. The Night Adventurer Makes Further Acquaintance With His Readers

Those who have already perused so much of these pages as have been written, will please to understand that I, the Night Adventurer, myself, penned them as a kind of introduction between me and the reader ; I have no biographer, nor, indeed, do I desire one, for it is not of myself I have much to say, except so far that I become the medium through which the actions and feelings of other persons are apparent. And now that the reader knows something of me, and is aware that I will call my tea my breakfast, in spite of old Martha, my respected housekeeper, and that it is a kind of mania of mine to sleep in the day, and go out in the night in search of adventures, I shall proceed, in the fiist person, to relate what occurred to me in the course of those expeditions. I shall have no reservation, but in the order that the things happened shall they be recorded : 1 will insert no falsehoods for the sake of dressing up a story, because I consider myself, and I wish my readers to consider so likewise, that the great charm of these revelations consist in their absolute accuracy.

I make no'doubt, but most pleasantly together shall we proceed, and, if I make an alteration of a name or of a date in any of my stories, it shall only be upon one ground, and that is one which I am sure my readers will not blame me for considering, because it shall be to spare the feelings of living persons from being hurt by a recital of matters in which they themselves or their most intimate companions have borne a part. And this is the only circumstance under which I shall feel myself justified in not being perfectly candid ; so that I claim great confidence for those who may peruse my pages ; and if any gentleman should become smitten with the idea of becominga Night Adventurer himself, and go out for a whole month together without meeting with anything more romantic than being told by the policeman to move en, he will not consider that as any reason why I should not have met with the most perilous and moving adventures that can be imagined.

And so, without further preface, as I am quite as anxious to get to my revelations as I hope the reader is, 1 at once commence with a recital of wbat befel me during the first week that I commenced night adventuring, and as this affair resolves itself into a neat and complete little history, shall call it "A.B.; OR, TBE EOARDING-SCHOOL AT NF.ASDON." I had been out four nights ; unsuccessfully I had traversed many of the London streets ; I had dived into the suburbs, and although once or twice I flattered myself that I fancied an adventure was about to commence of a romantic and poetic character, the circumstances have often resolved themselves into the plainest matter of-fact prose that can be imagined, and I was all abroad again. I kept these disappointments to myself, for the triumph ofmy old housekeeper, Martha, would have been prodigious.

The fifth night was one of storm ; it was the autumn of the year, and the fall of the leaf had just commenced ; the weather, like some coy beauty with two admirers, seemed to be doubting and hovering between winter and summer. Sometimes the nights would be calm, mild, and serene, as those of the summer's prime ; and then, again, a marked change would ensue, and, as if the elements had all of a sudden remembered it was the latter end of September, the rain and the wind would make the matter up in earnest and make a thorough uncomfortable night of it. When I say an uncomfortable night, I do not speak of myself, for I like all sort of ■weather, and think that, if we choose to look at them with discerning eyes, we shall find that the rain, the wind, sleet, and the snow, haye really as much to recommend them to our placid attention as the sunshine.

It has been well said, that the heart, too, creates its own beauty; and, if we will look upon these phenomena, of nature with distasteful eyes, they will appear calamitous, but let us say that we will enjoy them, and they will become forthwith admirable. There was nothing, therefore, in the aspect of this fifth night to keep me from going forth in search of adventure. The wind howled and whistled up and down the streets, and round the squares of London, carrying with it dashing showers of rain, and occasionally sleet and hail, which, at the turning of a corner, sometimes met so suddenly and unexpectedly, that it seemed to have been waiting for me. But I enjoyed all this : it was something like an adventure of itself, to be out on such a night, and then I had none ofthe consciousness of having to get home for the sake of a night's rest, which I could see painfully written in thc serious countenances of the few chance passengers I met, and who seemed surprised at the easy manner at which I strolled along.

I took my way towards that district of London which was northward of Oxford-street, comprehending a large locality, with rich and poor for its inhabitants — squalid misery and titled greatness. — The hour was eleven, but the inclement nature of the night kad caused the streets to be much deserted, and one might have supposed, to look at them, that a much more lonely hour had been reached. As 1 walked down a street of new houses, only one side of which had been built upon, I saw standing at the corner a private cab, of fashionable shape and expensive appointments. It was opposite to no one house in particular, but seemed as if drawn up and waiting for some one, who, from the impatience of the horse, for he was fretting and stamping, I conjectured ■was long in coming. As 1 paused a moment I heard a voice from within the cab, say : — "Confound her! this is always the way, except when I am not to my time, and then, of course, she would be here to the minute; hang all old women, say I; what on earth can be the use of them ? and as for this girl, I don't see anything in her."

I paused, and took shelter in a door-way, and scarcely had I done so, when I saw a portly-looking female figure coming slowly up the street. She was one of those old women, whom you cannot look upon for a moment without knowing they have the highest opinion of their own importance; there was a tremulous movement of her head, and a sort of ancient swagger about her, that spoke volumes as regards her character. " Hang her ! here she comes," said the man in the cab ; " there is a deal of assumed dignity ; then she is as proud as Lucifer,and thinks herself such a wonderful person, because she is useful to the duke ; there is no putting up with her." The old dame very slightly quickened her pace, when she saw the cab, and paused upon reaching it. " Now marm," said the servant, for such he was who was in it, " jump up, I have been waiting for you this half-hour."

" How dare you address me in that language?" and her head vibrated like that of some old mandarin in a tea-dealer's window; " how dare you speak to me in that manner?" " Oh, bother you, get in ; it's more trouble than enough, between the two of you— you and the duke— I have no end of trouble : first of all he is too particular to ride with you, because you cannot hold behind, like any other respectable " I hold on behind— you low wretch!" said the old woman, " 1 stand upon a little square piece of leather, at the back of a cab, and hold by two bell-ropes— now dare you think of such a thing V " Oh ! I suppose a person may think if they please, Mother Matthews, and not be hung for it ; but with you it's nothing else but— how dare one do this and how dare one do the other? till you get as tiresome as the very devil.

There bold on and step as high as you can !" " I am, you low fellow, stepping as high as I ean." " Then step a little higher, and you will be in the cab in a minute." After a great deal of scrambling and swinging of the vehicle to and fro/which threatened its destruction, the old woman got in, and down went the spring upon that side with a vengeance that said a great deal for its elasticity. I heard the groom mutter an oath, and I just saw a bit of his hat, around which was a silver-lace band, when they were ready to start. :r~ T On the impulse of the moment I glided behind the vehicle, and seating myself upon the foot-board, that had been so much despised by the old woman, I found myself whirled along at a rapid pace, I knew not where. Now thiswas not the most dignified method of proceeding, but then I came outto look for adventures not dignity, and having a strong supposition from what I had overheard that some villany was afloat, I was not disposed to be scrupulous as to the means by which 1 could become acquainted with it, in order to thwart its progress.

Situated as I was, I soon found that I had great difficulty in overhearing what passed between those two uncongenial spirits, the old woman and the groom, and I feared that if I made any movement to better my curiosity that dissension would be inevitable. Probably, as it was, 1 owed the impunity with which I travelled solely to the fact that the economy of the cab was so deranged by the old woman, that the groom was no judge as to whether any one was behind it or not. When we got off the stones and into a soft country roar], which the rain had made extremely muddy, I found that I could hear !K"ch plainer what ensued, and understand in a more connected form the dialogue that took place between the groom and the old woman, whom he Called Matthews. "It is a great bore. Mother Matthews," he said, " for you to put the duke up to an affair so far from town."

" That is no business of yours, Master William," said the old woman, " aud when you address me, for the future, I will trouble you to call me Miss Matthews, if you please !" " Miss Matthews — the devil ! well, that is a good idea. Miss Matthews ITyou won't say a better thing than that to night, old one." " You impertinent wretch ! I shall take an opportunity of telling the duke of your insolence." " That you may, and welcome ; you are a nice old article — and so we have got to go as far as Neasdon, have we ?" " Yes, to be sure, and that's not very far ; the girl's name is Amelia Bruton ; she has no friends, so there can be no bother." " Now, aint you a nice piece of goods ? because the poor girl has no friends she is to be picked oat by you to be destroyed. I tell you what it is, old Mother Matthews, som.s Of these days my feelings will get the better of me, and then this cab v>'.il upset and you will break your damned old neck !"

" Murderer !" said Miss Matthews, " you low wretch ! you nearly had the wheel against a post then." " And so she's no friends, has she?" " No more but an old country curate of the name of Bruton, a tottering old fool, with one foot in the grave ; they do say he supports her at school, but I don't believe that, for he has only eighty pounds' a year for himself, I am told ; and is it a likely thing indeed he would keep a girl at boarding-school out of that?" " Well he's an old trump if he does." " An old trump." _,■•___>_, " An old trump! and I wish you were so ; but her,: we are, I suppose, not far off. " Not very — you mu3t go down that lane." " What, that lane ! why it's up to the axles in mud ; the horse will never be able to struggle through it." " You have got a whip and you can go on lashing him ; what is the use of a whip, I wonder, if it aint to make dumb cattle go ?"