CI. THE BLACKAMOOR'S STRANGE ADVENTURE…

CI. THE BLACKAMOOR'S STRANGE ADVENTURE

It was about nine o'clock in the evening of the same day on which the above-recorded interview took place between the Earl of Ellingham and Lady Hatfield, that the Blackamoor, clad in a very plain—almost a mean attire, sauntered along Pall Mall West, and stopped for a few moments in front of the nobleman's house.

He gazed wistfully at the windows—murmured something to himself—uttered a sigh—and passed on.

His appearance attracted the notice of two gentlemen who were walking arm-in-arm in the same direction; and, as they examined him more closely by the light of an adjacent lamp, one said to the other, "Since his Majesty has taken it into his head to have a black servant, I really think that the very man to suit the purpose is now before us. He is a well-made, good-looking fellow."

"My dear Warren," said the gentleman thus addressed, "you are positively absurd with your notions that you have only to ask in a King's name in order to have. How do you know that this man wants a situation?"

"He looks as if he did, Harral," replied Sir Phillip Warren. "See—he lounges along as if he had no fixed object in view—his clothes do not appear to be any of the best—and his whole demeanour gives me the idea of a lacquey out of place."

"My dear friend," whispered Sir Randolph Harral—who, like his companion, was one of the King's courtiers, "you are really wrong. That man is something far superior to what you conceive him to be: there is even an air of subdued gentility about him——"

"Pooh! pooh! Harral," interrupted Sir Phillip Warren: "you do not understand these matters so well as I do. At all events there is no harm in questioning that fellow—for I should rejoice to be able to fulfil to-night a whim which our royal master only expressed this afternoon when he saw the French Ambassador's splendid black chasseur."

"Well, as you please, Warren," observed Sir Randolph Harral: "but as I do not wish to get myself knocked down for insulting a person of a superior class to what you imagine, I shall leave you to pursue the adventure alone."

This conversation had been carried on so close to the Blackamoor, that, although the two courtiers had spoken in a very low voice, and had not of course intended that their remarks should be overheard, yet scarcely a word had escaped his ears. Affecting, however, all the time to continue his lounging, listless walk, he took no apparent notice of the gentlemen behind him, and even pretended to start with surprise when Sir Phillip Warren—Sir Randolph Harral having re-entered Carlton House—tapped him on the shoulder.

"My good man," said the courtier, in a patronising fashion, "I wish to have a few moments' conversation with you."

"Certainly, sir," exclaimed the Blackamoor, touching his hat just like a lacquey, and assuming the tone and manner of one.

"I thought so—I knew I was right?" exclaimed Sir Phillip, rubbing his hands in proof of his satisfaction; then, attentively scanning the Black from head to foot, by the aid of the lamp at the door of a neighbouring mansion, he said in a less excited tone, "I suspect you, my good fellow, to be a person in search of employment——"

"Yes—sir," interrupted the Blackamoor, now enjoying the farce that he was playing; "I should very much like to obtain a good situation, and can obtain a first-rate character from my late master."

"The very thing!" cried Sir Phillip Warren, hugely delighted at the opportunity of crowing over his friend Sir Randolph Harral: then, once more addressing himself to the Black, he said, "Now what should you think if I proposed to you to enter the household of his most gracious Majesty?"

"I should be afraid that the offer was too good to be realized, sir," was the answer, delivered in a tone of deep respect; although the Blackamoor was laughing in his sleeve the whole time.

"It all depends upon me, my good fellow," said Sir Phillip: "and if I am satisfied with you, the matter is settled immediately. But we cannot continue to talk in the open street: so follow me to my own apartments in the palace."

Thus speaking, the courtier led the way to Carlton House, the Blackamoor following at a respectful distance, and saying to himself, "What object I propose to myself in embracing this adventure, I know not. It, however, tickles my fancy, and I will go on with it. Besides, having an hour to spare, I may as well divert myself in this way as any other."

Accordingly, he followed Sir Phillip Warren into the royal dwelling; and in strict silence did they proceed, until they reached an ante-room leading to a suite of apartments which were occupied by the old courtier. In that ante-room they stopped; for Sir Phillip was immediately accosted by his valet, who, starting from a seat in which he had been dozing, said, "If you please, sir, his Majesty has sent twice, during the last half-hour, to desire your presence."

"Very good, Gregory," exclaimed Sir Phillip: "I will attend to the royal command this moment; and do you take the present of hot-house fruit at once to my sister, Lady Maltoun. Her ladyship requires it for her grand supper to-night. Tell her that I am enabled to send it through the goodness of my royal master."

"Yes, sir," answered the valet, and instantly took his departure.

"My good fellow," said Sir Phillip Warren, turning towards the Blackamoor, "you perceive that it is impossible for me to speak to you at present. You must sit down and wait patiently until my return. I shall not be very long away; but, in any case, wait!"

Sir Phillip Warren, having issued these injunctions, hastened into the inner apartments to amend his toilette after his evening's stroll; and in a short time he came forth again, with knee-breeches and silk stockings, all ready to attend upon the king. In passing through the ante-chamber he repeated his command that the Black should await his return; and the latter promised to obey.

When left alone, this individual seated himself, and gave way to his reflections, forgetting for a time where he was. At length he started up, looked at his watch, and found that upwards of half-an-hour had elapsed since the old courtier had left him. He was already wearied of waiting; but a natural love of adventure and of the excitement of novelty induced him to remain a little longer to see the issue of the affair which had led him thither. He accordingly whiled away another half hour with a newspaper which lay on the table; and, that interval having passed, he began to think of taking his departure without farther delay.

Issuing from the ante-room, he proceeded along a well-lighted corridor, from the extremity of which branched off two smaller passages, one to the right, and the other to the left. The Blackamoor was now at a loss which path to pursue; for he could not, for the life of him, remember by which passage the old courtier had led him on his arrival an hour previously.

He was not, however, a man at all capable of hesitating to explore even a royal palace, in order to find a mode of egress, when it did not suit him to wait for the return of his guide: and taking the passage to the right, he hastened on until he reached a pair of colossal folding doors. Perfectly recollecting to have passed through those doors on his arrival—or at all events through folding-doors exactly like them—he pushed them open, and entered a large ante-room, well lighted, and containing four marble statues as large as life.

"Now," thought the Blackamoor, "I am mistaken; for I do not remember to have seen those statues as I followed the old gentleman into the palace just now. And yet I might have passed through this room without noticing them. At all events, I well recollect those large and splendid folding-doors; and so I must be right."

It happened, however, that he was altogether wrong in the path which he had pursued in order to find an egress from the palace; and he was deceived by the fact that at each end of the long passage, from the middle of which the corridor branched off, there were folding-doors of an uniform shape, size, and appearance. But, conceiving himself to be in the right road, he crossed the ante-room, and, pushing open a door at the farther extremity, found himself in a magnificent apartment, the furniture of which was of the French fashion of King Louis the Fifteenth's time. The hangings and drapery were of crimson velvet, of which material the cushions of the chairs and the sofas were also made. Several fine pictures, by old masters, and vast mirrors with elaborately decorated frames, graced the walls; and the whole was displayed by a rich, subdued, golden lustre, diffused throughout the room by lamps, the globes of which were of very thick ground glass. It was a mellow light, sufficient, yet without glare—misty, without being positively dim—and calculated to produce a lulling sensation of voluptuous indolence, rather than to dazzle the eyes with a wakeful brilliancy. In fact, there was altogether something ineffably luxurious in the general appearance of this apartment, which was magnificent without being spacious, and the perfumed atmosphere of which stole like a delicious languor on the senses.

The Blackamoor forgot for a few moments that he was an intruder—or, if he remembered the fact, he was indifferent to it: and, though the instant he entered this apartment he saw that he had indeed taken a wrong path, yet he could not help advancing farther into it to admire its sumptuous elegance and fine pictures. He was thus gratifying his curiosity, when he heard voices in the ante-room through which he had just passed; and, obeying a natural impulse, he slipped behind the rich velvet curtains drawn over the immense window, near which he happened to be standing at the moment.

The door opened, and two persons entered the apartment.

"I will await her here, Warren," said one, in a commanding and triumphant tone: "and see that during our interview, we are secured against interruption of any kind."

"Your Majesty shall be obeyed," answered Sir Phillip. "Have you any farther orders, sire?"

"None, my faithful friend," returned the King. "Stay—have I the document?"

"I gave it to your Majesty ere now, after having myself fetched it from the Home Office," said the courtier.

"True! I have it safe," said George the Fourth. "And now hasten to receive the fair one, Warren: it is past ten o'clock, and I am impatient to behold her charming countenance again."

Sir Phillip departed; and the King, throwing himself upon one of the voluptuous ottomans, exclaimed aloud, "Now for a new pleasure! I know not how it was, but I never before took so sudden and ardent a fancy for any woman, as for this Georgiana Hatfield. There is something truly bewitching—ineffably captivating in her sweet countenance; and the calm repose which characterises the general expression of that face, has for me an influence profoundly voluptuous. Then her bust—oh! her bust—that is charming indeed,—so full—so richly proportioned—and yet evidently so firm! She has never been married, and Warren says that her reputation is untarnished. It will be a luxury of paradise to revel in her virgin charms. And yet, somehow or other, the joys of love are not generally unknown to ladies in the fashionable world who have reached the age of four or five and twenty. No matter! be she virgin or not, she is an adorable woman; and I am madly impatient for her coming."

The King rose from the ottoman, and walked slowly across the apartment, stopping opposite a mirror in which he surveyed himself. His admirably fashioned wig was entirely to his taste: there was not a curl nor a wave which he could have wished otherwise than it was. His false teeth were white, fixed firmly in his mouth, and had a perfectly natural appearance. The tie of his cravat—borrowed from the fashion set by his once all-powerful favourite, Beau Brummell—was unexceptionable. The white waistcoat had not a crease, so perfectly did it fit the portly form of the royal voluptuary. The above-mentioned Beau Brummell could not, even in his ire against the King, have found the shadow of an excuse for a cavil against the black dress-coat, so artistically was it made. No tailor in the famous city of Paris could have achieved a greater triumph in respect to the pantaloons: and as for the polished dress-boots——O immortal Hoby!

Well satisfied with the result of his survey, George the Fourth returned to the ottoman, and relapsed into a train of voluptuous imagings with respect to Lady Hatfield. This current of thought, whereby, in his emasculated old age, he endeavoured to invigorate his physical powers through the medium of an excited and heated imagination, led him to reflect upon all the beauteous women—and their name was Legion—who had ever surrendered themselves to his embraces; and his ideas naturally wandered to the enjoyments, luxuries, and pleasures which his exalted rank and immense resources enabled him to procure. Then he chuckled with triumphant delight at the egregious folly of the great and powerful English people tolerating a King at all. But he likewise knew that his own conduct and example had done more harm to the cause of Monarchy than all the republic pamphlets or democratic disquisitions ever published. He was well aware that, without intending to be so, he was the most effectual means of opening the eyes of the civilised world to the insanity and madness of maintaining monarchical institutions: and, though he foresaw that the industrious millions of this realm must inevitably, sooner or later, overthrow Monarchy and establish a pure Democracy, yet he consoled himself, in his revolting selfishness, with the conviction that "the throne would last during his time, at all events."

It was about half-past ten, when the door opened; and the Blackamoor, peeping from behind the curtains, beheld a lady, closely veiled, enter the room, the door immediately closing behind her.

"Adorable Georgiana!" exclaimed the King, hastening forward to receive her, and then conducting her to a seat: "I am rejoiced that you have thus yielded to my wishes—that you have come to me this evening."

"But wherefore, sire, did you insist upon this visit?" asked Lady Hatfield, in a low and tremulous tone. "Our compact stipulated that I was first to receive a certain document, as a proof of your Majesty's sincerity——"

"Dearest Georgiana, raise that odious veil—lay aside that invidious bonnet, which conceals your charming countenance!" exclaimed the monarch, in an impassioned voice.

"Oh! sire, I have taken a step at which I tremble," said Lady Hatfield, raising her veil, but retaining her bonnet. "On my way through the corridors, guided by Sir Phillip Warren, I met two or three of your Majesty's retainers; and if they recognised me—in spite of the thick veil——"

"Fear not on that account," interrupted the King. "I admit our compact was as you just now stated it to be, and that the paper should have been forwarded to you. But I was so anxious to see you soon again, that I could not resist the temptation of that idea which suggested to me how much better it would be to solicit you to come hither this evening and receive from my hands the document which you so much desire. Here it is, beloved Georgiana—signed by myself, and countersigned by the Secretary of State."

The King presented the paper to Lady Hatfield, who received it with joy flashing from her eyes: and she immediately secured it about her person.

"My curiosity prompts me to ask an explanation of the extraordinary contents of that document," said the monarch; "but, on the other hand, delicacy forbids."

"And I thank you for this delicacy, sire," exclaimed Lady Hatfield, with earnest sincerity. "It were a long tale to tell—and an useless one——"

"Yes—useless, indeed, when we have a far more interesting topic for our discourse," interrupted George the Fourth, throwing one of his arms round the lady's neck.

"Sire!" cried Georgiana in a reproachful tone, as she hastily withdrew herself from that half-embrace, and retreated to the further end of the ottoman.

"Oh! wherefore play the coy and the cruel?" exclaimed the King. "Have I not given you a signal proof of my attachment, by affixing my signature to a paper the contents of which I scarcely understand, and by ordering the Minister to legalize it with his name? And think you, sweet lady, that it was an easy task to induce that responsible functionary to obey me in this respect? But I menaced and coaxed by turns; and all this for your sake! Do I not, therefore, deserve the reward of your smiles—the recompense of your caresses?"

"I recognise all that is generous in the conduct of your Majesty towards me in respect to this document," said Lady Hatfield: "but were I to succumb to you now, sire, I should loathe myself—I should become degraded in my own estimation—I should feel that I had been purchased by a bribe! No—sire: I cannot renounce every consideration of purity—every sentiment of propriety, in a single moment."

"What further proof do you require of my attachment?" demanded the King, in a tone of vexation which he could not altogether subdue.

"No other proof, save your forbearance on this occasion," answered Georgiana. "Remember, sire, what I told you the other night: I am not a woman of impure imagination—no—nor of depraved character; and I cannot consent to become your mistress, without a mental effort on my part—without wooing on your's. In yielding myself to your Majesty, it will be as a wife who is forced to dispense with the ceremony which alone can make her one in reality; and if your Majesty deem me worth the winning, let me be won by means of those delicate attentions which would be shown in honourable courtship."

"Perdition!" ejaculated the King, who was as much unaccustomed to hear such language as he was to sue at the feet of beauty: "how long will you keep me in this suspense, fair lady?—how long must I endure the tortures of deferred hope? Consider—I love you madly: you are so beautiful—so sweetly beautiful! Oh! to press you in my arms——"

"Pardon me, sire, for daring to interrupt you," said Georgiana; "but if there be nothing save the impulse of the senses in this liaison of ours, your Majesty will soon become wearied of me—and I shrink in horror from the idea of becoming the cast-off mistress of even Royalty itself. Let me seek to engage your affections, as you must endeavour to enchain mine; so that our connexion may be based upon the sentiments and feelings of the heart."

"But I already love you sincerely—devotedly, cruel Georgiana!" cried the King, his eyes greedily running over the outlines of the exquisitely proportioned form of the lady, and the rapid survey exciting his desire almost beyond endurance.

"Not with a love calculated to be permanent," said Georgiana quietly; "and unless I become the object of such an affection, never—never shall I so far forget myself——"

"This is cruel—this is maddening!" exclaimed the King; and he extended his arms towards Lady Hatfield.

"Sire, do not treat me with outrage," she said, rising from the ottoman, and speaking in a dignified manner. "If your Majesty supposed that your sovereign rank would so far dazzle my imagination as to make me throw myself into your arms at the very first words of encouragement which fell from your lips, your Majesty has sadly misunderstood the character of Georgiana Hatfield."

"Be not angry with me, adorable creature!" exclaimed the King: "I love you too much to risk the chance of losing you by any misconduct on my part. Name, therefore, your own terms. Or rather, let me ask whether you will consent to visit me every evening for an hour, and allow us an opportunity to become better acquainted with each other?"

"Now your Majesty speaks in a manner calculated to win my esteem," observed Lady Hatfield, avoiding a direct reply to the question put to her; "and when the esteem of a woman is once secured——"

"I understand you," interrupted George the Fourth, hastily: "her love speedily follows. Be it as you say, sweet lady," he continued, in a slower tone; "and let us secure each other's affections. You shall find me docile and obedient to your will—and this is much for me to promise. But let me hope that the period of probation will not be long—that the hour of recompense is not far distant——"

"Hush, sire!" exclaimed Georgiana, in a reproachful voice: "this is the language of sense—whereas you must secure my affections by the language of sentiment. If you treat me as a woman who is to be purchased as your mistress, let our connexion cease this moment: but if you will woo me as a wife should be won—although I am well aware that your Majesty's wife I can never be——"

"Would that I could marry you this moment!" cried the King, fixing his eyes upon her beauteous countenance; "for you are ravishingly lovely! I would give a year of my life to obtain all I crave this night. Oh! Georgiana, be not so coy and cruel with me—for you madden me—my veins seem to run with molten lead. Be mine at once—and render my happiness complete. Behold that small low door in yonder corner: it opens into a room which may serve as our nuptial chamber. Come, then, dearest Georgiana—let me lead you thither—not cold, hesitating, and resisting—but warm, and impassioned, and prepared to revel in the delights of love! Our privacy will be complete: no intruder need we fear;—and the world will never know that you have become mine."

"Sire, this language on your part—in spite of all the arguments and remonstrances which I have used," exclaimed Lady Hatfield, "is unworthy of a great King and a polished gentleman."

"The madness of love knows nothing of regal rank nor the shackles of etiquette," said the monarch, speaking in a tone of great excitement; "and, in spite of the promises which I just now so rashly made, I cannot endure delay. No—sweetest lady—you must be mine at once!"—and he wound his arms around Georgiana's form, the fury of his desires animating him with a strength against which she could not long have resisted.

But at that moment succour was at hand!

Forth from his place of concealment sprang the Blackamoor; and an ejaculation of surprise and rage burst from the lips of the King, while a cry of joy emanated from those of Lady Hatfield.

"Who are you? and what signifies this intrusion?" demanded George the Fourth, instantly releasing his intended victim at this sudden apparition.

But, without answering the monarch, the Blackamoor hastily led the half-fainting Lady Hatfield to the door—opened it to allow her to pass out of the room—and, closing it behind her, placed his back against it,—the whole being effected with such speed, that Georgiana had disappeared before the King could recover from the astonishment into which the very first step of the bold proceeding had thrown him.

"Villainous negro!" cried the disappointed monarch, at length recovering the power of speech: "do you know who I am, that you have thus dared to outrage me?"

"I know full well who you are, sire—and I am grieved to the very soul at the idea of being compelled to acknowledge you as my King," returned the Black, in a calm—collected—and somewhat mournful tone.

"This insolence to me!" ejaculated George the Fourth, becoming purple with rage. "Make way, sirrah, for me to pass hence!"

"Not until I have allowed Lady Hatfield sufficient time to escape from this house which the country has given as a palace for your Majesty, but which seems to be used for purposes too vile to contemplate without horror," was the firm reply.

The King fell back a few paces in speechless astonishment. Never before had he been thus bearded:—but in that momentary interval of silence, a crowd of recollections rushed to his mind, warning him that the individual who thus seemed to defy his rank and power, had been present during the whole of the interview with Lady Hatfield,—and that this individual had learnt how the Royal and Ministerial signatures had been given as a means of propitiating a coy beauty, without any reference to the interests of the State:—when the King remembered all this, he was alarmed at the serious manner in which he suddenly found himself compromised. For that Blackamoor could make revelations of a nature to arouse against him the indignation of the whole kingdom; and, reckless as George the Fourth was of public opinion, he trembled at the idea of exciting public resentment.

Thus did a few moments of reflection show him the precipice on which he stood, and carry to his mind a conviction of the necessity of making terms with the sable stranger who had obtained such a dangerous power over him. But the mere thought of such a compromise was sorely repugnant to the haughty spirit of George the Fourth: and yet there was no alternative! He accordingly addressed himself with the best grace he could assume, to the task of conciliation.

"My good sir," he said, approaching the Black, "I seek not to deal harshly with you: and yet you owe me an explanation of the motives which induced you to penetrate into the palace, and the means by which you gained access to my private apartments."

"I feel bound to answer your Majesty with candour and frankness, in order to clear myself from any injurious suspicion which my concealment in this room might naturally engender," was the reply. "The explanation, sire, is briefly given:—I was accosted by an elderly gentleman in Pall Mall, and asked if I required a situation. In truth I do not; but it being intimated to me that the proffered place was in the royal household, curiosity prompted me to follow the gentleman into the palace. He left me alone in his ante-room for upwards of an hour; and, growing weary of waiting, I sought a means of egress. But, losing my way, I found myself at length in this room; and almost immediately afterwards your Majesty entered with the very gentleman I am speaking of, and whose name I learnt to be Warren. I concealed myself behind the curtains—with no bad intention; and indeed I was about to come forth and explain the reasons of my presence to your Majesty, when certain words which fell from your Majesty's lips made me acquainted with the fact that Lady Hatfield was expected here every moment. That name nailed me to the spot—and I was prompted by an uncontrollable curiosity to wait and satisfy myself whether Lady Hatfield could have become so depraved as to surrender herself to your arms."

"You are acquainted with her, then!" exclaimed the King. "And yet," he added, a moment afterwards, "she did not appear to recognise you."

"No, sire—she did not recognise me," returned the Black.

"But you must know her well, since the mere mention of her name rendered you thus anxious to see the issue of our interview?" said the King, impatiently.

"I know her well, sire," was the guarded response: "and yet she knew not me."

"Who are you, then?" demanded George the Fourth, fixing a searching look upon the stranger. "You certainly are not what Sir Phillip Warren took you for——"

"I must firmly, though respectfully, decline to give any account of myself," said the Blackamoor. "Your Majesty will now permit me to withdraw."

"One moment," cried the King. "How stand we in respect to each other? Do you constitute yourself the enemy of your sovereign?—will you publish your knowledge of all that has transpired here this evening?—or can I offer you some earnest that I myself am not offended by the manner in which you ere now thought fit to address me?"

"I have no interest in making known to the public those secrets which have so accidentally been revealed to me," answered the Blackamoor. "It is never a pleasing task to an honest man to publish the frailties or failings of a fellow-creature—much less when that fellow-creature is placed at the head of the nation. As for any reward—or rather bribe, to induce me to remain silent, none is necessary. At the same time," he added, hastily correcting himself as a second thought struck him, "it may be as well that I should avail myself of your Majesty's offer; for it might so fall out that the privilege of claiming a boon at your royal hands——"

"May prove serviceable to you some day or another—eh?" added the King, impatiently. "Well—be it so; and, stranger though you be to me, I rely in confidence upon your solemn pledge to place a seal on your lips relative to the incidents of this night."

Thus speaking, the monarch seated himself at the nearest table, and opening a drawer, took forth writing materials: then, with a haste which showed his desire to put an end to a painful interview, he penned the following lines on a slip of paper:—

"We acknowledge a sense of deep obligation to the bearer of this memorandum, the said bearer having rendered us especial service; and we hold ourselves bound to grant him any boon which he may demand at our hands, so that it be not inconsistent with our royal honour, nor prejudicial to the interests of the State.

"Given this 3rd of March, in the year 1827.

"GEORGE REX." (L.S.)

The King lighted a taper, and affixed his royal seal to this document, which he then handed to the Blackamoor, saying, "You perceive what confidence I place in you: see that the good name of Lady Hatfield on the one side, and your Sovereign's honour on the other, be not compromised by any indiscreet revelations on your part."

"Your Majesty may rest assured that I shall maintain the incidents of this evening a profound secret, and that I shall not abuse the privilege conferred upon me by this paper which bears your royal signature."

The Blackamoor bowed, and retired from the presence of King George the Fourth, whom he left in no very pleasant humour at the turn which his meditated attack upon the virtue of Lady Hatfield had taken.

On this occasion, the Black had no difficulty in finding the way to the private staircase up which Sir Phillip Warren had originally introduced him; and he was about to issue forth from Carlton House, when he suddenly encountered that old courtier and Sir Randolph Harral in the hall.

These gentlemen were disputing in a loud tone; but the moment the Blackamoor appeared, Sir Phillip Warren sprang towards him, exclaiming, "Why, where have you possibly been? But no matter," he added, in a triumphant tone, "since you are here at length to settle the question between me and my friend."

"The fact is, my good sir," said Sir Randolph, "I have laid Sir Phillip Warren twenty guineas——"

"Yes—twenty guineas," interrupted Sir Phillip hastily, "that you are——"

"That you are not——" cried Sir Randolph.

"I say that you are!" exclaimed Sir Phillip.

"And I say that you are not!" vociferated Sir Randolph.

"Gentlemen, pray explain yourselves," said the Blackamoor.

"Well—I say that you are a lacquey out of place," observed Sir Phillip Warren.

"And I say that you are not," cried Sir Randolph Harral, in his turn; "whereupon we have bet twenty guineas."

"And you must decide who has won," added Sir Phillip.

"Then, gentlemen," said the Blackamoor, in a merry tone, "I can soon set the matter at rest. So far from being a lacquey out of place, I have upwards of a dozen dependants of my own. I wish you a very good night."

"Why—I am robbed as if it were on the highway!" exclaimed Sir Phillip Warren, his countenance suddenly becoming as awful and blank as such a Port-wine visage could possibly be.

"Ha! ha!" chuckled Sir Randolph: "robbed or not—please to hand me over twenty good guineas."

And the cachinnation of the winning courtier was echoed by the merry laugh of the Blackamoor, as this individual issued forth from Carlton House.

Again, as he passed along Pall Mall, did the Black pause for a few moments opposite the splendid mansion of the Earl of Ellingham, and gaze at it with the attention of no common observer. He was about to continue his way, when two men, belonging to the working class, stopped likewise for an instant in front of the house; and one said to the other, "That is where the Earl lives. God bless him!"

"Yes—God bless him!" repeated his companion, with the emphasis of unfeigned sincerity: "for he is the people's friend."

The two men then passed on.

"Who dares to say that the industrious millions have no gratitude?" murmured the Blackamoor to himself, as he also pursued his way. "O Arthur! you are now indeed worthy of the proud name which you bear: and I likewise exclaim from the very bottom of my heart, 'May God bless you!'"

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CII. A STATE OF SIEGE

Return we now to Frank Curtis, his excellent wife, and Captain O'Blunderbuss, who were living in a complete state of siege at the house in Baker Street.

The captain was the commandant of the garrison, and superintended all the manœuvres and the devices which it was necessary to adopt to keep out the enemy. The front-door was constantly chained inside; and every time there was a knock or a ring, John the footman reconnoitred from the area. Whenever any one was compelled to go out to order in provisions, the captain stood at the door, armed with the kitchen poker, and looking so grim and terrible that the officers who were prowling about in different disguises, dared not hazard an encounter with the warlike gentleman.

The grocer, the butcher, and the baker lowered their respective commodities down the area by means of a rope and basket provided for the purpose; but they all took very good care to receive the cash first. The milkman and pot-boy were enabled to supply their articles through the opening afforded by the door with the chain up inside; and they likewise strenuously advocated the ready-money principle.

This condition of siege was a source of great delight to Captain O'Blunderbuss. He was completely in his element. Little cared he for the opinion of neighbours: his feelings were by no means concerned. The house, from the first moment he set foot in it, was in a state of perpetual excitement. He was constantly ordering the servants to do something or another: a dozen times a-day did he perform what he called "going his rounds," armed with the poker in case a bailiff should have crept into the place through some unguarded avenue;—and it was indeed with the greatest difficulty that Mrs. Curtis could divert him from a plan which he had conceived and which he declared to be necessary—namely, the drilling of all the inmates of the house, male and female, including the five children, for an hour daily in the yard. As it was, he compelled John, the footman, to mount sentry in the yard aforesaid, every morning while the housemaid was dusting her carpets and so forth—indeed during the whole time that the domestic duties rendered it necessary to have the back-door open. If John remonstrated, the captain would threaten, with terrible oaths, to try him by a court-martial; and once, when the poor fellow respectfully solicited his wages and his discharge, the formidable officer would certainly have inflicted on him the cat-o'-nine-tails, if the cook had not begged him off—she being the footman's sweetheart.

Mrs. Curtis took a great fancy to the captain, and allowed him to do pretty well as he chose. She considered him to be the politest, genteelest, bravest, and most amusing gentleman she had ever known; and it soon struck her that his various qualifications threw her husband considerably into the shade. Whenever she felt low-spirited, he had a ready remedy for her. If it were in the forenoon, he would exclaim, "Arrah and be Jasus, Mim, it's no wonther ye're dull, with the inimy besaging us in this way: and it's a nice mutton chop and a glass of Port-wine that'll be afther sitting ye to rights, Mim." Then forthwith he would ring the bell, and order three chops, so that himself and Frank might keep the dear lady company. If it were in the evening that Mrs. Curtis was attacked by those unwelcome visitors termed "blue devils," the captain would recommend "a leetle dhrop of the potheen, brewed afther the fashion in ould Ireland;" and while he exhausted all his powers of eloquence in assurances that it should be "as wake as wather, and not too swate," he would mix the respectable lady such a stinger, that her eyes would fill with tears every time she put the glass near her lips. Sometimes he would undertake to amuse the children up in the nursery, by going on all fours and allowing them to play at horse-soldiers by riding on his back; and then, what with his shouting and bawling, and their laughing and screaming, it was enough to alarm the whole neighbourhood—and very frequently did.

All these little attentions on the part of the captain either to herself or her children, gave Mrs. Curtis an admirable opinion of him; and he rose rapidly in her favour. His success in obtaining the five hundred pounds from Sir Christopher Blunt was considered by her as sublime a stroke of mingled policy and daring as ever was accomplished; and his tactics in opposing a successful foil to all the stratagems devised by the sheriff's-officers to obtain admission into the dwelling, made her declare more than once that had he commanded the Allied Army at Waterloo, it would have been all up with the French in half-an-hour.

The female servants in the house did not altogether admire the position in which they were placed; but, they were so dreadfully frightened at the captain, that they never uttered a murmur in his hearing. They moreover had their little consolations; for Sir Christopher's five hundred pounds enabled the besieged to live, as the captain declared, "like fighting-cocks,"—so that the kitchen was as luxuriously supplied with provender as the parlour; and no account was taken of the quantity of wine and spirits consumed in the establishment.

We have before hinted that the house was a perfect nuisance in Baker Street. And no wonder, indeed, that it should have been so considered; for it seemed to be the main source whence emanated all the frightful noises that could possibly alarm nervous old ladies or irritate gouty old gentlemen. No sooner did the day dawn, than Captain O'Blunderbuss would fling up the window of his bed-room, which was at the back of the house, with a crashing violence that made people think he was mad; and, thrusting forth his head with a white night-cap upon it, he would roar out—"John! John! to arms!" as lustily as he could bawl. This was not only to save himself the trouble of repairing to the footman's chamber to summon him, but also for the purpose of letting the sheriff's-officers, if any were in the neighbourhood, know that he was on the alert. Then John would poke his head out of another window, and answer the captain's call; and a few minutes afterwards the back-door would open and shut with a terrific bang, and John would be seen to sally forth to mount sentry in the yard, with shouldered poker. Then an hour's interval of comparative silence would prevail, while the captain turned in again to take another nap; but, at length, up would go the window again—out would come the head—and, "John! hot wather!" would roll in awful reverberation throughout the entire neighbourhood.

The confusion and dismay produced by these alarms were terrific; and the neighbours all threatened their landlords to give warning on the next quarter. For it was not only in the morning that the noise prevailed, but throughout the entire day—aye, and the best part of the night also. Sometimes the captain would take it into his head to discharge his pistols in the yard: or else he would have a fencing-match with Frank Curtis, the weapons being pokers, which made a hideous clang. Then there were the rows in the nursery, which were truly awful; and, by way of a variety, Captain O'Blunderbuss would occasionally show himself at the drawing-room windows and vociferate the most appalling abuse at any suspicious characters whom he might happen to behold prowling about. These exhibitions frequently collected crowds in front of the house; and the captain would harangue them with as much earnestness as if he were a candidate at a general election. On one of these occasions the parish-beadle made his appearance, and from the pavement remonstrated with the gallant officer, who kept him in parlance until Frank Curtis had time to empty a pitcher of water over the enraged functionary from the front bed-room window.

But the worst part of the whole business consisted in the goings-on at night-time. Just when sedate and quiet people were getting cozily into their first sleep at about eleven o'clock, Mr. Frank Curtis was getting uncommonly drunk; and, though the captain seemed proof against the effects of alcohol, no matter in what quantity imbibed, he nevertheless grew trebly and quadruply uproarious when under the influence of poteen. Thus, from eleven to twelve the shouts of laughter—the yells of delight—the cries of mirth—and the vociferations of boisterous hilarity, which came from the front parlour, made night perfectly hideous: but no amount of human patience ever possessed by good and forgiving neighbours, could possibly tolerate the din and disturbance which prevailed during the "small hours." Then would the captain and his friend Curtis rush like mad-men into the yard, shouting—roaring—and bawling like demons, so that the residents in the adjacent houses leapt from their beds and threw up their windows in horror and alarm, expecting to find the whole street in a blaze. These performances on the part of Frank and O'Blunderbuss were intended to show the officers that they were upon the alert; and they not only had the desired effect, but accomplished far more—inasmuch as they produced an absolute panic throughout an entire neighbourhood.

Thus it was that Mr. Curtis's abode—lately so serene and quiet in the time of Mrs. Goldberry—became a perfect nuisance and a scandal; and had Bedlam in its very worst days been located there, the noise and alarm could not have been greater.

It will be remembered that the captain's plan, when first he took up his residence in Baker Street, was to get Mr. and Mrs. Curtis and the children away on a Sunday night, and sell off all the furniture on the Monday morning. But this scheme was postponed at first for one week—then for another, because the officers kept such a constant look-out, that the captain saw the necessity of standing the siege until the creditors should be completely wearied of paying those disagreeable spies to watch the premises. This determination was the more readily come to, inasmuch as the five hundred pounds obtained from Sir Christopher Blunt, supplied sinews to carry on the war in grand style.

When the captain paid the second financial visit to the worthy knight with a view to the effecting of a further loan on the assignat which himself and Frank Curtis had resolved to issue, it was not because money was scarce in Baker Street; but simply because the captain admired "the fun of the thing," and also considered it prudent to raise as ample a supply of bullion as possible. The rage which he experienced at his discomfiture on this occasion, can be better conceived than described; and, firmly believing that it was Sir Christopher himself who had dealt him from the carriage window the tremendous blow which sent him sprawling on the pavement in a most ignominious manner, he vowed the most deadly vengeance against the new Justice of the Peace. Picking himself up as well as he could—for the gallant gentleman was sorely bruised—he repaired to the nearest public-house, to "cool himself," as he said in his own mind, with a tumbler of the invariable poteen; and, having reflected upon the insult which he had received, he thought it best not to communicate his dishonour and discomfiture on his return to Baker Street. Accordingly, having returned to "the garrison," into which he effected an easy entry—for no one dared approach the door when it opened to give him egress or ingress—he assured Mr. and Mrs. Curtis that the knight was out of town, and would not be back for a week. However, in a couple of days, the wonderful adventures of Sir Christopher Blunt and Dr. Lascelles burst upon the metropolis like a tempest; and, as the morning newspapers were duly dropped down the area of the besieged dwelling in Baker Street, the entire report was read aloud by Frank Curtis at the breakfast table. It therefore being evident that Sir Christopher was not only in town at that moment, but was likewise in London when the captain had called upon him, the gallant gentleman affected to fly into a violent rage, swearing that the knight was denied to him on purpose, and vowing to make him "repint of his un-gintlemanly conduct." O'Blunderbuss did not, however, in his heart mean to do any such thing as call again in Jermyn Street; for he had despaired of inducing the knight, either by threatenings or coaxings, to advance a further supply; and, now that the worthy gentleman was a Justice of the Peace, the captain thought that it would be somewhat imprudent to visit him for the mere sake of committing an assault and battery. He accordingly invented divers excuses, day after day, for remaining in "the garrison;" and as funds were abundant, no one urged him to undertake another financial mission to Sir Christopher Blunt.

The reader must remember that Messrs. Mac Grab and Proggs were very roughly handled by captain O'Blunderbuss, when they visited the house in Baker Street for the purpose of arresting Mr. Frank Curtis; and, the honour of a sheriff's-officer being particularly dear to its possessor, those worthies considered their's to be at stake, unless they fully vindicated it by capturing the aforesaid Mr. Curtis in the long run. They therefore had recourse to all kinds of devices to obtain an entry into the house, being armed not only with a writ against that gentleman's person on behalf of Mr. Beeswing, but also with an execution against the furniture at the instigation of another of Mrs. Curtis's creditors.

The tricks practised by these worthies to obtain an entry into the besieged domicile, were as varied as they were ludicrous. On one occasion, Mr. Proggs, dressed for the nonce as a butcher, and carrying a leg of mutton in a tray on his shoulder, hurried up to the door, gave the loud, sharp, single knock peculiar to the trade, and shouted "T-cher!" in the most approved style. But the parlour window was thrown up, and out popped the head of the ferocious O'Blunderbuss, the countenance as red as a turkey-cock, and the mouth vomiting forth a torrent of abuse; so that the discomfited Mr. Proggs was compelled to retreat with all the ignominy of a baffled strategist. On another occasion, Mr. Mac Grab, attired as a general postman, rushed along the street, stopped at the door of the besieged house, gave the two clear, rapid strokes with the knocker, and immediately began to look over a bundle of letters with all the feverish haste of the functionary whose semblance he had assumed. But John came forth from the area; and again was the sheriff's-officer's object completely frustrated. Next day, however, two sweeps appeared in the street, as black as if they had never known soap-and-water, and were accustomed to lodge, eat, and sleep in chimneys as well as cleanse them; but upon arriving opposite the parlour-windows, they beheld the captain and Frank Curtis "taking sights" at them, the two gentlemen having "twigged the traps" without much difficulty. Thus, defeated in all their endeavours to accomplish their aims by cunning, Messrs. Mac Grab and Proggs worked themselves up to the desperate resolution of using force; and they accordingly took their post at the front-door of Curtis's house, with the apparent determination to rush in the first time it should be opened. But, when it was opened as far as the chain inside would permit, and they beheld, to their horror and dismay, the terrible captain wielding the poker, they exhibited that better part of valour which is denominated discretion. At last, however, they could no longer endure the jeerings of their friends exercising the same agreeable and lucrative profession; and moreover, the attorneys who employed them in the Baker Street affair spoke out pretty plainly about gentlemen bribing bailiffs not to execute writs, and so forth. All these circumstances induced Mr. Mac Grab and his man Proggs to hold a council of war over two four-penn'orths of rum-and-water; and the result was a determination, that as the various devices and stratagems they had practised to enter the dwelling had failed, and as they feared to carry it by storm, the stronghold must be reduced by a surprise.

It was on the very evening when the Blackamoor experienced so strange an adventure at Carlton House, that the following scene took place in Baker Street.

The clock had struck ten; and, supper being disposed of, the whiskey, hot water, glasses, and et ceteras were placed upon the table, at which Frank Curtis, his amiable wife, and Captain O'Blunderbuss were seated—as comfortable a trio as you could wish or expect to see, especially under such adverse circumstances.

"John!" vociferated the captain, as the domestic was about to leave the room; "stop a moment, you rogue, and answer me this. Is the area all safe?"

"Yes, sir," was the ready response.

"And the kitchen-windows—and the back-door—and the yar-rd gate—all right, eh—John?"

"All right, captain: I've just been the rounds."

"And all the provisions in the garrison, John?—plenty of potheen?" demanded O'Blunderbuss.

"Plenty, sir. There'll be no more going out again to-night."

"That's a blissing!" exclaimed the gallant captain. "John!"

"Yes—sir."

"Take a glass of whiskey, mate—and slape with the kitchen poker-r under your pillow, my frind," enjoined the officer. "We must be ar-rmed at all pints, be Jasus!"

"I shan't forget, sir," said John: and having tossed off the spirit, he quitted the room.

"Now then to make ourselves cozie," observed the captain, drawing his chair a little closer to Mrs. Curtis. "Pray, Mim, how d'ye feel your dear self this evening?—is it in good spirits ye are, Mim?"

"Thank you, captain," returned Mrs. Curtis, "I am quite well—but the least, least thing nervous. This strange kind of life we're leading——"

"Strange, Mim!" ejaculated the captain: "it's glor-r-ious!"

"Glorious, indeed!" cried Frank. "I only wish the Marquis of Shoreditch was here along with us—how he would enjoy himself!"

"You will permit me, Mim!" said the captain, grasping the bottle of whiskey, and addressing the lady in an insinuating manner.

"Now, really, captain—if I must take a very leetle drop——" began Mrs. Curtis, with a simper.

"Well, my dear madam, it shall be the leetlest dhrop in the wor-rld, and so wake that a baby of a month old might dhrink it and niver so much as thrip up as it walked across the room," exclaimed O'Blunderbuss, whose knowledge of the physical capacities of infants was evidently somewhat vague and limited. "There, Mim!" he added, placing before the lady a large tumbler, the contents of which were equal portions of spirit and water: "you may tell me I'm a Dutchman and unwor-rthy of ould Ireland, if that isn't the purtiest dhrink iver brewed for one of the fair six."

"You're very kind, captain," said Mrs. Curtis, in a mincing—simpering manner.

"It's you that's kind to say so, Mim," remarked the captain, placing his foot close to that of the lady, and ascertaining by the readiness with which she returned the pedal pressure, that the tender intimation he wished thereby to convey was by no means unwelcome.

Frank did not of course notice what was going on under the table, and the conversation progressed in the usual manner—the captain and Frank vieing with each other in telling the most monstrous lies, and the silent interchange of love's tokens continuing with increasing warmth between the gallant gentleman and the stout lady. Mrs. Curtis's spirits, however, seemed to require a more than ordinary amount of stimulant on this occasion: she declared herself to be "very low," although she contrived to laugh a great deal at the captain's lively sallies and marvellous stories;—but as the clock struck midnight and she rose to retire to her chamber, she found that the three glasses of toddy which she had been persuaded to imbibe, had somewhat unsettled the gravity of her equilibrium. The captain sprang from his seat to open the parlour-door for her; and as he bade her "good night," she pressed his hand with a degree of tenderness which, as novel-writers say, spoke volumes.

"Curthis, my frind," said the captain, as he returned to his seat, "be the holy poker-r! you possess a rale jewel of a wife. She's the most amiable lady I ever knew and takes her potheen without any nonsense. Be Jove! she's an ornamint in a jintleman's household; and we'll dhrink her health in a bumper!"

"With all my heart," exclaimed Frank, already more than half-seas over. "But, I say, captain—do you know that I'm getting very tired of the life we're leading? I wish we could put an end to it somehow or another."

"Be the power-rs! and that's the very thing I was going to recommend to ye, Frank!" cried the captain, who was more affected by liquor on this particular night than ever he had been before since the first moment he had taken up his abode in Baker Street.

"But—how can it be done?" hiccoughed Curtis.

"Is it how the thing's to be done!" cried O'Blunderbuss. "Can't ye, now, bolt off to France to-morrow night, and lave me in charge of the house? I'll manage to sell every stick to a broker; and then it's myself that'll bring over the wife, the children, and the money to ye as safe as if they were all my own!"

"I don't like the idea of going away alone, captain," observed Frank, as he refilled his tumbler. "But suppose we talk the matter over to-morrow—when we've slept off the effects of the toddy!"

"Be Jasus! the toddy has no effects upon me!" exclaimed O'Blunderbuss, who nevertheless sate very unsteadily in his chair, his body swaying to and fro in spite of all his efforts to the contrary.

The conversation now languished; but the drinking was maintained, until Frank Curtis suddenly fell from his seat in a vain attempt which he made to reach the whiskey-bottle. The captain burst out into a roar of laughter, and while endeavouring to pick up his companion, rolled completely over him. He however managed, by means of many desperate efforts, to place the young gentleman upon the sofa, where he left him to repose in peace; and, taking up a candle, he staggered out of the room, muttering to himself, "Be the power-rs! if I didn't know—hic—that it was impos—sossible—hic—I should say that I—hic—was—dhrunk!"

This was a conclusion which the captain was by no means willing to admit; and, in order to convince himself that he was perfectly sober and knew what he was about, he proceeded to examine the front-door according to his invariable custom ere retiring to rest.

"Well, be the power-rs!" he murmured, as he stood contemplating the door with all the vacancy of inebriation; "it's John that's a clever fellow—hic—afther all—hic! Be Jasus! and it's two chains he's put up—and two bolts at the top—hic—and two bolts at the bottom—hic—and, be the holy poker-r!" exclaimed the captain aloud, his face expanding with an expresion of stupid joy; "the house is safe enough—hic—for there's two doors!"

Supremely happy at having made this discovery, and moreover fancying himself to be lighted by two candles—in a word, seeing double in every respect,—the gallant officer staggered along the passage, and commenced the ascent of the staircase, which appeared to have become wondrously steep, ricketty, and uneven. Stumbling at every step, and muttering awful imprecations against the "thunthering fool of a carpenter that had built such a divil of a lath-er," Captain O'Blunderbuss contrived to reach the first landing in safety; but, his foot tripping over the carpet, he fell flat down, extinguishing the light of the candle, though at the same time giving his head such a knock against the balustrades, that a million meteoric sparks flashed across his visual organs.

"Blood and hounds!" growled the gallant gentleman; "there must either be an airthquake—hic—or else, be the power-rs! I'm—hic—raly—hic—dhrunk!"

Picking himself up, the captain groped about for the staircase; and, finding it with some little trouble, he continued his ascent in a pleasing state of uncertainty as to whether he were walking on his head or on his feet, but with the deeply settled conviction that he was spinning round at a most terrific rate.

"Capthain O'Bluntherbuss," he said, apostrophising himself, as he staggered along, "is this raly you or another person? If it's yourself it is—hic—I—I'm ashamed of ye, be the holy poker-r; and I've a precious good mind—hic—to give ye a dacent dhrubbing, captain—hic—O'—hic—Bluntherbuss."

Thus soliloquising, the martial gentleman reached the second landing; but here he paused for a few minutes in a state of awful doubt as to which way he should turn in order to reach his own room. He knew that his door must be somewhere close at hand; though whether to the right or to the left, he could not for the life of him remember. At length he began to grope about at a venture; and, having encountered the handle of a door, he hesitated no longer, but entered the chamber with which the said door communicated.

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CIII. THE SURPRISE.—A CHANGE OF SCENE

It was about half-past three o'clock in the morning, and profound silence reigned in Baker Street, when four men, bearing a ladder upon their shoulders, passed like phantoms through the obscurity of the thoroughfare, and halted in front of Mr. Curtis's house; where their operations, so far from being at all ghost-like, assumed very much the appearance of those proceedings which are carried on by creatures of flesh and blood.

Thieves, however, they were not: but sheriff's-officers they were,—being our old friends Mac Grab and Proggs, assisted by two other queer-looking fellows of the species which chiefly abounds in the tap-rooms and parlours of public-houses in Chancery Lane.

Mr. Mac Grab having satisfied himself by a close scrutiny of the number on the front-door, that they had pitched upon the right house, the ladder was forthwith placed against the little iron railings forming the balcony at the drawing-room window; and Mr. Proggs was ordered to mount first. But Mr. Proggs, having perhaps recently studied some book upon etiquette, would not think of preceding his master; and Mr. Mac Grab was doubtless too meek a man to take upon himself the post of honour. As for the two underlings, they very bluntly assured Mr. Mac Grab that they would see him unpleasantly condemned before they would venture first; and thus the entire project was threatened with discomfiture, when Proggs, overcoming his fears, consented to lead the way.

Up the ladder did this hero accordingly drag himself; and had he lost his life in the desperate deed, the epic muse would have been compelled to deplore the death of the last of the famous house of Proggs. But fortune beamed upon Proggs, though the moon did not; and he reached the balcony in safety. Mac Grab ascended next—and the two subordinates followed,—by which time the intrepid Proggs had obtained admission into the house by the simple process of cutting out a pane with a glazier's diamond, and thrusting in his hand to undo the fastening of the window.

And now, behold the four men safe in the drawing-room—in actual possession of the place,—four heroes who had just carried a strongly fortified castle—by surprise!

A lanthorn, which Mr. Proggs took from his pocket, was lighted; and a flask of rum, which Mr. Mac Grab took from his pocket, was drunk. The heroes then stole gently from the apartment—descended the stairs—opened the front-door—and laid down the ladder along the area railings, so that the watchman, on going his rounds, might not raise an alarm of "thieves." This being accomplished, they re-entered the house, and fastened the street-door, the key of which Mr. Mac Grab secured about his own person.

The officers next entered the parlour on the ground floor, where they found Frank Curtis lying asleep upon the sofa.

"That's our chap," said Mac Grab, in a tone of deep satisfaction, as he threw the light of his lanthorn full upon the young gentleman's countenance. "I shall take him off at once, with one of the men; and you, Proggs, will remain in possession along with t'other."

"Two on us isn't enow to keep possession agin that devil of an Irisher," exclaimed Proggs, bluntly; and the loudness with which he spoke disturbed Mr. Curtis.

Starting up, Frank rubbed his eyes—then stared around him with the stupid vacancy of one who had only half slept off the fumes of whiskey—and at last, as the truth gradually glimmered upon him, he said in a hoarse, thick tone, "Well—who the devil are all you fellows?"

"You'll know soon enow who we be," growled Mac Grab. "Come—get up, young genelman; and don't sit there a-staring at us, as if you was a stuck pig and we was ghostesses."

"So you've got in at last—have you, old fellow?" said Frank, with an awful yawn. "But I feel precious seedy, though. Can't you let me sleep a little longer."

"You won't sleep no more till you gets to Chancery Lane," returned Mac Grab; "and then you can have a turn-in if you like."

"What o'clock is it?" demanded Frank, his teeth chattering and his whole frame shivering alike with the cold and the unpleasant petition to which he had been awakened.

"It's getting on for a quarter to four, or thereabouts," said Mac Grab, consulting a huge silver watch of the turnip species.

"Then I must have been asleep here for some time," mused Frank aloud; and, glancing at the table, he added, "Oh! I remember—I was precious drunk last night——"

"Well, I'm blest if I didn't think you was," said Proggs, expressing his opinion with more bluntness than politeness. "You'll find a many lushing coven over in Spike Island."

"Spike Island?" ejaculated Frank: then, as a light broke in upon him through the mist and fumes of whiskey, he added, "Oh! I understand—the Bench, eh? Well—never say die, my boys; as my friend the Crown Prince of Holland used to observe. If it must be the Bench, it must: but you'll let me tell my wife what's happened."

"We won't let you rouse that Irisher, young gentleman," said Mac Grab. "Let us get you safe off, and then he may wake up, and be damned to him."

"I pledge you my word I will not attempt to rouse the Captain," exclaimed Curtis: "but I must speak to my wife."

"Well, that's only fair and reasonable," said Mac Grab; "although you don't deserve no good treatment at our hands, seeing how we was served by that owdacious Irish friend of yourn. Howsomever, you shall speak to your good lady; but mind, I ain't going to lose sight on you."

"You can come with me as far as the bed-chamber door," observed Frank; "and I shan't keep you many minutes."

"Proggs, you'll come along with me," said Mac Grab. "And now, mind, Mr. Curtis, what you're up to. We've got pistols with us; and blowed if we don't use 'em in self-defence if that Irish friend of your's happens to wake up and tries it on again with any of his nonsense."

"It wasn't my fault that he acted as he did the last time you was here," returned Frank. "But come along, you two—if you must go with me."

Curtis lighted a candle, and led the way gently up stairs, Mac Grab and Proggs following close at his heels. They reached the second landing, where Frank stopped at a door, which he was about to open, when the first-mentioned officer said in a low tone, "Now, mind—no nonsense!—we won't be done a second time, remember."

"I assure you this is my wife's room," returned Curtis, also speaking in a whisper; and he entered the chamber, the two bailiffs remaining at the door, which was left ajar.

Frank, carrying the light in his hand, approached the bed, and was just on the point of saying, "My dear—my dear!"—when he stopped short—aghast—stupefied—his mouth wide open—and every faculty which he possessed, save that of sight, entirely suspended.

For there—by the side of his wife—lay Captain O'Blunderbuss!

Both were fast asleep; and the countenance of the gallant officer seemed absolutely on fire, so red was it in contrast with the white pillow.

"By Jove—this is too bad!" exclaimed Curtis, at length recovering the powers of speech and movement; and, influenced only by the sudden rage which took possession of him, and which rendered him bold and courageous for the instant, he seized a water-jug from the washing-stand and dashed the contents completely over Captain O'Blunderbuss.

"Blood and thunther!" roared the man of war starting up in a towering passion;—and, springing from the bed, he was about to inflict summary chastisement on his friend, when a shriek issued from the couch—and the captain, stopping short and looking around him, ascertained where he was. The cause of Frank's conduct towards him was instantly apparent; and, subduing his anger, he exclaimed, "Be Jasus! and it was all a mistake, me boy! I dhrank too much of the potheen——"

"The Irishman, by goles!" growled a hoarse voice in the landing outside.

"Well—never mind, Proggs!" cried another voice: "if he touches us, we'll fire. Holloa! you fellows down there—come up!—come up!" roared Mac Grab.

And now the whole house was in confusion.

Mrs. Curtis lay screaming and shrieking in bed—the captain rushed upon the landing, with nothing on save his shirt, and looking as if he had just sprung out of a water-butt—Curtis followed, sulky and not half satisfied with the apology he had received relative to the presence of the officer in his wife's chamber—the two men who had been left down stairs were running up as hard as they could—and the servants were calling from the garrets to know what was the matter, but rather suspecting something very much like the real truth in respect to the invasion of the bailiffs.

"Down—down with ye, wild bastes that ye are!" vociferated the captain, as the light which Curtis still carried showed the gallant officer the well known faces of Mac Grab and Proggs.

But the two men, who had worked their courage up to the sticking point, produced each a heavy horse-pistol; at the appearance of which formidable weapons the captain hung back, and Curtis shouted out in alarm, "No violence! I'll keep my word and go off with you quiet enough."

"Be Jasus! and you shan't though, my dear frind!" cried O'Blunderbuss, looking rapidly round in search of some object which he might use as an offensive weapon against the invaders; but the two men from down stairs now made their appearance, and Curtis put an end to all further hostilities by surrendering himself to them without any more ado.

"Frank! Frank!" shrieked his wife from the bed-room.

"Curthis, my frind—don't be a fool!" roared the captain: "we'll bate 'em yet!"

The young gentleman, however, took no notice either of his wife's appeal or his friend's adjuration, and rapidly descended the stairs, followed by the sheriff's-officers. He was not only afraid of the pistols; but he was likewise too much annoyed at the bed-chamber scene to care about remaining in the house any longer. Not having courage enough to resent the wrong which he conceived to have been done him, he was nevertheless unable to endure it passively; and here signed himself, moodily and sulkily, to the lot which circumstances had shaped for him.

Mac Grab and one of the subordinates accordingly departed with their prisoner to the spunging-house in Chancery Lane; while Proggs and the other man remained in possession of the dwelling in Baker Street.

It was about half-past four o'clock on that dark and chilly morning, when Frank Curtis entered the lock-up establishment owned by Mr. Mac Grab, the sheriff's-officer. A racking head-ache, the result of the preceding night's debauch—a cold nervousness, amounting almost to a continuous shiver,—and thoughts of by no means a pleasant nature, all combined to depress the young man's spirits to a very painful degree; and, as the door of the spunging-house closed behind him, he murmured to himself, "Oh! what a fool I have been!" Fortunately, he had plenty of ready money in his pocket; and, putting a guinea into Mac Grab's hand, he said, "Let me have a private room; and have a fire lighted directly."

"Please to sit down for a few minutes in the office here," observed the bailiff, pocketing the coin, "while I call up the servant."

In the meantime the subordinate had lighted a lamp in the little, dirty, cold-looking place, dignified by the name of "the office;" and while Mac Grab went to summon the domestic, Curtis, who was a prey to that fidgety sensation which seems the forerunner of something dreadful, endeavoured to divert his thoughts from gloomy topics by scrutinizing the objects around him.

A sorry desk, much hacked about with a pen-knife and stained all over with ink—a small shelf containing a few old law books—a law-almanack with thick black lines in the calender denoting Term-times—a list of the sheriffs and undersheriffs of England and Wales—printed papers showing the arrangements of the Courts for the sittings in and after Term—two or three crazy chairs—and a Dutch clock, which ticked with a monotony calculated to drive a nervous person out of his senses,—these were the objects which met his view. Every thing appeared musty and worm-eaten;—the office looked as if it never were swept out;—and there was an earthly smell of a peculiarly unpleasant nature.

In this miserable place—so cold and cheerless—Frank Curtis was kept waiting for nearly half-an-hour; while the man who remained with him sate dozing in a chair, and every now and then awaking with a sudden dive down and bob up of the head which painfully augmented the nervousness of the prisoner. At last Mr. Mac Grab returned, smelling very strong of rum, and followed by a dirty-looking old woman, who seemed to have huddled on her clothes anyhow, and to be in a particularly ill-humour at being disturbed so early in the morning.

"Now then," she said, in a short, sulky tone, addressing herself to Curtis, without however looking at him: "this way."

Frank followed her into a short passage, and then up a narrow staircase, the miserable candle which she held in one hand and shaded with the other on account of the draught, affording only just sufficient light to render apparent the cheerless aspect of the premises. It was not that there was any thing mean or poor in the interior of the dwelling, the office excepted: but there was an air of deep gloom, and also of dirt and neglect, which struck even so superficial an observer as Mr. Frank Curtis.

The old woman led the way into a moderate-sized front room on the second floor, where she lighted two candles, and then set to work to persuade a few damp sticks smothered with small coal to burn up in the grate. The apartment was fitted up as a sitting-room, but had a bed in it. The walls were hung with numerous pictures the frames of which were an inch thick in dust and cob-webs; and there was a side-board covered with old-fashioned cut glass. The carpet was worn out in many places, and was also much soiled with grease and beer: the table-cover was likewise stained with liquor and spotted with ink. The curtains, which were of good material, were completely disguised in dust; and the windows were so dirty that at mid-day they formed a pleasantly subdued medium for the sun-light. Altogether, there was an air of expense mingled with the most cheerless discomfort—an appearance of liberal outlay altogether neutralized by neglect and habits of wanton slovenliness.

The fire burnt feebly—the old woman slunk sulkily away—and Frank Curtis threw himself upon the bed. He was thoroughly wretched, and would have given all the money he had left in his pocket for a few hours' tranquil repose. But sleep would not visit his eyes; and, after tossing about for some time in painful restlessness, he got up as the clock struck eight.

His burning, feverish countenance craved the contact of cold water; and the idea of a refreshing toilette rendered him almost cheerful. But the jug was empty; and there were no towels. He rang the bell: five minutes elapsed—and no one came. He rang again; and at last, another five minutes having gone tediously by, the old woman made her appearance. His wishes were expressed; and the harridan took away the jug. A third interval of five minutes passed, ere she returned. Then she had forgotten the towels; and now a quarter of an hour dragged its slow length along before she came back, bringing with her a miserably thin rag of about a foot square. She was about to leave the room again, when Curtis discovered that there was no soap; and ten minutes more were required for the provoking old wretch to produce a small sample of that very necessary article. Yet for all this discomfort, the prisoner had paid a guinea in advance!

"Pray let me have some breakfast us soon as you can, my good woman," said Frank, humiliated and miserable.

"As soon as the kittle biles down stairs," answered the servant, in a surly tone, as she turned to leave the room.

"And how long will that be?" demanded Curtis.

"Don't know: the kitchen fire ain't alight yet:"—and she hobbled away.

In a fit of desperation the prisoner addressed himself to his toilette: but the feeling of utter discomfort still clung to him. The water seemed thick and clammy, instead of cool and refreshing; and the towel was so small that it became saturated in a few moments, and he was compelled to dry his face with a corner of one of the sheets. Having no nail brush, he could not cleanse his hands properly; and the want of a comb left his hair matted and disordered. In fact, he positively felt more uncomfortable and dirty after his ablutions than he did before he began them; and that disagreeable sensation kept him dispirited and wretched.

He walked about the room, examining all the pictures one after the other, until he became as thoroughly acquainted with their subjects as if he had lived for years in that room. He then posted himself at one of the windows, and watched the people passing up and down the street. It was now nine o'clock, and the law-clerks were proceeding to their respective offices. Seedy-looking men were hurrying along with mysterious slips of paper in their hands; and now and then a better-attired person, in a suit of black, would be seen wending his way towards the Chancery Court, carrying the blue bag of his master, a barrister. Small parties of threes or fours would likewise pass up the lane, affording to the initiated the irresistible idea—which was also the true one—of tipstaves conducting insolvents to the court in Portugal Street.

At the public house, opposite the barred window from which Curtis was gazing, a small knot of very shabby men had collected; and it required but little knowledge of the specimens of animated nature in Chancery Lane, to recognise their especial calling. In fact they were individuals who belonged to the outworks of the strong entrenchments of the law,—process-servers, sheriff's-officers' assistants, and men who hired themselves out to be left in possession at dwellings where executions were levied. When not actively engaged, they regularly haunted the public-houses, of which they seemed the very door-posts; and if they stepped inside to take something, which was very often indeed, they appeared on intimate terms with the landlord, said "Miss" to the bar-girl, and called the waiter by his Christian name. They had a dirty, seedy, mean, and cringing look about them; and yet, if not adequately recompensed by the unfortunate victims of the law with whom they had to deal, they would become doggedly insolent and grossly abusive.

Half-an-hour passed away; and Chancery Lane grew more attractive. A few barristers, in all the imposing dignity of the black gown and the awful wisdom of the wig, were seen moving along to the Rolls' Court: well-dressed attorneys alighted from their gigs, cabs, or phaetons at the doors of their offices;—and articled clerks, having thrown away their cigars when within view of the windows of their places of business, made up for lost time by cutting briskly over the pavement, flourishing short sticks, and complacently surveying their polished boots, tight-fitting trousers, and flash waistcoats.

Frank Curtis sighed as he beheld so many, many persons in the enjoyment of freedom;—but his mournful reverie was at length broken by the entrance of the old woman with the breakfast-tray. His throat was parched, and he had been unable to drink the water: he now, therefore, eagerly applied himself to the tea. But it was wretched stuff; and even extreme thirst could not render it palatable. He tried to eat a piece of toast; but the butter was so rank that his heart heaved against it. He broke open an egg: it however tasted of straw, and nearly made him sick.

Having forced himself to swallow a couple of cups of tea, Frank rang the bell and ordered the woman to bring him a sheet of paper. This command was complied with, after a long delay; and, by the aid of a worn down stump of a pen and ink which flowed like soot and water, Frank managed to pen a brief note to a lawyer whom he knew, and who dwelt in Carey Street hard by. After a great deal of trouble, a messenger was found, who, for the moderate reward of eighteen pence, undertook to convey the note to its place of destination—just fifty yards distant; and in the course of half an hour, Mr. Pepperton, the legal limb alluded to, made his appearance in the shape of a short, thin, sallow-faced man, with small piercing eyes, and very compressed lips.

"Well, Mr. Curtis," said the lawyer, as he entered the room; "got into a mess—eh?"

"Rather so," replied the young man. "But I don't care so much about that, as on account of being locked up in this cursed place. The fact is I must go over to the Bench; and I dare say Sir Christopher won't let me lie very long there."

"You require a habeas, you know," observed the lawyer. "But are you sure that you're sued in the Court of Queen's Bench? because, if it is in the Common Pleas or Exchequer, you will have to go to the Fleet."

"The devil!" ejaculated Frank. "But here's a paper which Mac Grab gave me——"

"Ah! that's right," said Mr. Pepperton, examining the document placed in his hands. "Yes—it's in the Bench, safe enough. Holloa!" he exclaimed suddenly, after a few moments' silence: "here's an error in the description. Your name is Francis, and not Frank."

"Just so!" cried the prisoner, his heart fluttering with the vague hope which his legal adviser's words and manner had encouraged.

"Well—I think—mind, I think that it is highly probable we may set the caption aside," continued Pepperton. "At all events it would be worth the trying. But I must apply to the Judge in Chambers this afternoon; and if we do happen to fail—mind, I say if we do—why, then you can pass over to the Bench to-morrow."

Somehow or another, persons locked up in spunging-houses always feel confident of getting out on the slightest legal quibble that their ingenious attorneys may suggest. They do not apprehend the chance of failure, and of disbursing two or three guineas, which they can so ill afford, for nothing: the process of applying to a Judge in Chambers seems so certain of a triumphant issue, and there is such a spell in the bare idea, that the door of freedom appears already opening to the touch.

Frank Curtis was not an exception to the general rule which we have mentioned; and he forthwith desired Mr. Pepperton to adopt the necessary steps, although this gentleman assured him that nothing could be done until the after part of the day.

Poor, deluded captive! Little did he think Mr. Pepperton was well aware beforehand that there was not the shadow of the ghost of a chance of success; but that his only motive in suggesting these proceedings was to make as much out of his client as possible.

When Pepperton had left the room, Frank Curtis began to pace it as if he were a Wandering Jew confined to a very miniature world; and he examined the pictures over and over again, until they seemed the most familiar friends of the kind he had ever known. Then he returned to the window, and beheld Mr. Mac Grab and one of his men just starting in a queer-looking gig upon a suburban expedition; and having watched the equipage until it was no longer visible, he bethought himself of asking for a newspaper. He accordingly rang the bell, and intimated his wishes to the old woman, who, after keeping him in suspense as usual for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, returned with a Weekly Dispatch a fortnight old and a Times of ten days back. Curtis could scarcely control his indignation; and, tossing a shilling to the harridan, he desired her to send out and buy him a morning paper. She departed accordingly, and in half-an-hour returned with that day's Times, whereby Mr. Frank Curtis was enabled to divert himself until two o'clock, when he partook of an execrable chop nearly raw, a potato that seemed as if it were iced, and a pint of wine which appeared to have been warmed.

Then how heavily, heavily did the weary hours pass away; and Curtis more than half regretted that his friend O'Blunderbuss did not call upon him. He felt that, for the pleasure of his society, he would overlook and forget the treatment he had received at his hands. But the gallant officer came not; and, what with another examination of the pictures, a complete spell of the advertisements (the news being already disposed of) in the Times, and a cigar or two, Frank managed to dispose of the time, though miserably enough, until five o'clock.

Mr. Pepperton then came back; and Frank awaited the report in excruciating suspense.

"Well, my dear fellow," said the lawyer, flinging himself in a chair as if regularly worn out by hard work, "we have lost the point; but we have this consolation——"

"What?" demanded Curtis, in the anxious hope of seeing another loophole promising emancipation.

"Why—that we as nearly gained it as possible," returned Pepperton. "It was old Justice Foozlehem that was at Chambers to-day; and, when I argued the point, he rubbed his nose with the feather-end of the pen—he always does that when the thing is very ticklish——"

"Damn Judge Foozlehem!" emphatically cried Mr. Frank Curtis. "A miss is as good as a mile; and that was what the Prince of Malabar said when my bullet whistled close by his ear at that duel which him and me fought at Boulogne three years ago. But, to speak seriously of business—I suppose that there's nothing left for me to do——"

"Save to pay the debt or go to the Bench," added the lawyer, putting the alternatives in as nut-shell a compass as possible.

"Well—the Bench it must be, then!" ejaculated Frank.

"I will take out the habeas to-morrow," observed Mr. Pepperton; "and at about five o'clock in the afternoon the tipstaff will be at Serjeant's Inn waiting for you—or may be, you'll have to go over to him at the public-house opposite."

Curtis invited the lawyer to pass the evening with him: but Mr. Pepperton was engaged elsewhere; and the prisoner was therefore compelled to drink and smoke in solitude, occasionally varying the occupation by another spell at the Times—another long gaze of envy from the window—and another scrutiny of the pictures.

At last, when ten o'clock struck, Mr. Curtis was thoroughly worn out by feverish excitement, suspense, and annoyances of all kinds; and he retired to rest with the fervent hope of enjoying an uninterrupted slumber till morning. But scarcely had he begun to get drowsy, when a tickling sensation commenced in a thousand parts of his body and limbs; and, to his dismay, he found himself assailed by a perfect legion of those abominable little torturers termed bugs.

Now, Mr. Curtis was most peculiarly sensitive in this respect; and if there were ever a flea or a bug in a bed, it was certain to find him out—aye, and feast upon him too. But never, in the whole course of his life, had he experienced such an attack as on the present occasion: never till now had he known bugs so numerous, nor bites so pungent.

At length he jumped up in rage and agony, and lighted a candle. But vain was all search: not a bug could he find. The legion appeared to have suddenly disappeared. Like Destiny, they were always to be felt, but never seen. He could not sleep with a light in the room; so, having extinguished it, he laid himself down once more.

For a few minutes he was suffered to remain quiet enough; but at last, back came his tormentors by slow degrees; and scarcely had he torn the skin off one part of his body, than he was compelled to flay another. In this manner hour after hour passed; and, when he did at length fall asleep between one and two in the morning, he was pursued by a legion of bugs and sheriff's-officers in his dreams.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

CIV. THE VISIT.—THE HABEAS CORPUS

Frank awoke at seven o'clock, depressed in spirits and unrefreshed in body. His head still ached; and he was sore all over through having nearly torn himself to pieces on account of the bugs. His face betrayed marks of the ravages committed upon him by his little tormentors; and his eyes were swollen from the same cause. He had not even the comfort of copious ablutions; for the process of the toilette was not more satisfactory on this occasion than it had been on the previous day. Thus all circumstances conspired to make him wretched.

Before he sate down to breakfast, he despatched a messenger to Baker Street for a few necessaries which he required; and, as he did not choose to write to his wife, and knew not whether O'Blunderbuss might still be there, he sent a verbal intimation of his wishes.

The breakfast of this morning was no improvement on its predecessor: indeed, it struck Curtis that he had got from bad to worse by trying the desperate experiment of ordering coffee instead of tea. He, however, knew that it was useless to grumble; and so, having disposed of the meal as best he could, he sent for the morning paper, with which he whiled away an hour and a half until the return of his messenger, who came laden with a portmanteau.

"Well, who did you see in Baker Street?" demanded Frank.

"Please, sir, I see Mr. Proggs and t'other man which is in possession," was the answer.

"And who else?" enquired Curtis.

"Please, sir, I see a stout lady as give me a glass of gin, and a tall genelman as give me a rap over the head," returned the man.

"And what did he do that for?" cried Frank, laughing in spite of himself.

"'Cos he said, sir, that I didn't speak in a speckful way to him. But here's a note as the genelman give me to give to you, sir."

Curtis tore open a curiously folded letter which the messenger handed to him, and the contents of which ran as follow:—

"Be Jasus, my frind, and it's myself that has a right to complain of unfrindly tratement. Here have I been waiting to resave a bit of a note from ye, and divil a line or a word at all, at all. Your poor wife's distracted and has lost her appetite, and all because of your injurious suspicions; but I do all I can to consoul her. If you come to reflict upon the matther, Frank, ye must admit that though appayrances was against me, yet it isn't Capthain O'Blunderbuss that would wrong ye. For, be the powers! and it's mistaken in the bed I was—what with botheration and potheen and the candle's going out; and divil a hayp'orth did I drame where I was, till ye powred the wather all over me. So shake hands, me boy, and let us be frinds again; and sure it's myself that will bring Mrs. Curtis down to dine with ye at two o'clock this afthernoon, and we'll send in the dinner and the potheen first. Proggs and his man are in possission; and I feel like a defated ginral: but they're on their best behaviour, and so I have not been forced to give either of them a taste of the shillaylee. I'm sadly afraid that the chap you have sent up is a fool; so if he should forget to give you this letter, mind you ask him for it. Your wife sends you a million kisses through me; and believe me, my frind, to remain

"Ever yours, "GORMAN O'BLUNDERBUSS."

"Very good," said Frank Curtis, as he brought the perusal of this curious epistle to an end: and having paid and dismissed the messenger, he sate himself down to reflect upon the manner in which he ought to receive his wife and the gallant gentleman.

On the one hand was the sense of the injury he had received, or fancied he had received; for he could not well embrace the double conviction that Mrs. Curtis was not faithless, and that the captain was not treacherous. On the other hand were numerous motives persuasive of an amicable course,—the want of society, the shame of declaring himself to be a cuckold—and last, though not least, the infinite terror in which he stood of Gorman O'Blunderbuss. These reasons were weighty and powerful; and they grew stronger and stronger as the dinner-hour advanced,—until they became completely triumphant when a hamper was sent up, containing cold fowls, ham, wine, dessert, whiskey, and cigars.

No longer hesitating what course to pursue, Frank superintended the laying of the cloth and the arrangement of the provisions upon the table: he decanted the wine—tasted it—and found it excellent;—and, those little proceedings having put him into a thorough good humour, he received his wife and the captain, when they made their appearance, as if nothing had occurred to ruffle his mind with regard to them.

Mrs. Curtis thought it necessary to go into hysterics at the sight of her beloved husband in a spunging-house; but she speedily recovered upon the said beloved husband's kindly recommending her not to make a fool of herself;—and the trio sate down to dinner, at which they made themselves very comfortable indeed. The captain proposed that as the wine-glasses were particularly small, they should drink their Sherry from tumblers; and the motion was adopted after a feeble opposition on the part of the lady.

"Well, Cu-r-r-tis, me boy," exclaimed the gallant gentleman, when they had made an end of eating, having done immense justice to the viands provided, "what are ye afther now? It isn't staying here all your life that you can be thinking of——"

"Nor do I intend to stop in this cursed hole many hours longer," interrupted Frank. "I expect to go over to the Bench, at five o'clock."

"The Binch!" cried the captain, overjoyed at the plan chalked out: "be Jasus! and it's the wisest thing ye can be afther, my frind! The Binch is a glor-rious place—and ye'll be as comfortable there as at home. The porther is the best in all London; and it's worth while to be in the Binch for the pleasure of dhrinking it. Not that I'm a great admirer of malt, Mim," he added, turning politely towards Mrs. Curtis; "but the porther of the Binch is second best to rale potheen. Then the amusements of the Binch, Mim, are delightful! There's the parade to walk upon—and there's the racquet ground when ye're tired of the parade—and there's the dolphin-pump—and the coffee-house, a riglar tavern——In fact," exclaimed the gallant gentleman, quite lost in admiration of all the beautiful views and scenes he was so enthusiastically depicting, "the Binch is a perfect palace of a prison, and I only wish I was there myself."

"I'm sure I should be most happy to change places with you, captain," observed Frank Curtis drily.

"I wouldn't deprive ye of the pleasure, me boy, for all the wor-r-ld!" cried O'Blunderbuss, in a tone of the utmost sincerity. "But what's to be done next? Those bastes of the earth are in possession of the garrison, and every stick will be sould up by them—the ragamuffin scamps that they are!"

"The wife and children must take a lodging over the water, close by the Bench," said Curtis; "and if Sir Christopher won't come forward to assist me, I must either get the Rules or go through the Insolvent's Court—I don't care much which. My friend, the Earl of Billingsgate, did both——"

"Be the holy poker-r! and it's myself that will call on Sir Christopher-r in such a strait as this," vociferated the captain; "and although he did knock me down from the carriage window, the last time——"

"What!" ejaculated Frank, as much amused as astonished at the information which the gallant officer had so inadvertently let slip; "Sir Christopher knocked you down!"

"Blood and thunther!" roared the captain, becoming as red as scarlet; "and was it afther making a fool of myself that I was? For sure and it was Sir Christopher that was knocked down—and I didn't like to tell ye about it before, seeing that he's your own nat'ral uncle. But it's myself that will call upon him and offer the most abject apology; and I'll skin him alive if he don't come for'ard as he ought to do, and pay all your debts, my dear boy. So you persave that there's some use in having such a frind as Gorman O'Bluntherbuss, of Bluntherbuss Park, Connemar-r-ra, Ir-r-reland!" added the martial gentleman, with an awful rattling of the r's.

"The sooner I move over to the neighbourhood of the Bench, the better," said Mrs. Curtis; "for I am sick and tired of living in Baker Street. Just now, when I came out, it seemed to me that all the people I met laughed in my face, as if they knew our circumstances."

"I wish I had seen them dar-r to laugh!" cried Captain O'Blunderbuss, lifting up an empty bottle, and flourishing it over his head: "I'd have sent them slap into the middle of next week, so that they should miss resayving their money next Saturday night."

In such pleasant chat as this, did the trio while away the time until about a quarter to five, when Mr. Pepperton made his appearance to announce that the office had been searched, that three detainers had been found, and that the habeas corpus was all in apple-pie order.

Frank Curtis accordingly rang the bell, and ordered his bill. In about a quarter of an hour it was brought;—and thus it ran:—

MR. CURTIS'S ACCOUNT.

s. d.

Room 10 6

Breakfast 3 0

Eggs 0 6

Messenger to Carey Street 2 6

Reading Newspapers 1 0

Dinner 5 0

Porter 0 6

Gin and Cigars 5 6

Bread and Cheese for Supper 2 0

Porter 0 6

Room 10 6

Breakfast 3 0

Eggs 0 6

Messenger to Baker Street 3 0

Use of table-cloth, knives, and forks, &c., gentleman 2 6 providing his own dinner

Extras 5 0

—— —— ——

£2 15 6

—— —— ——

"Why, my good woman," exclaimed Frank Curtis, amazed as such a terrific attempt at imposition, "this account is absurd. Besides, there are two things in it that I paid for myself—I mean the messenger yesterday and to-day."

"Master says it's all right, sir," observed the harridan.

"And then you charge a shilling for reading two newspapers a fortnight old," cried Frank, more and more bewildered as he studied the items of the bill: "and five shillings for extras! Why—what the devil are the extras, since it seems to me that you have taken precious good care to omit nothing?"

"The extras is soap, and candles, and so on," said the woman, growing impatient.

"Then, be Jasus! and just let me soap over Mr. Mac Grab with a shillaleh!" ejaculated Captain O'Blunderbuss, starting from his seat. "It's afther robbing my frind, ye are—ye bastes of the earth!"

Mr. Pepperton however interfered, and represented to the two gentlemen that there was no possibility of obtaining redress—that sheriff's-officers might charge exactly what they liked—and that it would be much better to pay the bill without any haggling. The amount was accordingly liquidated, and the old woman received half-a-crown as a gratuity, which she took in a manner most unequivocally denoting that she had expected at least four times as much.

"Well," exclaimed Frank Curtis, as soon as she had left the room, "of all infernal impositions this is the greatest! Supposing I was a poor devil——"

"Then you would have been bundled straight off to Whitecross Street at once," observed Pepperton. "Lord bless you, my dear sir—there's an aristocracy amongst debtors as well as in every thing else in this country."

"I always thought the law was the same for rich or poor," said Curtis.

"You never were under a greater mistake in your life," returned the solicitor. "Money is all-powerful in England, and makes the gentleman; and gentlemen are treated quite differently from common people. Such establishments as the Bench and the Fleet[43] are for those who can afford to pay for a habeas: while those who cannot, must go to the County Gaol. These spunging-houses, too, are places of accommodation, for the use of which people must pay liberally."

"Or rather be robbed vilely," said Frank. "But never mind—it can't be helped. When shall I have to go over to the Bench?"

"The tipstaff is no doubt already waiting at the public-house opposite," replied the lawyer.

"Then I'll be off at once," exclaimed Curtis, rising from his chair.

"Be the power-rs! but we'll see ye safe over to the Binch," cried Captain O'Blunderbuss; "for it may be that I shall have to thrash the Marshal or skin a tur-rnkey to renther the people dacently civil in that iligant istablishment."

"Yes—you come with me, captain," said Frank, who had been thinking of some means to separate his amiable wife and his devoted friend. "You can put Mrs. C. into a hackney-coach; and to-morrow morning, my dear," he added, turning towards his spouse, "you can look out for a lodging somewhere in the neighbourhood of the prison."

"But you don't mean me to remain all alone to-night in Baker Street, with those odious officers in the house?" exclaimed Mrs. Curtis, not admiring the proposed arrangement.

"It would not be proper for the captain to stay in the house now that I am away," said Frank, hastily, and without daring to look at his gallant friend: indeed, scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when he was surprised at his courage in having dared to utter them.

Fortunately the captain took the observation in good part, and even expressed his approval of it; for it struck the martial gentleman that he should stand a much better chance of amusing himself with Frank Curtis in the Bench, with the interior arrangements of which he was pretty well acquainted from old experience, than in the society of Mrs. Curtis in Baker Street. The lady could not, therefore, offer any farther opposition to the arrangement proposed; but she darted an angry look upon the captain, who responded by one of earnest appeal to her mercy.

She now took leave of her husband, and was escorted by Captain O'Blunderbuss to the nearest coach-stand; and as some time elapsed ere he returned to the spunging-house, it is presumable that he had a little difficulty in making his peace with her.

At length, however, he did re-appear; and, the messenger having conveyed the portmanteau over to the public-house opposite, for which he only charged a shilling, the prisoner proceeded thither in company with Mr. MacGrab and Captain O'Blunderbuss, Pepperton bidding them farewell at the door.

In a little front parlour on the first floor of the public-house alluded to, sate half-a-dozen seedy-looking men, who were delectably occupied in smoking cigars and drinking hot gin-and-water. Their conversation was doubtless very amusing to themselves; but it would have been very boring to strangers;—for the topic seemed entirely limited to what had taken place that day at the Insolvent Debtors' Court, or at the Judges' Chambers. There, in that same room, were those men accustomed to meet every afternoon (Sunday excepted), at about the same hour; and their discourse was invariably on the same subjects. They were tipstaffs—or, more properly speaking, perhaps, tipstaves: they lived in the atmosphere of debtors' prisons and law-courts;—and all their information was circumscribed to the transactions thereof. When they were not hovering about the lobbies of the Fleet or the Bench, they were "down at Westminster," or "up at Portugal Street;" and if not in any of those places—why, then they were at the public-house.

It was to one of these worthies that MacGrab introduced Mr. Francis Curtis; and as the tipstaff thus particularised had not finished his cigar nor his gin-and-water, Mr. Frank Curtis and Captain O'Blunderbuss sate down to keep him company till he had. Half an hour afterwards a hackney-coach was sent for; and the prisoner, his gallant friend, and the officer were speedily on their road to the King's Bench prison.

Curtis spoke but little during the transit: he felt nervous at the idea of going to his new home. But the captain rattled away as if he were determined to speak for himself and his friend both; and the tipstaff was still in a state of uncertainty as to whether he should set the gallant gentleman down as a very extraordinary personage, or as a most wondrous liar, when the vehicle stopped at a little low door in a gloomy brick wall.

"Be Jasus! and here's the Binch already," exclaimed Captain O'Blunderbuss, thrusting his head out of the coach-window. "That house there, with the trees before it, Frank, is the Marshal's—and a very dacent berth he's got of it: I shouldn't mind standing in his shoes at all, at all. But come along, me dear frind."

Thus speaking, the captain leapt from the vehicle, followed by Frank Curtis and the tipstaff; and, having traversed an enclosure formed by the gloomy-looking wall above alluded to and the high spike-topped boundary of the prison itself, the trio ascended a few steps which led them into the upper lobby of the King's Bench.

-----

Footnote 43:

Within the last few years the Fleet has been suppressed, and the Bench, under the general name of the Queen's Prison, has become the receptacle for all metropolitan debtors who are enabled to purchase the luxury of a habeas corpus.

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CV. THE KING'S BENCH PRISON

The upper lobby was a small, dirty, and sombre-looking outwork of the vast establishment. A huge clock hung against one of the walls—a roasting fire burnt in the grate—and a stout, elderly turnkey, who spoke with a provincial accent, was seated on a high stool near the inner door, watching the persons who came out of the prison, and on whose countenance the glare of a powerful light was thrown by a tin reflector. Grouped near him were several char-women and messengers, engaged in the double occupation of discussing a pot of the best ale and the scandal of the Bench; while another turnkey—a short, active, bustling little fellow, who rejoiced in the nick-name of "Buffer"—was seated inside a small enclosure formed by wood-work breast-high, examining a greasy and well-thumbed book containing sundry hieroglyphics which were supposed to be entries of the prisoners' names.

To Mr. Buffer was Mr. Frank Curtis duly introduced by the tipstaff; and the young gentleman's appellations were forthwith inscribed in the greasy book. He was then desired to pay his gate-fees, which he accordingly did; and, these little matters being settled, Mr. Buffer politely informed him that he might "go inside." The head turnkey—who was the stout, elderly man above alluded to—thereupon opened the door at which he was seated; and Captain O'Blunderbuss led the way, first across a small yard, next through the lower lobby—and thence into the grand enclosure of the King's Bench itself.

Captain O'Blunderbuss turned sharp round to the left, and stopped in admiration before a low building with a roof slanting down from the high wall against which it stood.

"There!" cried the gallant officer, in an ecstacy of enthusiasm: "what place should you be afther taking that to be?"

"Why—I should say it was the scullery or the coal-cellars," replied Frank.

"Be Jasus! me dear frind—and you're insulthing the finest fature in this fine prison," exclaimed the captain: "it's the coffee-house."

Mr. Curtis did not like to say how deeply he was disappointed at the unpromising exterior of an establishment which his companion seemed so especially to admire; and he therefore silently followed his guide into the coffee-room, which was just large enough to contain four very little tables and yield accommodation to about a dozen people at a time.

There was nearly that number present when Captain O'Blunderbuss and Frank Curtis entered the place; and as there were not two seats disengaged, the gallant officer put his arms akimbo, fixed his eyes sternly on a stout, inoffensive-looking old gentleman, and, without positively addressing his words to him, exclaimed, "Be the holy poker-r! and I should advise some one to be afther making room on a binch for my frind and myself—or I'll know the rayson why!"

The inoffensive-looking gentleman shrank dismayed into a corner, and, two or three others pressing closer together, sufficient space was obtained to afford Captain O'Blunderbuss and Mr. Frank Curtis seats; and the former, as he took his place at a table, cast a particularly ferocious glance around on the assembled company, as much as to say, "Be the power-rs! and ye'd betther not be afther having any of your nonsense with me!" But as no one at the moment seemed at all inclined to make even an attempt to interfere with the gallant gentleman, his countenance gradually lost its menacing aspect; and he ordered the waiter—a slip-shod, dirty boy—to bring a bottle of wine, spirits not being allowed.

The company presented to the view of Mr. Frank Curtis rather a motley aspect. There was a sample of nearly all kinds of social distinctions,—a sprig of the aristocracy—a broken-down sporting gentleman—a decayed tradesman—a bankrupt merchant—an insolvent parson—a ruined gamester—a prize-fighter—a horse-chaunter—an attorney, who had over-reached himself—a poor author—and one or two others who bore the vague and much misappropriated denomination of "gentleman." All these were herding together in a glorious state of democratic equality; for a debtors' prison goes far to level distinctions, the lordling being very often glad to obtain a draught of ale from the pewter-pot of a butcher.

The entrance of Captain O'Blunderbuss and Frank Curtis, both of whom were taken for new prisoners and stared at accordingly, seemed to have interrupted a conversation that was previously going on;—and for a few minutes a dead silence prevailed. But at last, when the wine which the captain had ordered was brought in, and that gallant gentleman and Curtis gave evident proofs of an inclination to enjoy themselves by enquiring likewise for cigars, the company recovered the feeling of hilarity on which the awful appearance of O'Blunderbuss had seemed for a few minutes to throw a complete damper.

"Well, how did Jackson get on to-day at Portugal Street?" enquired a rakish, dissipated looking young gentleman, who was smoking a cigar and drinking a pint of Port-wine.

"He got sent back for six months," answered the person to whom the question was put, and who was a stout, big man, in very seedy attire. "It seems that his schedule was made up of accommodation bills, and the opposition was desperate."

"You talk of accommodation bills, Muggles," observed the young gentleman; "why, all my debts are in paper of that kind. There's seventeen thousand pounds against me at the gate; and I'd take my affidavit that I never had more than three thousand in actual value. So I suppose I shall get it from the old Commissioner?"

"No, you won't, Pettifer, my boy," cried a short, elderly, dapper-looking man, putting down a quart pot in which his countenance had been buried for upwards of a minute before he began to speak; "your father's a lord—and that's enough," he added, looking mysteriously around.

"Well, so he is," said the Honourable Mr. Pettifer, lolling back in a very aristocratic manner, and speaking for the behoof of Captain O'Blunderbuss and Frank Curtis; "it's true that my father is Lord Cobbleton, and that I'm his second son. But, after all—what's a nobleman's second son?"

"Be Jasus! and what indeed?" cried the captain. "Why, my grandfather was Archbishop of Dublin—and my father was his son—and I'm my father's son—and yet, be the power-rs! I'm only a capthain now! But if I hadn't half a million, or some thrifle of the kind locked up in Chancery, I should be afther rowlling in my carriage—although I do keep a buggy and a dog-cart, as it is—and my frind Curthis here, jintlemen, wouldn't be in the Binch for two hunthred thousand pounds, as he is and bad luck to it!"

"Well—but you know, captain," said Frank, who was determined not to be behind his gallant companion in the art of lying, and who therefore very readily took up the cue prepared for him,—"you know, captain, that the moment my god-father the Duke comes home, I shall be all right."

"Right!—right as a thrivet, me boy!" vociferated O'Blunderbuss; "and then we'll carry on the war-r-r with a vengeance."

These remarks on the part of the captain and Frank Curtis produced a deep impression upon the greater portion of the company present; but two or three of the oldest prisoners tipped each other the wink slyly, as much as to say, "Ain't they coming it strong?"—although they did not dare provoke the ire of the ferocious Hibernian by any overt display of their scepticism.

"Speaking of Chancery," said an old, miserable-looking man, in a wretchedly thread-bare suit of black, and whose care-worn countenance showed an intimate acquaintance with sorrow,—"speaking of Chancery," he repeated, leaning forward from the corner in which he had hitherto remained silent and almost unobserved,—"you can't know Chancery, sir—begging your pardon—better or more bitterly than I do."

"Ah! tell the gentlemen your story, Prout," exclaimed one of the company. "'Pon my soul 'tis a hard case, and a stain upon a civilised country.

"A stain!" ejaculated the old man, whose name appeared to be Prout;—"a stain!" he cried, in a tone of painful irony:—"it is a horror—an abomination—an atrocity that demands vengeance on those legislators who know that such abuses exist and who will not remedy them! Chancellors—Vice-Chancellors—Judges—Law-Lords—Members of Parliament—Attorney-Generals—Solicitor-Generals—all, all for the last two-and-twenty years, so help me God! have been familiar with my case—and yet the Court of Chancery remains as it is, the most tremendous abuse—the most damnable Inquisition—the most grinding, soul-crushing, heart-breaking engine of torture that the ingenuity of man ever yet invented! Yes—all that—and more—more, if I could find stronger language to express myself in—is that earthly reflection of hell—the Court of Chancery!"

The old man had spoken with a volubility which had increased in quickness and in emphasis until it positively grew painful to hear;—and his countenance became flushed with a hectic, unhealthy red—and his eyes, usually leaden and dull, were fired with an unnatural lustre—and his chest heaved convulsively—and his lips quivered with the dreadful excitement produced in his attenuated and worn-out frame by the remembrance of his wrongs.

Remembrance!—as if he ever forgot them! No—the Chancery Court was the subject of his thoughts by day and his dreams by night: every thing he heard, or saw, or read, was so tortured by his morbid imagination as to bear some analogy, remote or near, to the proceedings of the Chancery Court;—when he had a meal, he wondered that the Chancery Court had left it to him—and when he had none, he said that the Chancery Court made him starve;—if he felt in tolerably good health, it was because he heard of some case in Chancery even more flagrant than his own—and that was a consolation to his diseased mind; and if he felt ill which was nearly always the case, he declared that the Chancery Court made him so:—in fact, he was truly a victim, in every sense and way, of that tremendous tribunal which has instruments of torture far more terrible for the feelings than those which the Inquisition of Spain ever invented for the body!

"Yes," exclaimed Prout, after a few moments' pause, "and all that diabolical tyranny is carried on under the semblance and with the solemn forms of justice. You go into a fine court, where you see a man of splendid intellect, fine education, and profound knowledge, seated in a chair, with the wig and gown; and before him are rows of barristers almost as learned as himself. Well—would you not think that you were in a tribunal worthy of the civilisation of this country! Yet—better were it if savages from the South Sea Islands became your judges; better to die upon the threshold of that court, than enter its walls. It is a damnable and a cursed tyranny, I repeat; and the English are a weak—a pusillanimous—a spaniel-like race, that they do not rise in rebellion against that monstrous tribunal!"

Again he paused, overpowered by excitement:—but there was something terribly real and awfully sincere—aye, and sternly true—in that man's denunciations!

"Yes—I say," he resumed, after having refreshed himself from a pewter-pot near him—though there had been a time when he was accustomed to drink wine,—"the English people are a nation of paltry cowards for allowing this hideous Chancery Court to uprear its head amongst them. Did not the French destroy their Bastille?—and was the Bastille ever half so bad, in one way, as this Chancery Court is in another? It is all useless for two or three people to declaim, or two or three authors to write, against such a flagrant abuse. 'Tis a public grievance, and must be put down by the public hand! The whole body of lawyers are against law-reform—and the profession of the law has vast influence upon both Houses of Parliament. From the Houses of Parliament, then, we have no hope: the strong hand of the people must do it. You might as well ask the Lords to abolish hereditary aristocracy, or the King to dethrone himself, as expect the Houses of Parliament to sweep away the Chancery Court."

"But could we do without it?" enquired an attentive listener.

"Do without it!" exclaimed Prout, indignantly—almost contemptuously, at the nature of the question: "certainly we can! France does without it—Holland does without it—Prussia does without it—Switzerland does without it—and the United States do without it;—and where is the law of property better administered than in those countries? There the transfer of land, or the bequeathing of other property, is as simple as that of merchandize or stock; but here—here, in England, which vaunts its freedom and its civilization, the process is encumbered with forms and deeds which leave the whole arrangement liable to flaws, difficulties, and endless embarrassments. Talk of Equity indeed! 'tis the most shameless mockery of justice ever known even amongst barbarians. But let me tell you an anecdote? In 1763, a suit was commenced in Chancery relative to some lawful property on which there was a windmill. The cause was not referred to the Master till 1796—thirty-three years having elapsed, and the lawyers, who had grown old during the proceedings, not having been idle. In the Master's office did the case remain till 1815—though the new lawyers who had succeeded the old batch that had died off in the meantime, were as active as the matter would allow them to be. Well—in 1815 the Master began to look into the business; but, behold! the windmill had disappeared—it had tumbled down—it had wasted away into dust—not a trace of it remained!" actually shrieked out the old man, in the excitement of his story.[44]

"Thus the affair was fifty-two years in Chancery, and was knocked on the head after all?" observed one of the company present.

"While Law slept, Time was awake and busy, you see," said Prout, with a bitter irony which actually chilled the hearts of his auditors. "But I can give you plenty of examples of the infernal—heart-breaking delays of Chancery—and my own amongst the rest presently," he continued. "There is the case of Bute versus Stuart: it began in 1793—and in 1813 a step was made in the cause![45] Then, again, you have the case of the Attorney-General versus Trevelyan: it commenced in 1685, and is an affair involving an endowment for a Grammar-School at Morpeth. This cause never will be finished![46] But how much property do you suppose there is locked up in Chancery—eh? Ah! now I am going to tell you something astounding indeed—and yet as true as the Gospel! Thirty-eight millions sterling are locked up in that dreadful tribunal. A tribunal!—no—it is a sepulchre—a tomb—a grave in which all justice and all hopes are interred! But you will say that this enormous fund is only as it were in temporary trust, to be in due time portioned out to its rightful owners. Pshaw!—nonsense! More than one-third concerns persons who are dead and have left no heirs, or else whose representatives are ignorant of their rights. The Suitors' Fund is a bank of plunder—of shameful, diabolical plunder effected under the forms of the law!"

"But what about your own case, old fellow?" enquired the Honourable Mr. Pettifer.

"I'll tell you in a moment, gentlemen," cried Prout, rejoiced to observe the interest created by his strictures on the most hellish tribunal that ever disgraced a civilised country. "Twenty-five years ago," he said, "I was a prosperous man, having a good business in the City; and I had managed to save four thousand pounds by dint of strict economy and the closest attention to my affairs. A lawyer—a friend of mine—told me of a favourable opportunity to place the sum out at good interest and on the best possible security. A gentleman, in fact, wanted to borrow just that amount on mortgage, he having a capital estate. The matter was fully investigated, and the security was considered unexceptionable. So I lent the money; and for three years the interest was regularly paid, and all went on well. The gentleman suddenly died; and his nephew, who inherited the estate, hunted out an old entail, effected a hundred and fifty years previously, and of the existence of such an entail no mention had been made in subsequent deeds. So the nephew would not acknowledge the validity of the mortgage, and refused to pay me a fraction of my four thousand pounds. He would not even settle the interest. I was therefore forced into Chancery; and seven years afterwards I got a decree in my favour, but I was sent into the Master's Office on account of certain details which I will not stop to explain to you. This was fifteen years ago—and I am still in Chancery! I have spent three thousand pounds in costs—and am totally ruined. The excitement and worry of law made me neglect my business: my affairs fell into confusion—my creditors took all my stock in trade—and here have I been eleven years for the balance of my liabilities. Twenty-two years have I been engaged in law—and have not yet got justice! And yet I am told that I live in a civilised country, where the laws are based on consummate wisdom, and where the meanest as well as the highest individual is sure to obtain justice. Justice indeed!—such justice as one finds in the Chancery Court! My original claim was for four thousand pounds—and I have spent three thousand in costs, and owe my lawyer five hundred pounds more. But what do you think of this? Eight years ago a written question was put by the Master to the respondent in the suit; and it is still a matter of dispute whether he is to answer it or not! Here's law for you—here's justice! Why—it is enough to make a man curse himself for belonging to a country in which such things take place: it is enough to make me ashamed of being an Englishman! Suppose a savage from the South Sea Islands came to England—beheld all the glitter and glory of our outward appearance of civilisation—studied our language, and was then told of such cases as these? What would he think. He would say, 'After all, you are in reality a very barbarous people; and I shall be glad when I get back to my own far-off island!'"[47]

"As far as all this goes, you are right enough," observed an attorney, who was one of the company present: "but had you gone much farther, you would have been equally correct. You may denounce nearly all our laws and statutes to be radically bad and a disgrace to civilisation. But it is useless to hope that an efficient reform will be ever effected by the Parliament; because the Parliament is loth to interfere with existing usages, and is afraid to meddle with existing rights. Nothing short of a Revolution can possibly accomplish a proper change."

"Why—this is treason!" exclaimed the Honourable Mr. Pettifer, his aristocratic feelings deeply wounded by the lawyer's bold and manly declaration.

"It may be treason—but it is nevertheless the truth," said the attorney, with the cool firmness of a man entertaining an honest conviction of the justice of his observations. "I declare most of our laws to be a disgrace and a shame. In France all the laws are contained in one book, accessible to every person: here, in this country, they are totally inaccessible to the community in general. Do you think France would ever have had her Code without a Revolution?[48] Do you know how silly, absurd, and contradictory are some of our statutes—those statutes which are approved of by the Law-Officers of the Crown, and enacted by wise senators? There is a statute, for example's sake,[49] which decrees that one half of the penalty inflicted in a particular case is to go to the informer, and the other half to the King. And yet under this statute Judges sentence men to transportation—say, fourteen years' transportation, to be halved by the informer and the King! Then there are statutes still upon the book, and which, though unrepealed, could scarcely be put into execution without inflicting an odious tyranny. A statute of Edward VI. forbids agricultural labourers to hire themselves out, or be hired, by the day, and not for less than a year. By a statute of William and Mary, no peasant may sell goods in a town, except at a fair; and a statute of Henry VII. decrees, under severe penalties, that no cattle shall be killed in a walled town, nor in Cambridge. There is also a statute, I forget of which reign, enacting that no shoemaker may be a tanner, nor a tanner a shoemaker. The laws relating to Marriage are in many respects absurd, and in others obscure. A marriage contracted by persons under age, by means of license, without the consent of their parents, is unlawful; but such persons may contract a lawful marriage by banns, although without the consent of their parents. Thousands and thousands of persons have been led to believe that it is lawful for a man to marry his deceased wife's sister; whereas it is not lawful, and the issue of such a marriage is illegitimate."

At this moment the learned gentleman was interrupted by the clanging of a loud bell, carried by a person who was proceeding round the main building of the prison, and who every now and then stopped ringing for the purpose of vociferating as loud as he could—"Strangers, women, and children, all out!"

"Shall you have to leave?" demanded Frank Curtis, in a whisper to his friend the captain.

"Divil a hap'orth of it, me boy!" exclaimed O'Blunderbuss. "The person who keeps the Coffee-house will be glad to give me a bed as well as yourself; for money, frind Cur-r-tis, procures everything in this blissed Spike-Island."

Another half-hour was passed in discourse on various topics, the inmates of the Coffee-house parlour having become wearied of commenting upon the laws of their country; and, at the expiration of that interval renewed shouts, now emanating from the immediate vicinity of the lower lobby, warned all strangers to quit the prison. At the same time the parlour was rapidly cleared, O'Blunderbuss and Frank Curtis alone remaining there:—for it seemed to be a rule on the part of the prisoners to rush to the gate, for the purpose of seeing the "strangers" take their departure.

The captain now gave a furious pull at the bell; and, when the slip-shod waiter appeared, he demanded a conference with the keeper of the Coffee-house. This request was speedily complied with; and satisfactory arrangements were entered into for beds. Another bottle of wine was ordered, the captain persuading Curtis that it would be better for him to take his first survey of all the grand features of the Bench in the morning, and to pass the evening in conviviality. This they accordingly did until eleven o'clock, when the lights in the parlour were put out, and the two gentlemen were shown to their respective bed-chambers—the said chambers being each about twice as big as a coffin, and quite as inconveniently angular.

-----

Footnote 44:

The anecdote is a positive fact!

Footnote 45:

It is not terminated yet!

Footnote 46:

Mr. Prout's prophecy seems likely to be fulfilled; for the case pends yet, having now lasted one hundred and sixty-two years!!! In 1710 Lord Chancellor Harcourt made a decree commanding the boundaries of the litigated land to be ascertained; and the commissioner appointed to carry this decree into effect, reported that no boundaries could be traced! Proceedings continued; and on the 25th of January, 1846, the case was re-argued before Vice-chancellor Shadwell, eight counsel being engaged for relator, lessee, trustees, corporation, and the various other parties interested. The Vice-Chancellor of England referred the matter to the Master's Office, where it is not likely to be disinterred for the next half century! Really, we English are a highly civilised people: a law-suit may be perpetuated through a dozen generations, without any delay or fault on the side of the parties interested—the whole and sole blame resting upon the Chancery Court.

Footnote 47:

Mr. Commissioner Fane, of the London Bankruptcy Court, was brought up as a Chancery lawyer; and in a recent "Letter to Lord Cottenham" he thus explains the causes of that shameful dilatoriness which characterises Chancery proceedings:—

"In Chancery the suitor applies first to the judge: every thing is done in writing. The judge, after great expense has been incurred and after a long delay, makes a decree: that decree tells the Master, in endless detail, what he is to do (just as if he required to be taught the simplest matters): the decree is drawn up, not by the judge, who might be thought wiser than the Master, but by the registrar, who, in teaching the Master, frequently omits some material direction; the parties then adjourn to the Master's office; there the matter lingers, month after month and year after year; at last the Master makes his report, tells the Court what he has found, and sometimes what he would have found if the registrar had authorised him to do so, and at last the Court either acts or sends the matter back to the Master with new directions. Meanwhile, as Lord Bacon said about two hundred years ago, 'Though the Chancery pace be slow, the suitor's pulse beat quick.' I know of nothing to which to compare this process except the game of battledore and shuttlecock, in which the poor suitor plays the part of shuttlecock, and is tossed from the judge to the Master, and from the Master to the judge, over and over, till the scene is closed only too often by despair, insolvency, or death."

Footnote 48:

"The Code Napoleon is sometimes declared to be a failure; but it has been no failure. In place of the previously differing laws of the provinces of the ancient kingdom it has substituted a consistent uniform code for the entire of France. But it is urged, that it has been buried under a load of commentaries. Of course there has risen a pile of judicial constructions, as must be the case with the text of every code. But these constructions have a platform to rest upon, framed in the light of modern science. Ours are wholly different; they have no such foundation to settle upon: they rest upon a mingled heap of rubbish and masonry, of obsolete laws and laws in force. Even the basement storey has not been firmly laid, as in France. This, however, it is that the nation requires to have done; it requires an entirely new legal edifice to be erected. All that is good in the past it would have preserved under a new and better arrangement; and then the mass of statutes, reports, and text-books from which the analysis had been made, and which had long embarrassed both the learned and unlearned—declared by parliamentary authority to be no better than waste paper—null and void, and no more citable for any purpose of legal argument, illustration, or decision."—Black Book of England.

Footnote 49:

53rd, George III.

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CVI. A FARTHER INSIGHT INTO THE KING'S BENCH

At half-past seven o'clock on the following morning, the slip-shod waiter knocked at Mr. Curtis's door, exclaiming, "Please, sir, you must get up, and go down to the lobby by eight, 'cos you're wanted."

"Who want's me there?" demanded Frank, leaping from his bed, and suddenly animated by the hope that Sir Christopher had accidentally heard of his predicament and had come to pay his debts.

But the boy had hurried down stairs again; and Curtis was accordingly compelled to hurry over his toilette in a state of profound suspense. By the time his ablutions were performed and he was dressed, it was close upon eight o'clock; and he repaired to the gate, having bestowed en passant a thundering knock with his clenched fist on the door of the captain's crib.

The gate of the lower lobby was not as yet opened; but in its immediate vicinity several of the prisoners were collected—some in dressing-gowns, others in their shirt-sleeves, and all having a certain air of seediness not observable elsewhere. At length, when the massive portal did expand, in rushed a motley assortment of messengers, char-women, and such itinerant venders as milk-men, water-cress boys, and the fustian-clad individual who sold red herrings and shrimps.

When this influx of varied specimens of animated nature had passed, Frank Curtis entered the lobby and demanded of a one-armed turnkey standing before the fire, "who it was that required his presence?".

"Me and my partners, sir," was the reply.

"And what for?" enquired Frank.

"Just to take your likeness, sir," was the farther explanation given.

"My likeness!" cried the young gentleman, glancing rapidly around in the expectation of beholding an artist with pallet and brushes all ready; but, not perceiving any such individual, he began to look very ferocious indeed, under the impression that the turnkey had a mind to banter him.

"We call it taking the likeness of a new prisoner, sir," observed the one-armed functionary, who was really a very civil fellow, "when we have him here by day-light just to take a look at him—so that we may know him again," he added significantly. "You see, sir, there's between three and four hundred prisoners in the college—we call it a college, sir, sometimes—and it isn't a very easy thing to remember every new-comer, unless we have a good look at him."

"Oh! now I understand you," exclaimed Frank, laughing heartily at the idea of having his likeness taken in such a style.

While he was yet indulging in this expression of his mirth, the other turnkeys made their appearance, and, each individually wishing him a "good morning," they scanned him from head to foot—apparently committing to memory every one of his features seriatim. Frank tried to look as unconcerned as possible; but he nevertheless felt very uncomfortable, and was heartily glad when the operation, which lasted about five minutes, was over. The other turnkeys then withdrew; and Curtis remained alone with the one-armed official.

"Nice place this, sir, for a prison—ain't it?" asked the latter, taking his seat on a stool near the door, which stood open, and whence the eye commanded a view of the spacious racquet-ground and a small portion of the main building.

"Well—it might be a great deal worse," replied Frank. "You must have some strange characters here?" he added, enquiringly.

"I b'lieve ye!" exclaimed the turnkey, fixing his looks mysteriously upon the young gentleman in a species of dim intimation that it was indeed a very remarkable place. "You see that old feller in the rugged blue coat, a-rolling the fust racquet-ground there? Well—he come here to this prison twenty year ago in his carriage, and had his livery servants to wait upon him; and now he's glad to drag that roller every morning for a few pence."

"And can't he manage to get out?" asked Frank, with an ominous shudder.

"Lord bless you, sir," cried the turnkey, "he's his own prisoner!"

"His own prisoner!" repeated Curtis. "What—do you mean to say that he keeps himself in the Bench?"

"I do, sir—and a many does the same," continued the turnkey, in a low, mysterious tone. "These poor creaturs, sir, stay in prison so long that all their relations and friends dies off; and if they went out, they wouldn't have a soul to speak to, or a place to go to. So, if their creditors dies too and their discharge is sent 'em, they keep it in their pockets and never lodge it at the gate—'cos they prefer staying inside, where they have companions and can get a bit of something to eat in one way or another."

"This is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard in my life," said Frank.

"There's many things more stranger still here," returned his informant, who was pleased with the mysterious importance which his position as narrator of these marvels gave him. "What should you think of men putting themselves into prison, and making up their minds to stay here all their lives perhaps?"

"I should think you were joking if you said so," answered Curtis.

"Joking! Lord bless you, sir, I wouldn't joke about no such a thing," exclaimed the turnkey, with a spice of indignation in his manner. "But I'll tell you how it is. There—you see that stout man in the shooting-jacket a-bargaining for them bloaters with the chap that's sitting on the bench outside the Tap? Well—he committed a forgery, or summut of that kind; and, knowing there was a warrant against him, and not choosing to run away from London for fear of being took in the country, he got a friend to arrest him for debt. So he immediately passed over to the Bench by habeas; and the warrant for felony was lodged at the gate against him. But his debts must be paid before the warrant can be executed; and as you see he's in a manner his own detaining creditor—leastways, his friend outside is—he isn't likely to have his discharge till the felony business can be settled somehow or other."

"The Bench is then a most convenient place for people who ought to be in Newgate?" said Curtis. "But live and learn; and the more one sees of the world——"

"The more curiouser it is—ain't it?" cried the turnkey. "Well—now you see that tall, stout gentleman there, walking up and down in front of the State House with the stick in his hand? He's been here some years, and is wery likely to stay a many years longer. His creditors allows him three guineas a week for his kindness in remaining a prisoner in the Bench."

"What!" ejaculated Curtis, now more astonished than ever. "His creditors pay him for staying here!"

"It's as true as you're alive, sir," was the reply; "and it's easy enough to explain, too. That gentleman has got a good landed estate, which is in the hands of his two or three principal creditors, who manage it and receive all the rents for the purpose of paying themselves their claims upon him. Well, now—if he went through the Insolvents' Court, all the creditors would come in for their share of the proceeds of the estate; and so the two or three principals ones allow him three guineas a week to keep him here and prevent him going through the Court. It's a deuced good thing for him, I can tell you; and he's as happy as a King. He has his wife—leastways, his lady with him,—we call 'em all wives here;—and he's got a batch of the loveliest and nicest children you ever see. There they are, sir—the little innocents—a-playing there in the mud, just as if there wasn't no such place as prison at all; and yet they was all born up in that room there in the State House, with the green safe at the window and the flower-pots."

"And who is that lame, elderly man, running about with newspapers in his hand?" enquired Frank.

"He's the newsman of the Bench—and a prisoner like the rest on 'em," was the answer. "Ah! some years ago he was a rich man, and in a flourishing way of business. But he got into Chancery, and that's the same as getting into the Bench; 'cos one always leads to t'other—for even to be a vinner in Chancery, one must pass at least a dozen years or so here fust. That seems to be the rule, as far as I can understand it. Well, sir—now that lame man is obliged to turn newsman; so you see there's a many rewerses in this world, sir. Ah! the world's a queer place, ain't it?—almost as queer as the Bench itself!"

What the turnkey's notions of the world might be, it is not easy to conceive: but they were evidently somewhat dim and misty—inasmuch as he seemed impressed with the belief that the Bench and the world were two distinct places:—but, then, the Bench was his world, though not a prisoner there himself; and perhaps he established a distinction as existing between the "world within" and the "world without." Alas! many—many who were prisoners did the same!

"Who are those two ladies that have just come down to walk on the gravel there, by the side of the racquet-ground?" enquired Frank Curtis, much amused by the turnkey's gossip.

"We call that gravel-walk the parade," observed the official. "Those ladies are mother and daughter; and it's the daughter that's a prisoner. She's a devilish fine gal; and the old woman stays with her to take care of her. But she and the Honourable Mr. Pettifer are deuced thick together; and the mother winks at it. Such things will happen in the best regilated families—particklerly in the Bench, where no one ain't over and above partickler. This isn't the shop for morals. Mr. Curtis: all the young single women that comes here, is sure to get corrupted. But that's no look-out of mine;"—and with this solacing conclusion, the turnkey hit the lock of the door a tremendous blow with his key.

"Be the power-rs! and is it afther staling a march upon me that ye are?" vociferated a well-known voice at this moment; and the captain stalked up to the gate, looking quite fresh and blooming after a good night's rest and copious ablutions.

"They had me down to take my likeness," cried Frank; "or else I dare say I should have slept on till now."

"Well—we'll just make the round of the Binch, me boy," exclaimed the captain; "and by that time the breakfast will be ready. I've orthered it—hot rolls and coffee, with kidneys, eggs, cresses, and such like thrifles; and a walk will give us an appetite."

Curtis accordingly took his friend's arm; and they set out on their limited ramble.

"That building on your right, Frank," said the captain, "is the State House, where Government prisoners and such like spalpeens are kept—or ought to be; but the prisoners for debt get hould of the rooms there, and the divil himself can't turn 'em out. But here's the Tap: and this is the first lion of the Binch."

They entered a low and dirty-looking place, in which there were several common tables of the roughest description, and the surfaces of which were completely carved out into names, initial letters, men hanging, and a variety of devices—these ingenious and very elaborate specimens of wood-engraving having been effected by penknives. A tremendous fire burnt in the grate, round which were assembled several of the poorer class of prisoners and the messengers, eating their breakfast;—and, at one of the tables just alluded to, the newsman was sorting his papers.

As the captain and Curtis were retracing their way from an inspection of the interior of the tap-room, the former stopped at the bar, exclaiming to the man in attendance, "Two half pints, Misther Vernon—and good mornin' to ye."

"You would not drink malt liquor so early, will you?" asked Frank, with a look of astonishment at his companion.

"Be Jasus! and it's for you to taste the porther, me boy!" exclaimed the captain. "Don't you remimber all I said yesterday in its praise? Come—dhrink!"

And Mr. Curtis was accordingly compelled to swallow half a pint of porter, though malt liquor before breakfast was somewhat repugnant to his taste. The beer was veritably of first-rate quality; and the captain was as proud to hear the young gentleman's eulogy on its merits, as if he had brewed it himself.

"Now let us continue our ramble," said he;—and away they went, arm-in-arm, the two or three poor prisoners who were lounging at the door of the Tap respectfully making room for them to pass.

Entering upon the parade, Frank now for the first time obtained a full view of the front of the main building—a long, gloomy, barrack-like structure, with half a dozen entrance-ways leading to the various staircases. Fixed to the ledges of many of the windows, were safes in which the prisoners kept their provisions; and in several instances these safes were covered with flower-pots containing sickly plants. Precisely in the centre of the building was the chapel; and over the chapel was the infirmary. Most of the rooms on the ground-floor were fitted up as little shops, the occupants being prisoners, and the business carried on being entirely in the "general line." The lumps of butter—wedges of cheese—red herrings—slices of bacon—matches—balls of twine—candles—racquet balls—sweet-stuff—loaves of bread—rolls—soap—eggs—and other articles of the nature usually sold in such magnificent marts of commerce, were arranged so as to make the best possible show, and carry out the spirit of competition which raged as fiercely in that little community as in the world without. A peep through the window of one of those miniature shops, showed the canisters of tea and the jars of tobacco and snuff standing orderly upon the shelves of three feet in length; and behind a counter, along which Tom Thumb could have walked in two strides, stood the stout proprietor of the concern, examining with rueful looks the wonderful increase of chalk-marks which the morning's sales had compelled him to make upon a slate against the honoured names of his customers.

"Now look this way, me frind," cried the captain, as he forced Frank to turn round towards the racquet-courts. "D'ye see nothing particular?"

"Nothing but the high wall, with the spikes on the top, and the netting to prevent the balls from going over," answered Curtis.

"There—there, me boy!" vociferated O'Blunderbuss, impatiently pointing in a particular direction. "Now d'ye see any thing worth looking at?"

"Well—I see the pump there," said Frank, vainly searching after a more interesting object.

"Be Jasus! and that's jist what I wanted ye to see," exclaimed the captain. "It's the Dolphin-pump, me boy—the finest pump in Eur-r-rope—the pride of the Binch——But, be the power-rs! ye shall taste the wather and judge for yourself!"

Curtis protested that he would rather not;—the captain was however resolute; and a tumbler was borrowed from a prisoner who was smoking an early pipe at one of the ground-floor windows. Then the captain began to pump away like a madman; and Frank was compelled to imbibe a deep draught of the ice-cold water, which would have been pronounced delicious by any one who did not admire alcoholic beverages much better than Adam's ale.

"Don't you mean to take a glass, captain?" enquired Frank.

"Be Jasus! and I know it of ould," returned that gallant gentleman: "so there's no need for me to pass an opinion upon it. Besides it's not to astonish my stomach with any unusual dhrink that I'd be afther, Frank: but you're a young man, and can stand wather better than me."

Curtis did not consider the reasoning altogether conclusive: he however refrained from farther argument;—and the two gentlemen resumed their walk.

Between the eastern extremity of the main-building and that part of the wall which looked directly upon the Borough, was the market-place,—an assemblage of miserable sheds, where a butcher, a fishmonger, a greengrocer, and a vender of coals carried on each his peculiar traffic—the said spirited traders being prisoners as well as the shopkeepers above alluded to.

At a stall in the centre of the market, and at which vegetables, fruit, and fish were sold, stood a tall, thin, weather-beaten old woman, resembling a gipsey in dress as well as in complexion, and having an ancient bonnet perched most airily upon the top of her head. This respectable female was denominated "Old Nanny," and was in such wise greeted by Captain O'Blunderbuss, who informed Frank in a whisper that she was not a prisoner, and, in spite of competition, had pretty well the monopoly of the market.

"The fact is, me boy," he said, "she has the advantage of money. Those fellows in the sheds there, set up in business with a floating capital of eighteen-pence each, and can't afford to give credit: and a tradesman in the Binch who can't give credit, stands no more chance, be Jasus! of getting custom than if he began with an empty shop."

The captain now proceeded to show his friend the public kitchen, which was in the immediate vicinity of the market; and thence they passed up the back of the main building, O'Blunderbuss especially directing Frank's attention to that quarter which was denominated "the Poor-Side."

The Poor-Side!—Yes in every public establishment in England, is the line of demarcation drawn between the rich and the poor,—in the debtors' prison as well as in the church of God! Oh! what a disgraceful thing is poverty made in this country! Why—the contamination of Newgate, if borne by a man possessing a well-filled purse, will be overlooked in society; while the rags that an unsullied character wears, are a ban—a stigma—a reproach! "He has been in the workhouse," or "She has been on the parish," are taunts as bitter in meaning and as keen in spirit, as the phrase "He has been in Newgate," or "She has just come from the treadmill." Aye—and even amongst the lowest classes themselves, it is a deeper stain to associate a name with the workhouse, than to connect it with the felons' gaol! Such is the dreadful—demoralizing consequence of that example set by the upper classes, whose ideas of men's excellence and worth are guided chiefly by the standard of the purse.

The Poor-Side!—And for whom is the Poor-Side of debtors' prisons instituted? For those who go penniless to gaol,—the best proof that they have profited nothing by the losses of their creditors,—the best evidence that their liabilities were legitimately contracted! But the fashionable swindler—your man-about-town—your roué—your rake, who gets into debt wherever he can, and without the slightest intention of ever paying a single farthing,—he drives down in his cab to the prison—treats the bailiff to wine upon the way—and takes with him into confinement all that remains to him of the plunder of duped tradesmen, there to spend it in riotous living and in the best room which the best quarter of the gaol can afford! If a debtors' prison have a Poor-Side, it ought also to have a Swnidlers'-Side.

No word in the English language is used so frequently and so contemptuously as the monosyllable Poor. "Oh! he is a poor devil!" is a far worse character to give of any one, than to say at once, "He is dishonest." From the latter sentence there is a hopeful appeal in the question—"But can he pay?" "Yes—he can, if he chooses." "Oh! then, if he can, we will trust him and risk it." But from the former sentence there is no appeal; it is a judgment without qualification—a decision too positive and weighty to admit of a doubt. The objection—"Well, he may be poor; but he may also be honest," is never heard. The idea of poverty being honest! Why—in the estimation of an Englishman, poverty is a word expressing all that is bad. To say that a man is poor, is at once to sum up his character as every thing unprincipled and roguish. Such magic is there in the word, that rich men, and men well-to-do in the world, instantly button up their breeches' pockets when they hear it applied to a person. They seem to consider that a poor wretch can have no other possible object in view than to get the better of them. Poverty, in their eyes, is something that goes about preying upon the rich—something to be loathed and shunned—something that ought not to intrude itself into respectable places. A man may just as well be leprous, as be poor!

So undeniable are these truths—so universally recognised are these facts, that designing individuals always endeavour to seem well off, even if they be insolvent. They dress well, because they know the sovereign influence of a good coat. They talk largely—because they see how necessary it is "to keep up appearances." They toss about their last few guineas, as the only means of baiting a hook to catch fresh dupes. It is impossible that a man, with fine clothes, well-polished boots, elegant guard-chain, and lemon coloured gloves,—it is impossible that such a man can be poor! Oh! no—trust him with anything! Why—what poor man would be perfumed as he is?—the aristocratic odour of wealth surrounds him as with an atmosphere peculiar to the rich. Trust him by all means!—But that poor-looking devil, who sneaks along the shady side of the way—who has a wife and half-a-dozen children at home—and who is struggling from morning to night to earn an honourable crust,—don't trust him—have nothing to do with him—don't assist him with the loan of a single sixpence—on the contrary, give him a thrust farther down into the mud, if you can;—because he is undisguisedly poor!

Such appear to be the rules of conduct in this enlightened and glorious country. God help the poor!—for poverty is a terrible crime in "merry England!"

The Poor-Side of the King's Bench struck Frank Curtis as being particularly miserable:—it quite gave him the horrors! And no wonder;—for the architect—a knowing fellow was he!—had so arranged the building, that the windows of the Poor-Side should look upon the dust-bins and the conveniences. Yes—a knowing fellow was that architect! He understood what the poor are worth in this free and civilised land,—he saw in a moment where they ought to be put;—and therefore he arranged for their use a number of dens where the atmosphere was certain to be one incessant pestilential odour; and where he would have been sorry,—very sorry to have placed the kennel of his favourite hound!

Yes:—well might Frank Curtis feel the horrors—callous and indifferent as the young man naturally was—on beholding the Poor-Side. The ground-floor rooms were even at mid-day in a state of twilight, the colossal wall being only a few feet distant:—the windows were blackened with dirt; and from the upper ones hung a few rags—the miserable duds of the miserable, miserable inmates. Half-starved, pale, and emaciated women—the wives or daughters of those poor prisoners—were loitering at the doorways,—some with children in their arms—children, Oh! so wan and wasted—so sickly and so death-like—that it must have made their parents' hearts bleed to feel how light they were, and how famine-struck they seemed! And yet those little, starving children had their innocent winning ways, as well as the offspring of the rich; and they threw their skeleton arms around their mother's necks—and their lips sent forth those infantile sounds so sweet to mothers' ears;—but still the little beings seemed to be pining rapidly away through actual want and in the prison atmosphere! "God help the poor," we said ere now: but, Oh! with tearful eyes and beating heart do we exclaim—"God help the children of the poor!"

Frank Curtis and the captain, having now completed their walk round the prison, entered the parlour of the Coffee-house, where an excellent breakfast awaited them, and to which they did ample justice.

The repast being disposed of, Captain O'Blunderbuss took a temporary leave of Frank Curtis, it being arranged that the gallant officer should proceed to Baker Street in order to induce the men in possession, either by means of bribes or menaces, to allow Mrs. Curtis to remove as many valuables from the house as possible; and, this notable aim being achieved, the captain was to pay his respects to Sir Christopher Blunt.

Frank Curtis, being now temporarily thrown upon his own resources for amusement, strolled out upon the parade, and was gazing at the racquet-players, when Mr. Prout accosted him.

"Good morning, sir. Have you taken a survey of the Bench yet?" said the Chancery prisoner.

"I have been round the building, and seen all that's worth seeing, I believe," replied Curtis. "But the Poor-Side appears to be a wretched place."

"Wretched!" cried Prout, in a bitter tone: "ah! you may well make that observation, sir! But if my affairs do not end in a speedy settlement, I shall have to move to that quarter myself."

"How is that?" enquired Frank.

"Do you not know—have you not yet learned that you must pay even to have a room in this prison—a place to which you do not come of your own accord?" said Prout. "A shilling a week is the room-rent; and he who cannot pay it, must go over to the Poor-Side. This is English justice, Mr. Curtis! You must pay to live in a prison!"

"It seems to me monstrously unfair——"

"Unfair! 'tis vile—rascally!" cried the Chancery prisoner. "But, talking of the Poor-Side puts me in mind of a strange story connected with that quarter of the Bench; and if you have nothing better to do for an hour or so, and will step up to my room——"

"I shall have great pleasure," interrupted Curtis; "for, to tell you the truth, the time does hang rather heavy on my hands;—and till my friends the Marquis of Aldersgate and the Prince of Paris, who is staying in London, come over to see me, I may just as well amuse myself with your story."

Prout accordingly led the way to his room, which was in the front of the building and commanded a view of the parade and racquet-grounds. It was very plainly furnished, but neat and clean; and its owner informed Curtis that he had a married daughter who visited him every day, was very kind to him, and superintended his little domestic concerns.

"But I will not detain you longer than I can help, sir," observed Prout; "and I can promise you that you are about to hear a true tale of deep interest. I have thought of it so often, and have so frequently repeated its details to myself, in the solitude of this chamber, that I am enabled to give you the whole story in a connected form; although it was not in the same continuous manner that the vicissitudes I am about to relate, became known to me. Alas! 'tis a sad—sad tale, sir; but I am afraid that, bad as it is, it still is not the worst that might be told of human nature."

Frank Curtis seated himself opposite to the old man, who, after a short pause, commenced his narrative in the following words.

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CVII. A TALE OF SORROW

"It was about thirty years ago that a poor but respectable and kind-hearted tradesman, of the name of Craddock, came up from Plymouth to London to receive a hundred pounds which had fallen to him through the death of a relative of whom he had not heard for years until he received the lawyer's letter announcing his decease and the legacy. Craddock was a linen-draper in a very small way at Plymouth: and though industrious, temperate, and obliging, he never had succeeded in doing any thing better than earning a mere living. He was about forty-five years of age at the time of which I am speaking, and had long been married to a woman as generous-souled as himself. They were childless; and, in spite of their poverty, they often regretted that they had no offspring to become the object of their affection, and to comfort them when old age should overtake them. Indeed, it appears that they had seriously thought of adopting some poor person's child: but circumstances of various kinds had opposed this plan; and they at last ceased to converse upon it—endeavouring to render themselves as happy as they could in each other's society. And happy, for that matter, they were too; for the mutual attachment which linked their hearts together, was firmly established; and, as they advanced in years, they seemed to become so necessary to each other, that when Craddock received the lawyer's letter summoning him to London, it was with the greatest difficulty his wife would allow him to set out alone. He however succeeded in making her understand that a hundred pounds did not constitute an independent fortune,—that it was absolutely necessary to carry on the shop,—and that therefore she must remain at home to manage it. Accordingly, the worthy dame tarried at Plymouth, and her husband came up to London by the stage—at that period a journey of no inconsiderable importance.

"It was the first time Mr. Craddock had ever been in the metropolis: but he did not stay a moment longer than his business absolutely compelled him, which was four or five days. The lawyer with whom he had to transact his little affair, was a kind and conscientious man—for there are many good lawyers as well as bad ones;—and he hastened the business as much as possible. Accordingly, Mr. Craddock received his money in less than a week; and he instantly went to the Belle Sauvage on Ludgate Hill to take his place home again by the coach. There was only one inside-seat vacant by the stage that was to start in the evening; and Craddock secured it. He then returned to the little lodging where he had slept during his sojourn in London, and which was somewhere in the neighbourhood of Doctors' Commons. Having packed up his portmanteau, he shouldered it, and was wending his way to the Belle Sauvage, when his attention was drawn to a little boy who was sitting on a door-step in one of the narrow, secluded streets in that district. The child, who was very neatly dressed and about two years old, was crying bitterly. Craddock stopped and spoke kindly to him; and though the boy was too young to give any explanation of the cause of his grief, it was easy to divine that he had strayed from home, or been lost by a negligent servant. Two or three other persons stopped likewise; and some of the neighbours came out of their houses: but the boy was unknown to them. Craddock tried to console him; but the little fellow wept as if his heart would break. By accident the parish-beadle passed that way, and, on learning what was the matter, said, 'Oh! the best thing I can do, is to take the poor child to the workhouse.'—Now, the mere name of a workhouse was terrible to the ears of the kind-hearted Craddock; and, obeying the impulse of the moment, he exclaimed, 'No, no: not while I have a crust to give him, poor child!'—'Why don't you take him home with you, then?' demanded the beadle: 'the parish will be very glad to be quit of such a bargain as a lost child promises to be.'—'But I live at Plymouth,' returned honest John Craddock.—'Never mind if you live at the devil, so as you agree to take the child,' persisted the parochial authority.—'Well, I have not the least objection: on the contrary, I shall be delighted to do so,' said Craddock, his eyes filling with tears as the poor boy's grief became more heart-rending. 'I will give you my address; and if you hear any enquiries made by the parents of the child, you can let me know.'—'Very good,' exclaimed the beadle, as he received the card on which John Craddock's name, calling, and abode were printed in bold type. The worthy linen-draper then took up the boy in his arms, the beadle consenting to carry the portmanteau; and in this manner they proceeded to the Belle Sauvage, the kind looks, soothing tone, and fond caresses of Craddock having the effect of somewhat diminishing the little fellow's grief.

"The coach was just ready to start; and Craddock took his place, with the child upon his knees. The beadle renewed his promise to write in case he should hear any thing relative to the boy's parents; and the stage rolled out of the old inn yard. It was evening—the shops glared with light; and the scene, as well as the ride in the coach, amused the boy, so that his violent weeping ceased—but frequent sobs agitated his little chest, until at last he fell asleep in worthy John Craddock's arms. It was now for the first time that the linen-draper had leisure to reflect upon the step which he had taken; and it struck him that he had acted imprudently. He was taking away the child from the city to which he most probably belonged, and where he was alone likely to be found by his parents,—taking him away to a far distant town. But, on the other hand, he remembered the beadle's declaration that the lost child must be conveyed to the workhouse; and he likewise felt certain that should the little creature's parents make proper enquiries concerning their child, the parochial authority would know what explanation to give. Craddock therefore came to the conclusion that he had performed a Christian deed and an Englishman's duty; and, having thus set all scruples at rest, he began to reflect upon the pleasure which his wife would experience in receiving the foundling. For the child was a most interesting one—with curly flaxen hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a sweet complexion; and as he lay sleeping in Craddock's arms, and the lights of the shops in the outskirts of London, which the coach was then traversing, beamed through the window upon the boy's countenance, the worthy linen-draper thought that he had never seen a face so truly cherub-like. But tears came afresh into the worthy man's eyes—for he reflected that an afflicted father and a distracted mother might at that moment be calling upon heaven to restore them their lost child; and, as he bent down and kissed its cool and firm cheeks, on which the traces of weeping still remained, he murmured to himself, 'If thy parents never succeed in recovering thee, my boy, I will be as a father, and I know that my wife will be as a mother to thee!'—The other inside passengers admired the child greatly; but when honest John Craddock told them the story connected with his possession of the boy, they merely hem'd and coughed drily as if they thought him a very great fool for so burthening himself. Craddock understood what was passing in their minds; and he only hugged the child closer to his bosom.

"During the night, the little fellow frequently awoke, and cried for his papa and mamma; and the good linen-draper was indefatigable in his exertions to console and comfort him—uttering all possible kind things, and purchasing nice cakes for him at the way-side inns. Throughout the following day, too, Craddock was compelled to persevere in this affectionate and conciliatory treatment, which he, however, maintained with a good heart; and as the long, tedious journey of two hundred and sixteen miles drew towards a close, and evening was again drawing on, he had the satisfaction of observing that his little charge seemed to appreciate—or at least to understand his attentions. At last the coach entered the famous sea-port; and in a very short time Craddock was set down at his own door, the stage passing through the street in which he lived. You may suppose that his wife was greatly astonished when she perceived the present that the worthy linen-draper had brought her: but she was not many moments before she took the child in her arms, and covered it with kisses. Then how the kind-hearted dame wept when Craddock explained to her the manner in which he had become possessed of the boy; and as he spoke she pressed the little being all the closer and all the more fondly to her bosom. The social tea-table was spread, and the servant-girl was sent out to procure some cakes and other nice things for the boy; and then how he was petted and made much of—and how happy the good couple seemed when their attentions and caresses were rewarded with smiles!

"Several days passed, during which Craddock received no intelligence from the beadle who had promised to write to him in case of enquiries being instituted respecting the lost child:—weeks elapsed—and still no tidings! The idea—I had almost said the fear—which the worthy couple entertained that they might be compelled to part with the child just as they were getting fond of it, grew gradually fainter and fainter; and at length, when six months had passed and little Alexander (for so they called the boy) had grown not only reconciled to his condition, but appeared to have forgotten that it had ever been otherwise,—by the time six months had passed, I say, Mr. and Mrs. Craddock ceased to contemplate even the chance of being called upon to surrender their charge. Not but that those excellent people would have rejoiced, in one sense, to restore little Alexander to the arms of his parents; but in another sense they could not quench in their secret souls the fond hope that he might be left undisturbedly in their care. Thus time passed on: Craddock's business, which had only required a little capital to give it an impetus, exhibited every sign of improvement since the investment therein of the hundred pounds received in London; and Alexander throve apace.

"I shall now take a leap of twenty years, which brings us up to a date of only ten years ago; and at that time great alterations—but all for the better—had taken place in the circumstances of the Craddocks. Indeed, they had retired from business, having made a considerable fortune; and were settled in a handsome dwelling at a short distance from Plymouth—their native town. Craddock and his wife had, however, descended tolerably far into the vale of life, sixty-five winters having passed over their heads; but in Alexander—now a fine, tall, handsome young man of twenty-two—they had a source of real comfort and happiness. Though acquainted with the circumstance which had led to his adoption by Mr. and Mrs. Craddock, and, therefore, knowing well that they were not his real parents, his attachment to them was so great—his affection so sincere—and his gratitude so boundless, that he never once manifested any desire to quit them for the purpose of instituting enquiries relative to his birth. His constant and unwearied endeavour was to show himself deserving of all they had done for him,—the tender care they had taken of him in his infancy—the excellent education they had given him in his boyhood—and the affectionate consideration with which they treated him now that he was grown to man's estate; for in all respects did they regard him as their son, and in this light was he looked upon by their friends and dependants. In fact, nothing was wanting to complete the happiness of Alexander Craddock. He had become enamoured of a beautiful girl, the orphan daughter of an officer in the Navy, and who resided at Plymouth with an old aunt. Lucy Middleton had no fortune; but she possessed the invaluable treasures of amiability of disposition—a sweet temper—a kind heart—and those sterling qualities which fitted her for domesticity, and gave promise that she would prove an admirable housewife. Alexander loved her, and was loved in return; and his adopted parents gave their consent to the match. Accordingly, one fine Spring morning, when the heavens appeared as auspicious as the prospects of the youthful pair, the hands of Alexander Craddock and Lucy Middleton were united; and, after a six weeks' tour in Wales, they returned to Plymouth to take possession of a commodious and handsome dwelling, which the adopted father of the young man had furnished during their absence for their reception. A year passed away, at the expiration of which Lucy presented her husband with a lovely boy; but almost at the same time the family experienced a severe loss in the death of old Mr. Craddock, who was carried off in a moment by the lightning-stroke of apoplexy. Alexander was dreadfully grieved at this shocking occurrence—a feeling in which his excellent young wife largely shared; but they were compelled to restrain their sorrow as much as possible, in order to console the bereaved widow. Mrs. Craddock was, however, unable to bear up against this heavy affliction: the suddenness of its arrival and the awful manner in which her husband fell down dead at her feet, when as it were in the midst of a state of perfect health, gave her a shock which she never recovered. She was spirit-broken, and could not rally, in spite of the tender devotion and unwearied attentions shown her by Alexander and Lucy, as well as by the aunt of the latter. Thus was it that in less than six weeks from the sudden demise of Mr. Craddock, his affectionate relict was consigned to the same tomb which held his remains.

"When Alexander had so far recovered himself, after experiencing these cruel inroads upon his happiness, as to investigate the affairs of his late adopted parents, he found that he was left sole heir to the handsome fortune acquired by their honest industry: but, though the will and other papers were strictly correct and accurate in all points, he found that certain circumstances connected with his inheritance would compel him to repair to London, and probably retain him in the capital for some weeks. He was not sorry at the idea of quitting Plymouth for a time, his spirits having been deeply affected by the deaths of his adopted parents; and he found Lucy and her aunt, who now lived altogether with them, perfectly agreeable to shift their place of abode. It was accordingly about eight years ago that this family arrived in London, and took a house in a genteel but quiet neighbourhood. Alexander found his income, chiefly derived from funded property, to be seven hundred a-year; and on this he knew that he could live well, but not extravagantly. A natural curiosity—which was the more lively now that he had lost his adopted parents—prompted him to make certain enquiries in the district of Doctors' Commons, with the hope of solving the mystery of his birth. The only intelligence he gleaned, was, that the beadle who figured in the opening of the tale, had been dead just twenty-two years; and as Alexander was now twenty-four, he could calculate pretty accurately that the parochial authority alluded to must have been carried off by the hand of the destroyer within a few weeks, if not within even a very few days, from the date when he himself, as a young child, had fallen into the charge of Craddock. Beyond this fact Alexander could ascertain nothing at all calculated to assist in rolling away the veil of mystery which covered his parentage: none of the inhabitants in the street where Craddock had found him sitting on the door-step, remembered any thing of the loss of a child at the period named;—no tradition of the fact remained. Alexander felt somewhat disappointed with these unsuccessful results of his enquiries; but he possessed too many elements of happiness—too many substantial accessories to comfort and mental tranquillity—to remain long affected or dispirited by the apparent permanence of that mystery which enveloped his birth.

"Alexander was naturally of an active disposition, and abhorred a life of idleness. He had been married two years, and was the father of two children; and contemplating the probability of having a numerous offspring, he felt anxious to augment his worldly possessions. 'My adopted father,' he would reason with himself, 'carried on business until a late period of his life, and was happy in the occupation which it afforded him. Why should not I embark in some eligible and safe undertaking which will give me a few hours' employment every day and yield a profit at the same time?' The subject of his musings was communicated to his amiable wife and her aunt; and those ladies joyfully encouraged a spirit so praiseworthy and so indicative of steadiness and prudence. The matter had been under discussion one morning at the breakfast-table, when the daily newspaper was brought in; and an announcement, worded somewhat in this way, met Alexander's eyes:—'ELIGIBLE INVESTMENT.—Any gentleman having a few thousand pounds at his immediate disposal, and desirous to occupy a few leisure hours each day in a highly respectable and advantageous manner, is requested to apply to Edward Walkden, Solicitor, Bush Lane, Cannon Street.'—Alexander read this advertisement aloud; and the ladies agreed with him that the nature of it was tempting enough to prompt farther enquiry. Accordingly, the young man proceeded in the course of the morning to the address indicated, and found Mr. Walkden's establishment to be large and having every appearance of respectability as well as solidity. Half-a-dozen clerks were busily employed in the front office; and the shelves were covered with japanned tin cases, containing the papers of the most substantial clients. Upon being introduced into the lawyer's private office, Alexander found himself in the presence of a tall man, whose years were upwards of sixty, and whose countenance, once handsome, wore an expression of mingled mournfulness and severity. He was attired in a plain suit of black: his manners were cold and reserved; but there was a business-like air about him and his office, which augmented the good opinion already entertained by Alexander in respect to the lawyer and his establishment.

"Walkden was evidently a man of very few words; and therefore, when Alexander had explained the object of his visit, the information he sought was speedily given. 'I have a client,' said the lawyer, 'who has taken out a patent for a particular purpose; and he requires five or six thousand pounds to work it effectually. The person advancing the amount, will become an equal partner with the patentee, and will find a few hours of pleasant and agreeable occupation daily in superintending the commercial branch of the concern, while the patentee directs the manufacture of the article. There are the papers, sir: take them with you, and read them at your leisure.' Walkden handed the young man a bundle of documents tied round with red tape, and then bowed him out of the office. On his return home, Alexander examined the papers, and was highly delighted with the prospect which they opened to him. He felt convinced that an immense fortune was to be made: the thing was as clear as day-light! The patentee possessed the secret of effecting vast improvements in the manufacture of broad-cloths, which he undertook to produce not only of a superior quality, but likewise at a very reduced price. The calculations showed that large returns were certain to follow a comparatively small outlay, and that the business might be extended to a wonderful degree in proportion to the capital advanced to work upon. In a word, the whole affair was of the most roseate hue: Alexander, his wife, and her aunt were in raptures at the brilliant prospect thus fortunately opened to their contemplation; and it was resolved that he should lose no time in securing a share in so excellent an undertaking. Accordingly, on the following morning, he returned to Mr. Walkden, who received him with cold politeness, and requested his speedy decision in the matter—'as so promising a business had already attracted the notice of several capitalists, who were eager and willing to embark their funds.'—'And you will guarantee the respectability of your client, sir?' enquired Alexander.—'I have been established in this profession for upwards of thirty years, young man,' said the lawyer, almost sternly; 'and never have I allowed my office to be made the means of carrying out an illegitimate transaction. My client, Mr. Scudimore, is a man of integrity and honour; and whatever he promises, that will he perform!'—'In this case, Mr. Walkden,' observed Alexander Craddock, 'the sooner I have an interview with Mr. Scudimore, the better.'—The lawyer made no farther observation, but furnished his visitor with the address of the patentee; and Alexander accordingly repaired to Mr. Scudimore's dwelling, which was situated somewhere near Finsbury Square.

"Mr. Scudimore was an elderly person—very well dressed—plausible in his discourse, and over-polite in his manners. In fact, he seemed to be the very reverse of his solicitor in respect to disposition; for he received Alexander as if he had known him all his life; and the young man found himself sitting at lunch, and on the best possible terms with his new friend, almost before he had time to look round him. Then, if the affair which thus brought them together, had looked well upon paper, it assumed so glorious an aspect, when described in the glowing language of Mr. Scudimore, that Alexander Craddock, generous, frank, and confiding as he naturally was, came to a complete understanding with the patentee ere he took his departure. On the following day Scudimore dined at his house; and the ladies were quite charmed with their new acquaintance. Matters progressed rapidly through the business-like attention which Walkden devoted to the affair; and in less than a fortnight the deeds of partnership between Alexander Craddock and James Scudimore were duly signed at the lawyer's office, in Bush Lane, Cannon Street. Immediately afterwards, Alexander sold out six thousand pounds, which he paid into a bank to the joint account of Craddock and Scudimore; and in the course of a few days the latter gentleman took his departure for a manufacturing town, where he was to hire premises and establish a factory without delay, Alexander remaining in London to prepare a warehouse to receive the goods. For some months all appeared to go on to the complete satisfaction of both parties: Scudimore wrote up the most pleasing accounts from the country; and at last he informed his young partner that the factory was in perfect readiness to commence operations. It however appeared that more money was required; and Alexander, after an interview with Walkden, threw a farther sum of four thousand pounds into the business, all the funds being completely at the disposal of Scudimore. But almost immediately after the advance of this second sum, the letters from the provincial town ceased. Several weeks passed away: no communications were received from Scudimore;—and Mr. Walkden appeared to be as astonished as Alexander himself. A visit to the banker created a vague suspicion in the mind of the young man that all was not right;—for though Scudimore had drawn out the first amount by means of a number of successive cheques, he had received the whole of the second advance on one draught, and almost immediately after it had been paid in. A little farther enquiry convinced Alexander that Walkden had presented all the cheques for payment at the bank. Without, however losing a moment by calling on the lawyer for an explanation, Alexander proceeded post-haste to the provincial town where he expected to find Scudimore; and there all his fears were speedily confirmed. No premises had been hired by any such person—no factory established in such a name: but Mr. Scudimore had resided at an hotel in the place for several months, and had taken his departure, no one knew whither, at a date which, on calculation, Alexander found to be precisely four days after he had paid the second sum into the banker's hands. No doubt now remained in his mind that he was the dupe of a designing villain; and he was convinced that Walkden was an accomplice. To London he returned without delay; and, on his arrival, he repaired direct to the lawyer's office. That professional gentleman received him with his usual cold and reserved politeness, affecting not even to notice the excitement under which the young man was labouring.

"'Your friend Mr. Scudimore, sir, is a villain!' exclaimed Alexander.—'Such language is intolerable in my office, sir,' said Walkden, in his chilling, phlegmatic manner.—'Intolerable or not, it is the only language I can use under such circumstances,' cried the young man. 'Scudimore has absconded with the whole sum of ten thousand pounds which I advanced in this swindling concern; and it was through you and your representations, sir, that I have been thus cruelly deceived and basely plundered.'—'Softly, Mr. Craddock, if you please,' observed the lawyer; 'because your language conveys an imputation which I repel with scorn and contempt. My character is too well established to be injured by the calumny of an obscure stranger. You requested me to give you Mr. Scudimore's address in the first instance: I did so; and it was with him that you made all your arrangements. You then both came to me, informed me that every thing was settled between you, and employed me professionally to draw up certain deeds.'—'But you gave me the highest character of your friend Scudimore!' ejaculated Alexander.—'I spoke of him as I had always found him up to that hour when you questioned me,' said Walkden: 'but I never pretended to possess the power of prophesying that he would continue honest up to the day of his death!'—'Contemptible, vile sophistry!' exclaimed Alexander, his cheeks glowing with indignation. 'It is a base conspiracy to plunder me; and I will unmask you!'—'And supposing that I have incurred a chance of losing as much as yourself through this Mr. Scudimore?' said the lawyer, without losing his temper, but with a smile of malignant triumph on his lips.—'You lose by him!' cried Alexander, in a tone of bitter irony: 'you knew him too well to trust him.'—'At all events I may have somewhat calculated upon your joint responsibility,' observed Walkden, fixing his cold, grey eyes upon the young man whom these ominous words startled.—'What do you mean?' he demanded, his heart sinking within him.—'I mean,' answered Walkden, 'that I have discounted your acceptances to the amount of eight thousand pounds; that I have passed away those bills of exchange in the course of business; that when they fall due shortly, I shall be unable to take them up; and that the holder will therefore look to you for the payment of them?'—Alexander sank, speechless and powerless, into a seat as the whole scheme of villainy was thus fully developed to his horrified contemplation.—'As you were in partnership, and all the deeds establishing that partnership were drawn up in the regular way and strictly binding, Scudimore had not only a right to sign bills in your joint name,' proceeded the lawyer, 'but you cannot for an instant dispute your liability in respect to them.'—'Is it possible,' gasped Alexander, 'that I can have been so foolish and you so wicked? Oh! my poor wife—my beloved children, what will become of you, now that I am ruined by my own madness and this awful combination of villainies!'—'Mr. Craddock,' said Walkden, drawing himself up to his full height, while his iron features remained implacable and rigid, 'you must not allow your tongue a license in respect to me. Again I tell you that my character is too well established, and my reputation too substantially good, to be injured by false calumnies. Indeed, I am not at all clear that I have not some grounds to complain of conspiracy and villainy: for it certainly looks suspicious—most suspicious that your partner should obtain from me advances to the amount of eight thousand pounds, and then abscond. You would not come out of court with very clean hands, Mr. Craddock, I can tell you.'—'Wretch!' ejaculated the unhappy young man, now goaded to desperation: 'how dare you hint at any connivance on my part with the scoundrelism of your own friend—you who presented at the bank all the drafts for the money which I was insane enough to lodge there!'—'I certainly received several sums on behalf of Mr. Scudimore, to whom I duly remitted them,' said the lawyer, still in that cold, reserved tone which so much aggravated the rage of the ruined Craddock. 'But we will now put an end to this interview, sir,' he added; 'as my time is precious.'—'Yes, I will leave you, treacherous miscreant that you are!' exclaimed Alexander; and rushing into the clerks' office, he vociferated with mad excitement, 'Gentlemen, if you wish to behold the greatest villian on the face of the earth, go and look at your master!'—He then hurried away, the victim of a mingled rage and grief which it would be impossible to describe.

"But how could he face his dear wife—her affectionate aunt—his much-loved children? 'Ruined—totally ruined:' how awfully do these words sound upon the ears! A man, when alone in the world and with none dependent on him or his exertions, may murmur those words to himself with comparative calmness: but the individual who has a wife and children looking to him for every necessary of existence—ah! he indeed feels his heart seared as with red-hot iron when his lips, expressing the conviction which circumstances force on his startled mind, frame the frightful words, 'Ruined—totally ruined!' Miss Middleton (the aunt) and Lucy were already acquainted with the unpleasant nature of the suspicions which Scudimore's protracted silence had created in the mind of Alexander; and they were likewise aware of the object of his journey into the country. But they had yet to learn the fatal result of the enquiries which he had instituted; and it was still left for him to break to them the particulars of his interview with Walkden. On his return home, his anxiety and mental suffering were betrayed by his countenance,—for he was unskilled in the schools of duplicity, and knew not how to conceal a lacerated heart beneath a tranquil exterior. The ladies pressed him with questions: they saw that something dreadful had occurred—and they implored him not to keep them in suspense. He told them all,—told them how Scudimore had plundered him of ten thousand pounds—how he remained liable to Walkden for eight thousand more—and how the payment of this imminent liability would sweep away the whole of his fortune, leaving him a ruined man! Then, in that hour of bitter trial, he found how dear is woman as a 'ministering angel;'[50] and, having been comparatively soothed and tranquillised by the consolatory language of his Lucy and Miss Middleton, he proceeded to the office of his own solicitor, whom he resolved to consult relative to the posture of his affairs.

"The moment he had left the house, Lucy and Miss Middleton held a hasty council together. 'Do you think it would be imprudent or improper, my dear aunt,' asked the young wife, 'if I were to call upon this Mr. Walkden, and implore him not to press the payment of a debt which will deprive Alexander of all the resources that he might render available for the purpose of retrieving himself?'—'On the contrary, I approve of the step,' was the reply. 'Alexander says that Mr. Walkden was stern and severe; but then Alexander himself may have been hasty and indignant. After all, this Mr. Walkden has perhaps been duped, as well as your husband, by Scudimore.'—'I fear that this is not the case,' said Lucy: 'I am impressed with the conviction that the lawyer and Scudimore were in league together. Nevertheless, as we are entirely at Walkden's mercy, it would be unwise to irritate, but prudent to conciliate him.'—'Go, my dear child,' exclaimed the aunt; 'and may you succeed in softening the heart of this man who holds your dear husband in his iron grasp.'—Lucy accordingly attired herself in a simple and modest manner, and proceeded to the office of Mr. Walkden, who, happening to be disengaged at the time, immediately received her.

"'I have called, sir,' began Lucy, whose courage almost failed her when she found herself in the presence of a man of such stern, cold, and indeed forbidding aspect—for this was the first time she had ever seen him,—'I have called, sir,' she repeated, 'on behalf of my husband, whose ruin is certain unless you show him some degree of mercy.'—'Mr. Craddock behaved in a manner the most insulting, and dared to utter suspicions the must derogatory to my character, even in the presence of my clerks,' observed Walkden, in a tone so chilling that it seemed as if the breath which wafted those words to the young wife's ears, passed over the ice of the poles.—'But surely, sir,' urged Lucy, the tears trickling down her cheeks, 'you will make some allowances for the excited feelings of a young man just entering the world as it were, and so cruelly struck on its very threshold by the hand of misfortune? At least, sir, if not for his sake, I implore you for that of his innocent children to be lenient and merciful.'—'Law forms and ceremonies are not influenced by such considerations, madam,' said Mr. Walkden. 'At the same time, I have no objection to search the Commentaries; and if I there find leniency recommended in filing a declaration, or mercy enjoined in signing judgment, I have not the slightest objection to instruct my common-law clerk accordingly.'—Lucy stared at the attorney in wild bewilderment and uncertainty as he thus delivered himself in a measured tone of such frigidity that it seemed as if an automaton of ice were speaking; but at length she murmured, 'May I then hope, sir, that you will not press for the payment of this heavy debt when the bills become due?'—Walkden fixed his eyes upon the lovely and tearful countenance which was upturned so imploringly towards him; and at the instant he thought within himself that he had never before seen a female face of such surpassing beauty. Then his glance slowly and deliberately wandered from the faultless features to the contours of the well-formed bust, developed even by the plaits of the thick shawl which Lucy wore; and thence his survey was continued until his contemplation had embraced the wasp-like waist, and the flowing outlines of a symmetrical form, terminating in feet and ankles ravishingly modelled.—'You are doubtless much attached to your husband, madam?' he said, his tone becoming the least thing more tender—or rather losing one small degree of its cold severity.—'Attached to him, sir!' exclaimed Lucy, perfectly astonished at the question: 'I love—I worship him! He is the best of husbands and the best of fathers!'—'Then you would make any sacrifice to restore him to peace of mind?' said Walkden, his voice becoming more tender still, and his demeanour gradually unbending from its stiff formality.—'Oh! yes,' cried the artless Lucy; 'any sacrifice would I make to see my Alexander happy as he was wont to be!'—'Any sacrifice,' repeated the lawyer, now positively allowing his features to relax into a faint and significant smile, while his voice was lowered and changed into a tone of soft familiarity; 'consider what you say—any sacrifice! Well, then on that condition'—and he took her hand.—A light broke instantaneously upon the mind of Lucy; and, snatching back her hand as if from the maw of a wild beast, she started from her seat, uttered a cry of indignation and abhorrence, and disappeared from the office before the baffled and disconcerted lawyer had time to make an effort to detain her.

"Lucy's heart was still swelling with mingled resentment and anguish, when she reached her home; and Alexander who returned at the same time, saw in an instant that she was a prey to no ordinary emotions. Throwing herself into her husband's arms, Lucy burst into tears—her pent-up feelings no longer obeying the control of that restraint which she sought to impose upon them. Then, by dint of questioning, Alexander gleaned enough to convince him that his beloved wife had been flagrantly insulted by the villain who had already heaped such grievous wrongs upon his head. Maddened by this fresh injury, Alexander was about to rush from the house and inflict some dreadful chastisement upon the cold-blooded monster Walkden, when his wife and her aunt threw themselves at his feet, and implored him, with tears and impassioned entreaties, not to aggravate the perils and embarrassments of his position by involving himself in a quarrel with their enemy. Alexander was moved by the prayers of those whom he loved; and he faithfully promised them not to suffer his indignant feelings to master his prudence. When calmness and composure were somewhat restored, he proceeded to explain the result of the visit which he had just paid to his own solicitor. That gentleman had said to him, 'It is as clear as day-light that you are robbed by Walkden and Scudimore conjointly; but I really do not think that you could prove a conspiracy in a criminal court. I should, however, decidedly advise you to resist the payment of the bills; and, as Walkden is tolerably sure to push the matter on to trial, the verdict of a jury in the civil case will enable us to judge how far we may hope to punish the scoundrel attorney in another manner.' Alexander had accordingly placed himself entirely in his solicitor's hands; and there rested the business for the present.

"But a serious change took place in the disposition and habits of Alexander Craddock. Smarting under the wrongs which he had received, he grew restless and unsettled—experienced less delight than he was wont to feel in the society of his wife and children—showed signs of irritability, and an impatience of the slightest contradiction, however trivial—and remained longer over his wine after dinner. Lucy beheld all this, and wept in secret: but when with Alexander, she redoubled her attentions, and sought every possible opportunity of proving her devotion. She implored him to give up the house they then occupied, and adopt a more economical mode of life; but his answers were at first evasive—then impatient—and at last so sharp and angry, that she was compelled, though with reluctance, to abandon the topic, at least for the present. To add to Lucy's grief, her aunt, who had so long fulfilled towards her the duties of a mother, was attacked with sudden indisposition, which increased with alarming rapidity, and carried her off in the course of a few days. Alexander manifested far less sorrow than Lucy had expected him to have shown; and this proof of an augmenting callousness on his part, pierced the heart of the amiable young lady to the very quick. But scarcely had the remains of Miss Middleton been consigned to the tomb, when a fresh misfortune occurred to increase the irritability of Alexander. The bills for eight thousand pounds fell due, and were dishonoured by him, in accordance with the advice of his solicitor. He was immediately after arrested: and, as he had resolved to defend the action, he paid into court the whole sum in dispute, a proceeding whereby he could alone save himself from remaining in prison until the trial. He had, however, gone through the ordeal of a spunging-house, and he considered himself disgraced; the irritability of his temper increased—he daily grew more attached to the bottle—and his affections towards his wife and children were evidently blunted. Oh! how ramified and vast are the evil effects of the villainy of one man towards another,—striking not only the individual victim, but rebounding and reacting on his wife, his children, and his friends!

"Lucy again revived the expression of her wish that a cheaper dwelling should be taken and a more economical style of living adopted. But Alexander would not listen to the proposal. He declared his certainty of gaining the suit and of recovering his money from the court—a result, he said, which would enable him to employ his funds in some legitimate commercial enterprise. On this subject he spoke so confidently, that Lucy entertained the most sanguine hopes of beholding happiness restored beneath a roof where naught save happiness had once prevailed; and it was but with little apprehension that she marked the arrival of the day fixed for the trial. The most able counsel had been retained on both sides; and the cause excited immense interest. Walkden had been established for years, and bore an excellent character: indeed, none of his friends or clients could for a moment believe that he was an accomplice of the villain Scudimore. The whole question, as presented to the cognizance of the tribunal, was whether Mr. Walkden had given value for the bills, and was a bona fide holder of securities which he had legitimately and honourably discounted in the course of business. The evidence he adduced to establish these points was certainly of a nature likely to prove most convincing to a jury, though Alexander knew full well that Walkden had suborned the grossest perjury on the part of his clerks and the other persons whom he put forward as witnesses. Nevertheless, the verdict was in Walkden's favour; and Alexander returned home a prey to the liveliest grief and the most bitter resentment. Lucy did all that woman's goodness and ingenuity could suggest to console him; but the excitement of his feelings gained upon him with such overwhelming violence and rapidity, that he grew delirious, and a brain-fever supervened. The best medical advice was procured for him by the almost heart-broken Lucy; but weeks and weeks passed away without enabling the physicians to pronounce him beyond the reach of danger. During that period he had many lucid intervals, on which occasions he recognised his wife and children—embraced them tenderly—wept over them—implored heaven to bless them—and then, in the bitterness of overwhelming reminiscences, desired them to look upon him as one who was dead,—his excitement relapsing into delirium again. Poor Lucy! seldom was it that she reposed her aching head upon a pillow, throughout the period of her beloved husband's illness—and never until completely crushed with the fatigue of long vigils and the burthen of a grief beneath which she herself was sinking. At length—just as her pecuniary resources began to fail, and the want of funds excited alarms which augmented her afflictions—Alexander's malady took a sudden turn which filled her mind with the most joyous hope; and when the delirium had altogether passed away, his manner was so kind and gentle—his language so endearing and affectionate—and his temper so entirely devoid of irritability, that Lucy's heart became elate with the most cheering aspirations and delightful visions. Alexander spoke of his misfortunes with calmness and resignation; and said, 'Our property is all swept away, dearest; but I am young, and shall soon be strong and active again; and then I will work to obtain a livelihood for us all. And who knows, my beloved Lucy, but that the bread of honest though perhaps severe toil, may not prove the sweetest we shall have ever eaten?'—Then, when his wife heard him discourse in this manner, she would throw herself into his arms, and thank him—yes, thank him fervently for becoming a consoler in his turn.

"The fond pair had been conversing in this style one afternoon—the first day on which Alexander was enabled to walk down stairs to the parlour without assistance,—and their children were playing in a corner of the apartment, when the door was suddenly and violently opened, and two or three coarse-looking fellows unceremoniously made their appearance. Their mission was soon explained. The money paid into court had only just covered the amount of the bills of exchange which had formed the ground of action; and Alexander was now arrested by Walkden for the costs, which had been taxed at a hundred and odd pounds. The unfortunate young couple had not the money; and Lucy had already made away with their plate, jewellery, and other valuables in order to provide her husband with every comfort and luxury in his illness. The furniture was worth more than the amount of the costs: but arrears of rent were due to the landlord. Lucy implored the bailiffs, with tears in her eyes, not to remove Alexander for a few days, when he might have recovered the shock of this new and unforeseen blow; but they were inexorable, intimating pretty plainly that they were instructed to show no leniency of any kind. She, however, by dint of entreaties—actually going down upon her knees to the officers—succeeded in inducing them to wait while she repaired to his own solicitor. But this gentleman was unable to assist her to the amount she required: he nevertheless manifested the kindest and most respectful sympathy towards her, giving her a few guineas for immediate necessities, and promising to incur the expense of the measures necessary to enable her husband to remove next day from a lock-up house to the King's Bench. It was some consolation to the almost heart-broken young lady, to find that Alexander possessed at least one friend in the world; but even this faint and poor gleam of solace vanished, and gave way to the keenest apprehensions, when on her return she found her husband a prey to all that fearful excitement which had proved the forerunner of his late dangerous malady.

"What was to be done? There seemed but one alternative; and this she was determined, in her affectionate solicitude and zeal, to adopt without the knowledge of Alexander. Indeed, he scarcely appeared to be aware of what was going on; but raved, talked wildly, and menaced and wept by turns in the presence of the officers who surrounded him. Away sped Lucy to Bush Lane; and a second time did she enter the establishment of that individual who had brought such rapid—such signal—such unredeemable ruin on the heads of a once happy family. Walkden received her in his private office, and coldly desired her to be seated, a smile of infernal triumph relaxing his stern and usually rigid features; while his eyes scanned the wasted, but still touchingly beautiful and deeply interesting countenance of that afflicted young lady. Lucy was for some minutes so overcome by the intensity of her feelings, that she was unable to utter a word; and when she did speak, it was a mere gasping forth of disjointed sentences, broken by frequent sobs of convulsing agony. The lawyer bent over her, like Satan whispering to a desperate creature the terms on which wealth and power might be purchased,—bent over that crushed, much-enduring, and amiable young wife, and murmured in her ears his terms of mercy towards her husband. She rose and looked at him in amazement and horror. Was he a human being, or a veritable fiend? His cold, grey eyes sank not beneath the reproachful and indignant glance of that outraged lady; and a smile of demoniac triumph again played upon his lip. Doubtless he thought that her anger was only momentary, and that the sternness of necessity would force her to a compliance with his will. But he knew not the mind of Lucy. 'Villain! monster!' she exclaimed: 'has your infamy no bounds?' and she fled from the presence of the cold-blooded scoundrel as if the atmosphere which he breathed were fraught with the plague.

"With what a heavy heart did she return home—that home from which her husband must now be dragged immediately and before her eyes,—a home which, perhaps, would not long remain so for herself and children. But suddenly, and as if by divine inspiration, she remembered that all her courage was now required to enable her to bear up against her afflictions for the sake of Alexander—for the sake of her offspring;—and it is astonishing how, in the midst of the deepest sorrows, woman can ofttimes display an energy of which the stronger sex is altogether incapable. And so it now was with Lucy Craddock. She even succeeded in comforting her husband and soothing his excitement, by reminding him that the more he appeared to be crushed, the greater would be the delight of his savage and unrelenting enemy. This species of remonstrance, so kindly—so gently administered, had the desired effect; and Alexander, animated with a spirit of endurance, and fortified by the example of his admirable wife, rose if possible superior to his misfortunes, and proceeded with a feeling of proud resignation to the lock-up-house. Thence on the ensuing day he was removed to the King's Bench: and it was here that I first formed his acquaintance, when he entered the prison six years ago.

"Immediately after his arrival, his spirits gave way rapidly; and it was necessary for his wife to take up her abode with him altogether. She accordingly disposed of the furniture in their house, paid the landlord and the few other small creditors, and brought her children over to the small cheerless chamber in which her husband was lying on a bed of sickness. Thus was this once happy family—like so many, many others, reduced from a state of comfort, and even affluence, to poverty and a prison-room. Heaven only knows what misery—what privations they had undergone, when it was first whispered to me by a char-woman that the Craddocks seemed to be in great distress. I was then a little better off than I am now; and I immediately repaired to their room, inventing some excuse for my intrusion. Oh! what a scene of destitution—what a heart-rending spectacle met my eyes! The furniture which the Craddocks had hired, had been all removed away in consequence of their inability to pay for its use: Alexander, pale and emaciated, was sitting upon a trunk; the two children, thin and wasted, were crying for food; and the poor, heart-rent Lucy was looking over a few things in a hatbox, evidently with a view to select the most likely articles to be received by the pawnbroker—while her scalding tears fell fast upon her hands as she turned over the only relics left of a wardrobe once extensive and elegant. It went to my very soul to contemplate that scene! I shall not pause to explain all the particulars which rendered me intimate with the Craddocks: suffice it to say, that they accepted my assistance, and that in a few hours their chamber once again wore an aspect of such comfort as the restitution of the furniture and a well supplied table could possibly afford in a prison. I did not learn their history immediately—nor all its details at once: portions of it were communicated by degrees—some of the particulars oozed out incidentally—and the feelings and sentiments experienced by the sufferers in the various phases of their eventful tale, transpired from time to time,—until at length I gleaned all those facts which I have now related to you. But by far the most terrible portion of the history of the Craddocks is yet to come."

Prout paused for a few moments, and then enquired of Frank Curtis if he were wearied of the narrative. The young gentleman assured him that, so far from being tired of the story, he was deeply interested in its progress; whereupon the Chancery prisoner proceeded in the following manner.

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Footnote 50:

O woman in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made;— When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!

WALTER SCOTT.

And such is woman's love—the secret power That turns the darkest to the brightest hour; That smothes the wrinkles care has learned to plough, And wipes the trace of anguish from the brow! And Oh! if spite of war and wasting pain, Feelings so noble—so divine remain, Where were the brighter star to cheer our gloom, Make heaven of earth, and triumph o'er the tomb!

UNIVERSITY PRIZE POEM.

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