B Cornell University 
 E Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013567460 
 
^ 
 
 THE 
 
 Jxj)elriei)ee3 
 
 BY 
 WAKREN WARNER, Esq. 
 
 OS" THH Inner T2mpl3i. 
 
 ® 
 
 I • 
 • fc ■ -- 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 CORNISH, LAMPORT & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 No. 8, Park Place. 
 
 1862. 
 
^ If e f q c 6. 
 
 The series of tales contained in this volume, 
 as well as those entitled " The Confessions of 
 an Attorney," have been attributed to Samuel 
 Warren, Esq., author of the " Diary of a Phy- 
 sician," " Ten Thousand-a-year," &g. To say 
 nothing of the name given on the title page, 
 which is evidently a nomme de pl/u/me^ it must be 
 confessed that the internal evidence of their 
 having been written by Mr. "Warren, is strong, 
 and the fact that these tales, like those labove 
 named, first appeared in an Edinburgh Magazine, 
 corroborates the supposition. One thing, how- 
 ever is certain, the author of these " Experiences" 
 wields no common pen. It is believed that in 
 this form these tales will continue to enjoy the 
 popularity — a popularity almost unprecedented, 
 which has be^ awarded them, as they have 
 appeared at intervals in the Edinburgh Journal. 
 
 Stereotyped by Vikcekt Dili,, Jr., No. 29 Eeekmun Street. 
 
 «vr- 
 
^mm 
 
?^H I. 
 
 THE MARCH ASSIZE. 
 
 Something more than half a century ago, a person, in going 
 along jSoIborn. might have seen, near the corner of one of the 
 thoroughfares which diverge towards Russell Square, the re- 
 spectable-looking shop of a glover and haberdasher named 
 James Harvey, a man generally esteemed by his neighbors, and 
 who was usually considered well to do in the world . Like many 
 London tradesmen,, Harvey was originally from the country. 
 He had come up to town when a poor lad, to push his fortune, 
 and by dint of steadiness and civility, and a small property left 
 him by a distant relation, he had been able to get into business 
 on his own account, and to attain that most important element 
 of success in London — " a connection." Shortly after setting 
 up in the world, he -married a young woman from his native 
 town, to whom he had been engaged ever since his school-days ; 
 and at the time our narrative commences he was the father of 
 three children 
 
 James Harvey's establishment was one of the best frequented 
 of its class in the street. Tou could never pass without seeing 
 customers going in or out. There was evidfetly not a little 
 business going forward. But although, to all appearance, a 
 flourishing concern, "-the proprietor of the establishment was. 
 surprised to find that he was continually pinched in his circum- 
 
THE MARCH ASSIZE. 
 
 stances. No matter what was the amount of business transacted 
 over the counter, he never got any richer. 
 
 At the period referred to, shop-keeping had not attained that 
 degree of organization, with respect to counter-men and cashiers, 
 which now distinguishes the great houses of trade. The primi- 
 tive till was not yet superseded. This was the weak point in 
 Harvey's arrangements ; and not to make a needless number of 
 words about it, the poor man was regularly robbed by a shop- 
 man, whose dexterity in pitching a guinea into the drawer, so 
 as to make it jump, unseen, with a jerk into his hand, was 
 worthy of Herr Dobler, or any other master of the sublime art 
 of jugglery. 
 
 Good-natured and unsuspicious, perhaps also not sufficiently 
 vigilant, Harvey was long in discovering how he was pDlaged. 
 Cartwright, the name of the person who was preying on his 
 employer, was not a young man. He was between forty and 
 fifty years of age, and had been in various situations, where he 
 had always given satisfaction, except on the score of being some- 
 what gay and somewhat irritable. Privately, he was a man of 
 loose habits, and for years his extravagances had been paid for 
 by property clandestinely abstracted from his too-confiding 
 master. Slow to believe in the reality of such wickedness, 
 Mr.. Harvey could with difficulty entertain the suspicions which 
 began to dawn on his mind. At length all doubt was at an end. 
 He detected Cartwright in the very act of carrying off goods to 
 a considerable amount. The man was tried at the Old BaUey 
 for the ofienoe ; but tbrough a technical informality in the in- 
 dictment, acquitted. 
 
 Unable to find employment, and with a character gone, the 
 liberated thief became savage, revengeful, and desperate. In- 
 stead of imputing his fall to his own irregularities, he considered 
 
THE MARCH ASSIZE. 
 
 his late unfortunate employer as the cause of his ruin ; and now 
 he bent all the energies of his dark nature to destroy the repu- 
 tation of the man whom he had betrayed and plundered. Of 
 all the beings self-delivered to the rule of imscrupulous malig- 
 nity, with whom it has been my fate to come professionally in 
 contact, I never knew one so utterly fiendish as this discomfited 
 pUferer. Frenzied with his imaginary wrongs, he formed the 
 determination to labor, even if it were for years, to ruin his 
 victim. Nothing short of death should divert him from this the 
 darling object of his existence. 
 
 Animated by these diabolical passions, Cartwright proceeded 
 to his work. Harvey, he had too good reason to know, was in 
 debt to persons who had made him advances ; and by means of 
 artfully-concocted anonymous letters, evidently written by some 
 one conversant with the matters on which he wrote, he succeeded 
 in alarming-'the haberdasher's creditors. The consequences were 
 — demands of immediate payment, and, in spite of the debtor's 
 explanations and promises, writs, heavy law expenses, ruinous 
 sacrifices, and ultimate bankruptcy. It may seem almost too 
 marvelous for belief, but the story of this terrible revenge and 
 its consequences is no fiction. Every incident in my narrative 
 is true, and the whole may be found in hard outline in the 
 records of the courts with which a few years ago I was familiar. 
 
 The humiliated and distressed feelings of Harvey and his 
 family may be left to the imagination. When he found him- 
 self a ruined man, I dare say his mental sufferings were suffi- 
 ciently acute. Yet he did not sjt down in despair. To re- 
 establish himself in business in England appeared hopeless ; but 
 America presented itself as a scene where industry might find 
 a reward ; and by the kindness of some friends, he was enabled 
 to make preparations to emigrate with his wife and children. 
 
THE MARCH ASSIZE. 
 
 Towards the end of February he quitted London for one of the 
 great seaports, where he was to emhark for Boston., On ar- 
 riving there with his family, Mr. Harvey took up his abode at 
 a principal hotel. This, in a man 'of straitened means, was 
 doubtless imprudent ; but he afterwards attempted to explain 
 the circumstance by saying, that as the ship in which he had 
 engaged his passage was to sail on the day after his arrival, he 
 had preferred incurring a slight additional expense rather than 
 that his wife — ^who was now, with failing spirits, nursing an 
 infant — should be exposed to coarse associations and personal 
 discomfort. In the expectation, however, of being only one 
 night in the hotel, Harvey was unfortunately disappointed. 
 Ship-masters, especially those commanding emigrant vessels, 
 were then, as now, habitual promise-breakers ; and although 
 each succeeding sun was to light them on then- way, it was 
 fully a fortnight before the ship stood out to sea. By that 
 time a second and more dire reverse had occurred in the for- 
 tunes of the luckless Harvey. 
 
 Cartwright, whose appetite for vengeance was but whetted by 
 his first success, had never lost sight of the movements of his 
 victim ; and now he had foUowed him to the place of his em- 
 barkation, with an eager but undefined purpose of working him 
 some further and more deadly mischief. Stealthily he hovered 
 about the house which sheltered the unconscious object of his 
 malicious hate, plotting, as he afterwards confessed, the wildest 
 schemes for satiating his revenge. Several times he made ex- 
 cuses for calling at the hotel, in the hope of observing the nature 
 of the premises, taking care, however, to avoid being seen by 
 Mr. Harvey or his family. A fortnight passed away, and the 
 day of departure of the emigrants arrived without the slightest 
 opportunity occurring for the gratification of his purposes. The 
 
ARCH ASSIZE. 
 
 ship was leaving her berth ; most of the passengers were on 
 board ; Mrs. Harvey and the children, with nearly the whole 
 of the luggage, were already safely in the vessel ; Mr. Harvey 
 only remained on shore to purchase some trifling article, and to 
 . settle his bill at the hotel on removing his last trunk. Cart- 
 wright had tracked him all day ; he could not attack him in the 
 street ; and he finally followed him to the hotel, in order to 
 wreak his vengeance on him in his private apartment, of the 
 situation of which he had informed himself. 
 
 Harvey entered the hotel first, and before Cartwright came 
 up, he had gone down a passage into the bar to settle the bill 
 which he had incurred for the last two days. Not aware of this 
 circumstance, Cartwright, in the bustle which prevailed, went 
 up stairs to Mr. Harvey's bedroom and parlor, in neither of 
 which, to his surprise, did he find the occupant ; and he turned 
 away discomfited. Passing along towards the chief staircase, 
 he perceived a room of which the door was open, and that on 
 the table there lay a gold watch and appendages. Nobody was 
 in the apartment : the gentleman who occupied it had only a 
 few moments before gone to his bed-chamber for a brief space. 
 Quick as lightning a diabolical thought flashed through the brain 
 of the villain, who had been baffled in his original intentions. 
 He recollected that he had seen a trunk in Harvey's room, and 
 that the keys hung in the lock. An inconceivably short space 
 of time served for him to seize the watch, to deposit it at the 
 bottom of Harvey's trunk, and to quit the hotel by a back stair, 
 which led by a short cut to the harbor. The whole transaction 
 was done unperceived, and the wretch at least departed unno- 
 ticed. 
 
 Having finished his business at the bar, Mr. Harvey repaired 
 to his room, locked his trunk, which, being of a small and handy 
 
10 THE MARCH ASSIZE. 
 
 size, lie mounted on his shoulder, and proceeded to leave the 
 house by the back stair, in order to get as quickly as possible to 
 the vessel. Little recked he of the interruption which was to 
 be presented to his departure. He had got as far as the foot of 
 the stair with his bui-den, i^hen he was overtaken by a waiter, 
 who declared that he was going to leave the house clandestinely 
 without settling accounts. It is proper to mention that Mr. 
 Harvey had incurred the enmity of this particular waiter in 
 consequence of having, out of his slender resources, given him 
 too. small a gratuity on the occasion of paying a former bill, and 
 not aware of the second bill being settled, the waiter was rather 
 glad to have an opportunity of charging him with a fraudulent 
 design. In vain Mr. Harvey remonstrated, saying he had paid 
 for every thing. The waiter would not believe his statement, 
 and detained him " till he should hear better about it." 
 
 " Let me go, fellow ; I insist upon it," said Mr^ Harvey, 
 burning with indignation. " I am abeady too late." 
 
 " Not a step, till I ask master if accounts are squared." 
 
 At this moment, while the altercation was at the hottest, a 
 terrible ringing of bells was heard, and above stairs was a loud 
 noise of voices, and of feet running to and fro. A. chamber- 
 maid came hurriedly down the stair, exclaiming that some one 
 had stolen a gold watch from No. 17, and that nobody ought to 
 leave the house till it was found. The landlord also, moved by 
 the hurricane which had been raised, made his appearance at 
 the spot where Harvey was interrupted in his exit. 
 
 " What on earth is all this noise about, John .''" inquired the 
 landlord of the waiter. 
 
 " Why, sir, I thought it rather strange for any gentleman to 
 leave the house by the back way, carrying his own portmanteau, 
 and so I was making a little breeze about it, fearing he had not 
 
THE MARCH ASSIZE. 11 
 
 paid his bill, when all of a sudden SaUy rushes down the stair 
 and says as how No. 17 has missed his gold watch, and that no 
 one should quit the hotel." 
 
 No. 17, an old, dry-looking military gentlemen, in a particu- 
 larly high passion, now showed himself on the scene, uttering 
 terrible threats of legal proceedings against the house for the 
 loss he had sustained. 
 
 Harvey was stupified and indignant, yet he could hardly help 
 smiling at the pother. " What," said he, " have I to do with 
 all this ? I have paid for everything ; I am surely entitled to 
 go away if I like. Remember, that if I lose my passage to 
 Boston, you shall answer for it." 
 
 " I very much regret detaining you, sir," replied the keeper 
 of the hotel ; " but you hear there has been a robbery com- 
 mitted within the last few minutes, and as it will be proper to 
 search every one in the house, surely you, who are on the point 
 of departure, wiU have no objections to be searched first, and 
 then be at liberty to go .'" 
 
 There was something so perfectly reasonable in all this, that 
 Harvey stepped into an adjoining parlor, and threw open his 
 trunk for inspection, never doubting that his innocence would 
 be immediately manifest. 
 
 The waiter, whose mean rapacity had been the cause of the 
 detention, acted as examiner. He pulled one article after 
 another out of the trunk, and at length — horror of horrors ! 
 — held up the missing watch with a look of triumph and 
 scorn ! 
 
 " Who put that there .'" cried Harvey in an agony of mind 
 which can be better imagined than described. " Who has done 
 me this grievous wrong ? I know nothing as to how the watch 
 came into my trunk." 
 
12 THEMARCHASSIZE. 
 
 No one answered this appeal. All present stood for a moment 
 in gloomy silence. 
 
 " Sir," said tlie landlord to Harvey on recovering from his 
 surprise, " I am sorry for you. For the sake of a miserable 
 trifle, you have brought ruin and disgrace on yourself This is 
 a matter which concerns the honor of my house, and cannot stop 
 here. However much it is against my feelings, you must go 
 before a magistrate." 
 
 " By all means," added No. 17, with the importance of an 
 injured man. " A pretty thing that one's watch is not safe in a 
 house like this !" 
 
 " John, send Boots for a constable," said the landlord. 
 
 Harvey sat with his head leaning on his hand. A deadly 
 cold perspiration trickled down his brow. His heart swelled 
 and beat as if it would burst. "What should he do .' His 
 whole prospects were in an instant blighted. " Oh God ! do 
 not desert a frail and unhappy being : give me strength to face 
 this new and terrible misfortune," was a prayer he internally 
 uttered. A little revived, he started to his feet, and addressing 
 himself to the landlord, he said, " Take me to a magistrate in- 
 stantly, and let us have this diabolical plot unraveled. I court 
 inquiry into my character and conduct." 
 
 " It is no use saying any more about it," answered the land- 
 lord ; " here is Boots with a constable, and let us all go away 
 together to the nearest magistrate. Boots, carry that trunk. 
 John and Sally, you can follow us." 
 
 And so the party, trunk and all, under the constable as con- 
 ductor, adjourned to the house of a magistrate in an adjacent 
 street. There the matter seemed so clear a case of felony — 
 robbery in a dwelling-house — that Harvey, all protestations to 
 
THE MARCH ASSIZE. 13 
 
 the contrary, was fully committed for trial at the ensuing March 
 assizes, then but a few days distant. 
 
 At the period at which these incidents occurred, I was a 
 young man going on my first circuits. I had not as yet been 
 honored with perhaps more than three or four briefs, and these 
 only in cases so slightly productive of fees, that I was compelled 
 to study economy in my excursions. Instead of taking up my 
 
 residence at an ian when visiting , a considerable seaport, 
 
 where the court held its sittings, I dwelt in lodgings kept by a 
 widow lady, where, at a small expense, I could enjoy perfect 
 quietness, free from interruption. 
 
 On the evening after my arrival on th« March circuit of the 
 year 17 — , I was sitting in my lodgings perusing a new work on 
 crimiaal jurisprudence, when the landlady, after tapping at the 
 door, entered my room. 
 
 " I am sorry to trouble you, sir," said she ; " but a lady has 
 called to see you about a very distressing law case — very dis- 
 tressing indeed, and a very strange case it is too. Only, if you 
 could be so good as to see her .'" 
 
 " Who is she .?" 
 
 " All I know about it is this : she is a Mrs. Harvey. She 
 and her husband and children were to sail yesterday for Boston. 
 All were on board except the husband ; and he, on leaviog the 
 large hotel over the way, was taken up for a robbery. Word 
 was in the evening sent by the prisoner to his wife to come on 
 shore, with aU her children and the luggage ; and so she came 
 back in the pilot boat, and was in such a state of distress, that 
 my brother, who is on the preventive service, and saw her land, 
 took pity on her, and had her and her children and things taken 
 to a lodging on the quay. As my brother knows that we have 
 
14 THE MARCH ASSIZE 
 
 a London lawyer staying here, he has advised the poor woman 
 to come and consult you about the case." 
 
 " "Well, I'll see what can be done. Please desire the lady to 
 step in." 
 
 A lady was shortly shown in. She had been pretty, and was 
 so still, but anxiety was pictured in her pale countenance. Her 
 dress was plain, but not inelegant ; and altogether she had a neat 
 and engaging appearance. 
 
 " Be so good as to sit down," said I, bowing ; " and tell me 
 all you would like to say." 
 
 The poor woman burst into tears ; but afterwards recovering 
 herself, she told me pretty nearly the whole of her history and 
 that of her husband. 
 
 Lawyers have occasion to see so much duplicity, that I did 
 not aU at once give assent to the idea of Harvey being innocent 
 of the crime of which he stood charged. 
 
 " There is something perfectly inexplicable in the case," I 
 observed, " and it would require siftiog. Your husband, I hope 
 has always borne a good character :" 
 
 " Perfectly so. He was no doubt unfortunate in business ; 
 but he got his certificate on the first examination ; and there are 
 many who would testify to his uprightness." And here again 
 my client broke into tears, as if overwhelmed with her recollec- 
 tions and prospects. 
 
 " I think I recollect Mr. Harvey's shop," said I soothingly. 
 " It seemed a very respectable concern ; and we must see what 
 can be done. Keep up your spirits ; the only fear I have arises 
 
 from the fact of Judge A being on the bench. He is 
 
 usually considered severe, and if exculpatory evidence faU, your 
 husband may run the risk of being — transported." A word of 
 more terrific import, with which I was about to conclude, stuck 
 
THE MARCH ASSIZE. 15 
 
 imuttered in my throat. " Have you employed an attorney .?" 
 I added. 
 
 " No ; I have done nothing as yet, but apply to you, to beg 
 of you to be my husband's counsel." 
 
 "Well, that must be looked to. I shall speak to a local 
 agent, to prepare and work out the case ; and we shall all do 
 our utmost to get an acquittal. To-morrow I wiU caU on your 
 husband in prison." 
 
 Many thanks were offered by the unfortunate lady, and she 
 withdrew. 
 
 I am not going to inflict on the reader a detailed account of 
 this remarkable trial, which turned, as barristers would say, on 
 a beautiful point of circumstantial evidence. Along with the 
 attorney, a sharp enough person in his way, I examined various 
 parties at the hotel, and made myself acquainted with the nature 
 of the premises. The more we investigatedj however, the more 
 dark and mysterious — always supposing Harvey's innocence — did 
 the whole case appear. There was not one redeeming trait in 
 the affair, except Harvey's previous good character ; and good 
 character, by the law of England, goes for nothing in opposition 
 to facts proved to the satisfaction of" a jury. It was likewise 
 
 most unfortunate that A was to be the presiding judge. 
 
 This man possessed great forensic acquirements, and was of 
 spotless private character ; but, like the majority of lawyers of 
 that day — when it was no extraordinary thing to hang twenty 
 men in a morning at Newgate — ^he was a staunch stickler for the 
 gallows as the only effectual reformer and safeguard of the social 
 state. At this time he was but partially recovered from a long 
 and severe indisposition, and the traces of recent suffering were 
 distinctly apparent on his pale and passionless features. 
 Harvey was arraigned in due form ; the evidence was gone 
 
16, THE MARCH ASSIZE. 
 
 carefully through ; and everything, so far as I was concerned, 
 was done that man could do. But at the time to which I refer, 
 counsel was not allowed to address the court on behalf of the 
 prisoner — a practice since introduced from Scotland — and con- 
 sequently I was allowed no opportunity to draw the attention of 
 the jury to the total want of any direct evidence of the prisoner's 
 guilt. Harvey himself tried to point out the unlikelihood of his 
 being guilty ; but he was not a man gifted with dialectic quali- 
 ties, and his harangue fell pointless on the understandings of the 
 twelve common-place individuals who sat in the jury-box. The 
 judge finally proceeded to sum the evidence, and this he did 
 emphatically against the prisoner — dwelling with much force on 
 the suspicious circumstance of a needy man taking up his abode 
 at an expensive fashionable hotel ; his fiirtive descent from his 
 apartments by the back stairs ; the undoubted fact of the watch 
 being found in his trunk ; the improbability of any one putting 
 it there but himself ; and the extreme likelihood that the rob- 
 bery was effected in a few moments of time by the culprit, just 
 as he passed from the bar of the hotel to the room which he had 
 occupied. " If," said he to the jury, in concluding his address, 
 " you can, after all these circumstances, believe the prisoner to 
 be innocent of the crime laid to his charge, it is more than I can 
 do. The thing seems to me as clear as the sun at noonday. 
 The evidence, in short, is irresistible ; and if the just and neces- 
 sary provisions of the law are not enforced in such very plain 
 cases, then society will be dissolved, and security for property 
 there will be none. Gentlemen, retire and make up your 
 verdict." 
 
 The jm-y were not disposed to retire. After communing a 
 few minutes together, one of them stood up and delivered the 
 verdict : it was Guilty ! The judge assumed the crowning 
 
THE MARCH ASSIZE. 17 
 
 badge of the judicial potentate — the black cap ; and the clerk 
 of arraigns asked the prisoner at the bar, in the usual form, if 
 he had anything to urge why sentence of death should not be 
 passed upon him. 
 
 Poor Harvey ! I durst scarcely look at him. As the sonorous 
 words feU on his ear, he was grasping nervously with shaking 
 hands at the front of the dock. He appeared stunned, be- 
 wildered, as a man but half-awakened from a hideous dream 
 might be supposed to look. He had comprehended, though he 
 had scarcely heard, the verdict ; for on the instant, the voice 
 which but a few years before sang to him by the brook side, 
 was ringing through his brain, and he could recognize the little 
 pattering feet of his children, as, sobbing and clinging to their 
 shrieking mother's dress, she and they were hurried out of court. 
 The clerk, after a painful pause, repeated the solemn formula. 
 By a strong effort the doomed man mastered his agitation ; his 
 pale countenance lighted up with indignant fire, and firm and 
 self-possessed, he thus replied to the fearful interrogatory : — 
 
 " Much could I say in the name, not of mercy, but of justice,' 
 why the sentence about to be passed on me should not be pro- 
 nounced ; but nothing, alas ! that will avail me with you, pride- 
 blinded ministers of death. You fashion to yourselves — out of 
 your own vain conceits do you fashion — ^modes and instruments, 
 by the aid of which you fondly imagine to invest yourselves with 
 attributes which belong only to Omniscience ; and now I warn 
 you — and it is a voice from the tomb, in whose shadow I already 
 stand, which addresses you — that you are about to commit a 
 most cruel and deliberate murder." 
 
 He paused, and the jury looked into each other's eyes for the 
 courage they could not find in their own hearts. The voice of 
 conscience spoke, but was only for a few moments audible. The 
 
18 THE MARCH ASSIZE. 
 
 suggestions that what grave parKaments, learned judges, and all 
 classes of " respectability" sanctioned, eotdd not be wrong, much 
 less murderous or cruel, silenced the " still, sma.ll" tones, and 
 tranquilized the startled jurors. 
 
 " Prisoner at the bar," said the judge with his cold, calm 
 voice of destiny, " I cannot listen to such observations : you 
 have been found guilty of a heinous offence by a jury of your 
 countrymen after a patient trial. With that finding I need 
 scarcely say I entirely agree. I am as satisfied of your guQt as 
 if I had seen you commit the act with my own bodily eyes. The 
 circumstance of your being a person who, from habits and edu- 
 cation, should have been above committing so base a crime, only 
 aggravates your guUt. However, no matter who or what you 
 have been, you must expiate your offence on the scaffold. The 
 law has very properly, for the safety of society, decreed the pun- 
 ishment of death for such crimes : om- only and plain duty is to 
 execute that law." 
 
 The prisoner did not reply : he was leaning with his elbows 
 on the front of the dock, his bowed face covered with his out- 
 spread hands ; and the judge passed sentence of death in the 
 accustomed form. The-court then rose, and a turnkey placed 
 his hand upon the prisoner's arm, to lead him away. Suddenly 
 he uncovered his face, drew himself up to his full height — he 
 was a remarkably tall man — and glared fiercely round upon the 
 audience, like a wild animal at bay. " My lord," he cried, or 
 rather shouted, in an excited voice. The judge motioned im- 
 patiently to the jailor, and strong hands impelled the prisoner 
 from the front of the dock. Bursting from them, he again 
 sprang forward, and his arms outstretched, whilst his glittering 
 eye seemed to hold the judge spell-bound, exclaimed, " My 
 lord, before another month has passed away, you will appear at 
 
THE MARCH ASSIZE. 19 
 
 the bar of another world, to answer for the life, the innocent 
 life, which God bestowed upon me, but which you have im- 
 piously cast away as a thing of naught and scorn !" He ceased, 
 and was at once borne off. The court, in some confusion, hastily 
 departed. It was thought at the time that the judge's evidently 
 failing health had suggested the prophecy to the prisoner. It 
 only excited a few days' wonder, and was forgotten. 
 
 The position of a barrister in such circumstances is always 
 painful. I need hardly say that my own feelings were of a very 
 distressing kind. Conscious that if the unfortunate man really 
 was guilty, he was at least not deserving of capital punishment, 
 I exerted myself to procure a reprieve. In the first place I 
 waited privately on the judge ; but he would listen to no pro- 
 posal for a respite. Along with a number of individuals — 
 chiefly of the Society of Friends — ^I petitioned the crown for a 
 commutation of the sentence. But being unaccompanied with 
 a recommendation from the judge, the prayer of our petition 
 was of course disregarded : the law, it was said, must take its 
 course. How much cruelty has been exercised under shelter of 
 that remorseless expression ! 
 
 I would willingly pass over the succeeding events. Unable 
 to save his life, I endeavored to soothe the few remaining hours 
 of the doomed convict, and frequently visited him in the con- 
 demned cell. The more I saw of him, the deeper grew my 
 sympathy in" his case, which was that of no vulgar felon. " I 
 have been a most unfortunate man," said he one day to me. 
 " A destiny towards ruin in fortune and in life has pursued me. 
 I feel as if deserted by God and man ; yet I know, or at least 
 would persuade myself, that Heaven will one day vindicate my 
 innocence of this foul charge. To think of being hanged like a 
 dog for a crime at which my soul revolts ! Great is the crime 
 
20 THEMARCHASSIZE. 
 
 of those imbecile jurors and that false and hard-hearted judge, 
 who thus, by an irreversible decree, consign a fellow-mortal to 
 a death of violence and disgrace. Oh God, help me — help me 
 to sustain that bitter, bitter hour !" And then the poor man 
 would throw himself on his bed and weep. 
 
 But the parting with his wife and children. What pen can 
 describe that terrible interview ! They knelt in prayer, their 
 wo-begone countenances suffused in tears, and with hands clasped 
 convulsively together. The scene was too harrowing and sacred 
 for the eye of a stranger. I rushed from the cell, and buried 
 myself in my lodgings, whence I did not remove tUl all was 
 over. Next day James Harvey, a victim of circumstantial evi- 
 dence, and of a barbarous criminal code, perished on the scaffold 
 
 Three weeks afterwards, the court arrived at a populous city 
 in the west of England. It had in the interval visited another 
 assize town, and there Judge A had left three for execu- 
 tion. At the trials of these men, however, I had not attended. 
 So shocked had been my feelings with the mournful event which 
 
 had taken place at , that I had gone into Wales for the 
 
 sake of change of scene. After roaming about for a fortnight 
 amidst the wild solitudes of Caernarvonshire, I took the stage 
 for the city which I knew the court was to visit, and arrived on 
 the day previous to the opening of the assizes. 
 
 " Well, are we to have a heavy calendar .?" I inquired next 
 morning of a brother barrister on entering the court. 
 
 " Kather light for a March assize," replied the impatient 
 counsel as he bustled onward. " There's Cartwright's case-:- 
 highway robbery — in which I am for the prosecution. He'll 
 swing for it, and perhaps four or five others." 
 
 " A good hanging judge is A ," said the under-sheriff, 
 
MARCHASSIZE. 21 
 
 who at this moment joined us, rubbing his hands, as if pleased 
 with the prospect of a few executions. " No chance of the 
 prophecy yonder coining to pass I suppose ?" 
 
 " Not in the least," replied the bustling counsel. " He neyer 
 looked better. His illness has gone completely off. And thia 
 day's work will brighten him up." 
 
 Cartwright's trial came on. I had never seen the man before, 
 and was not aware that this was the same person whom Harvey 
 had incidentally told me he had discharged for theft ; the truth 
 being, thattUl the last moment of his existence, that unfortunate 
 man had not known how much he had been a sacrifice to this 
 wretch's malice. 
 
 The crime of which the villain now stood accused was that 
 of robbing a farmer of the paltry sum of eight shUlings, in the 
 neighborhood of Ilfracombe. He pleaded not guilty, but put 
 in no defence. A verdict was recorded against him, and in due 
 
 form A sentenced him to be hanged. An expression of 
 
 fiendish malignancy gleamed over the haggard features of the 
 felon as he asked leave to address a few words to the court. It 
 was granted. Leaning forward, and raising his heavy, scowling 
 eyes to the judge, he thus began : — " There is something on my 
 mind, my lord — a dreadful crime — ^which, as I am to die for the 
 eight shillings I took from the farmer, I may as well confess. 
 You may remember Harvey, my lord, whom you hanged the 
 other day at .'" 
 
 " What of him, fellow .?" replied the judge, his features sud- 
 denly flushing crimson. 
 
 " Why, my lord) only this — that he was as innocent of the 
 crime for which you hanged him as the child yet unborn ! I 
 did the deed ! I put the watch in his trunk !" And to the 
 unutterable horror of the entire court he related the whole par- 
 
22 THEMARCHASSIZE. 
 
 ticulars of the transaction, the origin of his grudge against 
 Harvey, and his delight on bringing him to the gallows. 
 
 " Inhuman, ezecrable villain !" gasped the judge in extreme 
 excitement. 
 
 " Cleverly done, though ! Was it not, my lord .'" rejoined 
 the ruffian with bitter irony. " The evidence, you know, was 
 irresistible ; the crime as clear as the sim at noonday ; and if, 
 in such plain cases, the just and necessary law was not enforced, 
 society would be dissolved, and there would be no security for 
 property ! These were your words, I think. How on that 
 occasion I admired your lordship's judgment and eloquence! 
 Society would be dissolved if an innocent man were not hanged ! 
 Ha ! — ^ha !— ha ! Capital ! — capital !" shouted the ferocious 
 felon with demoniac glee, as he marked the effect of his words 
 on the countenance of the judge. 
 
 "Remove the prisoner!" cried the sheriff. An officer was 
 about to do so ; but the judge motioned him to desist. His 
 lordship's features worked convulsively. He seemed striving to 
 speak, but the words would not come. 
 
 " I suppose, my lord,'? continued Cartwright in low and hissing 
 tones, as the shadow of unutterable despair grew and settled on 
 his face — " I suppose you know that his wife destroyed herself 
 The coroner's jury said she had fallen accidentally into the 
 water. I know better. She drowned herself under the agonies 
 of a broken heart ! I saw her corpse, with the dead baby in 
 its arms ; and then I felt, knew, that I was lost ! Lost, doomed 
 to everlasting perdition ! But, my lord," — and here the wretch 
 broke into a howl wild and terrific — " we shall go down together 
 — down to where your deserts are known. A — h — h ! that 
 pinches you, does it .? Hound of a judge ! legal murderer ! 
 coward ! I spurn and spit upon thee !" The rest of the ap- 
 
THE MARCH ASSIZE. 23 
 
 palling objurgation was inarticulate, as the monster, foaming and 
 sputtering, was dragged by an officer from the dock. 
 
 Judge A had fallen forwards on his face, fainting and 
 
 speechless with the violence of his emotions. The black cap 
 had dropped from his brow. His hands were stretched out 
 across the bench, and various members of the bar rushed to his 
 assistance. The court broke up in frightful commotion. 
 
 Two days afterwards the county paper had the following an- 
 nouncement : — 
 
 " Died at the Eoyal Hotel, — — , on the 27th instant, Judge 
 
 A , from an access of fever supervening upon a disorder 
 
 from which he had imperfectly recovered." 
 
 The prophecy was fulfilled ! 
 
2n^i U. 
 
 THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 
 
 About the commencement of the present century there stood, 
 near the centre of a rather extensive hamlet, not many miles 
 distant from a northern seaport town, a large, substantially -bmlt, 
 but somewhat straggling building, known as Craig Farm (popu- 
 larly Crook Farm) House. The farm consisted of about one 
 hundred acres of tolerable arable and meadow land ; and at the 
 time I have indicated, belonged to a farmer of the name of 
 Armstrong. He had purchased it about three years previously, 
 at a sale held in pursuance of a decree of the High Court of 
 Chancery, for the purpose of liquidating certain costs incurred 
 in the suit of Craig versus Craig, which the said high coui-t had 
 nursed so long and successfully, as to enable the solicitor to the 
 victorious claimant to incarcerate his triumphant client for sev- 
 eral years in the Fleet, in " satisfaction " of the charges of 
 victory remaining due after the proceeds of the sale of Craig 
 Farm had been deducted from the gross total. Farmer Arm- 
 strong was married, but childless ; his dame, like himself, was 
 a native of Devonshire. They bore the character of a plodding, 
 taciturn, morose-mannered couple : seldom leaving the farm 
 except to attend market, and rarely seen at church or chapel, 
 they naturally enough became objects of suspicion and dislike to 
 the prying, gossipping villagers, to whom mystery or reserve of 
 any kind was of course exceedingly annoying and unpleasant. 
 Soon after Armstrong was settled in his new purchase, 
 
THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 25 
 
 another stranger arrived, and took up his abode in the best 
 apartments of the house. The new-comer, a man of about 
 fifty years of age, and evidently, from his dress and gait, a 
 sea-faring person, was as reserved and unsocial as his landlord. 
 His name, or at least that which he chose to be known by, was 
 Wilson. He had one child, a daughter, about thu-teen years 
 of age, whom he placed a,t a boarding-school in the adjacent 
 town. He seldom saw her ; the intercourse between the father 
 and daughter being Jirincipally carried on through Mary Strug- 
 nell, a widow of about thirty years of age, and a native of the 
 place. She was engaged as a servant to Mr. Wilson, and seldom 
 left Craig Farm except on Sunday afternoons, when, if the 
 weather was at all favorable, she paid a visit to an aunt living in 
 the town ; there saw Miss Wilson ; and returned home usually 
 at half-past ten o'clock — later rather than earlier. Armstrong 
 was occasionally absent from his home for several days together, 
 on business, it was rumored, for WUson ; and on the Sunday in 
 the first week of January 1802, both he and his wife had been 
 away for upwards of a week, and were not yet returned. 
 
 About a quarter-past ten o'clock on that evening the early- 
 retiring inhabitants of the hamlet were roused from their 
 slumbers by a loud, continuous knocking at the front door of 
 Armstrong's house : louder and louder, more and more vehe- 
 ment and impatient, resounded the blows upon the stillness of 
 the night, till the soundest sleepers were awakened. Windows 
 were hastily thrown open, and presently numerous footsteps, 
 approached the scene of growing hubbub. The unwonted noise 
 was caused, it was found, by Farmer Armstrong, who accom- 
 panied by his wife, was thundering vehemently upon the door 
 with a heavy black-thorn stick. Still no answer was obtained. 
 Mrs. Strugnell, it was supposed, had not returned from town ; 
 
26 THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 
 
 but where was Mr. Wilson, who was almost always at home 
 both day and night .' Presently a lad called out that a white 
 sheet or cloth of some sort was hanging out of one of the back 
 windows. This announcement, confirming the vague apprehen- 
 sions which had begun to germinate in the wise heads of the 
 villagers, disposed them to adopt a more effectual mode of 
 obtaining admission than knocking seemed likely to prove. 
 Johnson, the constable of the parish, a man of great shrewd- 
 ness, at once proposed to break in the door. Armstrong, who, 
 as well as liis wife, was deadly pale, and trembling violently, 
 either with cold or agitation, hesitatingly consented, and crow- 
 bars being speedily procured, an entrance was forced, and in 
 rushed a score of excited men. Armstrong's wife, it was after- 
 wards remembered, caught hold of her husband's arm in a 
 hurried, frightened manner, whispered hastily in his ear, and 
 then both followed into the house. 
 
 " Now, farmer," cried Johnson, as soon as he had procm-ed a 
 light, " lead the way up stairs." 
 
 Armstrong, who appeared to have somewhat recovered from 
 his panic, darted at once up the staircase, followed by the whole 
 body of rustics. On reaching the landing-place, he knocked at 
 Mr, Wilson's bedroom door. No answer was returned. Arm- 
 strong seemed to hesitate, but the constable at once lifted the 
 latch ; they entered, and then a melancholy spectacle presented 
 itself. 
 
 Wilson, completely dressed, lay extended on the floor a life- 
 less corpse. He had been stabbed in two places in the breast 
 with some sharp-pointed instrument. Life was quite extinct. 
 The window was open. On farther inspection, several bundles 
 containing many of Wilson's valuables in jewelry and plate, 
 together with clothes, shirts, silk handkerchiefs, were found. 
 
THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 27 
 
 The wardrobe and a secretary-bureau had been forced open. 
 The assassins had, it seemed, been disturbed, and had hurried 
 off by the window without their plunder. A hat was also picked 
 up in the room, a shiny, black hat, much too small for the 
 deceased. The constable snatched it up, and attempted to clap 
 it on Armstrong's head, but it was not nearly large enough. 
 This, together with the bundles, dissipated a suspicion which had 
 been growing in Johnson's mind, and he roughly exclaimed, 
 " You need not look so soared, farmer ; it's not you : that's 
 quite clear." 
 
 To this remark neither Armstrong nor his wife answered a 
 syllable, but continued "to gaze at the corpse, the bundles, and 
 the broken locks, in bewildered terror and astonishment. Pres- 
 ently some one asked if any body had seen Mrs. Strugnell .' 
 
 The question roused Armstrong, and he said, " She is not 
 come home : her door is locked." 
 
 " How do you know that .'" cried the constable, turning 
 sharply round, and looking keenly in his face. " How do you 
 know that .'" 
 
 " Because — because," stamered Armstrong, " because she 
 always locks it when she goes out." 
 
 " Which is her room ?" 
 
 " The next to this." 
 
 They hastened out, and found the next door was fast. 
 
 " Are you there, Mrs. Strugnell.'" shouted Johnson, 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " She is never home till half-past ten o'clock on Sunday 
 evenings," remarked Armstrong in a calmer voice. 
 
 " The key is in the lock on tho inside," cried a young man 
 who had been striving to peep through the key-hole. 
 
 Armstrong, it was afterwards sworn, started as if he had been 
 
28 THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 
 
 shot ; and Us wife again clutched his arm with the same ner- 
 vous, frenzied gripe as before. 
 
 " Mrs. Strugnell, are you there .'" once more shouted the 
 constable. He was answered by a low moan. In an instant the 
 frail door was burst in, and Mrs. Strugnell was soon pulled out, 
 apparently more dead than alive, from underneath the bedstead, 
 where she, in speechless consternation, lay partially concealed. 
 Placing her in a chair, they soon succeeded — much more easUy, 
 indeed, than they anticipated — in restoring her to consciousness. 
 
 Nervously she glanced round the circle of eager faces that 
 environed her, till her eyes fell upon Armstrong and his wife, 
 when she gave a loud shriek, and muttering, " They, they are the 
 murderers !" swooned, or appeared to do so, again instantly. 
 
 The accused persons, in spite of their frenzied protestations 
 of innocence, were instantly seized and taken off to a place of 
 security ; Mrs. Strugnell was conveyed to a neighbor's close by ; 
 the house was carefully secured ; and the agitated and wonder- 
 ing villagers departed to their several homes, but not, I fancy, to 
 sleep any more for that night. 
 
 The deposition made by Mrs. Strugnell at the inquest on the 
 body was in substance as foUows : — 
 
 " On the afternoon in question she had, in accordance with 
 her usual custom, proceeded to town. She called on her aunt, 
 took tea with her, and afterwards went to the Independent 
 Chapel. After service, she called to see Miss Wilson, but was 
 informed that, in consequence of a severe cold, the young lady 
 was gone to bed. She then immediately proceeded homewards, 
 and consequently arrived at Craig Farm more than an hour 
 before her usual time. She let herself in with her latch key, 
 and proceeded to her bedroom. There was no light in Mr. 
 Wilson's chamber, but she could hear him moving about in it. 
 
THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 29 
 
 She was just about to go down stairs, having put away her Sun- 
 day bonnet and shawl, when she heard a noise, as of persons 
 entering by the back way, and walking gently across the kitchen 
 floor. Alarmed as to who it could be, Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong 
 not being expected home for several days, she gently closed her 
 door, and locked it. A few minutes after, she heard stealthy 
 steps ascending the creaking stairs, and presently her door was 
 tried, and a voice in a low hurried whisper said, " Mary, are you 
 there .-"' She was positive it was Mr. Armstrong's voice, but 
 was too terrified to answer. Then Mrs. Armstrong — she was 
 sure it was she^^aid also in a whisper, and as if addressing her 
 husband, "She is never back at this hour." A minute or so 
 after there was a tap at Mr. Wilson's door. She could not catch 
 what answer was made ; but by Arinstrong's reply, she gathered 
 that Mr. Wilson had lain down, and did not wish to be dis- 
 turbed. He was often in the habit of lying down with his 
 clothes on. Artnstrong said, " I wiU not disturb you, sir ; I'll 
 only just put this parcel on the table." There is no lock to 
 Mr. Wilson's door. Armstrong stepped into the room, and 
 almost immediately she heard a sound as of a violent blow, fol- 
 lowed by a deep groan and then all was still. She was paralyzed 
 with horror and afiright. After the lapse of a few seconds, a 
 voice — Mrs. Armstrong's undoubtedly — asked in a tremulous 
 tone if " all was over .?" ' Her husband answered " Yes : but 
 where be the keys of the writing-desk kept .'" "In the little 
 table-drawer," was the reply. Armstrong then came out of the 
 bedroom, and both went into Mr. Wilson's sitting apartment. 
 They soon returned, and crept stealthily along the passage to 
 their own bedroom on the same floor. They then went down 
 stairs to the kitchen. One of them — the woman, she had no 
 doubt — ^went out the back way, and heavy footsteps again as- 
 
30 THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 
 
 cended the stairs. Almost dead with fright, she then crawled 
 tinder the bedstead, and remembered no more till she found 
 herself surrounded by the TOlagers." 
 
 In confirmation of this statement, a large clasp-knife belong- 
 ing to Armstrong, and with which it was evident the murder had 
 been perpetrated, was found in one corner of Wilson's bedroom ; 
 and a mortgage deed, for one thousand pounds on Craig Farm, 
 the property of Wilson, and which Strugnell swore was always 
 kept in the writing-desk in the front room, was discovered in a 
 chest in the prisoner's sleeping apartment, together with nearly 
 one hundred and fifty pounds in gold, silver, and county bank- 
 notes, although it was known that Armstrong had but a fortnight 
 before declined a very advantageous offer of some cows he was 
 desirous of purchasing, under the plea of being short of cash. 
 Worse perhaps than all, a key of the back-door was found ia his 
 pocket, which not only confirmed Strugnell's evidence, but 
 clearly demonstrated that the knocking at the door for admit- 
 tance, which had roused and alarmed the hamlet, was a pure 
 subterfuge. The conclusion, therefore, almost universally arrived 
 at throughout the neighborhood was, that Armstrong and his 
 ■wife were the guilty parties ; and that the bundles, the broken 
 locks,, the sheet hanging out of the window, the shiny, black 
 hat, were, like the knocking, mere cunning devices to mislead 
 inquiry. 
 
 The case excited great interest in the county, and I esteemed 
 myself professionally fortunate in being selected to hold the 
 brief for the prosecution. I had satisfied myself, by a perusal 
 of the depositions, that there was no doubt of the prisoners' 
 guilt, and I determined that no effort on my part should be 
 spared to insure the accomplishment of the ends of justice. I 
 drew the indictment myself ; and in my opening address to the 
 
THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 31 
 
 jury, dwelt with all the force and eloquence of which I was 
 master, upon the henious nature of the crime, and the conclu- 
 siveness of the evidence by which it had been brought home to 
 the prisoners. 1 may here, by way of parenthesis, mention 
 that I resorted to a plan in my address to the jury which I have 
 seldom known to fail. It consisted in fixing my eyes and 
 addressing my language to each juror one after the other. In 
 this way each considers the address to be an appeal to his indi- 
 vidual intelligence, and responds to it by falling into the views 
 of the barrister. On this occasion the jury easily fell into the 
 trap. I could see that I had got tihem into the humor of put- 
 ting confidence in the evidence I had to produce. 
 
 The trial proceeded. The cause of the death was scientifi- 
 cally stated by two medical men. Nest followed the evidence 
 as to the finding of the knife in the bedroom of the deceased ; 
 the discovery of the mortgage deed, and the large* sum of money, 
 in the prisoners' sleeping apartment ; the finding the key of the 
 back-door in the male prisoner's pocket ; and his demeanor and 
 expressions on the night of the perpetration of the crime. In 
 his cross-examination of the constable, several facts perfectly 
 new to me were elicited by the very able counsel for the pris- 
 oners. Their attorney had judiciously maintained the strictest 
 secrecy as to the nature of the defence, so that it now took me 
 completely by surprise. The constable, in reply to questions by 
 counsel, stated that the pockets of the deceased were empty ; 
 that not only his pxirse, but a gold watch, chain, and seals, which 
 he usually wore, had vanished, and no trace of them had as yet 
 been discovered. Many other things were also missing. A 
 young man of the name of Pearee, apparently a sailor, had 
 been seen in the village once or twice in the company of Mary 
 Strugnell ; but he did not notice what sort of hat he generally 
 
32 THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 
 
 m ____^^^^____^___— 
 
 wore ; he had not seen Pearce since the night the crime was 
 committed ; had not sought for him. 
 
 Mary Strugnell was the next witness. She repeated her pre- 
 vious evidence with precision and apparent sincerity, and then 
 I abandoned her with a mixed feeling of anxiety and curiosity, 
 to the counsel for the defence. A subtle and able crossrexam- 
 ination of more than two hours' duration followed ; and at its 
 conclusion, I felt that the case for the prosecution was so dam- 
 aged, that a verdict of condemnation was, or ought to be, out 
 of the question. The salient points dwelt upon, and varied in 
 every possible way, in this long sifting, were these : — 
 
 " What was the reason she did not return in the evening in 
 question to her aunt's to supper as usual ?" 
 
 " She did not know, except that she wished to get home." 
 
 " Did she keep company with a man of the name of Pearce .'"' 
 
 " She had walked out with him once or twice." 
 
 " When was the last time .'" 
 
 " Shg did not remember." 
 
 " Did Pearce walk with her home on the night of the mur- 
 der .'" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Not part of the way .'" 
 
 " Yes ; part of the way." 
 
 " Did Pearce sometimes wear a black, shiny hat .'" 
 
 " No — yes : she did not remember." 
 
 " Where was Pearce now .'" 
 
 " She didn't know." 
 
 " Had he disappeared since that Sunday evening .'" 
 
 " She didn't know." 
 
 " Had she seen him since .'" 
 
 " No." 
 
THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 33 
 
 " Had Mr. Wilson ever threatened to discharge her for inso- 
 lence to Mrs. Armstrong .'" 
 
 " Yea ; but she knew he was not in earnest." 
 
 " Was not the clasp-knife that had been found always left in 
 the kitchen for culinary purposes ?" 
 
 " No — ^not always ; generally — but not this time that Arm- 
 strong went away, she was sure." 
 
 " Mary Strugnell, you be a false-sworn woman before Grod 
 and man !" interrupted the male prisoner with great violence of 
 manner. 
 
 The outbreak of the prisoner was checked and rebuked by 
 the judge, and the cross-examination soon afterwards closed. 
 Had the counsel been allowed to follow up his advantage by an 
 address to ihe jury, he would, I doubt not, spite of their preju- 
 dices against the prisoners, have obtained an acquittal ; but as 
 it was, after a neutral sort of charge from the judge, by no 
 means the ablest that then adorned the bench, the jurors, hav- 
 ing deliberated for something more than half an hour, returned 
 into court with a verdict of " guilty " against both prisoners, 
 accompanying it, however, with a strong recommendation to 
 mercy ! 
 
 " Mercy !" said the judge. " What for .? On what ground .?" 
 
 The jurors stared at each other and at the judge : they 
 had no reason to give ! The fact was, their conviction of the 
 prisoners' guilt had been very much shaken by the cross- 
 examination of the chief witness for the prosecution, and this 
 recommendation was a compromise which conscience made with 
 doubt. I have known many such instances. 
 
 The usual-ridiculous formality of asking the wretched convicts 
 what they had to urge why sentence should not be passed upon 
 them was gone through ; the judge, with unmoved feelings, put 
 
34 THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 
 
 on the fatal cap ; and tlien a new and startling light burst upon 
 the mysterious, bewildering aiFair. 
 
 "Stop, my lord!" exclaimed Armstrong with rough vehe- 
 mence. "Hear me speak! I'll tell ye all about it; I will 
 . indeed, my lord. Quiet, Martha, I tell ye. It's I, my lord, 
 that's guilty, not the woman. God bless ye, my lord ; not the 
 wife ! Doant hurt the wife, and I'se teU ye all about it. I 
 alone am guilty ; not, the Lord be praised, of murder, but of 
 robbery !" 
 
 "John! — John!" sobbed the wife, clinging passionately to 
 her husband, "let us die together !" 
 
 " Quiet, Martha, I tell ye ! Yes, my lord, I'se tell ye all 
 about it. I was gone a,way, wife and I, for more nor a week, to 
 receiye money for Mr. Wilson, on account of smuggled goods — 
 that money, my lord, aa was found in the chest. When we 
 came home on that dreadful Sunday night, my lord, we went in 
 the back way ; and hearing a noise, I went up stairs, and found 
 poor Wilson stone-dead on the floor. I were dreadful skeared, 
 and let drop the candle. I called to wife, and told her of it. 
 She screamed out, and amaist feinted away. And then, my 
 lord, all at once the devil shot into my head to keep the money 
 I had brought ; and knowing as the keys of the desk where the 
 mortgage writing was kept was in the bedroom, I crept back, as 
 that false-hearted woman said, got the keys, and took the deed ; 
 and then I persuaded wife, who had been trembling in the 
 kitchen all the while, that we had better go out quiet again, as 
 there was nobody in the house but us : I had tried that woman's 
 door — and we might perhaps be taken for the murderers. And 
 so we did ; and that's the downright, honest truth, my lord. 
 I'm rightly served ; but Grod bless you, doant hurt the woman — 
 my wife, my lord, these thirty years. Five-and-twenty years 
 
THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 35 
 
 ago come May, which I shall never see, we buried our two 
 children. Had they lived, I might have been a better man ; 
 but the place they left empty was soon filled up by love of 
 cursed lucre, and that has brought me here. I deserve it ; but 
 oh, mercy, my lord ! mercy, good gentlemen!'* — turning from 
 the stony features of the judge to the jury, as if they could 
 help him—" not for me, but the wife. She be as innocent of 
 this as a new-born babe. It's I ! I ! scoundrel that I be, that 
 has brought thee, Martha, to this shameful pass!" The rug- 
 ged man snatched his life-companion to his breast with passion- 
 ate emotion, and tears of remorse and agony streamed down his 
 rough cheeks. 
 
 I was deeply affected, and felt that the man had uttered the 
 whole truth. It was evidently one of those cases in which a 
 person liable to suspicion damages his own cause by resorting to 
 a trick. No doubt, by his act of theft, Armstrong had been 
 driven to an expedient which would not have been adopted by 
 a person perfectly innocent. And thus, from one thing to 
 another, the charge of murder had been fixed upon him a,nd his 
 hapless wife. When his confession had been uttered, I felt a 
 species of self-accusation in having contributed to his destruc- 
 tion, and gladly would I have undone the whole day's proceed- 
 ings. The judge, on the contrary, was quite undisturbed. 
 Viewing the harangue of Armstrong as a mere tissue of falser 
 hood, he cooly pronounced sentence of death on the prisoners. 
 They were to be. hanged on Monday. This was Friday. 
 
 " A bad job !" whispered the counsel for the defence as he 
 passed me. " That witness of yours, the woman Strugnell, is 
 the real culprit." 
 
 I tasted no dinner that day : I was sick at heart ; for I felt 
 as if the blood of two fellow-creatures was on my hands. In 
 
36 THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 
 
 tlie evening I sallied forth to the judge's lodgings. He listened 
 to all I had to say ; hut was quite impertuhahle. The obstinate 
 old man was satisfied that the sentence was as it should be. I 
 returned to my inn in a fever of despau-. Without the approval 
 of the judge, I knew that an application to the Secretary of State 
 was futile. There was not even time to send to London, unless 
 the judge had granted a respite. 
 
 All Saturday and Sunday I was in misery. I denounced 
 capital punishment as a gross iniquity — a national sin and dis- 
 grace ; my feelings of course being influenced somewhat by a 
 recollection of that unhappy affair of Harvey, noticed in my 
 previous paper. I half resolved to give up the bar, and rather 
 go and sweep the streets for a livelihood, than run the risk of 
 getting poor people hanged who did not deserve it. 
 
 On the Monday morning I was pacing up and down my break- 
 fast-room in the next assize town, in a -state of great excitement, 
 when a chaise-and-four drove rapidly up to the hotel, and out 
 tumbled Johnson the constable. His tale was soon told. On 
 the previous evening, the landlady of the Black Swan, a road- 
 side public-house about four miles distant from the scene of the 
 murder, reading the name of Pearce in the report of the trial 
 in the Sunday county paper, sent for Johnston to state that that 
 person had on the fatal evening called and left a portmanteau 
 in her charge, promising to call for it in an hour, but had never 
 been there since. On opening the pormanteau, Wilson's watch, 
 chains, and seals, and other property, were discovered in it ; 
 and Johnson had, as soon as it was possible, set off in search of 
 me. Instantly, for there was not a moment to spare, I, in com- 
 pany with Armstrong's counsel, sought the judge, and with some 
 difficulty obtained from him a formal order to the sheriff to sus- 
 pend the execution till further orders. Off I and the constable 
 
THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 37 
 
 started, and happily arrived in time to stay the execution, and 
 deprive the already-assembled mob of the brutal exhibition they 
 so anxiously awaited. On inquiring for Mary StrugneU, we 
 found that she -had absconded on the evening of the trial. All 
 search for her proved vain. 
 
 Five months had passed away ; the fg,te of Armstroi;ig and 
 his wife was still undecided, when a message was brought to my 
 chambers in the Temple from a woman said to be dying in St. 
 Bartholomew's Hospital. It was Mary StrugneU ; who, when 
 in a state of intoxication, had fallen down in front of a carriage, 
 as she was crossing near Holborn Hill, and had both her legs 
 broken. She was dying miserably, and had sent for me to make 
 a full confession relative to Wilson's miirder. Armstrong's ac- 
 count was perfectly correct. The deed was committed by 
 Pearce, and they were packing up their plunder when they 
 were startled by the unexpected return of the Armstrongs. 
 Pearce, snatching up a bundle and a portmanteau, escaped by 
 the window ; she had not nerve enough to attempt it, and 
 crawled back to her bedroom, where she, watching the doings 
 of the farmer through the chinks of the partition which sepa- 
 rated her room from the passage, concocted the story which 
 convicted the prisoners. Pearce thinking himself pursued, too 
 heavily encumbered for rapid flight, left the portmanteau as 
 described, intending to call for it in the morning, if his fears 
 proved groundless. He, however, had not courage to risk calling 
 .again, and made the best of his way to London. He was now 
 in Newgate under sentence of death for a burglary, accompanied 
 by personal violence to the inmates of the dwelling he and his 
 gang had entered and robbed. I took care to have the deposi- 
 tion of the dying wretch put into proper form ; and the result 
 was, after a great deal of petitioning and worrying of authori- 
 
38 THE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 
 
 ties, a full pardon for both Armstrong and his wife. They sold 
 Craig Farm, and removed to some other part of the country, 
 where, I never troubled myself to inquire. Deeply grateful 
 was I to be able at last to wash my hands of an aflFair, which 
 had cost me so much anxiety and vexation ; albeit the lesson 
 it afibrded me of not coming hastily to conclusions, even when 
 the truth seems, as it were, upon the surface of the matter, has 
 not been, I trust, without its uses. 
 
THE CONTESTED MAKRIAGE. 
 
 I HAD just escaped to my chambers one "winter afternoon from 
 a heUvy trial " at bar" in tie King's Bench, Westminster, and 
 was poring over a case upon which an " opinion" was urgently 
 solicited, when my clerk entered with a letter which he had been 
 requested to deliver by a lady, who had called twice before 
 during the day for the purpose of seeing me. Texed at the 
 interruption, I almost snatched the letter from the man's hand, 
 hastily broke the seal, and to my great surprise found it was 
 from my excellent old friend Sir Jasper Thornely of Thomely 
 HaU, Lancashire. It ran as follows : — 
 
 " My Dear , The bearer of this note is a lady whom I 
 
 am desirous of serving to the utmost extent of my abiUty. 
 That she is really the widow she represents, herself to be, and 
 her son consequently heir to the magnificent estates now in 
 possession of the Emsdales — you remember how they tripped 
 up my heels at the last election for the borough of — — ! — I 
 have no moral doubt whatever ; but whether her claim can be 
 legally established is another affair. She will tell you the story 
 herself. It was a heartless business ; but Sir Harry, who, you 
 have no doubt heard, broke his neck in a steeple-chase about 
 ten months ago, was a sad wild dog. My advice is, to look out 
 for a sharp, clever, persevering attorney, and set him upon a 
 hunt for evidence. If he succeed, I undertake to pay him a 
 
40 THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 
 
 thousand pounds over and above his legal costs. He'U nose it 
 out for that, I should think ! — Yours, truly, 
 
 Jasper Thornely. 
 " P. S. — Emsdale's son, I have just heard — confound their 
 impudence ! — intends, upon the strength of this accession of 
 
 property, to stand for the county against my old friend , at 
 
 the dissolution, yrhioh cannot now be far off. If you don't think 
 one thousand pounds . enough, I'll double it. A cruelly, iU- 
 used lady ! and as to her son, he's the very image of the. late 
 Sir Harry Compton. In haste — J. T. I re-open the letter to 
 enclose a cheque for a hundred pounds, which you will pay the 
 attorney on account. They'll die hard, you may be sure. If it 
 could come off next assizes, we should spoU them for the county 
 —J. T." 
 
 " Assizes" — " county" — " Sir Harry Compton," I involun- 
 tarily murmured, as I finished the perusal of my old friend's 
 incoherent epistle. " What on earth can the eccentric old fox- 
 hunter mean .'" " ShoW the lady in,"' I added in a louder 
 tone to the clerk. She presently appeared, accompanied by a 
 remarkably handsome boy about six years of age, both attired 
 in deep mourning. The lady approached with a timid, furtive 
 step and glance, as if she were entering the den of some grim 
 ogre, rather than the quiet study of a civilized lawyer of mature 
 age. I was at once struck by her singular and touching loveli- 
 ness. I have never seen a woman that so completely realized 
 the highest Madonna type of youthful, matronly beauty — its 
 starlight radiance and mild serenity of sorrow. Her voice, too, 
 gentle and low, had a tone of patient sadness in it strangely 
 affecting. She was evidently a person, if not of high birth, of 
 refined manners and cultivated mind ; and I soon ceased to 
 
THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 41 
 
 wonder at warm-hearted old Sir Jasper's enthusiasm in her 
 cause. Habitually, however, on my guard against first impres- 
 sions, I courteously, but coldly, iuvited her first to a seat, and 
 next to a more intelligible relation of her business with me than 
 could be gathered from the letter of which she was the bearer. 
 She complied, and I was soon in possession of the following 
 facts and fancies : — 
 
 Violet Dalston and her sister Emily had lived for several 
 years in close and somewhat straitened retirement with their 
 father, Captain Dalston, at Kook Cottage, on the outskirts of a 
 village about six miles distant from Leeds, when Captain Dab- 
 ton, who was an enthusiastic angler, introduced to his home a 
 gentleman about twenty-five years of age, of handsome exterior 
 and gentlemanly manners, with whom congeniality of tastes and 
 pursuits had made him acquainted. This stranger was intro- 
 duced to Violet (my interesting client) and her sister, as a Mr. 
 Henry Grrainger, the son of a London merchant. The object 
 of his wanderings through the English counties was, he «aid, to 
 recruit his health, which had become affected by too close ap- 
 plication to business, and to gratify his taste for angling, 
 sketching, and so on. He became a frequent visitor ; and the 
 result, after the lapse of about three months, was a proposal for 
 the hand of Violet. His father allowed him, he stated, five 
 hundred pounds per annum ;'but in order not to mortally offend 
 the old gentleman, who was determined, if his son married at 
 all, it should be either to rank or riches, it would be necessary 
 to conceal the marriage till after his death. This commonplace 
 story had been, it appeared, implicitly credited by Captain 
 Dalston ; and Violet Dalston and Henry Grrainger were united 
 in holy wedlock — ^not at the village church near where Captain 
 Dalston resided, but in one of the Leeds churches. The wit- 
 
42 THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 
 
 nesses were the bride's father and sister, and a Mr. Bilston, a 
 neighbor. This marriage had taken place rather more than 
 seven years since, and its sole fruit was the fine-looking boy who 
 accompanied his mother to my office. Mr. Grainger, soon after 
 the marriage, persuaded the Dalstons to leave Rock Cottage, 
 and take up their abode in a picturesque village in Cumberland, 
 where he had purchased a small hoiise, with some garden and 
 ornamental grounds attached. 
 
 Five years rolled away — not, as I could discern, too happUy 
 — ^when the very frequent absences of Violet's husband in 
 London, as he alleged (all her letters to him were directed to 
 the post-office, St. Martin's le Grand — tUl called for), were 
 suddenly greatly prolonged ; and on his return home, after an 
 absence of more than three months, he abruptly informed the 
 family that the affairs of his father, who was dying, had been 
 found to be greatly embarrassed, and that nothing was left for 
 him and them but emigration to America, with such means as 
 might be saved from the wreck of the elder Grainger's property. 
 After much lamentation and opposition on the part of Emily 
 Dalston and her father, it was finally conceded as Violet's 
 husband wished ; and the emigration was to have taken place in 
 the following spring, Henry Grainger to follow them the instant 
 he could wind up his father's affairs. About three months 
 before their intended departure — this very time twelvemonth, 
 as nearly as may be — Captain Dalston was suddenly called to 
 London, to close the eyes of an only sister. This sad duty ful- 
 filled, he was about to return, when, passing towards dusk down 
 St. James Street, he saw Henry Grainger, habited in a remark- 
 able sporting-dress, standing with several other gentlemen at the 
 door of one of the club-houses. Hastening across the street to 
 accost him, he was arrested for a minute or so by a line of car- 
 
THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 43 
 
 riages which turned sharply out of Piccadilly ; and when he did 
 reach the other side, young Mr. Grrainger and his companions 
 had vanished. He inquired of the porter, and was assured that 
 no Mr. Grainger, senior or junior, was known there. Persisting 
 that he had seen him standing within the doorway, and describ- 
 ing his dress, the man with an insolent laugh exclaimed that the 
 gentleman w'ho wore that dress was the famous sporting baronet. 
 Sir Harry Compton ! 
 
 Bewildered, and suspecting he hardly knew what. Captain 
 Dalston, in defiance of young Grrainger's oft-iterated injunctions, 
 determined to call at his father's residence, which he had always 
 understood to be in Leadenhall Street. No such name was, 
 however, known there ; and an examination, to which he was 
 advised, of the " Commercial Directory" failed to discover the 
 whereabout of the pretended London merchant. Heart-sick and 
 spirit-wearied. Captain Dalston returned home only to die. A 
 violent cold, caught by imprudently riding in such bitter 
 weather as it then was, on the outside of the coach, aggravated 
 by distress of mind, brought his abeady enfeebled frame to the 
 grave in less than two months after his arrival in Cumberland. 
 He left his daughters utterly unprovided for, except by the legal 
 claim which the eldest possessed on a man who, he feared, would 
 turn out to be a worthless impostor. The penalty he paid for 
 consenting to so imprudent a marriage was indeed a heavy and 
 bitter one. Months passed away, and still no tidings of Violet's 
 husband reached the sisters' sad and solitary home. At length, 
 stimulated by apprehensions of approaching destitution — ^whose 
 foot was already on the threshold — and desirous of gratifying a 
 whim of Emily's, Violet consented to visit the neighborhood of 
 Compton Castle (the seat, her sister had ascertained, of the 
 " celebrated sporting baronet," as the porter called him) on 
 
44 THE CONTESTED MAREIAGE. 
 
 their way to London, where they had relatives who, though not 
 rich, might possibly be able to assist them in obtaining some 
 decent means of mauitenance. They alighted at the " Comp- 
 ton Arms," and the' first ohject which met the astonished gaze 
 of the sisters as they entered the principal sitting-room of the 
 inn, was a full-length portrait of Violet's husband, in the exact 
 sporting-dress described to them by their father. An ivory 
 tablet attached to the lower part of the frame informed the 
 gazer that the picture was a copy, by permission, of the cele- 
 brated portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, of Sir Harry Compton, 
 Baronet. They were confounded, overwhelmed, bewildered. 
 Sir Harry, they found, had been killed ahout eight months 
 previously in a steeple-chase ; and the castle and estates had 
 passed, in default of direct issue, to a distant relative, Lord 
 Emsdale. Their story was soon bruited about ; and, in the 
 opinion of many persons, was confirmed beyond reasonable 
 question by the extraordinary likeness they saw or fancied 
 between Violet's son and the deceased baronet. Amongst 
 others, Sir Jasper Thornely was a firm believer inHhe identity 
 of Henry Grainger and Sir Harry Oompton ; but unfortunately, 
 beyond the assertion of the sisters that the portrait of Sir Harry 
 was young Grainger's portrait, the real or imaginary likeness of 
 the child to his reputed father, and some score of letters ad- 
 dressed to Violet by her husband, which Sir Jasper persisted 
 were in Sir Harry's handwriting, though few others did (the 
 hand, I saw at a glance, was a disguised one), not one tittle of 
 evidence had he been able to procure for love or money. As a 
 last resource, he had consigned the case to me, and the vulpine 
 sagacity of a London attorney. 
 
 I suppose my countenance must be what is called a " speak- 
 ing" one, for I had made no reply in words to this statement 
 
THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 45 
 
 of a case upon' which I and a " London attorney" were to 
 ground measures for wresting a magnificent estate from the clutch 
 of a powerful nobleman, and by " next assizes" too — ^when the 
 lady's beautiful eyes filled with tears, and turning to her child, 
 she murmured in that gentle, agitating Toice of hers, " My 
 poor boy !" The words I was about to utter died on my tongue, 
 and I remained sUent for several minute^ After all, thought I, 
 this lady is evidently sincere in her expressed conviction that 
 Sir Harry Compton was her husband. If her surmise be cor- 
 rect, evidence of the truth may perhaps be obtained by a keen 
 search for it ; and since Sir Jasper guarantees the expenses 
 
 I rang the bell. " Step over to Cursitor Street," said I 
 
 to the clerk as soon as he entered ; " and if Mr. Ferret is 
 within, ask him to step over immediately." Ferret was just the 
 man for such a commission. Indefatigable, resolute, sharp- 
 witted, and of a ceaseless, remorseless activity, a secret or a fact 
 had need be very profoundly hidden for him not to reach and 
 fish it up. I have heard solemn doubts expressed by attorneys 
 opposed to him as to whether he ever really and truly slept at 
 aU— that is, a genuine Christian sleep, as distinguished from a 
 merely canine one, with one eye always half open. Mr. Ferret 
 had been for many years Mr. Simpkina' managing clerk ; but 
 ambition, and the increasing requirements of a considerable 
 number of young Ferrets, determined him on commencing busi- 
 ness on his own account ; and about six months previous to the 
 period of which I am now writing, a brass door-plate in Cursitor 
 Street, Chancery Lane, informed the public that Samuel Ferret, 
 Esq., Attorney-at-Law, might be consulted within. 
 
 Mr. Samuel Ferret was fortunately at home ; and after a very 
 brief interval, made his appearance, entering with a short pro- 
 fessional bow to me, and a very profound one to the lady, in 
 
46 THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 
 
 whom his quick gray eye seemed intuitively to espy a client. 
 As soon as he was seated, I handed him Sir Jasper's letter. 
 He perused it carefully three times, examined the seal atten- 
 tively, and handed it back with — " An excellent letter as far as 
 it goes, and very much to the point. You intend, I suppose, 
 that I should undertake this little affair .'" 
 
 " Yes, if, after hearing the lady's case, you feel disposed to 
 venture upon it." 
 
 Mr. Samuel Ferret's note-book was out in an instant ; and the 
 lady, uninterrupted by a syllable from him, re-told her story. 
 
 " Good, very good, as far as it goes," remarked undismayed 
 Samuel Ferret when she concluded ; " only it can scarcely be 
 said to go very far. Moral presumption, which, in our courts 
 unfortunately, isn't worth a groat. Never mind. Magiia est 
 Veritas, and so on. When, madam, did you say Sir Harry — 
 Mr. Grainger — first began to urge emigration ?" 
 
 " Between two and three years ago." 
 
 " Have the goodness, if you please, to hand me the baronet- 
 age." I did so. " Good," resumed Ferret, after turning over 
 the leaves for a few seconds, " very good, as far as it goes. It 
 is now just two years and eight months since Sir Harry suc- 
 ceeded his uncle in the title and estates. You would no doubt 
 soon have heard, madam, that your husband was dead. Truly 
 the heart of man is deceitful above all things, and desperately 
 
 wicked ; and yet such conduct towards such a lady" 
 
 Ferret intended no mere compliment ; he was only giving utter- 
 terance to the thoughts passing through his brain ; but his 
 client's mounting color warned him to change the topic, which 
 he very adroitly did. " You intend, of course," said he, 
 addressing me, " to proceed at law .' No rumble-tumble through 
 the spiritual courts .'" 
 
THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 47 
 
 " Certainly, if sufficient evidence to justify such a course can 
 be obtained." 
 
 " Exactly : Doe, demise of Compton, versus Emsdale ; action 
 in ejectment, judgment of ouster. Our friend Doe, madam — 
 a very accommodating fellow is Doe — ^will, if we succeed, put 
 you in possession as natural guardian of your son. Well, sir," 
 turning to me, " I may as well give you .an acknowledgment for 
 that cheque. I undertake the business, and shall, if possible, 
 be off to Leeds by this evening's mail." The acknowledgment 
 was given, and Mr. Fgrret, pocketing the cheque, departed in 
 high glee. 
 
 "The best man, madam, in all broad London," said I in 
 answer to Mrs. Grainger's somewhat puzzled look, " you could 
 have retained. Fond as he seems, and in fact is, of money — 
 what sensible person is not .' — Lord Emsdale could not bribe 
 him with his earldom, now that he is fairly engaged in your 
 behalf, I will not say to betray you, but to abate his indefatiga- 
 ble activity in furtherance of your interests. Attorneys, madam, 
 be assured, whatever nursery tales may teach, have, the very 
 sharpest of them, their points of honor." The lady and her son 
 departed, and I turned again to the almost forgotten " case." 
 
 Three weeks had nearly glided by, and stiU no tidings of Mr. 
 Ferret. Mrs. Grrainger, and her sister EmUy Dalston, a very 
 charming person, had called repeatedly ; but as I of course had 
 nothing to communicate, they were still condemned to languish 
 under the heart-sickness caused by hope deferred. At last our 
 emissary made his wished-for appearance. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Ferret," said I, on entering my library, where I 
 found him composedly awaiting my arrival, " what success .'" 
 
 " Why, nothing of much consequence as yet," replied he ; 
 " I am, you know, only, as it were, just commencing the investi- 
 
48 THE CONTESTED MARKIAGE. 
 
 gation. The Leeds parson that married them is dead, and the 
 old clerk is paralytic, and has lost his memory. If, however, 
 they were both alive, and in sound health of mind and body, 
 they could, I fancy, help us but little, as BOston tells me neither 
 the Dalstons nor Grainger had ever entered the church till the 
 morning of the wedding ; and they soon afterwards removed to 
 Cumberland, so that it is scarcely possible either parson or clerk 
 could prove that Violet Dalston was married to Sir Harry 
 Compton. A very intelligent fellow is Bilston : he was present 
 at the marriage, you remember ; and a glorious witness, if he 
 had only something of importance to depose to ; powdered hair 
 and a pigtail, double chin, and six feet in girth at least ; highly 
 respectable — capital witness, very — only, unfortunately, he can 
 only testify that a person calling himself Grainger married 
 Violet Dalston ; not much in that !" 
 
 " So, then, your three weeks' labor has been entirely thrown 
 away !" 
 
 " Not so fast — ^not so fast — ^you jump too hastily at conclu- 
 sions. The Cumberland fellow that sold Grainger the house — 
 only the equity of redemption of it, by the way — there's a large 
 mortgage on it — can prove nothing. Nobody about there can, 
 except the sm-geon ; hz can prove Mrs. Grainger's accouchement 
 — that is something. I have been killing myself every evening 
 this last week with grog and tobacco smoke at the " Compton 
 Arms," in the company of the castle servants, and if the calves' 
 heads had known anything essential, I fancy I should have 
 wormed it out of them. They have, however, kindly furnished 
 me with a scrawl of introduction to the establishment now in 
 town, some of whom I shall have the honor to meet, in the 
 character of an out-and-out liberal sporting gentleman, at the 
 " Albemarle Arms" this evening. I want to get hold of his 
 
,1 
 
 THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 49 
 
 confidential valet, if he had one-^those go-a-head fellows gener- 
 ally have — a Swiss, or some other foreign animal." 
 " Is this all .?" 
 
 " Why, no," rejoined Ferret, with a sharp twinkle of his 
 sharp gray eye, amounting almost to a wink ; " there is one cir- 
 cumstance which I cannot help thinking, though I scarcely 
 know why, will put us, hy the help of patience and perseverance, 
 on the right ti-ack. In a corner of the registry of marriage 
 there is written Z. Z. in bold letters. In no other part of the 
 book does this occur. What may that mean ?" , 
 
 " Had the incumbent of the living a curate at the 
 time .'" 
 |j " No. -On that point I am unfortunately too weU satisfied. 
 
 ! , Neither are there any names with such initials in any of the 
 ii Leeds churchyards. Still this Z. Z. may be of importance, if 
 we could but discover who he is. But how .' — that is the ques- 
 tion. Advertise .' Show our hands to the opposite players, and 
 find if Z. Z. is really an entity, and likely to be of service, that 
 when we want him in court, he is half way to America. No, 
 no ; that would never do." 
 
 Mr. Ferret I saw was getting into a brown study ; and as I 
 had pressing business to despatch, I got rid of him as speedily 
 as I could, quite satisfied, spite of Z. Z., that Mrs. Grainger's 
 chance of becoming Lady Coinpton was about equal to mine of 
 ascending the British throne some fine day. 
 
 Two days afterwards I received the following note : — 
 
 " Dear Sir — Z. Z. is- the man ! I'm off to Shropshire. 
 Back, if possible, the day after to-morrow. Not a word even to 
 the ladies. Huzza ! In haste, 
 
 Samuel Ferret." 
 
50 THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE-. 
 
 What could this mean ? Spite of Mr. Ferret's injunction, I 
 could not help informing the sisters, who called soon after I re- 
 ceived the note, that a discovery, esteemed of importance by our 
 emissary, had been made ; and they returned home with light- 
 ened hearts, after agreeing to repeat their visit on the day Mr. 
 Ferret had named for his return. ^ 
 
 On reaching my chambers about four o'clock in the afternoon 
 of that day, I found the ladies there, and in a state of great ex- 
 citement. Mr. Ferret, my clerk had informed them, had called 
 twice, and seemed in the highest spirits. We had wasted but a 
 few minutes in conjectures when Mr. Ferret, having ascended 
 the stairs two or three at a time, burst, sans ciremonie, into the 
 apartment. 
 
 " Grood-day, sir. Lady Compton, your most obedient 
 servant ; madam, yours ! All right ! Only just in time to get 
 the writ sealed ; served it myself a quarter of an hour ago, just 
 as his lordship was getting into his carriage. Not a day to lose ; 
 just in time. Capital ! Glorious !" 
 
 " What do you mean, Mr. Ferret.'" exclaimed Emily Dais- 
 ton : her sister was too agitated to speak. 
 
 " What do I mean .'' Let us all four step, sir, into your inner 
 sanctum, and I'U soon tell you what I mean." 
 
 We adjom-ned, accordingly, to an inner and more private 
 room. Our conference lasted about half an hour, at the end of 
 which the ladies took their leave : Lady Compton, her beautiful 
 features alternately irradiated and clouded by smiles and tears, 
 murmuring in a broken, agitated voice, as she shook hands with 
 me, " You see, sir, he intended- at last to do us justice." 
 
 The news that an action had been brought on behalf of an 
 infant son of the late Sir Harry Compton against the Earl of 
 Emsdale, for the recovery of the estates in the possession of that 
 
THE CONTESTED"MARKIAGE. 51 
 
 nobleman, produced the greatest excitement in the part of the 
 county where the property was situated. The assize town was 
 crowded, on the day the trial was expected to come on, by the 
 tenantry of the late baronet and their families, with whom the 
 present landlord was by no means popular. As I passed up the 
 principal street, towards the court-house, accompanied by my 
 junior, I was received with loud hurraings and waving of hand- 
 kerchiefs, something after the manner, I suppose, in which 
 chivalrous steel-clad knights, about to do battle in behalf of 
 distressed damsels, were formerly received by the miscellaneous 
 spectators of the lists. Numerous favors, cockades, streamers, 
 of the Compton colors, used in election contests, purple and 
 orange, were also slyly exhibited, to be more ostentatiously dis- 
 playedif the Emsdale party should be beaten. On entering the 
 court, I found it crowded, as we say, to the ceiling. Not only 
 every seat, but every inch of standing-room that could be ob- 
 tained, was occupied, and it was with great difficulty the ushers 
 of the court preserved a sufficiently clear space for the ingress 
 and egress of witnesses and counsel. Lord Emsdale, pale and 
 anxious, spite of manifest effort to appear contemptuously in- 
 different, sat near the judge, who had just entered the court. 
 The Archbishop of York, whom we had subpoenaed, why, his 
 Grace had openly declared, he knew not, was also of course ac- 
 commodated with a seat on the bench. A formidable bar, led 
 
 by the celebrated Mr. S , was, I saw, arrayed against us, 
 
 though what the case was they had to meet, so well had Ferret 
 kept his secret, they knew no more than did their horse-hair 
 wigs. Ferret had solemnly enjoined the sisters to silence, and 
 no hint, I need scarcely say, was likely to escape my lips. The 
 jury, special of course, were in attendance, and the case, " Doe, 
 demise of Compton versus Emsdale," having been called, they 
 
52 THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 
 
 were duly sworn to try the issue. My junior, Mr. Frampton, 
 was just rising " to state the case," as it is technically called, 
 when a tremendous shouting, rapidly increasing in volume and 
 distinctness, and mingled with the sound of carriage wheels, was 
 heard approaching, and presently Mr. Samuel Ferret appeared, 
 followed by Lady Compton and her son, the rear of the party 
 brought up by Sir Jasper Thornely, whose jolly fox-hunting 
 face shone like a full-blown peony. The lady, though painfully 
 agitated, looked charmingly ; and the timid, appealing glance 
 she unconsciously, as it were, threw round the court, would, in 
 a doubtful case, have secured a verdict. " Very well got up, 
 
 indeed," said Mr. S , in a voice sufficiently loud for the 
 
 jury to hear — " very effectively managed, upon my word." 
 We were, however, in too good-humor to heed taunts ; and as 
 soon as silence was restored, Mr. Frampton briefly stated the 
 case, and I rose to address the jury. My speech was purposely 
 brief, business-like, and confident. I detailed the circumstances 
 of the marriage of Violet Dalston, then only eighteen years of 
 age, with a Mr. Grainger ; the birth of a son ; and subsequent 
 disappearance of the husband ; concluding by an assurance to 
 the jury that I should prove, by incontrovertible evidence, that 
 Grainger was no other person than the late Sir Harry Compton, 
 baronet. This address by no means lessened the vague appre- 
 hensions of the other side. A counsel that, with such materials 
 for eloquence, disdained having recourse to it, must needs have 
 
 a formidable case. The smiling countenances of Mr. S and 
 
 his brethren became suddenly overcast, and the pallor and agita- 
 tion of Lord Emsdale sensibly increased. 
 
 We proved our case clearly, step by step : the marriage, the 
 accouchement, the handwriting of Grainger — Bilston proved 
 this— to the letters addressed to his wife, were clearly estab- 
 
THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 53 
 
 lished. The register of the marriage was produced by the 
 present clerk of the Leeds church; the. initials Z. Z. were 
 pointed out ; and at my suggestion the book was deposited for 
 the purposes of the trial with the clerk of the court. Not a 
 word of cross-examination had passed the lips of our learned 
 friends on the othei^ side : they allowed our eTidence to pass as 
 utterly indifferent. A change was at hand. 
 
 Our next witness was James Kirby, groom to the late baronet 
 and to the present earl. After a few unimportant questions, I 
 asked him if he had ever seen that gentleman before, pointing 
 to Mr. Ferret, who stood up for the more facile recognition of 
 his friend Kirby. 
 
 " Oh yes, he remembered the gentleman well ; and a very 
 nice, good-natured, soft sort of a gentleman he was. He 
 treated witness at the " Albemarle Arms," London, to as much 
 brandy and water as he liked, out of respect to his late master, 
 whom the gentleman seemed uncommon fond of." 
 
 " Well, and what return did you make for so much lib- 
 erality .'" 
 
 " Keturn ! very little I do assure ye. I told un how many 
 horses Sir Harry kept, and how many races he won ; but I 
 couldn't teU un much more, pump as much as he would, 
 because, do ye see, I didn't know no more." 
 
 An audible titter from the other side greeted the witness as 
 he uttered the last sentence. Mr. S , with one of his com- 
 placent glances at the jury-box, remarking in a sufficiently loud 
 whisper, " That he had never heard a more conclusive reason 
 for not telling in his life." 
 
 " Did you mention that you were present at the death of the 
 late baronet ?" 
 
 " Yes I did. I told un that I were within about three hund- 
 
54 THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 
 
 red yards of late master when he had that ugly fall ; and that 
 when I got up to un, he sort of pulled me down, and whispered 
 hoarse-like, ' Send for Reverend Zachariah Zimmerman.' I 
 remembered it, it was sioh an outlandish name like."' 
 
 " Oh, oh," thought I, as Mr. S reached across the table 
 
 for the parish register, " Z. Z. is acquiring significance I 
 perceive." 
 
 " Well, and what did this gentleman say to that ?" 
 
 " Say ? Why, nothing particular, only seemed quite joyful 
 'mazed like ; and when I asked un why, he said it was such a 
 comfort to find his good friend Sir Harry had such pious 
 thoughts in his last moments." 
 
 The laugh, quickly suppressed, that followed these words, did 
 not come from our learned friends on the other side. 
 
 " Sir Harry used those words .'" 
 
 " He did ; but as he died two or three minutes after, it were 
 of course no use to send for no parson whatsomever." 
 
 " Exactly. That will do, unless the other side have any 
 'questions to ask." No question ^Das put, and the witness went 
 down. " Call," said I to the crier of the court — " call the 
 Reverend Zachariah iSmmerman." 
 
 This was a bomb-shell. Lord Emsdale, the better to conceal 
 his agitation, descended from the bench and took his seat beside 
 his counsel. The Reverend Zachariah Zimmerman, examined 
 by Mr. Frampton, deponed in substance as follows : — " He was 
 at present rector of Dunby, Shropshire, and had been in holy 
 orders more than twenty years. Was on a visit to the Reverend 
 Mr. Cramby at Leeds seven years ago, when one morning Mr. 
 Cramby, being much indisposed, requested him to perform the 
 marriage ceremony for a young couple then waiting in church. 
 He complied, and joined in wedlock Violet Dalston and Henry 
 
THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 55 
 
 Crrainger. The bride was the lady now pointed out to him in 
 court ; the bridegroom he had discoTered, about two years ago, 
 to be no other than the late Sir Harry Compton, baronet. The 
 initials Z. Z. were his, and written by him. The parish clerk, 
 a failing old man, had not oflGiciated at the marriage ; a nephew, 
 he believed, had acted for him, but he had entered the marriage 
 in the usual form afterwards." 
 
 " How did you ascertain that Henry Grainger was the late 
 Sir Harry Compton .'" 
 
 " I was introduced to Sir Harry Compton in London, at the 
 house of the Archbishop of York, by his Grace himself." 
 
 " I remember the incident distinctly, Mr. Zimmerman," said 
 his Grace from the bench. 
 
 " Besides which," added the rector, " my present living was 
 presented to me, about eighteen months since, by the deceased 
 baronet. I must further, in justice to myself, explain that I 
 immediately after the introduction, sought an elucidation of the 
 mystery from Sir Harry ; and he then told me that, in a freak 
 of youthful passion, he had married Miss "Dalston in the name 
 of Grainger, fearing his uncle's displeasure should it reach his 
 ears ; that his wife had died in her first confinement, after 
 giving birth to a still-born chUd, and he now wished the matter 
 to remain in oblivion.- He also showed me several letters, 
 which I then believed genuine, confirming his story. I heard 
 no more of the matter tiQ waited upon by the attorney for the 
 plaintifF, Mr. Ferret." 
 
 A breathless sUence prevailed during the delivery of this 
 evidence. At its conclusion, the dullest brain in court compre- 
 hended that the cause was gained ; and a succession of cheers, 
 which could not be suppressed, rang through the court, and were 
 loudly echoed from without. Sir Jasper's voice sounding high 
 
56 THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 
 
 above all the rest. Suddenly, too, as if by magic, almost every- 
 body in court, save the jury and counsel, were decorated with 
 orange and purple favors, and a perfect shower of them fell at 
 the feet and about the persons of Lady Compton, her sister, 
 who had by this time joined her, and the infant Sir Henry. As 
 soon as the expostulations and menaces of the judge had re- 
 stored silence and order, his lordship, addressing Lord Ems- 
 dale's senior counsel, said, " WeU, Brother S , what course 
 
 do you propose to adopt ?" 
 
 " My lord," replied Mr. S ■ after a pause, " I and my 
 
 learned friends have thought it our duty to advise Lord Ema- 
 dale that further opposition to the plaintiff's claim would prove 
 ultimately futUe ; and I have therefore to annoimce, my lord 
 and gentlemen of the jury, that we acquiesce in a verdict for the 
 plaintiff." 
 
 " You hav^ counseled wisely," replied his lordship. " Gen- 
 tlemen of the jury, you will of course retm-n a verdict for the 
 plaintiff." 
 
 The jury hastily and joyfully assented : the verdict was 
 recorded, and the court adjourned for an hour in the midst of 
 tumultuous excitement. The result of the trial flew through 
 the crowd outside like wildfire ; and when Lady Compton and 
 her son, after struggling through the densely-crowded court, 
 stepped into Sir Jasper's carriage, which was in waiting at the 
 door, the enthusiastic uproar that ensued — the hurraing, shout- 
 ing, waving of hats and handkerchiefs — deafened and bewildered 
 one ; and it was upwards of an hour ere the slow-moving chariot 
 reached Sir Jasper's mansion, though not more than half a mile 
 distant from the town. Mr. Ferret, mounted on the box, and 
 almost smothered in purple and orange, was a conspicuous 
 object, and a prime favorite with the crowd. The next day 
 
THE CONTESTED MARRIAGE. 57 
 
 Lord Emsdale, glad, doubtless, to quit the neighborhood as 
 speedily as possible, left the castle, giving Lady Compton im- 
 mediate possession. The joy of the tenantry was unbounded ; 
 and under the wakeful superintendence of Mr. Ferret, all 
 claims against Lord Emsdale for received rents, dilapidations, 
 &c. were adjusted, we may be sure, not adversely to his client's 
 interests ; though he frequently complained, not half so satis- 
 factorily as if Lady Compton iad not interfered, with what Mr. 
 Ferret deemed misplaced generosity in the matter. 
 
 As I was obliged to proceed onwards with the circuit, I called 
 at Compton Castle to take leave of my interesting and fortunate 
 client a few days after her installation there. I was most 
 gratefully received and entertained. As I shook hands at part- 
 ing, her ladyship, after pressing upon me a diamond ring of 
 great value, said, whilst her charming eyes filled with regretful, 
 yet joyful tears, " Do not forget that poor Henry intended at 
 last to do us justice." Prosperity, thought I, will not spoil 
 that woman. It has not, as the world, were I authorized to 
 communicate her real name, would readily acknowledge. 
 
THE MOTHERLAND SON. 
 
 Dinner liad been over about half an hour one Sunday.afternoon 
 — the only day on which for years I had been able to enjoy a 
 dinner — and I was leisurely sipping a glass of wine, when a 
 carriage drove rapidly up to the door, a loud rat-tat followed, 
 and my friend Dr. Curteis, to my great surprise, was announced. 
 
 " I have called," said the doctor as we shook hands, " to ask 
 you to accompany me to Mount Place. I have just received a 
 hurried note from Miss Armitage, stating that her mother, after 
 a very brief illness, is rapidly sinking, and requesting my at- 
 , tendance, as well as that of a legal gentleman, immediately." 
 
 "Mrs. Armitage!" I exclaimed, inexpressibly shocked. 
 " Why, it is scarcely more than a fortnight ago that I met 
 her at the Eochfords' in brilliant health and spirits." 
 
 " Even so. But will you accompany me .' I don't know 
 where to find any one else for the moment, and time presses." 
 
 " It is an attorney, probably, rather than a barrister, that is 
 needed ; but under the circumstances, and knowing her as I do, 
 I cannot hesitate." 
 
 We were soon bowling along at a rapid pace, and in little 
 more than an hour reached the dying lady's residencej situated 
 in the county of Essex, and distant about ten miles from London. 
 We entered together ; and Dr. Curteis, leaving me in the library, 
 proceeded at once to the sick chamber. About ten minutes 
 afterwards the housekeeper, a tall, foreign-looking, and rather 
 
THEMOTHERANDSON. 59 
 
 handsome woman, came into the room, and announced that the 
 doctor wished to see me. She was deadly pale, and, I observed, 
 trembled like an aspen. I motioned her to precede me ; and 
 she, with misteady steps, immediately led the way. So great 
 was her agitation, that twice, in ascending the stairs, she only 
 saved herself from falling by grasping the banister-rail. The 
 presage I drew from the exhibition of such overpowering emo- 
 tion, by a person whom I knew to have been long not only in 
 the service, but in the confidence of Mrs. Armitage, was soon 
 confirmed by Dr. Curteisj whom we met coming out of the 
 chamber of the expiring patient. 
 
 " Step this way," said he, addressing me, and leading to an 
 adjoining apartment. " We do not require your attendance, 
 Mrs. Bourdon," said he, as soon as we reached it, to the house- 
 keeper, who had swiftly followed us, and now stood staring with 
 eager eyes in the doctor's face, as if life and death hung on his 
 lips. " Have the goodness to leave us," he added tartly, per- 
 ceiving she did not stir, but continued her fearful, scrutinizing 
 glance. She started at his altered tone, flushed crimson, then 
 paled to a chalky whiteness, and muttering, left the apartment. 
 • " The danger of her mistress has bewildered her," I re- 
 marked. 
 
 " Perhaps so," remarked Dr. Curteis. " Be that as it may, 
 Mrs. Armitage is beyond all human help. In another hour she 
 will be, as we say, no more." 
 
 " I feared so. What is the nature of her disorder .'" 
 
 " A rapid wasting away, as I am informed. The appearances 
 presented are those of a person expiring of atrophy, or extreme 
 emaciation." 
 
 " Indeed. And so sudden too !" 
 
 " Yes. I am glad you are come, although your professional 
 
60 
 
 THE MOTHER AND SON, 
 
 services will not, it seems, be required — a neighboring attorney 
 having performed the necessary duty — somethiog, I believe, 
 relative to the -will of the dying lady. We will speak further 
 together by and by. In the meantime," continued Dr. Curteis, 
 with a perceptible tremor in his voice, " it wUl do neither of us 
 any harm to witness the closing scene of the life of Mary Raw- 
 don, whom you and I twenty years ago worshipped as one of the 
 gentlest and most beautiful of beings with which the Creator ever 
 graced his universe. It will be a peaceful parting. Come." 
 
 Just as, with noiseless footsteps, we entered the sUent death- 
 chamber, the last rays of the setting sun were falling upon the 
 figure of Ellen Armitage — who knelt in speechless agony by the 
 bedside of her expiring parent — and faintly lighting up the pale, 
 emaciated, sunken features of the so lately brilliant, courted 
 Mrs. Armitage ! But for the ineffaceable splendor of her deep- 
 blue eyes, I should scarcely have recognized her. Standing in 
 the shadow, as thrown by the heavy bed-drapery, we gazed and 
 listened unperceived. 
 
 " Ellen," murmured the dying lady, " come nearer to me 
 It is growing dark, and I cannot see you plainly. Now, then, 
 read to me, beginning at the verse you finished with, as good 
 Dr. Curteis entered. Ay," she faintly whispered, " it is thus, 
 EUen, with thy hand clasped in mine, and with the words of 
 the holy book sounding from thy dear lips, that I would pass 
 away !" 
 
 Ellen, interrupted only by her blinding tears, making sad 
 stops, complied. Twilight stole on, and threw its shadow over 
 the-solemn scene, deepening its holiness of sorrow. Night came 
 with all her train ; and the silver radiance kissed into ethereal 
 beauty the pale face of the weeping girl, still pursuing her sad 
 and sacred task. We hesitated to disturb, by the slightest move- 
 
THEMOTHEKANDSON. 61 
 
 ment, the repose of a death-bed over which belief and hope, 
 those only potent ministers, shed light and calm ! At length 
 Dr. Curteis advanced gently towards the bed, and taking the 
 daughter's hand, said in a low voice, " Had you not better re- 
 tire, my dear young lady, for a few moments ?" She understood 
 him, and rising from her knees, threw herself in an eostacy of 
 grief upon the corpse, from which the spirit had just passed 
 away. Assistance was summoned, and the sobbing girl was 
 borne from the chamber. 
 
 I descended, full of emotion, to the library, where Dr. Curteis 
 promised shortly to join me. Noiselessly entering the room, I 
 came suddenly upon the housekeeper and a tall young man, 
 standing with their backs towards me in the recesses of one of 
 the windows, and partly shrouded by the heavy cloth curtains. 
 They were evidently in earnest conference, and several words, 
 the significance of which did not at the moment strike me, 
 reached my ears before they perceived my approach. The 
 instant they did so, tliey turned hastily round, and eyed me 
 with an expression of flurried alarm, which at the time surprised 
 me not a little. " All is over, Mrs. Bourdon," said I, finding 
 she did not speak ; " and your presence is probably needed by 
 Miss Armitage." A flash of intelligence, as I spoke, passed 
 between the pair ; but whether indicative of grief or joy, so 
 momentary was the glance, I should have been puzzled to de- 
 termine. The housekeeper immediately left the room, keeping 
 her eyes, as she passed, fixed upon me with the same nervous 
 appreheijsive look which had before irritated Dr. Curteis. The 
 yoimg man followed more slowly. He was a tall and rather 
 handsome youth, apparently about one or two-and-twenty years 
 of age. His hair was black as jet, and his dark eyes were of 
 singular brilliancy ; but the expression, I thought, was scarcely 
 
62 THEMOTHERANDSON. 
 
 a refined or highly-intelleoiual one. His resemUanoe to Mrs. 
 Bourdon, whose son indeed he was, was very striking. He 
 bowed slightly, but courteously, as to an equal, as he closed the 
 door, and I was left to the undisturbed enjoyment of my own 
 reflections, which, ill-defined and indistinct as they were, were 
 anything but pleasant company. My reverie was at length in- 
 terrupted by the entrance of the doctor, with the announcement 
 that the carriage was in waiting to re-convey us to town. 
 
 We had journeyed several mUes on our return before a word 
 was spoken by either of us. My. companion was apparently 
 even more painfully pre-occupied than myself. He was, how- 
 ever, the first to break silence. " The emaciated corpse we 
 have just left little resembles the gay, beautiful gu-1, for whose 
 smiles you and I were once disposed tij shoot each other !" 
 The doctor's voice trembled with emotion, and his face, I per- 
 ceived, was pale as marble. 
 
 " Mary Rawdon," I remarked, " lives again in her daughter." 
 
 " Yes ; her very image. Do you know," continued he, 
 speaking with rapid energy, " I suspect Mary Rawdon — Mrs. 
 Armitage, I would say — ^has been foully, treacherously dealt 
 with !" 
 
 I started with amazement ; and yet the announcement but 
 embodied and gave form and color to my own iU-defined and 
 shadowy suspicions. 
 
 " Grood heavens ! How ? By whom .^' 
 
 " Unless I am greatly mistaken, she has been poisoned by an 
 adept in the use of such destructive agents." 
 
 " Mrs. Bourdon .?" 
 
 " No ; by her son. At least my suspicions point that way. 
 She is probably cognizant of the crime. But in order that you 
 should understand the grounds upon which my conjectures are 
 
THEMOTHERANDSON. 63 
 
 principally founded, I must enter intb a short explanation. Mrs. 
 Bourdon, a woman of Spanish extraction, and who formerly oc- 
 cupied a much higher position than she does now, has lived with 
 Mrs. Armitage from the period of her husband's death, now 
 about sixteen years ago. Mrs. Bourdon has a son, a tall, good- 
 looking fellow enough, whom you may have seen." 
 
 " He was with his mother in the library as I entered it after 
 leaving you." 
 
 " Ah ! well, hem ! This boy, in his mother's opinion — but 
 that perhaps is somewhat excusable — exhibited early indications 
 of having been born a " genius." Mrs. Armitage, who had been 
 first struck by the beauty of the child, gradually acquired the 
 same notion ; and the result was, that he was little by little in- 
 vested — with at least her tacit approval — with the privileges 
 supposed to be the lawful inheritance of such gifted spirits ; 
 namely, the right to be as idle as he pleased — geniuses, you 
 know, can, according to the popular notion, attain any conceiv- 
 able amount of knowledge fer saltum at a bound — and to exalt 
 himself in the stilts of his own conceit above the useful and 
 honorable pursuits suited to the station in life in which Provi- 
 dence had cast his lot. The fruit of such training soon showed 
 itself. Young Bourdon grew up a conceited and essentially- 
 ignorant puppy, capable of nothing but bad verses, and thor- 
 oughly impressed with but one important fact, which was, that 
 he, Alfred Bourdon, was the most gifted and the most ill-used 
 of all G-od's creatures. To genius, in any intelligible sense of 
 the term, he has in truth no pretension. He is endowed, how- 
 ever, with a kind of reflective talent, which is often mistaken by 
 fools for creative power. The morbid fancies and melancholy 
 scorn of a Byron, for instance, such gentry reflect back from 
 their foggy imaginations in exaggerated and distorted feebleness 
 
64 THEMOTHERANDSON. 
 
 of ■whining versioles, and so on with other lights celestial or in- 
 fernal. This, however, by the way. The only rational pursuit 
 he ever followed, and that only by fits and starts, and to gratify 
 his faculty of "wonder," I fancy, was chemistry. A small 
 laboratory was fitted up for him in the little summer-house you 
 may have observed at the further corner of the lawn. This 
 study of his, if study such desultory snatches at science may be 
 called, led him, in his examination of vegetable bodies, to a 
 smattering acquaintance with botany, a science of which EUen 
 Armitage is an enthusiastic student. They were foolishly per- 
 mitted to botanize together, and the result was, that Alfred 
 Bourdon, acting upon the principle that genius — whether sham 
 or real — ^levels all merely mundane distinctions, had the impu- 
 dence to aspu'e to the hand of Miss Armitage. His passion, 
 sincere or simulated, has never been, I have reason to know, in 
 the slightest degree reciprocated by its object ; but so blind is 
 vanity, that when, about six weeks ago, an ddaircissement took 
 place, and the fellow's -dream was somewhat rudely dissipated, 
 the untoward rejection of his preposterous suit was, there is 
 evary reason to believe, attributed by both mother and son to 
 the repugnance of Mrs. Armitage alone ; and to this idiotic 
 hallucination she has, I fear, fallen a sacrifice. Judging from 
 the emaciated appearance of the body, and other phenomena 
 communicated to me by her ordinary medical attendant — a 
 blundering ignoramus, who ought to have called in assistance 
 long before — she has been poisoned with iodine, which, admin- 
 istered in certain quantities, would produce precisely the same 
 symptoms. Happily there is no mode of destroying human life 
 which so surely leads to the detection of the murderer as the use 
 of such kgents ; and of this truth the post mortem examination 
 of the body, which takes place to-morrow morning, will, if I am 
 
THEMOTHERANDSON. 65 
 
 not grossly mistaken, supply another vivid illustration. . . . 
 Legal assistance will no doubt be necessary, and I am sure I do 
 not err in expecting that you will aid me in bringing to justice 
 the murderer of Mary Kawdon ?" 
 
 A pressure of his hand was my only answer. " I shall call 
 for you at ten o'clock," said he, as he put me down at my own 
 door. I bowed, and the carriage drove off. 
 
 " Well .?" said I, as Dr. Curteis and Mr. the eminent 
 
 surgeon entered the library at Mount Place the following morn- 
 ing after a long absence. 
 
 " As I anticipated," replied the doctor with a choking voice : 
 " she has been poisoned !" 
 
 I started to my feet. " And the murderer ?" 
 
 " Our suspicions stUl point to young Bourdon ; but the per- 
 sons of both mother and son have been secured." 
 
 " Apart .?" 
 
 " Yes ; and I have despatched a servant to request the 
 presence of a neighbor — a county magistrate. I expect him 
 momently." 
 
 After a brief consultation, we all three directed our steps to 
 the summer-house which contained young Bourdon's laboratory. 
 In the room itself nothing of importance was discovered ; but in 
 an enclosed recess, which we broke open, we found a curiously- 
 fashioned glass bottle half full of iodine. 
 
 " This is it !" said Mr. ; " and in a powdered state too — 
 
 just ready for mixing with brandy or any other available dissolv- 
 ent." The powder had somewhat the appearance of fine black- 
 lead. Nothing further of any consequence being observed, we 
 returned to the house, where the magistrate had already arrived. 
 
 Alfted Bourdon was first brought in ; and he having been 
 duly cautioned that he was not obliged to answer any question. 
 
66 
 
 THE MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 and that what he did say would be taken down, and, if neces- 
 sary, used against him, I proposed the following questions : — 
 
 " Have you the key of your laboratory ?" 
 
 " No ; the door is always open." 
 
 " Well, then, of any door or cupboard in the room .'" 
 
 At this question his face flushed purple : he stammered, 
 " There is no" and abrubtly paused. 
 
 " Do I understand you to say there is no cupboard or place 
 of concealment in the room ?" 
 
 " No : here is the key." 
 
 " Has any one had access to the cupboard or recess of which 
 this is the key, except yourself.?" 
 
 The young man shook as if smitten with ague : his lips chat- 
 tered, but no articulate sound escaped- them. 
 
 " You need not answer the question," said the magistrate, 
 " unless you choose to do so. I again warn you that all you 
 say will, if necessary, be used against you." 
 
 " No one," he at length gasped, mastering his hesitation by a 
 strong exertion of the wiU — " no one can have had access to the 
 place but myself. I have never parted with the key." 
 
 Mrs. Bom'don was now called in. After interchanging a 
 glance of intense agony, and, as it seemed to me, of affectionate 
 intelligence with her son, she calmly answered the questions put 
 to her. They were unimportant, except the last, and that acted 
 upon her like a galvanic shock. It was this — " Did you ever 
 struggle with your son on the landing leading to the bedroom 
 of -the deceased for the possession of this bottle V and I held 
 up that which we had found in the recess. 
 
 A slight scream escaped her lips ; and then she stood rigid, 
 erect, motionless, glaring alternately at me and at the fatal 
 bottle with eyes that seemed starting from their sockets. I 
 
THEMOTHERANDSON. 67 
 
 glanced towards the son ; he was also affected in a terrible 
 manner. His knees smote each other, and a clammy perspira- 
 tion burst forth and settled upon his pallid forehead. 
 
 " Again I caution you," iterated the magistrate, " that you 
 are not bound to answer any of these questions." 
 
 The woman's lips moved. " No — never !" she almost in- 
 audibly gasped, and fell senseless on the floor. 
 
 As soon as she was removed, Jane Withers was called. She 
 deposed that three days previously, as she was, just before dusk, 
 arranging some linen in a room a few yards distant from the 
 bedroom of her late mistress, she was surprised at hearing a 
 noige just outside the door, as of persons struggling and speaking 
 in low but earnest tones. She drew aside a corner of the muslin 
 curtain of the window which looked upon the passage or corridor, 
 and there saw Mrs. Bourdon striving to wrest something from 
 her son's hand. She heard Mrs. Bourdon say, " You shall not 
 do it, or you shall not have it"— she could not be sure which. 
 A noise of some sort seemed to alarm them : they ceased strug- 
 gling, and listened attentively for a few seconds : tiien Alfred 
 Bourdon stole off on tip-toe, leaving the object in dispute, which 
 witness could not see distinctly, in his mother's hand. Mrs. 
 Bourdon continued to listen, and presently Miss Armitage, open- 
 ing the door of her mother's chamber, called her by name. She 
 immediately placed what was in her hand on the marble top of 
 a side-table standing in the corridor, and hastened to Miss 
 Armitage. Witness left the room she had been in a few minuteS 
 afterwards, and, curious to know what Mrs. Bourdon and her 
 son had been strugghng for, went to the table to look at it. It 
 was an oddly-shaped glass bottle, containing a good deal of a 
 blackish-gray powder, which, as she held it up to the light, 
 looked like black-lead !" 
 
68 THE MOTH GRANDSON. 
 
 " Would you be able to swear to the bottle if you saw it ?" 
 
 " Certainly I should." 
 
 " By what mark or token ?" 
 
 " The name of Valpy or Vplpy was cast into it — that is, the 
 name was in the glass itself." 
 
 " Is this it .?» 
 
 " It is : I swear m^st positively." 
 
 A letter was also read which had been taken from Bourdon's 
 pocket. It was much creased, and was proved to be in the 
 handwriting of Mrs. Armitage. It consisted of a severe rebuke 
 at the young man's presumption in seeking to address himself . 
 to her daughter, which insolent ingratitude, the writer said, she 
 should never, whilst uhe lived, either forget or forgive. This 
 last sentence was strongly underlined in a different ink from that 
 used by the writer of the letter. 
 
 The surgeon deposed to the cause of death. It had been 
 brought on by the action of iodine, which, administered in cer- 
 tain quantities, produced symptoms as of rapid atrophy, such as 
 had appeared in Mrs. Armitage. The glass bottle found in the 
 recess contained iodine in a pulverized state. 
 
 I deposed that, on entering the library on the previous even- 
 ing, I overheard young Mr. Bourdon, addressing his mother, 
 say, " Now that it is done past recall, I will not shrink from 
 any consequences, be they what they may !" 
 
 This was the substance of the evidence adduced ; and the 
 magistrate at once committed Alfred Bourdon to Chelmsford 
 jail, to take his trial at the next assize for " wilful murder." A 
 coroner's inquisition a few days after also returned a verdict of 
 " wilful murder" against him on the same evidence. 
 
 About an hour after his committal, and just previous to the 
 arrival of the vehicle which was to convey him to the county 
 
THEMOTHERANDSON.. 69 
 
 prison, -Alfred Bourdon requested an interview with me. I very 
 reluctantly consented ; but steeled as I was against him, I could 
 not avoid feeling dreadfully shocked at the change which so brief 
 an interval had wrought upon him. It had done the work of 
 years. Despair — black, utter despair — was written in every 
 lineament of his expressive countenance. 
 
 " I have requested to see you," said the unhappy culprit, 
 " rather than Dr. Curteis, because he, I know, is bitterly preju- 
 diced against me. But you wiU not refuse, I think, the solemn 
 request of a dying man — for a dying man I feel myself to be — 
 however long or short the interval which stands between me and 
 the scaflFold. It is not with a childish hope that any assertion 
 of mine can avail before the tribunal of the law against the evi- 
 dence adduced .this day^ that I, with all the solemnity befitting 
 a man whose days are numbered, declare to you that I am 
 wholly innocent of the crime laid to my charge. I have no 
 such expectation ; I seek only that you, in pity of my youth 
 and \imtimely fate, should convey to her whom I have madly 
 presumed to worship this message : ' Alfred Bourdon was mad, 
 but not blood-guilty ; and of the crime laid to his charge he is 
 innocent as an unborn child.' " 
 
 " The pure and holy passion, young man," said I, somewhat 
 startled by his impressive manner, " however presumptuous, as 
 far as social considerations are concerned, it might be, by which 
 you affect to be inspired, is utterly inconsistent with the cruel, 
 dastardly crime of which such damning evidence has an hour 
 since been given" 
 
 " Say no more, sir," interrupted Bourdon, sinking back in his 
 seat, and burying his face in his. hands : " it were a bootless 
 errand ; she covld not, in the face of that evidence, believe my 
 unsupported assertion ! It were as well perhaps she did not. 
 
70 THEMOTHERANDSON. 
 
 And yet, sir, it is hard to be trampled into a felon's grave, 
 loaded with the maledictions of those whom you would coin your 
 heart to serve and bless ! Ah, sir," he continued, whilst tears 
 of agony streamed through his firmly-closed fingers, " you cannot 
 conceive the unutterable bitterness of the pang which rends the 
 heart of him who feels that he is not only despised, but loathed, 
 hated, execrated, by her whom his soul idolizes ! Mine was no 
 boyish, transient passion : it has grown with my growth, and 
 strengthened with my strength. My life has been but one long 
 dream of her. All that my soul had drunk in of beauty in the 
 visible earth and heavens — the light of setting suns — the radi- 
 ance of the silver stars — the breath of summer flowers, together 
 with all which we imagine of celestial purity and grace, seemed 
 to me in her incarnated, concentrated, and combined ! And 
 now lost — lost — ^forever lost !" The violence of his emotions 
 choked his utterance ; and deeply and painfully afiected, I has- 
 tened from his presence. 
 
 Time sped as ever onwards, surely, silently ; and justice, 
 with her feet of lead, but hands of iron, closed gradually upon 
 her quarry. Alfred Bourdon was arraigned before a jury of his 
 countrymen, to answer finally to the accusation of wUful mui-der 
 preferred against him. 
 
 The evidence, as given before the committing magistrate, and 
 the coroner's inquisition, was repeated with some addition of 
 passionate expressions used by the prisoner iadicative of a desire 
 to be avenged on the deceased. The cross-examination by the 
 counsel for the defence was able, but failed to shake the case for 
 the prosecution. His own admission, that no one but himself 
 had access to the recess where the poison was found, told fatally 
 against him. When called upon to address the jury, he delivered 
 himself of a speech rather than a defence ; of an oratorical efi'u- 
 
THEMOTHERANDSON. 71 
 
 sion, instead of a vigorous, and, if possible, damaging comment- 
 ary upon the evidence arrayed against him. It was a labored, 
 'and in part eloquent, exposition of the necessary fallibility of 
 human judgment, illustrated by numerous examples of erroneous 
 verdicts. His peroration I jotted down at the time : — " Thus, 
 my lord and gentlemen of the jury, is it abundantly manifest, 
 not only by these examples, but by the testimony which every 
 man bears in his own breast, that God could not have willed, 
 could not have commanded, his creatures to perform a pretended 
 duty, which he vouchsafed them no power to perform righteously. 
 Oh, be sure that if he had intended, if he had commanded you 
 to pronounce irreversible decrees upon your fellow-man, quench- 
 ing that life which is his highest gift,, he would have endowed 
 you with gifts to perform that duty rightly ! Has he done so .' 
 Ask not alone the pages dripping with innocent blood which I 
 have quoted, but your own hearts ! Are you, according to the 
 promise of the serpent-tempter, ' gods, knowing good from evil .'' 
 of such clear omniscience, that you can hurl an unprepared soul 
 before the tribunal of its Maker, in the full assurance that you 
 have -rightly loosed the silver cord which he had measured, have 
 justly broken the golden bowl which he had fashipned ! Oh, 
 my lord," he concluded, his dark eyes'flashing with excitement, 
 " it is possible that the first announcement of my innocence of 
 this crime, to which you wiU give credence, may be proclaimed 
 from the awful tribunal of him who alone cannot err ! How if 
 he, whose eye is even now upon us, should then proclaim, ' J, 
 too, sat in judgment on the day when you presumed, to doom 
 your fellow-worm ; and / saw that the murderer was not in the 
 dock, but on the bench !' Oh, my lord, think well of what you 
 do — pause ere you incur such fearful hazard ; for be assured, 
 that for all these things Grod will also bring you to judgment !" 
 
72 THEMOTHERANDSON. 
 
 He ceased, and sank back exhausted. His fervid declamation 
 produced a considerable impression upon the auditory ; but it 
 soon disappeared before the calm, impressive charge of the judge, 
 who re-assured the startled jury, by reminding them that their 
 duty was to honestly execute the law, not to dispute about its 
 justice. For himself, he said, sustained by a pure conscience, 
 he was quite wUling to incur the hazard hinted at by the pris- 
 oner. After a careful and luminous summing up, the jury, with 
 very slight deliberation, returned a verdict of " G-mlty." 
 
 As the word passed the lips of the foreman of the jury, a 
 piercing shriek rang through the court. It proceeded from a 
 tall figure in black, who, with closely-drawn veil, had sat motion- 
 less dtiring the trial, just before the dock. It was the prisoner's 
 mother. The next instant she rose, and throwing back her veil, 
 wildly exclaimed, " He is innocent — innocent, I tell ye ! I 
 alone" 
 
 " Mother ! mother ! for the love of Heaven be silent !" 
 shouted the prisoner with frantic vehemence, and stretching 
 himself over the front of the dock, as if to grasp and restrain 
 her. 
 
 " Innocent, I tell you !" continued the woman. " I — I alone 
 am the guilty person ! It was I alone that perpetrated the 
 deed ! He knew it not, suspected it not, till it was too late. 
 Here," she added, drawing a sheet of paper from her bosom — 
 " here is my confession, with each circumstance detailed !" 
 
 As she waved it over her head)' it was snatched by her son, 
 and, swift as lightning, torn to shreds. •" She is mad ! Heed 
 her not — believe her not !" He at the same time shouted at 
 the top of his powerful voice, " She is. distracted — mad ! Now, 
 my lord, your sentence ! Come !" 
 
 The tumult and excitement in the court no language which I 
 
i THEMOTHEEANDSON. 73 
 
 i can employ would convey an adequate impression of. As soon 
 as calm was partially- restored, Mrs. Bourdon was taken into 
 
 I custody: the prisoner was removed; and the court adjourned, 
 ; ! of course without passing sentence. 
 
 il It was even as his mother said! Subsequent investigation, 
 
 I I aided by her confessions, amply proved that the fearful crime 
 ; was conceived and perpetrated by her alone, in the frantic hope 
 
 of securing for her idolized son the hand and fortune of Miss 
 
 ;| Armitage. She had often been present with him in his labora- 
 
 i j tory, and had thus become acquainted with the uses to which 
 
 , ' certain agents could be put. She had purloined the key of the 
 
 ! recess ; and he, unfortunately too late to prevent the perpetra- 
 
 Ij tion of the crime, had by mere accident discovered the abstrac- 
 
 ' tion of the poison. His subsequent declarations had been made 
 
 ■ for the determined purpose of saving his mother's life by the 
 
 ,j sacrifice of his own ! 
 
 jl The wretched woman was not reserved to fall before the 
 
 |j justice of her country. The hand of God smote her ere the 
 
 !; scafibld was prepared for her. She waS smitten with frenzy, 
 
 ! and died raving in the Metropolitan Lunatic Asylum. Alfred 
 
 ' Boui-don, after a lengthened imprisonment, was liberated. He 
 called on me, by appointment, a few days previous to leaving 
 
 I i this country forever ; and I placed in his hands a small pocket!- 
 
 I I Bible, on the fly-leaf of which was written one word — "Elkn .'" 
 ■ \ His dim eye lighted up with something of its old fire as he 
 1 1 glanced at the characters ; he then closed the book, placed it 
 jl in his bosom, and waving me a mute farewell — I saw he durst 
 I not trust himself to speak — hastily departed. I never saw him 
 I more ! 
 
"THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS." 
 
 In the month of February of the year following that which 
 witnessed the suecessfol establishment of the claim of Sir Harry 
 Compton's infant son to his magnificent patrimony, Mr. Samuel 
 Ferret was traveling post with all the speed he could command 
 towards Lancashire, in compliance with a summons from Lady 
 Compton, requesting, in urgent terms, his immediate presence 
 at the castle. It was wild and bitter weather, and the roads 
 were in many places rendered dangerous, and almost impassable, 
 by the drifting snow. Mr. Ferret, however, pressed onwards 
 with his habitual energy and perseverance ; and, spite of all 
 elemental and postboy opposition, succeeded in accomplishing 
 his journey in much less time than, under the circumstances, 
 could have been reasonably expected. But swiftly as, for those 
 slow times, he pushed on, it is necessary I should anticipate, by 
 a brief period, his arrival at his destination, in order to put the 
 reader in j^ossession of the circumstances which had occasioned 
 the hurried and pressing message he had received. 
 
 Two days before, as Lady Compton and her sister, who had 
 been paying a visit to Mrs. Arlington at the Grange, were 
 returning home towards nine o'clock in the evening, they ob- 
 served, as the carriage turned a sharp angle of the road leading 
 through Compton Park, a considerable number of lighted lan- 
 terns borne hurriedly to and fro in various directions, by persons 
 apparently in eager but bewildered pursuit of some missing 
 
OF HABEAS CORPUS." 75 
 
 object. The carriage was stopped, and in answer to the ser- 
 vants' inquiries, it was replied that Major Brandon's crazy niece 
 had escaped from her uncle's house ; and although traced by the 
 snow-tracks as far as the entrance to the park, had not yet been 
 recovered. Mrs. Brandon had offered a reward of ten pounds 
 to whoever should secure and reconduct her home ; hence the 
 hot pursuit of the fugitive, who, it was now supposed, must be 
 concealed in the shrubberies. Kumors regarding this unfor- 
 tunate young lady, by no means favorable to the character of 
 her relatives as ■persons of humanity, had previously reached 
 Lady Compton's ears ; and she determined to avail herself, if 
 possible, of the present opportunity to obtain a personal inter- 
 view with the real or supposed lunatic. The men who had been 
 questioned were informed that only the castle servants could be 
 allowed to search for the missing person, either in the park or 
 shrubberies ; and that if there, she would be taken care of, and 
 restored to her friends in the morning. The coachman was 
 then ordered to drive on ; but the wheels had not made half-a- 
 dozen revolutions, when a loud shout at some distance, in the 
 direction of the park, followed by a succession of piercing 
 screams, announced the discovery and capture of the object of 
 the chase. The horses were urged rapidly forward ; and ere 
 more than a minute had elapsed, the carriage drew up within a 
 few yards of the hunted girl and her captors. The instant it 
 stopped, Clara Brandon, liberating herself by a frenzied effort 
 from the rude grasp in which she was held by an athletic young 
 man, sprang wildly towards it, and with passionate intreaty 
 implored mercy and protection. The young man, a son of Mrs. 
 Brandon's by a former husband, immediately re-seized her ; and 
 with fierce violence endeavored to wrench her hand from the 
 handle of the carriage-door, which she clutched with desperate 
 
76 "THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS." 
 
 tenacity. The door flew open, the sudden jerk disengaged her. 
 hold, and she struggled vainly in her captor's powerful grasp. 
 " Save me ! save me !" she frantically exclaimed, as she felt 
 herself borne off. " You who are, they say, as kind and good 
 as you are beautiful and happy, save me from this cruel man !" 
 
 Lady Compton, inexpressibly shocked by the piteous spec- 
 tacle presented by the unhappy girl — ^her scanty clothing soiled, 
 disarrayed, and torn by the violence of her struggles ; her long 
 flaxen tresses flowing disorderly over her face and neck in 
 tangled dishevelment ; and the pale, haggard, wild expression 
 of her countenance — was for a few moments incapable of speech. 
 Her sister was more collected : " Violet," she instantly remon- 
 strated, " do not permit this brutal violence." 
 
 " What right has she or any one to interfere with us .'" 
 demanded the young man savagely. " This girl is Major Bran- 
 don's ward, as well as niece, and shall return to her lawful 
 home ! Stand back," contiaued he, addressing the servants, 
 who, at a gesture from Miss Dalston, barred his progress. 
 " Withstand me at your peril !" 
 
 " Force her from him !" exclaimed Lady Compton, recover- 
 ing her voice. " G-ently ! gently ! I wiU be answerable for her 
 safe custody till the morning." 
 
 The athletic fellow struggled desperately ; but however pow- 
 erful and determined, he was only one man against a score, 
 nearly all the bystanders being tenants or laborers on the Comp- 
 ton estates ; and spite of his furious efforts, and menances of 
 law and vengeance, Clara was torn from him in a twinkling, and 
 himself hurled with some violence prostrate on the road " Do 
 not let them hurt the man," said Lady Compton, as the servants 
 placed the insensible girl in the carriage (she had fainted) ; 
 " and tell him that if he has really any legal claim to the 
 
"the writ op habeas corpus." 77 
 
 eustody of this unfortunate person, he must prefer it in the 
 morning." 
 
 Immediately on arrival at the castle, the escaped prisoner was 
 conveyed to bed, and medical aid instantly summoned. When 
 restored to consciousness, whether from the effect of an excess 
 of fever producing temporary delirium, or from confirmed men- 
 tal disease, her speech was altogether wild and incoherent — the 
 only at all cdnsistent portions of her ravings being piteously-iter- 
 ated appeals to Lady Compton not to surrender her to her aunt- 
 in-law, Mrs. Brandon, of whom she seemed to entertain an 
 overpowering, indefinable dread. It was evident she had been 
 subjected to extremely brutal treatment — such as, in these days 
 of improved legislation in such matters, and greatly advanced 
 knowledge of the origin and remedy of cerebral infirmity, would 
 not be permitted towards the meanest human being, much less 
 a tenderly-nurtured, delicate female. At length, under the 
 influence of a composing draught, she sank gradually to sleep ; 
 and Lady Compton having determined to rescue her, if possible, 
 from the suspicious custody of her relatives, and naturally ap- 
 prehensive of the legal . difficulties which she could not doubt 
 would impede the execution of her generous, if somewhat Quix- 
 otic project, resolved on at once sending off an express for Mr. 
 Ferret, on whose acumen and zealshe knew she could place the 
 fullest reliance. 
 
 Clara Brandon's simple history may be briefly summed up. 
 She was the only child of a Mr. Frederick Brandon, who, a 
 widower in the second year of his marriage, had since prin- 
 cipally resided at the " Elms," a handsome mansion and 
 grounds which he had leased of the uncle of the late Sir Harry 
 Compton. At his decease, which occurred about two years pre- 
 vious to poor Clara's escape from confinement, as just narrated, 
 
78 "the writ of habeas corpus." 
 
 he bequeathed his entire fortune, between two and three thou- 
 sand pounds per annum, chiefly secured on land, to his daughter ; 
 appointed his elder brother, Major Brandon, sole executor of 
 his will, and guardian of his child ; and in the event of her 
 dying before she had attained her majority — of which she 
 wanted, at her father's death, upwards of three years — or 
 without lawful issue, the property was to go to the major, to be 
 by him willed at his pleasure. Major Brandon, whose physical 
 and mental energies had been prematurely broken down — he 
 was only in his fifty-second year — either by excess or hard 
 service in the East, perhaps both, had married late in life the 
 widow of a brother officer, and the mother of a grown-up son. 
 The lady, a woman of inflexible will, considerable remains of a 
 somewhat masculine beauty, and about ten years her husband's 
 junior, held him in a state of thorough pupilage ; and, un- 
 checked by him, devoted all her energies to bring about, by fair 
 or foul means, a union between Clara and her own son, a cub 
 of some two or three-and-twenty years of age, whose sole object 
 in seconding his mother's views upon Clara was the acquisition 
 of her wealth. According to popular surmise and report, the 
 young lady's mental infirmity had been brought about by the 
 persecutions she had endured at the hands of Mrs. Brandon, 
 with a view to force her into a marriage she detested. The 
 most reliable authority for the truth of these rumors was Susan 
 Hopley, now in the service of Lady Compton, but who had lived 
 for many years with Mr. Frederick Brandon and his daughter. 
 She had been discharged about six months after her master's 
 decease by Mrs. Major Brandon for alleged impertinence ; and 
 so thoroughly convinced w;as Susan that the soon-afterwards 
 alleged lunacy of Clara was but a juggling pretence to excuse 
 the restraint under which her a.unt-in-law, for the furtherance 
 
THE WHIT OF HABEAS CORPUS." 79 
 
 of her own vile purpoges, had determined to keep her, that 
 although out of place at the time, she devoted all the savings of 
 her life, between eighty and ninety pounds, to procure "justice " 
 for the iU-used orphan. This article, Susan was advised, could 
 be best obtained of the lord chancellor ; and proceedings were 
 accordingly taken before the keeper of the king's conscience, 
 in order to change the custody of the pretended lunatic. The 
 affidavits filed in support of the petition were, however, so loose 
 and vague, and were met with such positive counter-allegations, 
 that the application was at once dismissed with costs ; and poor 
 Susan — rash suitor for " justice "—reduced to absolute penury. 
 These circumstances becoming known to Lady Compton, Susan 
 was taken into her service ; and it was principally owing to her 
 frequently-iterated version of the affair that Clara had been 
 forcibly rescued from Mrs. Brandon's son. 
 
 On the following morning the patient was much calmer, 
 though her mind stiU wandered somewhat. Fortified by the 
 authority of the physician, who certified that to remove her, or 
 even to expose her to agitation, would be dangerous, if not fatal, 
 Lady Compton not only refused to deliver her up to Major and 
 Mrs. Brandon, but to aUow them to see her. Mrs. Brandon, 
 in a towering rage, posted off to the nearest magistrate, to de- 
 mand the assistance of peace-officers in obtaining possession of 
 the person of the fugitive. That functionary would, however, 
 only so far comply with the indignant lady's solicitations, as to 
 send his clerk to the castle to ascertain the reason of the young 
 lady's detention ; and when his messenger returned with a note, 
 enclosing a copy of the physician's certificate, he peremptorily 
 decided that the conduct of Lady Compton was not only per- 
 fectly justifiable, but praiseworthy, and that the matter must 
 remain over till the patient was in a condition to be moved., 
 
80 
 
 Things were precisely in this state, except that Clara Brandon 
 had become perfectly rational ; and but for an irrepressible ner- 
 vous dread of again falling into the power of her unscrupulous 
 relative, quite calm, when Mr. Samuel Ferret made his wished- 
 for appearance on the scene of action. 
 
 Long and anxious was the conference which Mr. Ferret held 
 with his munificent client and her interesting protegee, if con- 
 ference that may be called in which the astute attorney enacted 
 the partof listener only, scarcely once opening his thin, cautious 
 lips. In vain did his eager brain silently ransack the whole 
 armory of the law ; no weapon could he discern which afforded 
 the slightest hope of fighting a successful battle with a legally- 
 appointed guardian for the custody of his ward. And yet Mr. 
 Ferret felt, as he looked upon the flashing eye and glowing 
 countenance of Lady Compton, as she recounted a few of the 
 grievous outrages inflicted upon the fair and helpless girl reclin- 
 ing beside her — ^whose varying cheek and meek sufiFused eyes 
 bore eloquent testimony to the truth of the relation — that he 
 would willingly exert a vigor even beyond the law to meet his 
 client's wishes, could he but see his way to a safe result. At 
 length a ray of light, judging from his suddenly-gleaming eyes, 
 seemed to have broken upon the troubled chambers of his brain, 
 and he rose somewhat hastUy from his chair. 
 
 " By the by, I will just step and gpeak to this Susan Hopley, 
 if your ladyship can inform me in what part of the lower regions 
 I am lively to meet with her .'" 
 
 " Let me ring for her." 
 
 " No ; if you please not. "What I have to ask her is of very 
 little importance ; still, to summon her here might give rise to 
 surmises, reports, and so on, which it may be as well to avoid, 
 I had inuoh rather see her accidentally, as it were." 
 
HABEAS CORPUS." 81 
 
 "As you please. You will find her somewhere about the 
 housekeeper's apartments. You know her by sight, I think .'" 
 
 " Perfectly ; and with your leave I'll take the opportunity of 
 directing the horses to be put to. I must be in London by 
 noon to-morrow if possible ;" and away Mr. Ferret bustled. 
 
 " Susan," said Mr. Ferret a few minutes afterwards, " step 
 this way ; I want to have a word with you. Now, tell me are 
 you goose enough to expect you wUl ever see the money again 
 you so foolishly threw into the bottomless pit of chancery.?" 
 
 " Of course I shall, Mr. Ferret, as soon as «ver Miss Clara 
 comes to her own. She mentioned it only this morning, and 
 said she was sorry she could not repay me at once." 
 
 " You are a sensible girl, Susan, though you did go to law 
 with the lord chancellor ! I want you to be oif with me to 
 London ; and then perhaps we may get your money sooner than 
 you expect." 
 
 " Oh, bother the money ! Is that all you want me to go 
 to Lunnon for .?" 
 
 Mr. Ferret replied with a wink of such exceeding intelligence, 
 that Susan at once declared she should be ready to start in ten 
 minutes at the latest. 
 
 " That's a good creature ; and, Susan, as there's not the 
 slightest occasion to let all the wprld know who's gomg to rim 
 off with you, it may be as well for you to take your bundle and 
 step on a mile or so on the road, say to the turn, just beyond 
 the first turnpike." Susan nodded with brisk good-humor, and 
 disappeared in a twinkling. 
 
 An hour afterwards, Mr. Ferret was on his way back to Lon- 
 don, having first impressed upon Lady Compton the necessity 
 of immediately relieving herself of the grave responsibility she 
 had incurred towards Major Brandon for the safe, custody of his 
 
82 
 
 ward, by sending her home immediately. He promised to 
 return on the third day from his departure ; hut on the nature 
 of the measures he intended to adopt, or the hopes he enter- 
 tain'ed of success, he was inflexibly silent ; and he moreover 
 especially requested that no one, not even Miss Brandon, should 
 know of Susan Hopley's journey to the metropolis. 
 
 Mr. Ferret, immediately on his arrival in town, called at my 
 chambers, and related with his usual minuteness and precision 
 as many of the foregoing particulars as he knew and thought 
 proper to communicate to me. For the rest I am indebted to 
 subsequent conversations with the different parties concerned. 
 
 " Well," said I, as soon as he had concluded, " what course 
 do you propose to adopt .?" 
 
 " I wish you to apply, on this affidavit, for a writ of habeas 
 ad sub., to bring up the body of Clara Brandon. Judge Bailey 
 win be at chambers at three o'clock : it is now more than half- 
 past two, and I can be off on my return by fom- at latest." 
 
 " A writ of habeas !" I exclaimed withastonishment. " Why, 
 what end can that answer ? The lady wiU be remanded, and 
 you and I shall be laughed at for our pains." 
 
 This writ of habeas corpus " ad subjiciendum,'''' I had better 
 explain to the non-professional reader, is the great prerogative 
 writ,- the operation of which is sometimes suspended by the 
 legislature during political panics. It is grounded on the prin- 
 ciple that the sovereign has at all times a right to inquire, 
 through the judges of the superior courts, by what authority his 
 or her subject is, held in constraint. It issues, as a matter of 
 right, upon the filing of an affidavit, averring that to the best 
 of the belief of the deponent the individual sought to be brought 
 up is illegally confined ; and it is of the essence of the proceed- 
 ing, that the person alleged to be suffering unlawful constraint 
 
OF HABEAS CORPUS." 83 
 
 should actually be brought before the " queen herself;" that is, 
 before one or more of the judges of the court which has issued 
 the writ, who, if they find tM detention illegal, the only question 
 at issue upon this writ may discharge or bail the party. It was 
 quite obvious, therefore,' that in this case such a proceeding 
 would be altogether futile, as the detention in the house of her 
 guardian. Under the sanction, too, of the lord chancellor, the 
 ez-offido custodier of all lunatics — of a ward of alleged disordered 
 intellect — was clearly legal, at least prima fade so, and not to 
 be disturbed imder a habeas ad sub, at all events. 
 
 "Perhaps so,". replied Ferret quite coolly in reply to my 
 exclamation ; " but I am determined to try every means of 
 releasing the unfortunate young lady from the cruel thraldom 
 in which she is held by that harridan of an a,unt-in-law. She 
 is no more really insane than you are ; but at the same time so 
 excitable upon certain topics, that it might be perhaps difficult 
 to disabuse the chancellor or a jury of the impression so indus- 
 triously propagated to her prejudice. The peremptory rejection 
 by her guardian of young BurfordV addresses, though sactioned 
 by her father : you know the Burfords .'" 
 
 " Of Grosvenor Street you mean — the East India director ?" 
 
 " Yes, his son ; and that reminds me that the declaration in 
 that everlasting excheqijer case must be filed to-morrow. -Con- 
 found it, how this flying about the country puts one out ! I 
 thought some one had kidnapped her son, or fired Compton 
 Castle at least. By the way, I am much deceived if there isn't 
 a wedding there before long." 
 
 " Indeed !» 
 
 " Yes, Miss Dalston with Sir Jasper's eldest hope." 
 
 " You don't mean it .?" 
 
 " They do at all events, and that is much more to the 
 
S4» ^ 
 
 purpose. A fine young fellow enough, and sufficiently rich 
 too " 
 
 " All which rambling talk and anecdote," cried I, interrupt- 
 ing him, " means, if I have any skill in reading Mr. Ferret, that 
 that gentleman, having some ulterior purpose in view, which I 
 cannot for the moment divine, is determined to have this writ, 
 and does not wish to be pestered with any argument on the 
 subject. Be it so : it is your afi"air, not mine. And now, as it 
 is just upen three o'clock, let me see your affidavit." 
 
 I ran it over. " Eather loose this, Mr. Ferret, but I suppose 
 it will do." 
 
 " Well, it is rather loose, but I could not with safety sail 
 much closer to the wind. By the by, I think you had better 
 first apply for a rule to stay proceedings against the bail in that 
 case of Turner ; and after that is decided, just ask for this writ, 
 off-hand as it were, and as a matter of course. His lordship 
 may not then scrutinize the affidavit quite so closely as if he 
 thought counsel had been brought to chambers purposely to 
 apply for it." 
 
 " Cautious, Mr. Ferret ! Well, come along, and I'll see 
 what I can do." 
 
 The writ was obtained without difficulty ; few questions were 
 asked ; and at my request the judge made it returnable imme- 
 diately. By four o'clock, Mr. Ferret, who could fortunately 
 sleep as well in a postohaise as in a feather-bed, was, as he had 
 promised himself, on his road to Lancashire once more, where he 
 had the pleasure of serving Major Brandon personally ; at the 
 same time tendering in due form the one shilling per mile fixed 
 by the statute as preliminary traveling charges. The vituperative 
 eloquence showered upon Mr. Ferret by the Major's lady was, I 
 afterwards heard, extremely copious and varied, and was borne 
 
OF HABEAS CORPUS." 85 
 
 by him, as I could easily believe, with the most philosophic 
 composure. 
 
 In due time the parties appeared before Mr. Justice Bailey. 
 Miss Brandon was accompanied by her uncle, his wife, and a 
 solicitor ; and spite of eyerything I -could urge, the judge, as I 
 had forseen, refused to interfere in the matter. The poor girl 
 was dreadfully agitated, but kept, nevertheless, her eyes upon 
 Mr. Ferret, as the source from which, spite of what was passing 
 around her, effectual succor was sure to come. As for that gen- 
 tleman himself, he appeared composedly indifferent to the pro- 
 ceedings ; and indeed, I thought, seemed rather relieved than 
 otherwise when they terminated. I could not comprehend him. 
 Mrs. Brandon, the instant the case was decided, clutched Clara's 
 arm within hers," and, followed by her husband and the solicitor, 
 sailed out of the apartment with an air of triumphant disdain 
 and pride. Miss Brandon looked round for Ferret, but not 
 ■perceiving him — ^he had left hastily an instant or two before — 
 her face became deadly pale, and the most piteous expression 
 of hopeless despair I had ever beheld broke from her troubled 
 but singularly-expressive eyes. I mechanically followed, with 
 a half-formed purpose of remonstrating with Major Brandon in 
 behalf of the unfortunate girl, and was by that means soon in 
 possession of the key to Mr. Ferret's apparently inexplicable 
 conduct. 
 
 The Brandon party walked very fast, and I had scarcely 
 got up with them as they were turniflg out of Chancery Lane 
 into Fleet Street, when two men, whose vocation no accus- 
 tomed eye could for an instant mistake, arrested their further 
 progress. " This lady,^' said one of the men, slightly touching 
 Miss Brandon on the shoulder, " is, I believe, Clara Bran- 
 don .'" 
 
86 
 
 " Yes she is ; and what of that, fellow ?" demanded the 
 major's lady with indignant emphasis. 
 
 " Not much, ma'am," replied the sheriff 's officer, " when you 
 are used to it. It is my unpleasant duty to arrest her for the 
 sum of eighty-seven pounds, indorsed on this writ, issued at the 
 suit of one Susan Hopley." 
 
 "Arrest her!" exclaimed Mrs. Brandon; "why, she is a 
 minor !" 
 
 " Minor or major, ma'am, makes very little difference to us. 
 She can plead that hereafter, you know. In the meantime, 
 miss, please to step into this coach," replied the officer, holding 
 the door open. 
 
 " But she's a person of unsound mind," screamed the lady, 
 as Clara, nothing loath, sprang into the vehicle. 
 
 " So are most people that do business with our establish- 
 ment," responded the imperturbable official, as he shut a,nd 
 fastened the door. " Here is my card, sir," he added, address- 
 ing the attorney, who now came up. " You see where to find 
 the lady, if her friends wish to give bail to the sheriff, or, what 
 is always more satisfactory, pay the debt and costs." He then 
 jumped on the box, his follower got up behind, and away drove 
 the coach, leaving the discomfited major and his fiery better- 
 half in a state of the blankest bewilderment ! 
 
 " Why, what is the meaning of this ?" at length gasped Mrs. 
 Brandon, fiercely addressing the attorney, as if he were a 
 particeps criminis in the -affair. 
 
 " The meaning, my dear madame, is, that Miss Clara Bran- 
 don is arrested for debt, and carried off to a sponging-house ; 
 and that imless you pay the money, or file bail, she wiU to- 
 morrow be lodged in jail," replied the unmoved man of law. 
 
 " Bail ! money ! How are we to do either in London, away 
 
OF HABEAS CORPUS." 87 
 
 from home ?" demanded tte major with, for him, much emo- 
 tion. 
 
 I did not wait to hear more, but, almost suffocated with 
 "laughter at the success of Ferret's audacious ruse, hastened 
 over to the Temple. I was just leaving chambers for th# night 
 — about ten o'clock I think it must have been — when Ferret, in 
 exuberant spirits, burst into the room. 
 
 " "Well, sir, what do you think now of a writ ad sub. ?" 
 
 " Why, I think, Mr. Ferret," replied I, looking as serious as 
 I could, " that yours is very sharp practice ; 'that the purpose 
 you have put it to is an abuse of the writ ; that the arrest is 
 consequently illegal ; and that a judge would, upon motion, 
 quash it with costs." 
 
 " To be sure he would : who doubts that .' Let him, and 
 welcome ! In the meantime, Clara Brandon is safe beyond the 
 reach of all the judges or chancellors that ever wore horse- 
 hair, and that everlasting simpleton of a major and his harridan 
 wife roaming the metropolis like distracted creatures ; and that 
 I take to be the real essence of the thing, whatever the big- 
 wigs may decide about the shells !" 
 
 " I suppose the plaintiff soon discharged her debtor out of 
 custody .?" 
 
 ".Without loss of time, you may be sure. Miss Brandon, I 
 may tell you, is with the Rev. Mr. Derwent at Brompton. You 
 know him : the newly-married curate of St. Margaret's that 
 was examined in that wUl case. Well him : he is an intelligent, 
 high-principled man ; and I have no doubt that, under his and 
 Mrs. Derwent's care, all trace of Miss Brandon's mental in- 
 firmity will disappear long before she attains her majority next 
 June twelvemonth ; whilst the liberal sum per month which 
 Lady Compton will advance, will be of great service to him." 
 
88 "the writ of habeas corpus." 
 
 " That appears all very good. But are you sure you can 
 effectually conceal the place of her retreat .'"' 
 
 " I have no fear : the twigs that will entangle her precious 
 guardians in the labyrinths of a false clue are already set and 
 limed* Before to-morrow night they will have discovered, by 
 means of their own wonderfully-penetrative sagacity, that Clara 
 has been spirited over to France ; and before three months are 
 past, the same surprising intelligence will rejoice in the dis- 
 covery that she expired in a maison de sanii — fine comfortable 
 repose, in which fool's paradise I hope to have the honor of 
 awakening them about next June twelvemonth, and not as at 
 present advised before !" 
 
 Everything fortunately turned out as Mr. Ferret anticipated ; 
 and when a few months had glided by, Clara Brandon was a 
 memory only, save of course to the few entrusted with the 
 secret. 
 
 The whirligig of time continued as ever to speed on its course, 
 and bring round in due season its destined revenges. The 
 health, mental and bodily, of Miss Brandon rapidly improved 
 under the .kind and judicious treatment of Mr. and Mrs. Der- 
 went ; and long before the attainment of her majority, were 
 pronounced by competent authority to be thoroughly re-estab- 
 lished. The day following that which completed her twenty- 
 first year, Mr. Ferret, armed with the necessary authority, had 
 the pleasure of announcing "to the relict of Major Brandon 
 (he had been dead some months), and to her brutal son, that 
 they must forthwith depart from the home in which they, to the 
 very moment of his announcement, thought themselves secure ; 
 and surrender every shilling of the property they had so long 
 dreamt was their own. They were prostrated by the intelligence, 
 and proved as mean and servile in the hour of adversity, as they 
 
 ■ill 
 
OF HABEAS CORPUS." 89 
 
 had been insolent and cruel in the day of fancied success and 
 prosperity. The pension of three hundred pounds a year for 
 both their lives^ proffered by Miss Brandon, was eagerly ac- 
 cepted ; and they returned to the obscurity from which they 
 had by acccident emerged. 
 
 About sis months afterwards, I had the pleasure of drawing 
 up the marriage settlement between Clara Brandon and Herbert 
 Burford ; and a twelvemonth after, that of standing sponsor to 
 one of the lustiest brats ever sprinkled at a font : none of which 
 delightful results, if we are to believe Mr. Ferret, would have 
 ever been arrived at had not he, at a very critical moment, 
 refused to take counsel's opinion upon the virtues, capabilities, 
 and powers contained in the great writ of habeas corpus ad 
 subjiciendum 
 
f^^i ail. 
 
 ESTHER MASON. 
 
 About forty years ago, Jabez Woodford, a foreman of ship- 
 wrights in the Plymouth dockyard, whilst carelessly crossing 
 one of the transverse beams of a seventy-four gun-ship, Jjuild- 
 ing in that arsenal, missed his footing, feU to the bottom of the 
 hold of the huge vessel, and was killed on the spot. He left a 
 widow and one child — a boy seven years of age, of placid, en- 
 dearing disposition, but weak intellect — almost in a state of 
 destitution. He had been a coarse-tempered, improvident man ; 
 and like too many of his class, in those days at least, dissipated 
 the whole of his large earnings in present sensuous indulgence, 
 utterly careless or unmindful of the future. Esther Woodford, 
 who, at the time of her husband's death, scarcely numbered five- 
 and-twenty years, was still a remarkably comely, as well as in- 
 teresting, gentle-mannered person ; and moreover had, for her 
 station in life, received a tolerable education. Her rash, ill- 
 assorted marriage with Woodford had been hastily contractedr {a 
 when she was barely seventeen years of age, in consequence of 
 a jealous pique which she, for some sUly reason or other, had 
 conceived regarding Henry Mason, an intelligent, young sea- 
 faring man, of fair prospects in life, and frank disposition, with 
 whom she had for some time previously, as the west-country 
 phrase has it, " kept company," and who was, moreover, ten- 
 derly attached to her. Esther's married life was one long re- 
 pentance of the rash act ; and the severance of the tie which 
 
ESTHERMASON. 91 
 
 bound her to an ungenial mate — after the subsidence of the 
 natural horror and compassion excited by the sudden and fright- 
 ful nature of the catastrophe — must have been felt as a most 
 blessed relief. A few weeks afterwards, she accepted an asylum 
 with her brother-in-law, Davies, a market-gardener in the vi- 
 cinity of Plymouth, where, by persevering industry with her 
 needle, and thrifty helpfulness in her sister's household duties, 
 she endeavored to compensate her kind-hearted relatives for the 
 support of herself and helpless, half-witted child. Mason she 
 had never seen since the day previous to her marriage ; but she 
 knew he was prospering in the busy world, and that, some time 
 before her husband's death, he had been appointed chief-mate 
 in a first-class merchant-ship trading to the Pacific. He had 
 sailed about a fortnight previous to that event ; and now, ten 
 lazy months having slowly floated past, the lover of her youth, 
 with whom, in that last sunny day of her young life — how distant 
 did it seem, viewed through the long intervening vista of days 
 and nights of grief and tears ! — she had danced so joyously be- 
 neath the flowering chestnut-trees, was once more near her ; 
 and it was — oh happiness ! — ^no longer a sin to think of him — 
 no longer a crime to recall and dwell upon the numberless proofs 
 of the deep affection, the strong love, he had once felt for her. 
 Once felt ! Perhaps even now ! How swiftly had the in- 
 telligence communicated by her sympathizing sister tinted with 
 bright hues the dark curtain of the future ! 
 
 " And yet," murmured poor Esther, the flush of hope fading 
 as suddenly as it had arisen, as with meek sad eyes she glanced 
 at the reflection of her featxires in the small oval glass suspended 
 above the mantel-piece — " I almost doubt, Susy, dear, if he would 
 recognize me ; even if old feelings and old times have not long 
 since faded from his memory" 
 
■$2 
 
 ESTHER MASON. 
 
 " Stuff and trumpery about fading away !" broke in Mrs. 
 Davies. " Henry Mason is tbe same true-hearted man he was 
 eight years ago ; and as a proof that he is, just read this letter, 
 which I promised him to give you. There, don't go falling into 
 a flustration ; don't now, Esther, and to-morrow market-day and 
 all ! Don't cry, Esther," she added vehemently, but at the same 
 time sobbing furiously herself, and throwing her arms round her 
 sister's neck : " but perhaps — ^perhaps it will do us good, both 
 of us !" 
 
 It maybe necessary to state that I owe the foregoing particulars 
 to the interest felt by my wife — ^herself a native of beautiful De- 
 von — in the fortunes of this humble household. Esther was her 
 foster-sister ; and it happened that just at this period, it being 
 vacation-time, we were paying a visit to a family in the neigh- 
 borhood. A few hours after the receipt of the welcome letter, 
 my wife chanced to call on Esther relative to some fancy needle- 
 work ; and on her return, I was of course favored with very fuU 
 and florid details of this little bit of cottage romance ; the which 
 I, from regard to the reader, have carefully noted down, and as 
 briefly as possible expressed. 
 
 We met Henry Mason with his recovered treasure on the 
 following evening ; and certainly a more favorable specimen of 
 the vigorous, active, bold-featured, frank-spoken British seaman 
 I never met with. To his comparatively excellent education — 
 for which I understood he was indebted to his mother, a superior 
 woman, who, having fallen from one of the little heights of so- 
 ciety, had kept a school at Plymouth — ^in addition to his correct 
 and temperate habits, he was indebted for the rapid advance — 
 he was but a few months older than Esther — ^he had obtained 
 in the merchant service. The happiness which beamed upon 
 Esther's face did not appear to be of the exuberant, buoyant 
 
ESTHERMASON. 93 
 
 chaxacter that kindled the ruddy cheek and ran over at the 
 bright, honest eyes of the hardy sailor : there seemed to mingle 
 with it a half-doubting, trembling apjirehensiYeness ; albeit it 
 was not difficult to perceive that, sorrowfully as had passed her 
 noon of prime, an " Indian summer" of the soul was rising upon 
 her brightened existence, and already with its first faint flushes 
 Ughting up her meek, doubting eyes, and pale, changing counte- 
 nance. Willy, her feeble-minded child, frisked and gambolled 
 by their side ; and altogether, a happier group than they would,* 
 I fancy, have been difficult to find in all broad England. 
 
 The next week they were married ; and one of the partners 
 in the firm by which Mason was employed happening to dine 
 with' us on the day of the wedding, the conversation turned for 
 a few minutes on the bridegroom's character and prospects. 
 
 " He has the ring of true metal in him," I remarked ; " and 
 is, I should suppose, a capital seaman ?" 
 
 " A fixst-rate one," replied Mr. Roberts. " Indeed so high 
 is my father's opinion of him, that he intends to confer upon him 
 the command of a fine brig now building for us in the Thames, 
 and intended for the West India trade. He possesses also sin- 
 gular courage and daring. Twice, under very hazardous circum- 
 stances, he has successfully risked his life to save men who had 
 fallen overboard, _ He is altogether a skilftQ, gallant seaman." 
 
 " Such a man," observed another of the company, " might 
 surely have aspired higher than to the hand of Esther Woodford, 
 dove-eyed and interesting as she may be .'" 
 
 " Perhaps so," returned Mr. Eoberts a little curtly ; " though 
 he, it seems, could not have thought so. Indeed it is chiefly of 
 simple-hearted, chivalrous-minded men like Mason , that it can 
 be with general truth observed — 
 
 * On revient toujouts a ses premiers amours,' " 
 
94 ESTHERMASON. 
 
 The subject then dropped, and it was a considerable time 
 afterwards, and under altogether altered circumstances, when 
 the newly-married couple once more crossed my path in life. 
 
 It was about eight months after his marriage — though he had 
 been profitably enough employed in the interim — that Henry 
 Mason, in consequence of the welcome announcement that the 
 new brig was at last ready for her captain and cargo, arrived in 
 London to enter upon his new appointment. 
 
 " These lodgings, Esther," said he, as he was preparing to 
 go out, soon after breakfast, on the morning after his arrival, 
 " are scarcely the thing ; and as I, like you, am a stranger in 
 Cockney-land, I had better cons,ult some of the firm upon the 
 subject, before we decide upon permanent ones. In the mean- 
 time, you and Willy must mind and keep in doors when I am 
 not with you, or I shall have one or other of you lost in this 
 ..great wilderness of a city. I shall return in two or three hours. 
 I wiU order something for dinner as I go along : I have your 
 purse. Grood-by : God bless you both." 
 
 Inquiring his way every two or three minutes. Mason presently 
 found himself in the vicinity of Tower Stairs. A scuffle in front 
 of a public-house attracted his attention ; and his ready sympa- 
 thies were in an instant enlisted in behalf of a young sailor, 
 vainly struggling in the grasp of several athletic men, and crying 
 lustily on the gaping bystanders for help. Mason sprang forward, 
 caught one of the assailants by the collar, and hurled him with 
 some violence against the wall. A fierce outcry greeted this 
 audacious interference with gentlemen who, in those good old 
 times, were but executing the law in a remarkably good old 
 manner. Lieutenant Donnagheu, a somewhat celebrated snap- 
 per-up of loose mariners, emerged upon the scene ; and in a few 
 minutes was enabled to exult in the secure possession of an ad- 
 
ESTHERMASON. 95 
 
 ditional prize in the unfortunate Henry Mason, who, too late, 
 discovered that he had embroiled himself with a pressgang ! 
 Desperate, frenzied were the eiForts he made to extricate him- 
 self from the peril in which he had rashly involved himself. In 
 vain ! His protestations that he was a mate, a captain, in the 
 merchant service, were unheeded or mocked at. 
 
 To all his remonstrances he only got the professional answer 
 — " His majesty wants you, and that is enough ; so come along, 
 and no more about it." 
 
 Bruised, exhausted, almost mad, he was borne off in triumph 
 to a boat, into which he was thrust with several others, and 
 swiftly rowed off to a receiving-ship in the river. Even there 
 his assertions and protestations were of no avail. Nothing but 
 an A^dmiralty order, the officer in command candidly told him, 
 should effect his liberation. His majesty was in need of sea- 
 men ; and he was evidently too smart a one to.be deprived of 
 the glory of serving his country. " You must therefore," con- 
 cluded the officer, as he turned laughingly upon his heel, " do 
 as thousands of other fine fellows have been compelled to do — 
 ' grin and bear it.' " In about three weeks from the date of 
 his impressment Mason found himself serving in the Mediter- 
 ranean on board the " Active" frigate, Captain Alexander Gor- 
 don, without having been permitted one opportunity of commu- 
 nicating with the shore. This was certainly very sharp, but it 
 was not the less very common practice in those great days of 
 triumphant battles by land and sea. 
 
 Very drearily passed the time with the bereaved wife. Her 
 husband had promised to send home something for dinner, and 
 various groceries ; yet hour after hour went past, and nothing 
 arrived. Morning flushed into noon, day faded to twilight, and 
 stiU the well-known and always eager step sounded not upon the 
 
96 ESTHERMASON. 
 
 staii-s ! What could have detained him from his wife, shut up, 
 imprisoned, as it were, in that hot, hurrying, stifling city ? She 
 feared to listen to the suggestions of her boding heart ; and with 
 feverish restlessness ran out upon the landing, and peered over 
 the stairs every time a knock or ring was heard at the street- 
 door. This strange behavior was, it seems, noticed by the land- 
 lady of the lodging-house, and injuriously interpreted. A knock 
 came to the door, and that person entered to know at what time 
 
 Mrs. , she had forgotten the young woman's name, expected 
 
 the dinner, she, the landlady, had undertaken to cook. 
 
 Esther timidly replied that her husband had promised to re- 
 turn in two or three hours at latest ; and that she did not com- 
 prehend his continued absence—was indeed quite alarmed %bout 
 
 it 
 
 " Your husband !" said the woman, glancing insolently at 
 Esther's figure. " Are you sure he is your husband .>" 
 
 The hot blood suffused the temples of the indignant wife as 
 she said, " This apartment, madam, I believe is mine V 
 
 " Oh, certainly, as long as you can pay for it ;" and rudely 
 slamming the door, the landlady departed. 
 
 The long wretched night at last over, Esther rose with the 
 light ; and after giving her son his breakfast from the remains 
 of that of the day before, set off with him to the place of busi- 
 ness of the Messrs. Roberts. It was eai-ly, and one clerk only 
 had as yet arrived at the office. He informed her that Mr. 
 Henry Mason had not been seen, , and that the partners were 
 greatly annoyed abont it, as his immediate presence was abso- 
 lutely necessary. 
 
 Stunned, terrified, bewildered by the frightful calamity which 
 she believed had befallen her, she felt convinced that her hus- 
 band had been entrapped and murdered for the sake of the 
 
ESTHER MASON. 97 
 
 money he had ahoiit him : the wretched woman tottered back 
 to her lodgings, and threw herself on the bed in wild despau'. 
 What was to be done for food e/en for her boy ? Her husband 
 had not only his pocket-book with him containing his larger 
 money, but had taken her purse ! She was alone and penniless 
 in a strange city ! The hungry wailings of her witless child 
 towards evening at length aroused her from the stupor of despaii' 
 into which she had fallen. The miserable resource of pawning 
 ocoui'red to her : she could at least, by pledging a part of her 
 wardrobe, procure sustenance for her child till she could hear 
 from her sister ; and with trembling hands she began arranging 
 a bundle of such things as she could best spare, when the land- 
 lady abruptly entered the room, with a peremptory demand — 
 as her husband was not returned, and did not appear likely to 
 do so — for a month's rent in advance, that being the term the 
 apartments were engaged for. The tears, entreaties, expostula- 
 tions of the miserable wife were of no avail. Not one article, 
 the woman declared, should leave her house till her claim was 
 settled. She affected to doubt, perhaps really did so, that 
 Esther was married ; and hinted coarsely at an enforcement of 
 the laws against persons who had no visible means of subsistence. 
 In a paroxysm of despair, the unhappy woman rushed out of the 
 house ; and accompanied by her hungry child, again sought the 
 counting-house of the Messrs. Roberts. She was now as much 
 too late as she had been too early in the morning : the partners 
 and clerks had gone, and she appears to have been treated with 
 some rudeness by the porter, who was closing the premises when 
 she arrived. Possibly the wildness of her looksj and the inco- 
 herence of her speech and manner, produced an impression un- 
 favorable to her. lletraoing her steps — penniless, hungry, sick 
 at heart — she thought, as she afterwards declared, that sh^ 
 
PS ESTHERMASON. 
 
 recognized my wife in one of the numerous ladies seated before 
 tiie counters of a fasHonable shop in one of the busiest thorough- 
 fares. She entered, and not till "she approached close to the lady 
 discovered her mistake. She turned despau'ingly away ; when 
 a piece of rich lace, lying apparently unheeded on the counter, 
 met her eye, and a dreadful suggestion crossed her fevered brain : 
 here at least was the means of procuring food for her wailing 
 child. She glanced hastily and fearfully round. No eye, she 
 thought, observed her ; and, horror of horrors ! a moment after- 
 Trards she had concealed the lace beneath her shawl, and with 
 tottering feet was hastily leaving the shop. She had not taken 
 half-a-dozen steps when a heavy hand was laid upon her shoulder, 
 and a voice, as of a serpent hissing in her ear, commanded her 
 to restore the lace she had stolen. Transfixed with shame and 
 terror, she stood rooted to the spot, and the lace fell on the 
 floor. 
 
 " Fetch an officer," said the harsh voice, addressing one of 
 the shopmen. 
 
 " No — no — no !" screamed the wretched woman, falling on 
 her knees in wild supplication. " For my child's sake — in 
 mercy of the innocent babe as yet unborn — ^pity and forgive 
 me !" 
 
 The harsh order was iterated ; and Esther Mason, fainting 
 T/ith shame and agony, was conveyed to the prison inGriltspur 
 Street. The next day she was fully committed to Newgate on 
 the capital charge of privately stealing in a shop to the value of 
 five pounds. A few hours after her incarceration within those 
 terrible walls, she was prematurely delivered of a female child. 
 
 I have no moral doubt whatever, I never have had, that at 
 the time of the committal of the felonious act, the intellect of 
 Esther Mason was disordered. Any other supposition is incon- 
 
ESTHERMASON. 99 
 
 sistent with the whole tenor of her previous life and character. 
 " Lead us not into temptation" is indeed the holiest, because 
 the humblest prayer. 
 
 Three weeks had elapsed before the first intimation of these 
 events reached me, in a note from the, chaplain of Newgate, an 
 excellent, kind-hearted man, to whom Mrs. Mason had confided 
 her sad story. I immediately hastened to the prison ; and in a 
 long interview with her, elicited the foregoing statement. I 
 readily assured her that all which legal skill could do to extricate 
 her from the awful position in which she stood, the gravity of 
 which I did not affect to conceal, should be done. The offence 
 with which she was charged had supplied the scafibld with num- 
 berless victims ; and tradesmen were more than ever clamorous 
 for the stem execution of a law which, spite of experience, they 
 still regarded as the only safeguard of •their property. My wife 
 was overwhelmed with grief; and in her anxiety to save her 
 unhappy foster-sister, sought, without my knowledge, an inter- 
 view with the prosecutor, in the hope of inducing him not to 
 press the .charge. Her efibrts were unavailing. He had suffered 
 much, he said, from such practices, and was " upon principle" 
 determined to make an example of every offender he could 
 catch. As to the plea that the husband had been forcibly car- 
 ried off' by a pressgang, it was absurd ; for what would become 
 of the property of tradesmen if the wife of every sailor so en- 
 trapped were to be allowed to plunder shops with impunity .' 
 This magnificent reasoning was of course unanswerable ; and 
 the rebuked petitioner abandoned her bootless errand in des- 
 pair. Messrs. Roberts, I should have mentioned, had by some 
 accident discovered the nature of the misfortune which had be- 
 fallen their officer, and had already made urgent application to 
 the Admiralty for his release. 
 
100 
 
 ESTHER MASON. 
 
 The Old Bailey sessions did not come on for some time : I, 
 however, took care to secure at once, as I did not myself practice 
 in that court, the highest talent which its har aiForded. Willy, 
 who had been placed in a workhouse hy the authorities, we had 
 properly taken care of till he could be restored to his mother ; 
 or, in the event of her conviction, to his relatives in Devonshke. 
 
 The sessions wore at last on : a " true hill" against Esther 
 Mason for shoplifting, as it was popularly termed, was unhesi- 
 tatingly found, and with a heavy heart I wended my way to the 
 court to watch the proceedings. A few minutes after I entered, 
 Mr. Justice Le Blanc and Mr. Baron Wood, who had assisted 
 at an important case of stockjobbing conspiracy, just over, left 
 the bench : the learned recorder being doubtless considered 
 quite equal to the trial of a mere capital charge of theft. 
 
 The prisoner was placed in the dock ; but try as I might, I 
 could not look at her. It happened to be a calm bright summer 
 day ; the air, as if in mockery of those death-sessions, humming 
 with busy, lusty life ; so that, sitting with my back to the pris- 
 oner, I could, as it were, read her demeanor in the shadow 
 thrown by her figure on the opposite sun-lighted wall. There 
 she stood, during the brief moments which sealed her earthly 
 doom, with downcast eyes and utterly dejected posture ; her 
 thin fingers playing mechanically with the flowers and sweet- 
 scented herbs spread scantily before her. The trial was very 
 brief: the evidence, emphatically conclusive, was confidently 
 given, and vainly cross-examined. Nothing remained but an 
 elaborate ad mistricordinm exousative defence, which had been 
 prepared by me, and which the prisoner begged her counsel 
 might be allowed to read. This was of course refused ; the 
 recorder remarking, they might as well allow counsel for felons 
 to address juries, as read defences ; and that^ as every practical 
 
ESTHER MASON. 101 
 
 man knew, would be utterly subversive of the due administration 
 of justice. The clerk of the court would read the paper, if the 
 prisoner felt too agitated to do so. This was done ; and very 
 vilely done. The clerk, I dare say, read as well as he was 
 able ; but old, near-sighted, and possessed of anything but a 
 clear enunciation, what could be expected .' Th« defence, so 
 read, produced not the slightest eiFeot either on the court or 
 jury. The recorder briefly commented on the conclusiveness 
 of the evidence for the prosecution ; and the jury, in the same 
 brief, business-like manner, returned a verdict' of Guilty. 
 
 " What have you to say," demanded the clerk, " why sen- 
 tence of death should not be pronounced upon you, according to 
 law .?" 
 
 The shadow started convulsively as the terrible Words fell 
 from the man's lips ; and I saw that the suddenly-upraised 
 eyes of the prisoner were fastened on the face of the fearful 
 questioner. The lips, too, appeared to move ; but no sound 
 reached my ears. 
 
 " Speak, woman," said the recorder ; " if you have anything 
 to urge before sentence is pronounced." 
 
 I started up, and turning to the prisoner, besought her in 
 hurried accents to speak. " Kemind them of the infant at your 
 breast — your husband " 
 
 " Who is that conferring with the prisoner .''" demanded the 
 judge in an angry voice. 
 
 I turned, and confronted him with a look as cold and haughty 
 as his own. He did not think proper to pursue the inquiry 
 further ; and after muttering something about the necessity of 
 not interrupting the proceedings of the court, again asked the 
 prisoner if she had anything to urge. 
 
 " Not for myself — not for my sake," at last faintly murmured 
 
102 ESTHERMASON. 
 
 the trembling woman ; " but for that of my poor dear infant — 
 my poor witless boy ! I do not think, sir, I was in my right 
 mind. I was starving. I was friendless. My husband, too, 
 
 whom you have heard " She stopped abruptly ; a choking 
 
 sob struggled in her throat ; and but for the supporting arm of 
 one of the turnkeys, she would have fallen to the ground. 
 
 " Unhappy, guilty woman," said the recorder, with the cool- 
 ness of a demon, " the plea of insanity you would set up is 
 utterly untenable. Your husband, it seems, is serving his ma^ 
 jesty in the royal navy ; defending his country, whilst his wife 
 was breaking its laws, by the commission of a crime which, but 
 for the stern repression of the law, would sap the foundations of 
 the security of property, and " 
 
 I could endure no more. The atmosphere of the court seemed 
 to stifle me ; and I rushed for relief into the open air. Before, 
 however, I had reached the street, a long, piercing scream in- 
 formed me that the learned judge had done his duty. 
 
 No effort was spared during the interval which elapsed previous 
 to the recorder presenting his report to the privy-counsel — a pe- 
 culiar privilege at that time attached to the office — to procure a 
 mitigation of the sentence. A petition, setting forth the peculiar 
 circumstances of the case, was carefully prepared ; and by the 
 indefatigable exertions of an excellent Quaker gentleman — 
 whom, as he is still alive, and might not choose to have his 
 name blazoned to the world, I will call William Friend-^was 
 soon very numerously signed. The prosecutor, however, ob- 
 stinately refused to attach his name to the document ; and the 
 absence of his signature — so strangely, did men reason on such 
 matters in those days — would, it was feared, weigh heavily 
 against the success of the petition. The amiable and enlight- 
 ened Sir Samuel RomiUy not only attached his name, but aided 
 
ESTHER MASON. 103 
 
 US zealously by Lis advice and influence. In short, nothing was 
 omitted that appeared likely to attain the desired object. 
 
 Two days before the petition was to be forwarded to the 
 ■ proper quarter, Henry Mason arrived in England, the exertions 
 of his employers having procured his discharge. The " Active" 
 was one of Captain Hoste's squadron, which obtained the cele- 
 brated victory off Lissa, over the Franco-Venetian fleet com- 
 manded by Admiral Dobourdieu. Henry Mason, it appeared 
 by the testimonials of the captain and officers of his ship, had 
 greatly distinguished himself in the action. We inclosed these 
 papers with the petition ; and then, having done all in our 
 power, awaited with anxious impatience the result of the re- 
 corder's report. It was announced to me, as I was sitting some- 
 what later than usual at chambers, by Mr. William Friend. The 
 judgment to die was confirmed ! AIL our representations had 
 not sufficed to counterbalance the supposed necessity of exhib- 
 iting terrible examples of the fate awaiting the perpetrators of 
 an offence said to be greatly on the increase. Excellent William 
 Friend wept like a child as he made the announcement". 
 
 There are many persons alive .who recollect this horrible 
 tragedy — this national disgrace — this act of gross barbarity on 
 the part of the great personage, who, first having carried off the 
 poor woman's husband, left her to die for an act the very conse- 
 quence of that robbery. "Who among the spectators can ever 
 forget that heart-rending scene — the hangman taking the baby 
 from the breast of the wretched creature just before he put her 
 to death ! But let us not rake up these terrible reminiscences. 
 Let us hope that the truly guilty are forgiven. And let us 
 take consolation from reflecting that this event led the great 
 KomiUy to enter on his celebrated career as a reformer of the 
 criminal law. 
 
104 ESTHER MASON 
 
 The remains of Esther Mason were obtained from the New- 
 gate ofl&oials, and quietly interred in St. Sepulchre's church-yard. 
 A plain slab, with her name only plainly chiselled upon it, was 
 some time afterwards placed above the grave. A few years ago 
 I attended a funeral in the same grave-yard ; and after a slight 
 search,' discovered the spot. The inscription, though of course 
 much worn, was still quite legible. 
 
 I had not seen Henry Mason since his return ; but I was glad 
 to hear from Mr. William Friend that, after the first passionate 
 burst of rage and grief had subsided, he had, apparently at least, 
 thanks to the, tender and pious espostulations of his wife — with 
 whom, by the kind intervention of the sheriffs, he wus permitted 
 long and frequent interviews — settled down into calmness and 
 resignation. One thing only he would not bear to hear even 
 from her, and that was any admission that she had been guilty 
 of, even the slightest offence. A hint of the kind, however un- 
 intentional, would throw him into a paroxysm of fury ; and the 
 subject was consequently in his presence studiously avoided. 
 
 A few days after the execution, Mr. William Friend called 
 on me just after breakfast, accompanied by the bereaved hus- 
 band. I never saw so changed a man. All the warm kindliness 
 of his nature had vanished, and was replaced by a gloomy fierce 
 austerity, altogether painful to contemplate. 
 
 " Well, sir," said he, as he barely touched my proffered hand, 
 " they have killed her, you see, spite of all you could say or do. 
 It much availed me, too, that I had helped to win their boasted 
 victories ;" and he laughed with savage bitterness. 
 
 " Henry — Henry !" exclaimed William Friend, in a reproving 
 accent. 
 
 " Well, well, sir," rejoined Mason, impatiently, " yon are a 
 good man, and have of course your own notions on these matters : 
 
ESTHER MASON. 105 
 
 I also have mine. Or, perhaps, you think it is only the blood of 
 the rich and great which, shed unjustly, brings forth the iron 
 harvest ? Forgive me," he added, checking himself. " I re- 
 spect you both ; but my heart is turned to stone. You do not 
 know — none ever knew but I — how kind, how loving, how gentle 
 was that poor long-suffering girl." 
 
 He turned from us to hide the terrible agony which convulsed 
 him. 
 
 " Henry," said Mr. Friend, taking him kindly by the hand, 
 " w€ pity thee sincerely, as thou knowest ; but thy bitter, re- 
 vengeful expressions are unchristian, sinful. The authorities 
 whom thou, not for the first time, railest on so wildly, acted, be 
 sure of it, from a sense of duty ; a mistaken one, in my opinion, 
 doubtless ; still " 
 
 " Say no more, sir," interrupted Mason. " We differ in 
 opinion upon the subject. And now, gentlemen, farewell. I 
 wished to see you, sir, before I left this country forever, to thank 
 you for your kind, though fruitless exertions. Mr. Friend has 
 promised to be steward for poor Willy of all I can remit for his 
 use. Farewell ! G-od bless you both !" He was gone ! 
 
 War soon afterwards broke out with the United States of 
 America, and Mr. Friend discovered that one of the most active 
 and daring oificers in the Republican navy was Henry Mason, 
 who had entered the American service in the maiden name of 
 his wife ; and that the large sums he had remitted from time to 
 time for the use of Willy, were the produce of his successful 
 depredations on British commerce. The instant Mr. Friend 
 made the discovery, he refused to pollute his hands with moneys 
 so obtained, and declined all further agency in the matter. 
 Mason, however, contrived to remit through some other channel 
 to the Davies's, with whom the boy had been placed ; and a 
 
106 ESTHERMASON. 
 
 rapid improvement in their circumstances was soon visible. 
 These remittances ceased ahout the middle of 1814 ; and a 
 twelvemonth after the peace with America, we ascertained that 
 Henry Mason had been killed in the battle on Lake Champlain, 
 where he had distinguished himself, as everywhere else, by the 
 reckless daring and furious hate with which he fought against 
 the country which, in his unreasoning frenzy, he accused of the 
 murder of his wife. He was recognized by one of his former 
 messmates in the " Active ;" who, conveyed a prisoner on board 
 the American commander Macdonough's ship, recognized him 
 as he lay stretched on the deck, in the uniform of an American 
 naval officer ; his countenance, even in death, wearing the same 
 stormful defiant expression which it assumed on the day that his 
 beloved Esther perished on the scaffold. 
 
THE MAKRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 " It is really time that a properly-qualified governess had 
 charge of those girls," observed my wife, as Mary and Kate, 
 after a more than usually boisterous romp with their papa, left 
 the room for bed. I may here remark, inter alia, that I once 
 surprised a dignified and highly-distinguished judge at a game 
 of blindman's buff with his children, and very heartily he-ap- 
 pejired to enjoy it too. " It is really time that a properly- 
 qualified governess had charge of those girls. Susan May did 
 very well as a nursery teacher, but they are now far beyond her 
 control. I cannot attend to their education, and as for you" 
 
 The sentence was concluded by a shrug of the shoulders 
 
 and a toss of the head, eloquently expressive of the degree of 
 estimation in. which my governing powers were held. 
 
 " Time enough, surely, for that," I exclaimed, as soon as I 
 had composed myself ; for I was a little out of breath. " They 
 may, I think, rub along with Susan for another year or two. 
 Mary is but seven years of age" 
 
 " Eight years, if you please. She was eight years old last 
 Thursday three weeks." 
 
 " Eight years ! Then we must have been married nine ! 
 Bless me, how the time has flown : it seems scarcely so many 
 weeks !" 
 
 " Nonsense," rejoined my wife with a sharpness of tone and 
 a rigidity of facial muscle which, considering the handsome com- 
 
108 THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 pliment I had just paid her, argued, I was afraid, a foregone 
 conclusion. " You always have recourse to some folly of that ' 
 sort whenever I am desirous of entering into a serious consulta- 
 tion on family affairs." 
 
 There was some truth in this, I confess. The " consulta- 
 tions" which I found profitable were not serious ones with my 
 wife upon domestic matters ; leading, as they invariably did, to 
 a diminution instead of an increase of the little balance at the 
 banker's. If such a proposition could therefore be evaded or 
 adjourned by even an extravagant compliment, I considered it 
 well laid out. But the expedient, I found, was one which did 
 not improve by u.5e. For some time after marriage it answered 
 remarkably well ; but each succeeding year of wedded bliss 
 marked its rapidly-declining efficacy. . . 
 
 "Well, well; goon." 
 
 " I say it is absolutely necessary that a first-rate governess 
 should be at once engaged. Lady Blaldon has been here to- 
 day, and she" 
 
 " Oh, I thought it might be her new ladyship's suggestion. 
 I wish the ' fountain of honor' was somewhat charier of its 
 knights and ladies, and then perhaps" 
 
 " What, for mercy's sake, are you running on about ?" in- 
 terrupted the lady with peremptory emphasis. " Fountains of 
 honor, forsooth ! One would suppose, to hear you talk in that 
 wild, nonsensical way, that you were addressing a bench of 
 judges sitting in banco, instead of a sensible person solicitous 
 for her and your children's welfare." 
 
 " Bless the woman," thought I ; " what an exalted idea she 
 appears to have of forensic eloquence ! Proceed, my love," I 
 continued ; " there is a difference certainly ; and I am all 
 attention." 
 
THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 109 
 
 " Lady Maldon knows a young lady — a distant relative, in- 
 deed, of hers — ^whom she is anxious to serve" 
 
 " At our expense." 
 
 " How can you he so ungenerous .' Edith "Willoughhy is the 
 orphan daughter of the late Reverend Mr. Willoughhy, curate 
 of Heavy Tree in Warwickshire, I believe ; and was specially 
 educated for a first-class governess and teacher. She speaks 
 French with the true Parisian accent, and her Italian, Lady 
 Maldon assures me, is pure Tuscan" 
 
 " He-e-e-m !" 
 
 " She dances with grace and elegance ; plays the harp and 
 piano with skill and taste ; is a thorough artiste in drawing and 
 paintmg ; and is, moreover, very handsome — though beauty, I 
 admit, is an attribute which in a governess might be very well 
 dispensed with." 
 
 " True ; unless, indeed, it were catching." 
 
 I need not prolong this connubial dialogue. It is sufficient to 
 state that Edith Willoughhy was duly installed in office on the 
 following day ; and that, much to my surprise, I found that her 
 qualifications for the charge she had undertaken were scarcely 
 overcolored. She was a well-educated, elegant, and beautiful 
 girl, of refined and fascinating manners, and possessed of one of 
 the sweetest, gentlest dispositions that ever charmed and graced 
 the family and social circle. She was, I often thought, for her 
 own chance of happiness, too ductile, too readily yielding to the 
 wishes and fancies of others. In a very short time I came to re- 
 gard her as a daughter, and with my wife and children she was 
 speedily a prodigious favorite. Mary and Kate improved rapidly 
 under her judicious tuition, and I felt for once positively grate- 
 ful to busy Lady Maldon for her officious interference in my 
 domestic arrangements. 
 
110 THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 Edith Willoughby had been domiciled with us about two 
 years, when Mr. Harlowe, a gentleman of good descent and fine 
 property, had occasion to call several times at my private 
 residence on business relating to the purchase of a house in 
 South Audley Street, the title to which exhibited by the venders 
 was not of the most satisfactory kind. On one occasion he 
 stayed to dine with us, and I noticed that he seemed much 
 struck by the appearance of our beautiful and accomplished 
 governess. His evident emotion startled and pained me in a 
 much higher degree than I could have easily accounted for even 
 to myself. Mr. Harlowe was a widower, past his first youth 
 certainly, but scarcely more than two or three-and-thirty years 
 of age, wealthy, not ill-looking, and, as far as I knew, of aver- 
 age character in society. Surely an excellent match, if it 
 should come to that, for an orphan girl rich only in fine talents 
 and gentle affections. But I could not think so. I disliked the 
 man — instinctively disliked and distrusted him ; for I could 
 assign no very positive motive for my antipathy. 
 
 " The reason whj', I cannot tell, 
 But I don't like thee, Dr. Fell." 
 
 These lines indicate an unconquerable feeling which most per- 
 sons have, I presume, experienced ; and which frequently, I 
 think, results from a kind of cumulative evidence of unconge- 
 niality or nnworthiness, made up of a number of slight indices 
 of character, which, separately, may appear of little moment, 
 but altogether, produce a strong, if undefinable, feeling of aver- 
 sion. Mr. Harlowe's manners were bland, polished, and insinu- 
 ating ; his conversation was sparkling and instructive ; but a 
 cold sneer seemed to play habitually about his lips, and at times 
 there glanced forth a concentrated, polished ferocity — so to 
 
THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. Ill 
 
 speak — ^from his eyes, revealing hard and stony depths, which I 
 shuddered to think a being so pure and gentle as Edith might 
 be doomed to sound and fathom. That he was a man of strong 
 passions and determination of will, was testified by every curve 
 of his square, massive head, and every line of his full coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 My aversion — reasonable or otherwise, as it might be — was 
 not shared by Miss Willoughby ; and it was soon apparent that, 
 fascinated, intoxicated by her extreme beauty (the man was, I 
 felt, incapable of love in its high, generous, and spiritual sense), 
 Mr. Harlowe had determined on ofiering his hand and fortune 
 to the unportioned orphan. He did so, and was accepted. I 
 did not conceal my dislike of her suitor from Edith ; and my 
 wife — who, with feminine exaggeration of the hints I threw out, 
 had set him down as a kind of polished human tiger — with tears 
 intreated her to avoid the glittering snare. We of course had 
 neither right nor power to push our opposition beyond friendly 
 warning and advice ; and when we found, thanks to Lady Mai- 
 den, who was vehemently in favor of the match — to, in Edith's 
 position, the dazzling temptation of a splendid establishment, 
 and to Mr. Harlowe's eloquent and impassioned pleadings — that 
 the rich man's offer was irrevocably accepted, we of course fore- 
 bore from continuing a useless and irritating resistance. Lady 
 Maldon had several times very plainly intimated that our aver- 
 sion to the marriage arose solely from a selfish desire of retain- 
 ing the services of her charming relative ; so prone are the 
 mean and selfish to impute meanness and selfishness to others. 
 
 I might, however, I reflected, be of service to Miss Wil- 
 loughby, by securing for her such a marriage settlement as 
 would place her beyond the reach of one possible consequence 
 of caprice and change. I spoke to Mr. Harlowe on the subject ; 
 
112 THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 and he, under the influence of headstrong, eager passion, gave 
 me, as I expected, carte blanche. I availed myself of the license 
 so readily aiForded : a deed of settlement was drawn up, signed, 
 sealed, and attested in duplicate the day before the wedding ; 
 and Edith Willoughby, as far as wealth and position in society 
 were concerned, had undoubtedly made a surprisingly good 
 bargain. 
 
 It happened that just as Lady Maldon, Edith Willoughby, 
 and Mr. Harlowe were leaving my chambers after the execution 
 of the deed, Mr. Ferret the attorney appeared on the stau-s. 
 His hands were full of papers, and he was, as usual, in hot 
 haste ; but he stopped abruptly as his eye fell upon the depart- 
 ing visitors, looked with startled earnestness at Miss Willoughby, 
 whom he knew, and then glanced at Mr. Harlowe with an ex- 
 pression of angry surprise. That gentleman, who did not 
 appear to recognize the new-comer, returned his look with a 
 supercilious, contemptuous stare, and passed on with Edith — 
 who had courteously saluted the inattentive Mr. Ferret — fol- 
 lowed by Lady Maldon. 
 
 " What is the meaning of that ominous conjunction .'" de- 
 manded Mr. Ferret as the affianced pair disappeared together. 
 
 " Marriage, Mr. Ferret ! Do you know any just cause or 
 impediment why they should not be joined together in holy 
 wedlock .'" 
 
 " The fellow's wife is dead then .'" 
 
 "Yes; she died about a twelvemonth ago. Did you know 
 her .?" 
 
 " Not personally ; by reputation only. A country attorney, 
 Richards of Braintree, for whom I transact London business 
 sent me the draught of a deed of separation — to which the un- 
 fortunate lady, rather than continue to live with her husband, 
 
THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 113 
 
 had consented — for counsel's opinion. I had an interview with 
 Mr. Harlowe himself upon the business ; but I see he affects to 
 have forgotten me. I do not know much of the merits of the 
 case, but according to Eichards — no great shakes of a fellow, 
 between ourselves — the former Mrs. Harlowe was a martyr to 
 her husband's calculated virulence and legal — at least not il- 
 legal, a great distinction, in my opinion, though not so set down 
 in the books — .despotism. He espoused her for her wealth : 
 that secured, he was desirous of ridding himself of the incum- 
 brance to it. A common case ! — and now, if you please, to 
 business." 
 
 I excused myself, as did my wife, from being present at the 
 wedding ; but everything, I afterwards heard, passed off with 
 great eclat. The bridegroom was all fervor and obsequious- 
 ness ; the bride all bashfulness and beauty. The- " happy pair," 
 I saw by the afternoon newspapers, were to pass the honeymoon 
 at Mr. Harlowe's seat, Fairdown Park. The evening of the 
 marriage-day was anything, I remember, but a* pleasant one to 
 me. I reached home by no means hilariously disposed, where I 
 was greeted, by way of revival, with the intelligence that my 
 wife, after listening with great energy to Lady Maiden's descrip- 
 tion of the wedding festivities for two tremendous hours, had at 
 last been relieved by copious hysteria, and that Mary and Kate 
 were in a fair way — if the exploit could be accomplished by 
 perseverance — of crying themselves to sleep. These were our 
 bridal compliments ; much more flattering, I imagine, if not 
 quite so honey-accented, as the courtly phrases with which the 
 votaries and the victims of Hymen are alike usually greeted. 
 
 Time, business, worldly hopes and cares, the triumphs and 
 defeats of an exciting profession, gradually weakened the impres- 
 sion made upon me by the gentle virtues of Edith Willoughby ; 
 
114 THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 and when, about fifteen months after the wedding, my wife in- 
 formed me that she had been accosted by Mrs. Harlowe at 
 a shop in Bond Street, my first feeling was one of surprise, not 
 untinged with resentment, for what I deemied her ungrateful 
 neglect. 
 
 " She recognized you then .'" I remarked. 
 
 " Recognized me ! What do you mean .'" 
 
 " I thought perhaps she might have forgotten your features, 
 as she evidently has our address." 
 
 " If you had seen," replied my wife, " how pale, how cold, 
 how utterly desolate she looked, you would think less hardly of 
 her. As soon as she observed me, a slight scream escaped her ; 
 and then she glanced eagerly and tremblingly around like a 
 startled fawn. Her husband had passed out of the shop to give, 
 I think, some direction to the coachman. She tottered towards 
 me, and clasping me in her arms, burst into a passion of tears. 
 " Oh, why — why," I asked as soon as I could speak, " why 
 have you not written to us.'" "I dar«d not!" she gasped. 
 " But oh tell me, do you — does your husband remember me 
 with kindness ? Can I stUl reckon on his protection — ^his sup-- 
 port .'" I assured her you would receive her as your own child : 
 the whispered words had barely passed my lips, when Mr. Har- 
 lowe, who had swiftly approached us unperceived, said, " Madam, 
 the carriage waits." His stern, pitiless eye glanced from his 
 wife to me, and stiffly bowing, he said, " Excuse me for inter- 
 rupting your conversation ; but time presses. Good-day." A 
 minute afterwards, the carriage drove off. 
 
 I was greatly shocked at this confirmation of my worst fears ; 
 and I meditated with intense bitterness on the fate of a being of 
 such meek tenderness exposed to the heartless brutalities of a 
 sated sensualist like Harlowe. But what could be done .' She 
 
THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 115 
 
 had chosen, deliberately, and after warning, chosen her lot, and 
 must accept the -consequences of her choice. In all the strong 
 statutes, and sharp biting laws of England, there can be found . 
 no clause wherewith to shield a woman from the "regulated" 
 meanness and despotism of an unprincipled husband. Resigna- 
 tion is the sole remedy, and therein the patient must minister to 
 herself 
 
 On the morning of the Sunday following Edith's brief inter- 
 view with my wife, and just as we were about to leave the 
 house to attend divine service, a cab drove furiously up to the 
 door, and a violent summons by both knocker and bell announced 
 the arrival of some strangely-impatient visitor. I stepped out 
 upon the drawing-room landing, and looked over the banister 
 rail, curious to ascertain who had honored me with so peremp- 
 tory a call. The door was quickly opened, and in rap, or 
 rather staggered, Mrs. Harlowe, with a chUd in long clothes in 
 her arms. 
 
 " Shut — shut the door !" she faintly exclaimed, as she sank 
 on one of the hall seats. " Pray shut the door — I am pursued !" 
 
 I hastened down, and was just in time to save her from fall- 
 ing on the floor. She had fainted. I had her carried up stairs, 
 and by the aid of proper restoratives, she gradually recovered 
 consciousness. The chUd, a girl about four months old, was 
 seized upon by Mary and Kate, and carried off in triumph to 
 the nursery. ' Sadly changed, indeed, as by the sickness of the 
 soul, was poor Edith. The radiant flush of youth and hope, 
 rendering her sweet face eloquent of joy and pride, was replaced 
 by the cold, sad hues of wounded affections and proud despair. 
 I could read in her countenance, as in a book, the sad record of 
 long months of wearing sorrow, vain regrets, and bitter self- 
 reproach. Her person, too, had lost its rounded, airy, graceful 
 
116 THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 outline, and had become tliin and angular. Her voice, albeit, 
 was musical and gentle as ever, as sbe murmured, on recovering 
 her senses, " You will protect me from my — from that man r" 
 As I warmly pressed her hand, in emphatic assurance that I 
 would shield her against all comers, another loud summons was 
 heard at the door. A minute afterwards, a servant entered, and 
 announced that Mr. Harlowe waited for me below. I directed 
 he should be shown into the library ; and after iterating my as- 
 surance to Edith that she was quite safe from violence beneath 
 my roof, and that I would presently return to hear her explana- 
 tion of the affair, I went down stairs. 
 
 Mr. Harlowe, as I entered, was pacing rapidly up and 
 down the apartment. He turned to face me ; and I thought 
 he looked even more perturbed and anxious than vengeful 
 and angry. He, however, as I coldly bowed, and demanded 
 his business with me, instantly assumed a bullying air and 
 tone. 
 
 " Mrs. Harlowe is here : she has surreptitiously left South 
 Audley Street in a hired cab, and I have traced her to this 
 house." 
 
 "Well.'" . 
 
 " Well ! I trust it is well ; and I insist that she instantly 
 return to her home." 
 
 " Her home!'''' 
 
 I used the word with an expression significative only of my 
 sense of the sort of " home" he had provided for the gentle 
 girl he had sworn to love and cherish ; but the random shaft 
 found a joint in his armor at which it was not aimed. He 
 visibly trembled, and turned pale. 
 
 " She has had time to tell you all then ! But be assured, 
 sir, that nothing she has heard or been told, however true it 
 
THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 117 
 
 may be — may be, remember, I say — can be legally substantiated 
 except by myself." 
 
 What could the man mean } I was fairly puzzled : but, 
 professionally accustomed to conceal emotions of surprise and 
 bewilderment, I coldly replied — " I have left the lady who ha.3 
 sought the protection of her true ' home,' merely to ascertain 
 the reason of this visit." 
 
 " The reason of my visit !" he exclaimed with renewed fury : 
 " to reconvey her to South Audley Street. What else .' If 
 you refuse to give her up, I shall apply to the police." 
 
 I smiled, and approached the bell. 
 
 " You will not surrender her then .'" 
 
 " To judicial process only : of that be assured. I have little 
 doubt that, when I am placed in full possession of all the facts 
 of the case, I shall be quite able to justify my conduct." He 
 did not reply, and I continued : " If you choose to wait here till 
 I have heard Edith's statement, I will at once frankly acquaint 
 you with my final determination." 
 
 " Be it so : and please to recollect, sir, that you have to deal 
 with a man not easily baffled or entrapped by legal subtlety or 
 cunning." 
 
 I reasoended to the drawing-room ; and finding Edith — 
 thanks to the ministrations, medicinal and oral, of my bustling 
 •and indignant lady — much calmer, and thoroughly satisfied that 
 nobody could or should wrest her from us, begged her to relate 
 unreservedly the cause or causes which had led to her present 
 position. She falteringly complied ; and I listened with throb- 
 bing pulse and burning cheeks to the sad story of her wedded 
 wretchedness, dating from within two or three months of the 
 marriage ; and finally consummated by a disclosure thai, if 
 provable, might consign Harlowe to the hulks. The tears, the 
 
118 THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 agony, the despair of the unhappy lady, e;Kcited in me a savage- 
 ness of feeling, an eager thirst for vengeance, which I had 
 believed foreign to my nature. Edith divined my thoughts, and 
 taking my hand, said, " Never, sir, never will I appear against 
 him : the father of my little Helen shall never be publicly 
 accused by me." 
 
 " You err, Edith," I rejoined ; " it is a positive duty to 
 bring so consummate a villain to justice. He has evidently 
 calculated on your gentleness of disposition, and must be 
 disappointed.'.' 
 
 I soon, however, found it was impossible to shake her resolu- 
 tion on this point ; and I returned with a heart full of grief and 
 bitterness to Mr. Harlowe. 
 
 " You wUl oblige me, sir," I exclaimed as I entered the 
 room, " by leaving this house immediately : I would hold no 
 further converse with so vile a person. " 
 
 " How ! Do you know to whom you presume to speak in 
 this manner .?" 
 
 " Perfectly. You are one Harlowe, who, after a few months' 
 residence with -a beautiful and amiable girl, had extinguished 
 the passion which induced him to offer her marriage, showered 
 on her every species of insult and indignity of which a cowardly 
 and malignant nature is capable ; and who, finding that did not 
 kill her, at length consummated, or revealed, I do not yet know 
 which term is most applicable, his utter baseness by causing her 
 to be informed that hisfirst wife was still living." 
 
 " Upon my honor, sir, I believed, when I married Jliss Wil- 
 loughby, that I was a widower." 
 
 " Your honor ! But except to prove that I do thoroughly 
 know and appreciate the person I am addressing, I will not 
 bandy words with you. After that terrible disclosure — if. 
 
THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 119 
 
 indeed, it be a disclosure, not an invention Ah, you start 
 
 at that !" 
 
 " At your insolence, sir ; not at your senseless surmises." 
 
 " Time and the law will show. After, I repeat, this terrible 
 disclosure or invention, you, not content with obtaining from 
 your victim's generosity a positive promise that she would not . 
 send you to the hulks" 
 
 " Sir, have a care." 
 
 " Pooh ! I say, not content with exacting this promise from 
 your victim, you, with your wife, or accomplice, threatened not 
 only to take her child from her, but to lock her up in a mad- 
 house, unless she subscribed a paper, confessing that she knew, 
 when you espoused her, that you were a married man. Now, 
 sir, do I, or do I not, thoroughly know who and what the man 
 is I am addressing .'" 
 
 " Sir," returned Harlowe, recovering his audacity somewhat, 
 " spite of all your hectoring and abuse, I defy you to obtain 
 proof — legal proof — whether what Edith has heard is true or 
 false. The aiSair may perhaps be arranged : let her return with 
 me." 
 
 " You know she would die first : but it is quite useless to 
 prolong this conversation ; and I again request you to leave this 
 house." 
 
 " If Miss WUloughby would accept an allowance" 
 
 The cool audacity of this proposal to make me an instrument 
 in compromising a felony exasperated me beyond all bounds. I 
 rang the bell violently, and desired the servant who answered it 
 to show Mr. Harlowe out of the house. Finding further per- 
 sistence useless, the baffled villain snatched up his hat, and with 
 a look and gesture of rage and contempt, hurried out of the 
 apartment. 
 
120 THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 The profession of a barrister necessarily begets habits of 
 coolness and reflection under the most exciting circumstances ; 
 but, I confess, that in this instance my ordinary equanimity wa5 
 so much disturbed, that it was some time before I could com- 
 mand sufficient composure to reason calmly upon the strange 
 revelations made to me by Edith, and the nature of the measures 
 necessary to adopt in order to clear up the mystery attaching to 
 them. She persisted in her refusal to have recourse to legal 
 measures with a view to the punishment of Harlowe ; and I 
 finally determined — after a conference with Mr. Ferret, who, 
 having acted for the first Mrs. Harlowe, I naturally conjectured 
 must know something of her history and connections — to take 
 for the present no ostensible steps in the matter. Mr. Ferret, 
 like myself, was persuaded that the sham resuscitation of his 
 first wife was a mere trick, to enable Harlowe to rid himself of 
 the presence of a woman he no longer oared for. " I will take 
 an opportunity," said Mr. Ferret, "of quietly questioning 
 Richards : he must have known the first wife ; Eleanor Wick- 
 ham, I remember, was her maiden name ; and if not bought 
 over by Harlowe^a by-no-means impossible purchase — can set 
 us right at once. I did not understand that the said Eleanor 
 was at all celebrated for beauty and accomplishments, such as 
 you say Miss Willoughby — Mrs. Harlowe, I mean — describes. 
 She was a native of Dorsetshire too, I remember ; and the 
 foreign Italian accent you mention, is rarely, I fancy, picked up 
 in that charming county. Some flashy opera-dancer, depend 
 upon it, whom he has o6ntra,cted a passing fancy for : a slippery 
 gentleman certainly ; but, with a little caution, we shall not fail 
 to trip his heels up, clever as he may be." 
 
 A stronger wrestler .than either of us was upon the track of 
 the unhappy man. Edith had not been with us above three 
 
THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 121 
 
 weeks, wlien one of Mr. Harlowe's servants called at my cham- 
 bers to say that his master, in consequence of a wound he had 
 inflicted on his foot with an axe, whilst amusing himself with 
 cutting or pruning some trees in the grounds at Fairdown, was 
 seriously ill, and had expressed a wish to see me. I could not 
 leave town ; but as it was important Mr. Harlowe should be 
 seen, I requested Mr. Ferret to proceed to Fairdown House. 
 He did so, and late in the evening returned with the startling 
 intelligence that Mr. Harlowe was dead ! 
 
 " Dead !" I exclaimed, much shocked. " Are you serious .'" 
 " As a judge. He expired, about an hour after I reached 
 the house, of tetanus, commonly called locked-jaw. His body, 
 by the contraction of the muscles, was bent like a bow, and 
 rested on his heels and the back part of his head. He was in- 
 capable of speech long before I saw him ; but there was a 
 world of agonized expression in his eyes !" 
 
 " Dreadful ! Your journey was useless then .'" 
 " Not precisely. I saw the pretended former wife : a splendid 
 woman, and as much Eleanor Wickham of Dorsetshire as I am. 
 They mean, however, to show fight, I think ; for, as I left the 
 place, I observed that delightful knave Richards enter the 
 house. I took the liberty of placing seals upon the desks and 
 cabinets, and directed the butler and other servants to see that 
 nothing was disturbed or removed till Mrs. Harlowe's — the true 
 Mrs. Harlowe's — arrival." 
 
 The funeral was to take place on the following Wednesday ; 
 and it was finally arranged that both of us would accompany 
 Edith to Fairdown on the day after it had taken place, and adopt 
 such measures as circumstances might render necessary. Mr. 
 Ferret wrote to this effect to all parties concerned. 
 
 On arriving at the house, I, Ferret, and BIrs. Harlowe, 
 
122 THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 proceeded at once to the drawing-room, where we found the 
 pretended wife seated ia great state, supported on one side by 
 Mr. Richards, and on the other by Mr. Quillet the eminent 
 proctor. Edith was dreadfully agitated, and clung frightened 
 and trembling to my arm. I conducted her to a seat, and 
 placed myself beside her, leaving Mr. Ferret — ^whom so tre- 
 mendous an array of law and learning, evincing a determination 
 to fight the matter out a Poutrance, filled with exuberant glee — 
 to open the conference. 
 
 " Grood-morning, madam," cried he, the moment he entered 
 the room, and quite unafiected by the lady's spornful and 
 haughty stare : " good-morning ; I am delighted to see you in 
 such excellent company. You do. not, I hope, forget that I 
 once had the honor of transacting business for you .?'' 
 
 " You had transactions of my business !" said the lady. 
 " When, I pray you .'" 
 
 " God bless me !" cried Ferret, addressing Richards, " what 
 a charming Italian accent ; and out of Dorsetshire too !" 
 
 " Dorsetshire, sir .?" exclaimed the lady. 
 
 " Ay, Dorsetshire, to be sure. Why, Mr. Richards, our re- 
 spected client appears to have forgotten her place of birth ! 
 How very extraordinary !" 
 
 Mr. Richards now interfered, to say that Mr. Ferret was ap- 
 parently laboring under a strange misapprehension. " This 
 lady," continued he, " is Madame GiuUetta Corelli." 
 
 " Who — e — e— w !" rejoined Ferret, thrown for an instant 
 off his balance by the suddenness of the confession, and perhaps 
 a little disappointed at so placable a termination of the dispute — 
 " GriuUetta Corelli ! What is the meaning of this array 
 then .'" 
 
 " I am glad, madam," said I, interposing for the first time in 
 
THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 123 
 
 the conversation, " for your own sake, that you have been ad- 
 vised not to persist in the senseless as well as iniquitous scheme 
 devised by the late Mr. Harlowe ; but this being the case, I am 
 greatly at a loss to know why either you or these legal gentle- 
 men are here ?" 
 
 The briUiant eyes of the Italian flashed with triumphant 
 scorn, and a smile of contemptuous irony curled her beautiful 
 lip as she replied — " These legal gentlemen will not have much 
 difficulty in explaining my right to remain in my own house." 
 
 " Your house .?" 
 
 " Precisely, sir," replied Mr. Quillet. " This mansion, 
 together with all other property, real and personal, of which 
 the deceased Henry Harlowe died possessed, is bequeathed by 
 will — dated about a month since — to this lady, GiuUetta 
 Corelli." 
 
 "A wiU !" exclaimed Mr. Ferret with an explosive shout; 
 and turning to me, whilst his sharp gray eyes danced with irre- 
 pressible mirth — " Did I not tell you so .?" 
 
 " Your usual sagacity, Mr. Eerret, has not in this instance 
 failed you. Perhaps you will permit me to read the wUl .' But 
 before I do so," continued Mr. Quillet, as he drew his gold- 
 rimmed spectacles from their morocco sheath — " you will allow 
 me, if you please, to state that the legatee, delicately apprecia- 
 ting the position of the widow, wiU allow her any reasonable 
 annuity — say five hundred pounds per annum for life." 
 
 "Will she really though .?"' cried Mr. Ferret, boiling over 
 with ecstacy. " Madam, let me beg of you to confirm this 
 gracious promise." 
 
 " Certainly I do." 
 
 " Capital l-^glorious !" rejoined Ferret; and I thought he 
 was about to perform a saltatory movement, that must have 
 
124 THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 brouglit his cranium into damaging contact with the chandelier 
 under which he was standing. "Is it not delightful ? How 
 every one — especially an attorney — loves a generous giver !" 
 
 Mr. Eichards appeared to he rendered somewhat uneasy by 
 these strange demonstrations. He knew Ferret well, and 
 evidently suspected that something was wrong somewhere. 
 " Perhaps, Mr. Quillet," said he, " you had better read the 
 will at once." 
 
 " This was done : the instrument devised in legal and minute 
 form all the property, real and personal, to G-iuUetta Corelli— a 
 natural-born subject of his majesty, it appeared, though of 
 foreign parentage, and of partially foreign education. 
 
 " Allow me to say," broke in Mr. Ferret, interrupting me as 
 I was about to speak — " allow me to say, Mr. Bichards, that 
 that will does you credit : it is, I should say, a first-rate affair, 
 for a country practitioner especially. But of course you sub- 
 mitted the draught to counsel ?" 
 
 " Certainly I did," said Richards tartly. 
 
 " No doubt — no doubt. Clearness and precision like that 
 could only have proceeded from a master's hand. I shall take 
 a copy of that will, Eichards, for future guidance, you may 
 depend, the instant it is registered in Doctors' Commons." 
 
 " Come, come, Mr. Ferret," said I ; " this jesting is aU 
 very well ; but it is quite time the farce should end." 
 
 " Farce !" exclaimed Mr. Richards. 
 
 " Faroe !" growled doubtful Mr. QuUlet. 
 
 " Farce !" murmured the beautiful Giulletta. 
 
 " Farce !" cried Mr. Ferret. " My dear sir, it is about one 
 of the most charming and genteel comedies ever enacted on any 
 stage, and the principal part, too, by one of the most charmmg 
 of prima donnas. Allow me, sir — don't interrupt me ! it is too 
 
THE MARRIAGE SETT L E M E N T . 125 
 
 delicioiis to be shared ; it is, indeed. Mr. Richards, and you, 
 Mr. Quillet, will ybu permit me to observe that this admirable 
 will has one slight defect ?" 
 
 " A defect ! — where — ^how ?" 
 
 " It is really heart-breaking that so much skill and ingenuity 
 should be thrown away ; but the fact is, gentlemen, that the 
 excellent person who signed it had no property to bequeath !" 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " Not a shilling,'s worth. Allow me, sir, if you please. 
 This piece of parchment, gentlemen, is, I have the pleasure to 
 inform you, a marriage settlement." 
 
 "A marriage settlement!" exclaimed both the men of law 
 in a breath. 
 
 " A marriage settlement, by which, in the event of Mr. 
 Harlowe's decease, his entire property passes to his wife, in 
 trust for the children, if any ; and if not, absolutely to herself," 
 Ferret threw the deed on the table, and then giving way to con- 
 vulsive mirth, threw himself upon the sofa, and fairly shouted 
 with glee. 
 
 Mr. Quillet seized the document, and, with Richards, eagerly 
 perused it. The proctor then rose, and bowing gravely to his 
 astonished client, said, " The will, madam, is waste paper. 
 You have been deceived." He then left the apartment. 
 
 The consternation of the lady and her attorney may be con- 
 ceived. Madam Corelli, giving way to her fiery passions, vented 
 her disappointment in passionate reproaches of the deceased ; 
 the only effect of which was to lay bare still more clearly than 
 before her own cupidity and folly, and to increase Edith's pain- 
 ful agitation. I led her down stairs to my wife, who, I omitted 
 to mention, had accompanied us from town, and remained in 
 the library with the children during our conference. In a very 
 
126 THE MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 short time afterwards Mr. Ferret had cleared the house of its 
 intrusive guests, and we had leisure to offer our condolences 
 and congratulations to our grateful and interesting client. It 
 was long before Edith recovered her former gaiety and health ; 
 and I doubt if she would^ ever have thoroughly regained her old 
 cheerfulness and elasticity of mind, had it not been for her labor 
 of love in superintending and directing the education of her 
 daughter Helen, a charming girl, who fortunately mherited 
 nothing from her father but his wealth. The last time I remem- 
 ber to have danced was at Helen's wedding. She married a 
 distinguished Irish gentleman, with whom, and her mother, I 
 perceive by the newspapers, she appeared at Queen Victoria's 
 court in Dublin, one, I am sure, of the brightest stars which 
 glittered in ftat galaxy of beauty and fashion. 
 
£^H mil- 
 
 THE SECOND MARRIAaE. 
 
 • 
 A BUSY day in the assize court at Chester, chequered, as usual, 
 by alternate victory and defeat, had just terminated, and I was 
 walking briskly forth, when an attorney of rather low caste in 
 his profession — ^being principally employed as an intermediary 
 between needy felons and the counsel practising ia the Crown 
 Court — accosted me, and presented a brief ; at the same time 
 tendering the fee of two guineas marked upon it. 
 
 " I am engaged to-morrow, Mr. Barnes," I exclaimed a little 
 testUy, " on the civil side : besides, you know I very seldom 
 take briefs in the Crown Court, even if proffered in due time ; 
 and to-morrow wiU be the last day of the assize in Chester ! 
 There are plenty of unemployed counsel who will be glad of 
 your brief." 
 
 " It is a brief in an action of ejectment," replied the attor- 
 ney — " Woodley versus Thorndyke ; and is brought to recover 
 possession of a freehold estate now held and farmed by the 
 defendant." 
 
 " An action of ejectment to recover possession of a freehold 
 estate ! defended, too, I know, by a powerful bar ; for I was 
 
 offered a brief, but declined it. Mr. P leads ; and you 
 
 bring me this for the plaintiff, and at the last moment too! 
 You must be crazed." 
 
 "I told the plaintiff and her grandfather," rejoined Mr. 
 Barnes, " that it was too late to bespeak counsel's attention to 
 
128 THE SECOND MARRIAGE, 
 
 the case ; and that the fee, all they have, with much difficulty, 
 been able to raise, was ridiculously small ; but they insisted on 
 
 my applying to you Oh, here they are !" 
 
 We had by this time reached the street, and the attorney 
 pointed towards two figures standing in attitudes of anxious 
 suspense near the gateway. It was dusk, but there was quite 
 sufficient 4ight to distinguish the pale and interesting features of 
 a young female, dressed in faded and scanty mourning, and 
 accompanied by a respectable-looking old man with white hau-, 
 and a countenance deeply fm-rowed by age and grief. 
 
 "I told you. Miss Woodley," said the attorney, "that this 
 gentleman would decline the brief, especially with such a 
 fee " 
 
 " It is not the fee, man !" I observed, for I was somewhat 
 moved by the appealing dejection exhibited by the white-haired 
 man and his timid grand-daughter; "but what chance can I 
 have of establishing this person's right — ^if right she have — to 
 the estate she claims, thus suddenly called upon to act without 
 previous consultation ; and utterly ignorant, except as far as this 
 I perceive hastily-scrawled brief will instruct me, both of the 
 nature of the plaintiff's claim and of the defence intended to 
 be set up against it .?" 
 
 " If you would undertake it, sir," said the young woman with 
 a tremulous, hesitating voice and glistening eyes, " for his sake " 
 — and she glanced at her aged companion — " who will else be 
 helpless, homeless." 
 
 " The blessing of those who are ready to perish will be yours, 
 sir," said the grandfather with meek solemnity, " if you wiU 
 lend your aid in this work of justice and mercy. We have no 
 hope of withstanding the masterful violence and wrong of wicked 
 and powerful men except by the aid of the law, which we have 
 
THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 129 
 
 been taught will ever prove a strong tower of defence to those 
 who walk in the paths of peace and right." 
 
 The earnestness of the old man's language and manner, and 
 the pleading gentleness of the young woman, forcibly impressed 
 me ; and, albeit, it was a somewhat unprofessional mode of 
 business, I determined to hear their story from their own lips, 
 rather than take it from the scrawled brief, or through the ver- 
 bal medium of their attorney. 
 
 " You have been truly taught," I answered ; " and if really 
 entitled to the property you claim, I know of no masterful men 
 that in this land of England can hinder you from obtaining pos- 
 session of it. Come to my hotel in about an hour and a-half 
 from hence : I shall then have leisure to hear what you have 
 to say. This fee," I added, taking the two guineas from the 
 hand of the attorney, who still held the money ready for my 
 acceptance, " you must permit me to return. It is too much for 
 you to pay for losing your cause ; and if I gain it — but mind I 
 do not promise to take it into court unless I am thoroughly sat- 
 isfied you have right and equity on your side — I shall expect a 
 much heavier one. Mr. Barnes, I will see you, if you please, 
 early in the morning." I then bowed, and hastened on. 
 
 Dinner was not ready when I arrived at the hotel ; and during 
 the short time I had to wait, I more than half repented of 
 having had anything to do with this unfortunate suit. However, 
 the pleadings of charity, the suggestions of human kindness, reas- 
 serted their influence ; and by the time my new clients arrived, 
 which they did very punctually at the hour I had indicated, I 
 had quite regained the equanimity I had momentarily lost, and, 
 thanks to mine host's excellent viands and generous wine, was, 
 for a lawyer, in a very amiable and benevolent humor indeed. 
 
 Our conference was long, unxious, and unsatisfactory. I was 
 
130 THE SECOND MARKIAGE. 
 
 obliged to send for Barnes before it concluded, in order to 
 thoroughly ascertain the precise nature of the case intended to 
 be set up for the defendant, and the evidence likely to be ad- 
 duced in support of it. No ray of consolation or of hope came 
 from that quarter. StUl, the narrative I had just listened to, 
 bearing as it did the impress of truth and sincerity in every 
 sentence, strongly disposed me to believe that foul play had 
 been practised by the other side ; and I determined, at all haz- 
 ards, to go into court, though with but faint hope indeed of a 
 present successful issue. 
 
 " It appears more than probable," I remarked on dismissing 
 my clients, " that this will is a fabrication ; but before such a 
 question had been put in issue before a jury, some producible 
 evidence of its being so should have been sought for and ob- 
 tained. As it is, I can only watch the defendant's proof of the 
 genuineness of the instrument upon which he has obtained pro- 
 bate : one or more of the attesting witnesses may, if fraud has 
 been practised, break down under a searching cross-examination, 
 or incidentally perhaps disclose matter for further investiga- 
 tion." 
 
 " One of the attesting witnesses is, as I have already told you, 
 dead," observed Barnes ; " and another, Elizabeth Wareing, 
 has, I hear, to-day left the country. An affidavit to that effect 
 will no doubt be made to-morrow, in order to enable them to 
 give secondary evidence of her attestation, though, swear as they 
 may, I have not the slightest doubt I could find her if time 
 were allowed, and her presence would at all avail us." 
 
 " Indeed ! This is very important. Would you, Mr. Barnes, 
 have any objection," I added, after a few moments' reflection, 
 " to make oath, should the turn of affairs to-morrow render your 
 doing so desirable, of your belief that you could, reasonable time 
 
THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 131 
 
 being allowed, procure the attendance of this woman — this 
 Elizabeth Wareing ?" 
 
 " Not the slightest : though how that would help us to invali- 
 date the wiU Thorndyke claims under I do not understand." 
 
 " Perhaps not. At all events do not fail to be early in court. 
 The cause is the first in to-morrow's list, remember." 
 
 The story confided to me was a very sad, and, unfortunately 
 in many of its features, a very common one. Ellen, the only 
 child of the old gentleman, Thomas Ward, had early in life 
 married Mr. James Woodley, a wealthy yeoman, prosperously 
 settled upon his paternal acres, which he cultivated with great 
 diligence and success. The issue of this marriage — a very 
 happy one, I was informed — was Mary "Woodley, the plaintiff in 
 the present action. Mr. Woodley, who had now been dead 
 something more than two years, bequeathed the whole of his 
 property, real and personal, to his wife, in full confidence, as he 
 expressed himself but a few hours before he expired, that she 
 would amply provide for his and her child. The value of the 
 property inherited by Mrs. Woodley under this will amounted, 
 according to a valuation made a few weeks after the testator's 
 decea:se, to between eight and nine thousand pounds. 
 
 Respected as a widow, comfortable in circumstances, and with 
 a daughter to engage her afiectiofis, Mrs. Woodley might have 
 passed the remainder of her existence in happiness. But how 
 frequently do women peril and lose aU by a second marriage ! 
 Such was the case with Mrs. Woodley : to the astonishment of 
 everybody, she threw herself away on a man almost unknown 
 in the district — a person of no fortune, of mean habits, and 
 altogether unworthy of accepting as a husband. Silas Thorn- 
 dyke, to whom she thus committed her happiness, had for a short 
 time acted as bailiff on the farm ; and no sooner did he feel 
 
132 THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 himself master, than his subserviency was changed to selfish 
 indifference, and that gradually assumed a coarser character. He 
 discovered that the property, by the will of Mr. Woodley, was 
 so secured against every chance or casualty to the use and 
 enjoyment of his wife, that it not only did not pass by marriage 
 to the new bridegroom, but she was unable to alienate or divest 
 herself of any portion of it during life. She could, however, 
 dispose of it by will ; but in the event of her dying intestate, 
 the whole descended to her daughter, Mary Woodley. 
 
 Incredibly savage was Thorndyke when he made that discov- 
 ery ; and bitter and incessant were the indignities to which he 
 subjected his unfortunate wife, for the avowed purpose of forcing 
 her to make a will entirely in his favor, and of course disinher- 
 iting her daughter. These persecutions failed of their object. 
 An unexpected, quiet, passive, but unconquerable resistance, 
 was opposed by the, in all other things, cowed and submissive 
 woman, to this demand of her domineering husband. Her fail- 
 ing health^for gently nurtured and tenderiderly cherished as 
 she had ever been, the calous brutality of her husband soon told 
 upon the unhappy creature— warned her that Mary would soon 
 be an orphan, and that upon her firmness it depended whether 
 the child of him to whose memory she had been, so fatally for 
 herself, unfaithful, should be cast homeless and penniless upon 
 the world, or inherit the wealth to which, by every principle of 
 right and equity, she was entitled. Come what' may, this trust 
 at least should not, she mentally resolved, be betrayed or pal- 
 tered with. Every imaginable expedient to vanquish her reso- 
 lution was resorted to. Thorndyke picked a quarrel with Ward 
 her father, who had lived at Dale Farm since the morrow of her 
 marriage with Woodley, and the old gentleman was compelled 
 to leave, and take up his abode with a distant and somewhat 
 
THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 133 
 
 needy relative. Next Edward Wilford, the only son of a neigh- 
 boring and prosperous farmer, who had been betrothed to Mary 
 Woodley several months before her father's death, was brutally 
 insulted, and forbidden the house. All, however, failed to shake 
 the mother's resolution ; and at length, finding all his efforts 
 fruitless, Thorndyke appeared to yield the point, and upon this 
 subject at least ceased to harass his unfortunate victim. 
 
 Frequent private conferences were now held between Thorn- 
 dyke, his two daughters, and Elizabeth Wareing — a woman 
 approaching middle-age, whom, under the specious pretence 
 that Mrs. Thorndyke's increasing ailments rendered the services 
 of an experienced matron indispensable, he had lately installed 
 at the farm. It was quite evident to both the mother and 
 daughter that a much greater degree of intimacy subsisted 
 between the master and housekeeper than their relative positions 
 warranted ; and from some expressions heedlessly dropped by 
 the ■woman, they suspected them to have been once on terms of 
 confidential intimacy. Thorndyke, I should have mentioned, 
 was not a native of these parts : he had answered Mr. Wood- 
 ley's advertisement for a bailiff, and his testimonials appearing 
 satisfactory, he had been somewhat precipitately engaged. A 
 young man, calling himself Edward Wareing, the son of Eliza- 
 beth Wareing, and said to be engaged in an attorney's office in 
 Liverpool, was also a not unfrequent visitor at Dale Farm ; and 
 once he had the insolent presumption to address a note to Mary 
 Woodley, formally tendering his hand and fortune ! This, 
 however, did not suit Mr. Thorndyke's views, and Mr. Edward 
 Wareing was very effectually rebuked and silenced by his pro- 
 posed father-in-law. 
 
 Mrs. Thorndyke's health rapidly declined. The woman 
 Wareing, touched possibly by sympathy or remorse, exhibited 
 
134 THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 considerable tenderness and compassion towards the invalid; 
 made her nourishing drinks, and administered the medicine 
 prescribed by the village practitioner — who, after much delay 
 and pooh, poohing by Thorndyke, had been called in — with her 
 own hands.' About three weeks previous to Mrs. Thorndyke's 
 death, a sort of reconciliation was patched up through her instru- 
 mentality between the husband and wife ; and an unwonted ex- 
 pression of kindness and compassion, real or simulated, sat upon 
 Thorndyke's features every time he approached the dying 
 woman. 
 
 The sands of life ebbed swiftly with Mrs. Thorndyke. In- 
 folded in the gentle but deadly embrace with which consumption 
 seizes its victims, she wasted rapidly 'away ; and, most perplex- 
 ing symptoms of all, violent retchings and nausea, especially 
 after taking her medicine — which, according to Davis, the village 
 surgeon, was invariable of a sedative character — aggravated and 
 confirmed the fatal disease which was hurrying her to the tomb. 
 
 Not once during this last illness could Mary Woodley, by 
 chance or stratagem, obtain a moment's private interview with 
 her mother, until a few minutes before her decease. Until 
 then, under one pretence or another, either Elizabeth Wareing, 
 one of Thorndyke's daughters, or Thorndyke himself, was 
 always present in the sick-chamber. It was evenmg : darkness 
 had for some time fallen : no light had yet been taken into the 
 dying woman's apartment ; and the pale starlight which faintly 
 illumined the room served, as Mary Woodley softly approached 
 on tiptoe to the bedside of her, as she supposed, sleeping parent, 
 but to deepen by defining the shadows thrown by the full, heavy 
 hangings, and the old massive furniture. Gently, and with a 
 beating heart, Mary Woodley drew back the bed-curtain nearest 
 the window. The feeble, uncertain light flickered upon the 
 
THE SECOND MAKRIAGE. 135 
 
 countenance, distinct in its mortal paleness, of her parent : the 
 eyes recognized her, and a glance of infinite tenderness gleamed 
 for an instant in the rapidly-darkening orbs : the right arm 
 essayed to lift itself, as for one fast, last embrace. Vainly ! 
 Love, love only, was strong, stronger than death, in the expiring 
 mother's heart, and the arm fell feebly back on the bedclothes. 
 Mary Woodley bent down in eager grief, for she felt instinctively 
 that the bitter hour at last was come : their lips met, and the 
 last accents of the mother murmured, " Beloved Mary, I — I 
 
 have been true to you — no will — no " A slight tremor 
 
 shook her frame : the spirit that looked in love from the win- 
 dows of the eyes departed on its heavenward journey, and the 
 unconscious shell only of what had once been her mother re- 
 mained in the sobbing daughter's arms. 
 
 I will not deny that this narrative, which I feel I have but 
 coldly and feebly rendered from its earnest, tearful tenderness, 
 as related by Mary Woodley, affected me considerably — case- 
 hardened, as, to use an old bar-pun, we barristers are supposed 
 to be ; nor will the reader be surprised to hear that suspicions, 
 graver even than those which pointed to forgery, were evoked 
 by the sad history. Much musing upon the strange circum- 
 stances thus disclosed, and profoundly cogitative on the best 
 mode of action to be pursued, the " small hours," the first of 
 them at least, surprised me in my arm-chair. I started up, and 
 hastened to bed, well knowing from experience that a sleepless 
 vigil is a wretched preparative for a morrow of active exertion, 
 whether of mind or body. 
 
 I was betimes in court the next morning, and Mr. Barnes, 
 proud as a peacock of figuring as an attorney in an important 
 civil suit, was soon at my side. The case had excited more 
 interest than I had supposed, and the court was very early filled. 
 
136 THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 Mary Woodley and lier grandfather soon arrived ; and a mur- 
 mur of commiseration ran through the auditory as they took 
 their seats by the side of Barnes. There was a strong bar 
 arrayed against us ; and Mr. Silas Thorndyke, I noticed, was 
 extremely busy and important with whisperings' and sugges- 
 tions to his solicitor and counsel — received, of course, as such 
 meaningless familiarities usually are, with barely civil indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 Twelve common jurors were called and sworn well and truly 
 to try the issue, and I arose amidst breathless silence to ad- 
 dress them. I at once frankly stated the circumstances under 
 which the brief had come into my hands, and observed, that if, 
 for lack of advised preparation, the plaintiff's case failed on 
 that day, another trial, under favor of the court above, would, I 
 doubt not, at no distant period of time reverse the possibly at 
 present unfavorable decision. "JVIy learned friends on the 
 other side," I continued, " smUe at this qualified admission of 
 mine : let them do so. If they apparently establish to-day the 
 validity of a will which strips an only child of the inheritance 
 bequeathed by her father, they wUl, I tell them emphatically, 
 have obtained but a temporary triumph for a person who — if I, 
 if you, gentlemen of the jury, are to believe the case intended 
 to be set up as a bar to the plantiff 's claim — ^has succeeded by 
 the grossest brutality, the most attrocious devices, in bending 
 the mind of the deceased Mrs. Thorndyke to his selfish pur- 
 poses. My learned friend need not interrupt me ; I shall pursue 
 these observations for the present no further — ^merely adding 
 that I, that his lordship, that you, gentlemen of the jury, will 
 require of him the strictest proof— proof clear as light— that 
 the instrument upon which he relies to defeat the equitable, the 
 righteous claim of the young and amiable person by my side, is 
 
THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 137 
 
 genuine, and not, as I verily believe " — I looked, as I spoke, 
 full in the face of Thomdyke — " forged." 
 
 "My lord," exclaimed the opposing counsel, "this is really 
 insufferable !" 
 
 His lordship, however, did not interpose ; and I went on to 
 relate, in the most telling manner of which I was capable, the 
 history of the deceased Mrs. Thorndyke's first and second mar- 
 riages ; the harmony and happiness of the first — ^the wretched- 
 ness and cruelty which characterized the second. I narrated 
 also the dying words of Mrs. Thomdyke to her daughter, though 
 repeatedly interrupted by the defendant's counsel, who mani- 
 fested great indignation that a statement unsusceptible of legal 
 proof should be addressed to the court and jury. My address 
 concluded, I put in James Woodley's will ; and, as the opposing 
 counsel did not dispute its validity, nor require proof of Mary 
 Woodley's identity, I intimated that the plaintiff's case was 
 closed. 
 
 The speech for the defendant was calm and guarded. It 
 threw, or rather attempted to throw, discredit on the death-bed 
 
 " fiction," got up, Mr. P said, simply with a. view to effect ; 
 
 and he concluded by averring that he should be able to establish 
 the genuineness of the will of EUen Thomdyke, now produced, 
 by irresistible evidence. That done, however much the jury 
 might wish the property had been otherwise disposed of, they 
 would of course return a verdict in accordance with their oaths 
 and the law of the land. 
 
 The first witness called was Thomas Headley, a smith, resid- 
 ing near Dale Farm. He swore positively that the late Mrs. 
 Thomdyke, whom he knew well, bad cheerfully signed the will 
 now produced, after it had been deliberately read over to her by 
 her husband about a fortnight before her death. Silas Thorn- 
 
138 THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 dyke, John Cummins, Elizabeth Wareing, and witness, were the 
 only persons present. Mrs. Thorndyke expressed confidence 
 that her husband would provide for Mary Woodley. 
 
 " And so I will," said sleek Silas, rising up and looking round 
 upon the auditory. " If she wUl return, I will be a father to 
 her." 
 
 No look, no sound of sympathy or approval, greeted this 
 generous declaration, and he sat down again not a little discon- 
 certed. 
 
 I asked this burly, half-drunken witness but one question — 
 " When is your marriage with Rebecca Thorndyke, the defend- 
 ant's eldest daughter, to be celebrated .?" 
 
 " I don't know, Mr. Lawyer ; perhaps never." 
 
 " That will do ; you can go down." 
 
 Mr. P now rose to state that his client was unable to 
 
 produce Elizabeth Yfareing, another of the attesting witnesses 
 to the will, in court. No suspicion that any opposition to the 
 solemn testament made by the deceased Mrs. Thorndyke would 
 be attempted, had been entertained ; and the woman, unaware 
 that her testimony would be required, had left that part of the 
 country. Every effort had been made by the defendant to dis- 
 cover her abode without effect. It was believed she had gone 
 to America, where she had relatives. The defendant had filed 
 an affidavit setting forth these facts, and it was now prayed that 
 secondary evidence to establish the genuineness of Elizabeth 
 Wareing's attesting signature should be admitted. 
 
 I of course vehemently opposed this demand, and broadly 
 hinted that the witness was purposely kept out of the way. 
 
 " WUl iny learned friend," said Mr. P with one of his 
 
 sliest sneers, " inform us what motive the defendant could pos- 
 sibly have to keep back a witness so necessary to him ?" 
 
THESECOND MARRIAGE. 139 
 
 " Elizabeth Wareing," I curtly replied, " may not, upon 
 reflection, be deemed a safe witness to subject to the ordeal of 
 a cross-examination. But to settle the matter, my lord," I 
 exclaimed, " I have here an affidavit of the plaintiff's attorney, 
 in which he states that he has no doubt of being able to find this 
 important witness if time be allowed him for the purpose ; the 
 defendant of course undertaking to call her when produced." 
 
 A tremendous clamor of counsel hereupon ensued, and fierce 
 and angry grew the war of words. The hubbub was at last 
 terminated by the judge recommending that, under the circum- 
 stances, " a juror should be withdrawn." This suggestion, after 
 some demur, was agreed to. One of the jurors was whispered 
 to come out of the box ; then the clerk of the court exclaimed, 
 " My lord, there are only eleven men on the jury ;" and by the 
 aid of this venerable, if clumsy expedient, the cause of Wood- 
 ley versus Thorndyke was de facto adjourned to a future day. 
 
 I had not long returned to the hotel, when I was waited upon 
 by Mr. WUford, senior, the father of the young man who had 
 been forbidden to visit Dale Farm by Thorndyke. His son, he 
 informed me, was ill from chagrin and anxiety — confined to his 
 bed indeed ; and Mary Woodley had refused, it seemed, to 
 accept pecuniary aid from either the father or the son. Would 
 I endeavor to terminate the estrangement which had for some 
 time unhappily existed,, and persuade her to accept his, Wilford 
 senior's, freely-offered purse and services } I instantly accepted 
 both the mission and the large sum which the excellent man 
 tendered. A part of the money I gave Barnes to stimulate his 
 exertions, and the rest I placed in the hand of Mary Wbodley's 
 grandpapa., with a friendly admonition to him not to allow his 
 grandchild to make a fool of herself; an exhortation which pro- 
 duced its effect in due season. 
 
140 THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 Summer passed away, autumn liad come and gone, and the 
 winter assizes were once more upon us. Regular proceedings 
 had been taken, and the action in ejectment of Woodley versus 
 Thorndyke was once more on the cause list of the Chester cir- 
 cuit court, marked this time as a special jury case. Indefatiga- 
 ble as Mr. Barnes had been in his search for Elizabeth Wareing, 
 not the slightest trace of her could he discover ; and I went 
 into court, therefore, with but slight expectation of invalidating 
 the, as I fully believed, fictitious will. "We had, however, ob- 
 tained a good deal of information relative to the former history 
 not only of the absent Mrs. Wareing, but of Thorndyke himself; 
 and it was quite within the range of probabilities that something 
 might come out, enabling me to use that knowledge to good 
 purpose. The plaintiff and old Mr. Ward were seated in court 
 beside Mr. Barnes, as on the former abortive trial ; but Mary 
 Woodley had, fortunately for herself, lost much of the interest 
 which attaches to female comeliness and grace when associated 
 in the mind of the spectator with undeserved calamity and 
 sorrow. The black dress which she still wore — the orthodox 
 twelve months of mourning for a parent had not yet quite 
 elapsed — was now fresh, and of fine quality, and the pale lilies 
 of her face were interspersed with delicate roses ; whilst by her 
 side sat Mr. John WiUbrd, as happy-looking as if no such things 
 as perjurers, forgers, or adverse verdicts existed to disturb the 
 peace of the glad world. Altogether, we were decidedly less 
 interesting than on the former occasion. Edward Wareing, I 
 must not omit to add, was, greatly to our surprise, present. He 
 sat, in great apparent amity, by the side of Thorndike. 
 
 It was late in the afternooon, and twilight was gradually steal- 
 ing over the dingy court, when the case was called. The special 
 jury answered to their names, were duly sworn, and then nearly 
 
THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 141 
 
 the same preliminary speeches and admissions were made and 
 put in as on the previous occasion. Thomas Headley, the &st 
 witness called in support of the pretended will, underwent a 
 rigorous cross-examination ; but I was unable to extract any- 
 thing of importance from him. 
 
 " And now," said the defendant's leading counsel, " let me 
 ask my learned friend if he has succeeded in obtaining the 
 attendance of Elizabeth Wa.reing .''" 
 
 I was of course obliged to confess that we had been unable to 
 find her ; and the judge remarked that in that case he could 
 receive secondary evidence in proof of her attestation of the 
 will. 
 
 A whispered but manifestly eager conference here took place 
 between the defendant and his counsel, occasionally joined in by 
 Edward Wareing. There appeared to be indecision or hesita- 
 tion in their deliberations j but at last Mr. P rose, and 
 
 with some ostentation of manner addressed the court. 
 
 " In the discharge of my duty to the defendant in this action, 
 my lord, upon whose fair fame much undeserved obloquy has 
 been cast by the speeches of the plaintiff's counsel — speeches 
 insupported by a shadow of evidence — I have to state that, 
 anxious above all things to stand perfectly justified before his 
 neighbors and society, he has, at great trouble and expense, 
 obtained the presence here to-day of the witnesa Elizabeth 
 Wareing. She had gone to reside in France with a respectable 
 English family in the situation of housekegper. We shall now 
 place her in the witness-box, and having done so, I trust we shall 
 hear no more of the slanderous imputations so freely lavished 
 upon my client. Call Elizabeth Wareing into cpurt." 
 
 A movement of surprise and curiosity agitated the entire 
 auditory at this announcement. Mr. Silas Thorndyke's naturally 
 
142 
 
 THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 cadaverous countenance assumed an ashy hue, spite of his efiforts 
 to appear easy and jubilant ; and for the first time since the 
 commencement of the proceedings I entertained the hope of a 
 successful issue. 
 
 Mrs. Wareing appeared in answer to the call, and was duly 
 sworn " to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
 truth." She was a gotd-looking woman, of perhaps forty years 
 of age, and bore a striking resemblance to her son. She rapidly, 
 smoothly,, and unhesitatingly confirmed the evidence of Headley 
 to a tittle. She trembled, I observed, excessively ; and on the 
 examining counsel intimating that he had no more questions to 
 ask, turned hastily to leave the box. 
 
 " Stay — stay, my good woman," I exclaimed ; " you and I 
 must have some talk together before we part." 
 
 She started, and looked at me with frightened earnestness ; 
 and then her nervous glances stole towards Mr. Silas Thorndyke. 
 There was no comfort there : in his countenance she only saw 
 the reflex of the agitation and anxiety which marked her own. 
 Sleek SUas, I could see, already repented of the rash move he 
 had made, and would have given a good deal to get his witness 
 safely and quietly out of court. 
 
 It was now nearly dark, and observing that it. was necessary 
 thfr court and jury should see as well as hear the witness whilst 
 under examination, I requested that lights should be brought in. 
 This was done. Two candles were placed in front of the witness- 
 box, one on each side of Mrs. "Wareing ; a few others were dis- 
 posed about the bench and jury desks. The effect of this partial 
 lighting of the gloomy old court was, that the witness stood out 
 in strong and bright relief from the surrounding shadows, ren- 
 dering the minutest change or play of her features distinctly 
 visible. Mr. Silas Thorndyke was, from his position, thrown 
 
THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 143 
 
 entirely into the shade, and any telegraphing between him and 
 the witness was thus rendered impossible. This preparation, 
 as if for some extraordinary and solemn purpose, together with 
 the profound silence which reigned in the court, told fearfully, 
 as I expected, upon the nerves of Mrs. Elizabeth Wareing. She 
 already seemed as if about to swoon with agitation and iU-defined 
 alarm. 
 
 "Pray, madam," said I, " is yom- name "Wareing or Tucker .'" 
 
 She did not answer, and I repeated the question. " Tucker," 
 she at last replied in a tremulous whisper. 
 
 " I thought so. And pray, Mrs. Tucker, were you ever ' in 
 trouble ' in London for robbing your lodgings .?" 
 
 I thought she- attempted to answer, but no sound passed her 
 lips. One of the ushers of the court handed her a glass of 
 water at my suggestion, and she seemed to recover somewhat. 
 I pressed my question ; and at last she replied in the same low, 
 agitated voice, " Yes, I have been." 
 
 " I know you have. Mr. Silas Thorndyke, I believe, was your 
 bail on that occasion, and the matter Was, I understand, com- 
 promised — arranged — at all events the prosecution was not 
 pressed. Is not that so ?" 
 
 " Yes — no — yes." 
 
 " Very well : either answer will do. You lived also, I be- 
 lieve, with Mr. Thorndyke, as his housekeeper of course, when 
 he was in business as a^concocter and vender of infallible drugs 
 and pills .'" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He was held to be skilful in the preparation of drugs, was 
 he not — ^well-versed in their properties .?" 
 
 " Yes — I believe so — I do not know. Why am I asked such 
 questions .'" 
 
144 THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 " You will know presently. And now, woman, answer the 
 question I am about to put to you, as you will be compelled to 
 answer it to God at "the last great day — What was the nature 
 of the drug which you or he mixed with the medicine prescribed 
 for the late Mrs. Thorndyke .'" 
 
 A spasmodic shriek, checked by a desperate effort, partially 
 escaped her, and she stood fixedly gazing with starting eyes in 
 my face. 
 
 The profoundest silence reigned in the court as I iterated the 
 question. 
 
 " You must answer, woman," said the judge sternly, " unless 
 you know your answer will criminate yourself." 
 
 The witness looked wildly round the court, as if in search of 
 counsel or sympathy ; but encountering none but frowning and 
 eager faces — Thorndyke she could not discern in the darkness — 
 she became giddy and panic-stricken, and seemed to lose all 
 presence of mind. 
 
 " He — ^he — he," she at last gasped — " he mixed it. I do not 
 
 know But how," she added, pushing back her hair, and 
 
 pressing her hands against her hot temples, " can this be .' 
 "What can it mean .?" 
 
 A movement amongst the bystanders just at this moment 
 attracted the notice of the judge, and he immediately exclaimed, 
 " The defendant must not leave the court !" An officer placed 
 himself beside the wretched murderer as well as forger, and I 
 resumed the cross-examination of the witness. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Tucker, please to look at this letter." (It was 
 that which had been addressed to Mary Woodley by her son.) 
 " That, I believe, is your son's handwriting .'" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The body of this wiU has been written by the same hand. 
 
THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 145 
 
 Now, woman, answer. Was it your son — ^this young man who, 
 you perceive, if guUty, cannot escape from justice — was it- he 
 who forged the names of the deceased Mrs. Thorndyke. and of 
 John Cummins attached to it .'" 
 
 " Not he — not he !" shrieked the wretched woman. " It was 
 Thorndyke — Thorndyke himself." And then with a sudden 
 revulsion of feeling, as the consequences of what she had uttered 
 flashed upon her, she exclaimed, " Oh, Silas, what have I said > 
 — ^what have I done .'" 
 
 " Hanged me, that's aIl,you accursed devil !" replied Thorn- 
 dyke with gloomy ferocity. " But I deserve it for trusting in 
 such an idiot : dolt and fool that I was for doing so." 
 
 The woman sank down in strong convulsions, and was, by 
 direction of the judge, carried out of the hall. 
 
 The anxious silence which pervaded the court during this 
 scene, in which the reader will have observed I played a bold, 
 tentative, and happily-successful game, was broken as the wit- 
 ness was borne ofi' by a loud murmur of indignation, followed 
 by congratulatory exclamations on the fortunate termination of 
 the suit. The defendant's counsel threw up their briefs, and a 
 verdict was at once returned for the plaintiff. 
 
 All the inculpated parties were speedily in custody ; and the 
 body of Mrs. Thorndyke having been disinterred, it was discov- 
 ered that she had been destroyed by bichloride of mercury, of 
 which a considerable quantity was detected in the body. I was 
 not present at the trial of Thorndyke and his accomplices — he 
 for murder, and Headley for perjury— but I saw by the public 
 prints that he was foujjd. guilty, and executed: Headley was 
 transported : the woman was, if I remember rightly, admitted 
 evidence for the crown. 
 
 Mary Woodley was of course put into immediate possession 
 
146 THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 of her paternal inheritance ; and is now — at least she was about 
 four months ago, when I dined with her and her husband at Dale 
 Farm — a comely, prosperous matron ; and as happy as a woman 
 with a numerous progeny and an easy-tempered partner can in 
 this, according to romance writers, vale of grief and tears expect 
 to be. The service I was fortunately enabled to render her 
 forms one of the most pleasing reooUeotions of my life. 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 In the second year of my connection with the Northern Circuit, 
 when even junior briefs were much less numerous than accept- 
 able, I was agreeably surprised, as I sat musing on the evening 
 of my arrival in the ancient city of York upon the caprioipus 
 mode in which those powerful personages the attorneys dis- 
 tributed their valuable favors, by the entrance of one of the 
 most eminent of the race practising in that part of the country, 
 and the forthwith tender of a bulky brief in the Crown Court, 
 on which, as my glance instinctively fell on the interesting 
 figures, I perceived that the large fee, ia criminal, cases, of fifty 
 guineas was marked. The local newspapers, from which I had 
 occasionally seen extracts, had been for some time busy with the 
 case ; and I knew it therefore to be, relatively to the condition 
 in life of the principal person implicated, an important one. 
 Rumor had assigned the conduct of the defence, to an eminent 
 leader on the circuit — since, one of our ablest judges ; and on 
 looking more closely at the brief, I perceived that that gentle- 
 man's name had been crossed out, and mine substituted. The 
 fee also — a much less agreeable alteration — ^had been, I saw, 
 considerably reduced ; in accordance, doubtless, with the attor- 
 ney's appreciation of the difference of value between a silk and 
 a stuff gown. 
 
 " You are not, sir, I believe, retained for the prosecution in 
 
148 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 the crown against Everett ?" said Mr. Sharpe in his hrief, 
 business manner. 
 
 " I am not, Mr. Sharpe." 
 
 " In that case, I beg to tender you the leading-brief for the 
 defence. It was intended, as you perceive, to place it in the 
 hands of our great nisi prius leader, but he will be so com- 
 pletely occupied in that court, that he has been compelled to 
 decline it. He mentioned you ; and from what I have myself 
 seen of you in several cases, I have no doubt my unfortunate 
 client wUl have ample justice done him. Mr. Kingston will be 
 with you." 
 
 I thanked Mr. Sharpe for his compliment, and accepted his 
 brief. As the commission would be opened on the following 
 morning, I at once applied myself to a perusal of the bulky 
 paper, aided as I read by the verbal esplanations and commen- 
 taries of Mr. Sharpe. Our conference lasted several hours ; 
 and it was arranged that another should be held early the next 
 morning at Mr. Sharpe's office, at which Mr. Kingston would 
 assist. 
 
 Dark, intricate, compassed with fearful mystery, was the case 
 so suddenly submitted to my guidance ; and the few faint gleams 
 of light derived from the attorney's research, prescience, and 
 sagacity, served but to render dimly visible a still profbunder 
 and blacker abyss of crime than that disclosed by the evidence 
 for the crown Young as I then was in the profession, no 
 marvel that I felt oppressed by the weight of the responsibility 
 cast upon me ; or that, when wearied with thinking, and dizzy 
 with profitless conjecture, I threw myself into bed, perplexing 
 images and shapes of guUt and terror pursued me through my 
 troubled sleep ! Happily the next day was not that of trial ; 
 fcir I awoke with a throbbing pulse and burning brain, and 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 149 
 
 should have been but poorly prepared for a struggle involving 
 the issues of life and death. Extremely sensitive, as, under the 
 circumstances, I must necessarily have been, to the arduous 
 nature of the grave duties so unexpectedly devolved upon me, 
 the following resume of the chief incidents of the case, as con- 
 fided to me by Mr. Sharpe, wUl, I think, fully account to the 
 reader for the nervous irritability under which I for the moment 
 labored : — 
 
 Mr. Frederick Everett, the prisoner about to be arraigned 
 before a jury of his countrymen for the frightful crirae of mur- 
 der, had, with his father, Captain Anthony Everett, resided for 
 several years past at Woodlands Manor-House, the seat of Mrs. 
 Eleanor Fitzhugh, a rich, elderly maiden lady, aunt to the first, 
 and sister by marriage to the last-named gentleman. A gener- 
 ous, pious, high-minded person Mrs. Fitzhugh was represented 
 to have been, but extremely sensitive withal on the score of 
 " family." The Fitzhughs of Yorkshire, she was wont to boast, 
 " came in with the Conqueror j" and any branch of the glorious 
 tree then firmly planted in the soil of England that degraded it- 
 self by an alliance with wealth, beauty, or worth, dwelling with- 
 out the pale of her narrow prejudices, was inexorably cut off 
 from her affections, and, as far as she was able, from her 
 memory. One — the principal of these offenders — had been 
 Mary Fitzhugh, her young, fair, gentle, and only sister. In 
 utter disdain and slight of the dignity of ancestry, she had 
 chosen to unite herself to a gentleman of the name of Mordaunt, 
 who, though possessed of great talents, an unspotted name, and, 
 for his age, high rank in the civil service of the East India Com- 
 pany, had — inexpiable misfortune — a trader for his grandfather ! 
 This crime against her " house" Mrs. Eleanor Fitzhugh re- 
 solved never to forgive ; and she steadily returned, unopened, 
 
150 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 the frequent letters addressed to her by her sister, who pined in 
 her distant Indian home for a renewal of the old sisterly love 
 which had watched over and gladdened her life from infancy to 
 womanhood. A long silence — a sUence of many years — suc- 
 ceeded ; broken at last by the sad announcement that the un- 
 forgiven one had long since found an early grave in a foreign 
 land. The letter which brought the intelligence bore the 
 London post-mark, and was written by Captain Everett ; to 
 whom, it was stated, Mrs. Eleanor Fitzhugh's sister, early 
 widowed, had been united in second nuptials, and by whom she 
 had borne a son, Frederick Everett, now nearly twenty years of 
 age. The long-pent-up affection of Mrs. Fitzhugh for her once 
 idolized sister burst forth at this announcement of her death 
 with uncontrollable violence ; and, as some atonement for her 
 past sinful obduracy, she immediately invited the husband and 
 son of her long-lost Mary to Woodlands Manor-House, to be 
 henceforth, she said, she hoped their home. Soon after their 
 arrival, Mrs. Fitzhugh made a will — ^the family property was 
 entirely at her disposal — ^revoking a former one, which be- 
 queathed the whole of the real and personal property to a dis- 
 tant relative whom she had never seen, and by which all was 
 devised to her nephew, who was immediately proclaimed sole 
 heir to the Fitzhugh estates, yielding a yearly rental of at least 
 £12,000. Nay, so thoroughly was she softened towards the 
 memory of her deceased sister, that the will — of which, as I 
 have stated, no secret was made — ^provided, in the event of 
 Frederick dying childless, that the property should pass to his 
 father, Mary Fitzhugh's second husband. 
 
 No two persons could be more unlike than were the father 
 and son — mentally, morally, physically ._ Frederick Everett 
 was a fair-haired, blue-eyed young man, of amiable, caressing 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 151 
 
 manners, gentle disposition, and ardent, poetic temperament. 
 His father, on the contrary, was a dark-featured, cold, haughty, 
 repulsive man, ever apparently wrapped up in selfish and moody 
 reveries. Between him and his son there appeared to exist but 
 little of cordial intercourse, although the highly-sensitive and 
 religious tone of mind of Frederick Everett caused him to treat 
 his parent with unvarying deference and respect. 
 
 The poetic temperament of Frederick Everett brought him 
 at last, -as poetic temperaments axe apt to do, into trouble. 
 Youth, beauty, innocence, and grace, united in the person of 
 Lucy Carrington-^the only child of Mr. Stephen Carrington, a 
 respectable retired merchant of moderate means, residing within 
 a few miles of Woodlands Manor-House — crossed his path ; 
 and spite of his shield of many quarterings, he was vanquished 
 in an instant, and almost without resistance. The at least tacit 
 consent and approval of Mr. Carrington and his fair daughter 
 secured, Mr. Everett^ junior — hasty, headstrong lover that he 
 was-^immediately. disclosed his matrimonial projects to his 
 father and aunt. Captain Everett received the announcement 
 with a sarcastic smile, coldly remarking, that if Mrs. Fitzhugh 
 was satisfied, he had no objection to ofier. But, alas ! no 
 sooner did her nephew, with much periphrastic eloquence, im- 
 part his passion for the daughter of a mere merchant to his aunt, 
 than a vehement torrent of indignant rebuke broke from her 
 lips. She would die rather than consent to so degrading a 
 mesalliance ; and should he persist in yielding to such gross infat- 
 uation, she would not only disinherit, but banish him her house, 
 and cast him forth a beggar on the world. Language like this, 
 one can easily understand, provoked language from the indig- 
 nant young man which in less heated moments he would have 
 disdained to utter ; and the aunt and nephew parted in fierce 
 
152 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 anger, and after mutual denunciation of each other — he as a dis- 
 obedient ingrate, she as an imperious, ungenerous tyrant. The 
 quarrel was with some difficulty patched up by Captain Everett • 
 and with the exception of the change which took place in the 
 disappomted lover's demeanor— from light-hearted gaiety to 
 gloom and suUenness— things, after a few days, went on pretty 
 nearly as before. 
 
 The sudden rupture of the hopes Mrs. Eleanor Fitzhugh had 
 reposed in her nephew as the restorer of the glories of her 
 ancient " house," tarnished by Mary Fitzhugh's marriage, af- 
 fected dangerously, it soon appeared, that lady's akeady failing 
 health. A fortnight after the quan-el with her nephew, she 
 became akrmingly ill. Unusual and baffling symptoms showed 
 themselves ; and after suffering during eight days from alternate 
 acute pain, and heavy, unconquerable drowsiness, she expu-ed 
 in her nephew's arms. This sudden and fatal illness of his 
 relative appeared to reawaken all Frederick Everett's tender- 
 ness and affection for her. He was incessant in his close 
 attendance in the sick-ohamber, permitting no one else to ad- 
 minister to his aunt either aliment or medicine. On this latter 
 point, indeed, he insisted, with strange fierceness, taking the 
 medicine with his own hand from the man who brought it ; and 
 after administering the prescribed quantity, carefully locking up 
 the remainder in a cabinet in his bed-room. 
 
 On the morning of the day that Mrs. Fitzhugh died, her 
 ordinary medical attendant, Mr. Smith, terrified and perplexed 
 by the urgency of the symptoms exhibited by his patient, called 
 in the aid of a locally-eminent physician. Dr. Archer, or Arch- 
 ford — the name is not very distinctly written in my memoranda 
 of these occurrences ; but we will call him Archer — ^who at once 
 changed the treatment till then pursued, and ordered powerful 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 153 
 
 emetics to be administered, without, however, as we have seen, 
 producing any saving or sensible effect. The grief of Freder- 
 ick Everett, when all hope was over, was unbounded. He 
 threw himself, in a paroxysm of remorse or frenzy, upon the 
 bed, accusing himself of having murdered her, with other strange 
 and incoherent expressions, upon which an intimatioii soon 
 afterwards made by Dr. Archer threw startling light. That 
 gentleman, conjointly with Mr. Smith, requested an immediate 
 interview with Captain Everett, and Mr. Hardyman, the de- 
 ceased lady's land-steward and solicitor, who happened to be in 
 the house at the time. The request was of course complied 
 with, and Dr. Archer at once bluntly stated that, in his opinion, 
 poison had been adtninistered to the deceased lady, though of 
 what precise kind he was somewhat at a loss to conjecture — 
 opium essentially, he thought, though certainly not in any of its 
 ordinary preparations — one of the alkaloids probably which 
 chemical science had recently discovered. Be this as it may, a 
 post-mortem examination of the body would clear up all doubts, 
 and should take place as speedily as possible. Captain Everett 
 at once acceded to Dr. Archer's proposal, at the same time ob- 
 serving that he was quite sure the result would entirely disprove 
 that gentleman's assumption. Mr. Hardyman also fully con- 
 curred in the necessity of a rigid investigation ; and the post- 
 mortem examination should, it was arranged, take place early on 
 the following morning. 
 
 " I have another and very painful duty to perform," con- 
 tinued Dr. Archer, addressing Captain Everett. " I find that 
 your son, Mr. Frederick Everett, alone administered medicine 
 and aliment to Mrs. Fitzhugh during her illness. Strange, pos- 
 sibly wholly frenzied expressions, but which sounded vastly like 
 cries of- remorse, irrepressible by a person unused to crime, 
 
154 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 escaped him in my hearing just after the close of the final 
 
 scene ; and But perhaps, Captain Everett, you had' better 
 
 retire : this is scarcely a subject" 
 
 " Go on, sir," said the captain, over whose countenance a 
 strange expression — to use Dr. Archer's own words — had 
 fiashed ; "go on : I am better now." 
 
 " We all know," resumed Dr. Archer, " how greatly Mr. 
 Frederick Everett gains in wealth by his aunt's death ; and that 
 her decease, moreover, will enable him to conclude the marriage 
 to which she was so determinedly opposed. I think, therefore, 
 that, under all the circumstances, we shall be fuUy justified in 
 placing the young gentleman under such — I will not say cus- 
 tody, but surveillance, as wUl prevent him either from leaving 
 the house, should he imagine himself suspected, or of destroying 
 any evidence which may possibly exist of his guilt, if indeed he 
 be guilty." 
 
 " I entirely agree with you. Dr. Archer," exclaimed Mr. 
 Hardyman, who had listened with much excitement to the doc- 
 tor's narrative ; " and wUl, upon my own responsibility, take 
 the necessary steps for effecting the object you have in view." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Captain Everett, rising from his chair, 
 " you will of course do your duty ; but I can take no part, nor 
 offer any counsel, in such a case : I must leave you to your own 
 devices." He then left the apartment. 
 
 He had been gone but a few minutes, when Frederick 
 Everett, still in a state of' terrible excitement, entered the 
 room, strode fiercely up to Dr. Archer, and demanded how he 
 dared propose, as the butler had just informed him he had done, 
 a dissection of his aunt's body. 
 
 " I will not permit it," continued the agitated young man : 
 " I am master here, and I say it shall not be done. What new 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 155 
 
 horror would you evoke ? Is it not enough that one of the 
 kindest, best of God's creatures, has perished, but another sacri- 
 fice must What do I say ? Enough that I will not permit 
 
 it. I have seen similar cases — very similar cases in — in 
 India !" 
 
 The gentleman so strangely addressed had exchanged signifi- 
 cant glances during the delivery of this incoherent speech ; and, 
 quite confirmed in their previous impression, Mr. Hardyman, as 
 their spokesman, interrupted the speaker, to inform him that he 
 was the suspected assassin of his aunt ! The accusing sentences 
 had hardly passed the solicitor's lips, when the furious young 
 man sprang towards him with the bound of a tiger, and at one 
 blow prostrated him on the fioor. He was immediately seized 
 by the two medical gentlemen, and help having been sum- 
 moned, he was with much difficulty secured, and placed in 
 strict confinement, to await the result of the next day's inquiry. 
 
 The examination of the body disclosed the terrible fact, that 
 the deceased lady had . perished by acetate of morphine ; thus 
 verifying the sagacious guess of Dr. Archer. A minute search 
 was immediately made throughout Mr. Frederick Everett's 
 apartments, and behind one of the drawers of a cabinet in his 
 bedroom — at the back of the shelf or partition upon which the 
 drawer rested, and of course completely hidden by the drawer 
 itself when in its place — was found a flat tin flask, fluted on the 
 outside, and closed with a screw stopper : it was loosely en- 
 veloped in a sheet of brown paper, directed " Everett, 
 
 Esq., Woodlands Manor-House, Yorkshire ;" and upon close 
 examination, a smaE quantity of white powder, which proved to 
 be acetate of morphine, was found in the flask. Suspicion of 
 young Everett's guilt now became conviction ; and, as if to 
 confirm beyond all doubt the soundness of the chain of 
 
156 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 circumstantial evidence in wliich he was immeshed, the butler, 
 John Darby, an, aged and trusty servant of the late Mrs. Fitz- 
 hugh, made on the next day the foUovring deposition before 
 the magistrates : — 
 
 " He had taken in, tvro days before his late mistress was 
 seized with her fatal illness, a small brown paper parcel which 
 had been brought by coach from London, and for which 2s. lOd. 
 carriage was charged and paid. The paper found in Mr. 
 Frederick Everett's cabinet was, he could positively swear, from 
 the date and figures marked on it, and the handwriting, the 
 paper wrapper of that parcel. He had given it to young Mr. 
 Everett, who happened to be in the library at the time. About 
 five minutes afterwards, he had occasion to return to the library, 
 to inform him that some fishing-tackle he had ordered was sent 
 home. The door was ajar ; and Mr. Frederick did not at first 
 perceive his entrance, as he was standing with his back to the 
 door. The paper parcel he, the butler, had just before deliv- 
 ered was lying open on the table, and Mr. Everett held in one 
 hand a flat tin flask — the witness had no doubt the same found 
 in the cabinet — and in the other a note, which he was reading. 
 He, the witness, coughed, to attract Mr. Everett's attention, 
 who hurriedly turned round, clapped down the flask and the 
 note, shuflling them under the paper wrapper, as if to conceal 
 them, and then, in a very confused manner, and his face as red 
 as flame, asked witness what he wanted there ? Witness 
 thought this behavior very strange at the time ; but the incident 
 soon passed from his mind, and he ha,d thought no more of it 
 tiU the finding of the paper and flask as described by the other 
 witnesses." 
 
 Mr. Frederick Everett, who had manifested the strangest im- 
 paasability, a calmness as of despair, throughout the inquiry, 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 157 
 
 which perplexed and disheartened Mr. Sharpe, whose services 
 had been retained by Captain Everett, allowed even this mis- 
 chievous evidence to pass without a word of comment Or explan- 
 ation ; and he was, as a matter of course, fully committed for 
 the wilful murder of his relative. The chain of circumstantial 
 evidence, motive included, was, it was felt, complete— not a 
 link was wanting. 
 
 These were the chief incidents disclosed to me by Mr. Sharpe 
 during our long and painful consultation. Of the precise nature 
 of the terrible suspicions which haunted and disturbed me, I 
 shall only in this place say that neither Mr. Shjrpe, nor, conse- 
 quently, myself, would in all probability have guessed or glanced 
 at them, but for the persistent assertions of Miss Oarrington, 
 that her lover was madly sacrificing himself from some chimeri- 
 cal motive of honor or duty. 
 
 " You do not know, Mr. Sharpe, as I do," she would fre- 
 quently exclaim with tearful vehemence, " the generous, child- 
 like simplicity, the chivalric enthusiasm, of his character, his 
 titter abnegation of self, and readiness on all occasions to sacri- 
 fice his own ease, his own wishes, to forward the happiness of 
 others ; and, above all, his fantastic notions of honor — duty, if 
 you will — ^which would, I feel assured, prompt him to incur any 
 peril, death itself, to shield from danger any one who had claims 
 upon him either of blood or of afiection. You know to whom 
 my suspicions point ; and how dreadful to think that one so 
 young, so brave, so pious, and so true, should be sacrificed for 
 such a monster as I believe that man to be !" 
 
 To all these passionate expostulations the attorney could only 
 reply that vague suspicions were not judicial proofs ; and that 
 if Mr. Frederick Everett would persist in his obstinate reserve, 
 a fatal result was inevitable. But Mr. Sharpe readily consented 
 
158 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 to gratify the wishes of Mr. Carrington and his daughter on one 
 point: he returned the money, not a very large sum, which 
 Captain Everett had sent him, and agreed that Mr. Carrington 
 should supply the funds necessary for the defence of the 
 prisoner. 
 
 Our consultation the next day at Mr. Sharpe's was a sad and 
 hopeless one. Nowhere did a gleam of cheerful light break in. 
 The case was overwhelmingly complete against the prisoner. 
 The vague suspicions we entertained pointed to a crime so mon- 
 strous, so incredible, that we felt it could not be so much as 
 hinted at upon^such, legally considered, slight grounds. The 
 prisoner was said to be an eloquent speaker, and I undertook to 
 draw up the outline of a defence, impugning, with all the dialec- 
 tic skill I was master of, the conclusiveness of the evidence 
 for the crown. To this, and a host of testimony to character 
 which we proposed to call, rested our faint hopes of " a good 
 deliverance !" 
 
 Business was over, and we were taking a glass of wine with 
 Mr. Sharpe, when his chief clerk entered to say that Sergeant 
 Edwards, an old soldier — who had spoken to them some time 
 before relative to a large claim which he asserted he had against 
 Captain Everett, arising out of a legacy bequeathed to him in 
 India, and the best mode of assuring its payment by an annuity, 
 as proposed by the captain — ^had now called to say that the 
 terms were at last finally arranged, and that he wished to know 
 when Mr. Sharpe would be at leisure to draw up the bond. 
 " He need not fear for his money !" exclaimed Sharpe tartly ; 
 " the captain will, I fear, be rich enough before another week 
 has passed over our heads. Tell him to call to-morrow eve- 
 ning ; I wUl see him after I return from court." A few minutes 
 afterwards, I and Mr. Kingston took our leave. 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE; 159 
 
 The Crown Court was thronged to suffocation on the following 
 morning, and the excitement of the auditory appeared to be of 
 the intensest kind. Miss Carrington, closely veiled, sat beside 
 her father on one of the side-benches. A true bUl against the 
 prisoner had been found on the previous afternoon ; and the 
 trial, it had been arranged, to suit the convenience of counsel, 
 should be first proceeded with. The court was presided over by 
 Mr. Justice G-rOse ; and Mr. Grurney — afterwards Mr. Baron 
 Gurney — with another gentleman appeared for the prosecution 
 As soon as the judge had taken his seat, the prisoner was 
 ordered to be brought in, and a hush of expectation pervaded 
 the assembly. In a few minutes he made his appearance in the 
 dock. His aspect — calm, mournful, and full of patient resigna- ^ 
 tion — spoke strongly to the feelings of the audience, and a low 
 murmur of sympathy ran through the court. He bowed respect- 
 fully to the bench, and then his sad, proud eye wandered round 
 the auditory, till it rested on the form of Lucy Carrington, who, 
 overcome by sudden emotion, had hidden her weeping face ia 
 her father's bosom. Strong feeling, which- he with difficulty 
 mastered, shook his frame, and blanched to a still deeper pallor 
 his fine intellectual countenance. He slowly withdrew his gaze 
 from the agitating spectacle, and his troubled glance meeting 
 that of Mr. Sharpe, seemed to ask why proceedings, which could 
 only have one termination, were delayed. H^ had not long to 
 wait. The jury were sworn, and Mr. Grurney rose to address 
 them for the crown. Clear, terse, logical, powerful without the 
 slightest pretence to what is called eloquence, his speech pro- 
 duced a tremendous impression upon all who heard it ; and few 
 persons mentally withheld their assent to his assertion, as he 
 concluded what was evidently a painful task, " that should he 
 produce evidence substantiating the statement he had made, the 
 
160 .CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 man who could tiien refuse to believe in the prisoner's guilt, 
 would equally refuse credence to actions witnessed by his own 
 bodily eyes." 
 
 The different witnesses were then' called, and testified to the 
 various facts I have before related. Vainly did Mr. Kingston 
 and I exert ourselves to invalidate the irresistible proofs of guilt 
 so dispassionately detailed. "It is useless," whispered Mr. 
 Sharpe, as I sat down after the cross-examination of the aged 
 butler. " You have done all that could be done ; but he is a 
 doomed man, spite of his innocence, of which I feel, every 
 moment that I look at him, the more and more convinced. 
 God help us ; we are poor, fallible creatures, with all our scien- 
 tific machinery for getting at truth !" 
 
 The case for the crown was over, and the prisoner was told 
 that now was the time for him to address the jury in answer to 
 the charge preferred against him. He bowed courteously to the 
 intimation, and drawing a paper from his pocket, spoke, after a 
 few preliminary words of course, nearly as follows : — 
 
 " I hold in my hand a very acute and eloquent address 
 prepared for me by one of the able and zealous gentlemen who 
 appears to-day as my counsel, and which, but for the iniquitous 
 law which prohibits the advocate of a presumed felon, but pos- 
 sibly quite innocent person, from addressing the jury, upon 
 whose verdict his client's fate depends, would no doubt have 
 formed the subject-matter of an appeal to you not to yield cre- 
 dence to the apparently irrefragable testimony arrayed against 
 me. The substance of this defence you must have gathered 
 from the tenor of the cross-examinations ; but so little effect did 
 it produce, I saw, in that form, however ably done, and so satis- 
 fied am I that though it were rendered with an angel's elo- 
 quence, it would prove utterly impotent to shake the strong 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 161 
 
 conclusions of my guilt, which you, short-sighted, fallible mortals 
 — short-sighted and fallible because mortal ! — I mean no dis- 
 respects—must have drawn from the body of evidence you have 
 heard, that I will not weary you or myself by reading it. I 
 will only observe that it points especially to the o»er-proof, so to 
 speai, arrayed against nie^to the folly of supposing that an 
 intentional murderer would ostentatiously persist in administer- 
 ing the fatal potion to the victim with his own hands, carefully 
 excluding all others from a chance of incurring suspicion. 
 There are other points, but this is by far the most powerful 
 one 5 and as I cannot believe that will induce you to return a 
 verdict rescuing me from what the foolish world, judging from 
 appearances, will call a shameful death, but which I, knowing 
 my own heart, feel to be sanctified by the highest motives which 
 can influence man — it would be merely waste of time to repeat 
 them. From the first moment, gentlemen, that this accusation 
 was preferred against me, I felt that I had done with this 
 world ; and, young as I am, but for one beloved being whose 
 presence lighted up and irradiated this else cold and barren 
 earth, I should, with little reluctance, have accepted this gift 
 of an apparently severe, but perhaps merciful fate. This life, 
 gentlemen," he continued after a short pause, " it has been 
 well said, is but a battle and a march. I have been struck down 
 early in the combat ; but of what moment is that, if it be found 
 by Him who witnesses th^ world-unnoticed deeds of all his 
 soldiers, that I have earned the victor's crown ? Let it be your 
 consolation, gentlemen, if hereafter you should discover that you 
 have sent me to an undeserved death, that you at least will not 
 have hurried a soul spotted with the awful crime of murder be- 
 fore its Maker. And oh," he exclaimed in conclusion, with 
 solemn earnestness, " may all who have the guilt of blood upon 
 
162 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 them hasten, whilst life is still granted them, to cleanse them- 
 selves by repentance of that foul sin, so that not only the sacri- 
 fice of one poor life, but that most holy and tremendous one 
 offered in the world's consummate hour, may not for them 
 have been made in vain ! My lord and gentlemen, I have no 
 more to say. You will doubtless do your duty : I have, done 
 mine." 
 
 I was about, a few minutes after the conclusion of this strange 
 and unexpected address, to call our witnesses to character, when, 
 to the surprise of the whole court, and the consternation of the 
 prisoner. Miss Carrington started up, threw aside her veil, and 
 addressing the judge, demanded to be h«ard. 
 
 Queenly, graceful, and of touching loveliness did she look in 
 her vehemence of sorrow — ^radiant as sunlight in her days of 
 joy she must have been — as she stood up, affection-prompted, 
 regardless of self, of the world, to make one last effort to save 
 her affianced husband. 
 
 " What would you say, young lady V said Mr. Justice 
 Grrose, kindly. " If you have anything to testify in favor of 
 the prisoner, you had better communicate with his counsel." 
 
 " Not that — ^not that," she hurriedly replied, as if fearful 
 that her strength would fail before she had enunciated her pur- 
 pose. " Put, my lord, put Frederick — the prisoner, I mean — 
 on his oath. Bid him declare, as he shall answer at the bar of 
 Almighty God, who is the murderer for whom he is about to 
 madly sacrifice himself, and you will then find" 
 
 " Your request is an absurd one," interrupted the judge 
 with some asperity. " I have no power to question a prisoner." 
 
 " Then," shrieked the unfortunate lady, sinking back faint- 
 ing and helpless in her father's arms, " he is lost — ^lost !" 
 
 She was immediately carried out of court ; and as soon as the 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. , 163 
 
 sensation caused by so extraordinary and painful an incident 
 had subsided, the trial proceeded. A cloud of witnesses to 
 character were called ; the judge summed up ; the jury deliber- 
 ated for a few minutes ; and a verdict of " guilty" was re- 
 turned. Sentence to die on the day after the next followed, and 
 all was over ! 
 
 Yes ; all was, we deemed, over ; but happily a decree, 
 reversing that of Mr. Justice Grose, had gone forth in Heaven. 
 I was sitting at home about an hour after the court had closed, 
 painfully musing on the events of the day, when th€ door of the 
 apartment suddenly flew open, and in rushed Mr. Sharpe in a 
 state of great excitement, accompanied by Sergeant Edwards, 
 whom the reader will remember had called the previous day at 
 that gentleman's housSiS In a few minutes I was in possession 
 of the following important information, elicited by Mr. Sharpe 
 from the half-willing, half-reluctant sergeant, whom he had 
 found waiting for him at his office : — 
 
 In the first place, Captain Everett was not the father of the 
 prisoner ! The young man was the son of Mary Fitzhugh by 
 her jvrst marriage ; and his name, consequently, was Mordaunt, 
 not Everett. His mother had survived her second man-iage 
 barely six months. Everett, calculating doubtless upon the 
 great pecunia,ry advantages which would be likely to result to 
 himself as the reputed father of the heir to a splendid English 
 estate, should the quarrel with Mrs. Eleanor Fitzhugh — as he 
 nothing doubted — ^be ultimately made up, had brought his 
 deceased wife's infant son up as his own. This was the secret 
 of Edwards and his wife ; and to purchase their silence. Captain 
 Everett had agreed to give the bond for an annuity which Mr. 
 Sharpe was to draw up. The story of the legacy was a mere 
 pretence. When Edwards was in Yorkshire before, Everett 
 
164 CIHCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 pacified him for the time with a sum of money, and a promise 
 to do more for him as soon as his reputed son came into the 
 property. He then hurried the ci-devant sergeant back to 
 London ; and at the last interview he had with him, gave him a 
 note addressed to a person living in one of the streets — I forget 
 which— leading out of the Haymarket, together with a fire- 
 pound note, which he was to pay the person to whom the letter 
 was addressed for some very rare and valuable powder, which 
 the captain wanted for scientific purposes, and which Edwards 
 was to forward by coach to Woodlands Manor-House. Edwards 
 obeyed his instructions, and delivered the message to the queer 
 bushy-bearded foreigner to whom it was addressed, who told 
 him that, if he brought him the sum of money mentioned in the 
 note on the following day, he should have the article required. 
 He also bade him bring a weU-stoppered bottle to put it in. 
 As the bottle was to be sent by coach, Edwards purchased a tin 
 flask, as affording a better security against breakage ; and 
 having obtained the powder, packed it nicely up, and told his 
 niece, who was staying with him at the time, to direct it, as he 
 was in a hurry to go out, to Squire Everett, Woodlands Manor- 
 House, Yorkshire, and then take it to the booking-office. He 
 thought, of course, though he said Squire, in a jocular way, that 
 she would have directed it Captain Everett, as she knew him 
 weU ; but it seemed she had not. Edwards had returned to 
 Yorkshire only two days since, to get his anntuty settled, and 
 fortunately was present in coart at the trial of Frederick Mor* 
 daunt, alias Everett, and at once recognized the tin flask as the 
 one he had purchased and forwarded to Woodlands, where it 
 must in due course have arrived on the day stated by the butler. 
 Terrified and bewildered at the consequences of what he had 
 done, or helped to do, Edwards hastened to Mr. Sharpe, who, 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 165 
 
 by dint of exhortations, threats, and promises, judiciously 
 blended, induced him to make a clean breast of it. 
 
 As much astounded as elated by this unlooked-for informa- 
 tion, it was some minutes before I could sufficiently concentrate 
 my thoughts upon the proper course to be pursued. I was not, 
 however, long in deciding. Leaving Mr. Shajpe. to draw up an 
 affidavit of the facts disclosed, I hastened off to the jail, in 
 order to obtain a thorough elucidation of all the mysteries. 
 
 The revulsion of feeling in the prisoner's mind when he 
 learned that the man for vhom he had so recklessly sacrificed 
 himself was not only not his father, but a cold-blooded villain, 
 who, according to the testimony of Sergeant Edwards, had 
 embittered, perhaps shortened, his mother's last hours, was 
 immediate and excessive. " I should have taken Lucy's ad- 
 vice !" he bitterly exclaimed, as he strode to and fro in his cell ; 
 " have told the truth at all hazards, and have left the rest to 
 God." His explanation of the incidents that had so puzzled us 
 all, was as simple as satisfactory. He had always, from his 
 earliest days, stood much in awe of his father, who in the, to 
 young Mordaunt, sacred character of parent, exercised an irre- 
 sistible control over him ; and when the butler entered the 
 library, he believed for an instant it was his father who had sur- 
 prised him in the act of reading his correspondence ; an act 
 which, however Unintentional, would, he knew, excite Captain- 
 Everett's fiercest wrath. Hence arose tiie dismay and confusion 
 which the butler had described. He re-sealed the parcel, and 
 placed it in his reputed father's dressing-room ; and thought 
 little more of the matter, till, on entering his aunt's bedroom on 
 the first evening of her illness, he beheld Everett pour a small 
 portion of white powder from the tin flask into the bottle con- 
 taining his aunt's medicine. The terrible truth at onCe flashed 
 
166 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
 
 upon him. A fierce altercation immediately ensued in the 
 father's dressing-room, whither Frederick followed him. Ever- 
 ett persisted that the powder was a celehrated Eastern medica- 
 ment, which would save, if anything could, his aunt's life. The 
 young man was not of course deceived by this shallow falsehood, 
 and from that moment administered the medicine to the patient 
 with his own hands, and kept the bottles which contained it 
 locked up in his cabinet. On the very morning of my aunt's 
 death, I surprised him shutting and locking one of my cabinet 
 drawers. So dumbfounded was I with horror and dismay at the 
 sight, that he left the room by a side-door without observing me. 
 Tou have now the key to my conduct. I loathed to look upon 
 the murderer ; but I would have died a thousand deaths rather 
 than attempt to save my own life by the sacrifice of a father's — 
 how guilty soever he might be." 
 
 Furnished with this explanation, and the affidavit of Edwards, 
 I waited upon the judge, and obtained not only a respite for the 
 prisoner, but a warrant for the arrest of Captain Everett. 
 
 It was a busy evening. Edwards was despatched to London 
 in the friendly custody of an intelligent officer, to secure the 
 person of the foreign-looking vender of subtle poisons ; and Mr. 
 Sharpe, with two constables, set off in a postchaise for Wood- 
 lands Manor-House, It was late when they arrived there, and 
 the servants informed them that Captain Everett had ah-eady 
 retired. They of course insisted upon seeing him ; and he 
 presently appeared, wrapped in a dressing-gown, and haughtily 
 demanded their business with him at such an horn-. The answer 
 smote him as with a thunderbolt, and he staggered backwards, 
 tiU arrested by the wall of the apartment, and then sank feebly, 
 nervelessly, into a chair. Eagerly, after a pause, he questioned 
 the intruders upon the nature of the evidence against him. 
 
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 167 
 
 Mr. Sharpe briefly replied that Edwards was in custody, and had 
 revealed everything. 
 
 " Is it indeed so .?" rejoined Everett, seeming to derive reso- 
 lution and fortitude from the very extremity of despair. " Then 
 the game is unquestionably lost. It was, however, boldly and 
 skilfully played, and I am not a man to whimper over a fatal 
 turn of the dice. In a few minutes, gentlemen," he added, 
 " I shall have changed my dress, and be ready to accompany 
 you." 
 
 " We cannot lose sight of you for an instant," replied Mr. 
 Sharpe. " One of the- officers must accompany you." 
 
 " Be it so : I shall not detain either him or you long." 
 
 Captain Everett, followed by the officer, passed into his dress- 
 ing-room He pulled off his gown; and pointing to a coat 
 suspended on a peg at the further extremity of the apartment, 
 requested the constable to reach it for him. The man hastened 
 to comply with his wish. Swiftly, Everett opened a dressing- 
 case which stood on a table near him : the officer heard the 
 sharp clicking of a pistol-lock, and turned swiftly round. Too 
 late ! A loud report rang through the house ; the room was 
 filled with smoke ; and the wretched assassin and suicide lay 
 extended on the floor a mangled corpse ! 
 
 It would be useless minutely to recapitulate the final wind- 
 ing-up of this eventful drama. Suffice it to record, that Mr. 
 Frederick Mordaunt was, after a slight delay, restored to free- 
 dom and a splendid position in society. After the lapse of a 
 decent interval, he espoused Lucy Carrington. Their eldest 
 son represents in this present parliament one of the English 
 boroughs, and is by no means an undistinguished member of the 
 Commons House. 
 
"THE ACCOMMODATION BILL." 
 
 Such of the incidents of the following narrative as did not fall 
 within my own personal observation, were communieated to me 
 by the late Mr. Ealph Symonds, and the dying confessions of 
 James Hornby, one of the persons killed by the falling in of 
 the iron roof of the Brunswick Theatre. A conversation the 
 other day with a son of Mr. Symonds^ who has been long set- 
 tled in London, recalled the entire chain of circumstances to 
 my memory with all the vivid distinctness of a first impression. 
 One evening towards the close of the year 1806, the Leeds 
 coach brought Mr. James Hornby to the village of Pool, on the 
 Wharf, in the West-Riding of Yorkshire. A small but re- 
 spectable house on the confines of the place had been prepared 
 for his reception, and a few minutes after his descent from the 
 top of the coach, the pale, withered-looking man disappeared 
 within it. Except for occasional trips to Otley, a small market- 
 town distant about three miles from Pool, he rarely afterwards 
 emerged from its seclusion. It was not Titm, we shall pres- 
 ently see— he was indeed but four-and-forty years of age — 
 that had bowed his figure, thinned his whitening hair, and ban- 
 ished from his countenance all signs of healthy, cheerful life. 
 This, too, appeared to be the opinion of the gossips of the vil- 
 lage, who, congregated, as usual, to witness the arrival and de- 
 parture of the coach, indulged, thought Mr. Symonds, who was 
 an inside passenger proceeding on to Otley, in remarkably free- 
 
LL." 169 
 
 and-easy commentaries upon the past, present, and future of the 
 new-comer. 
 
 " I mind him well," quavered an old white-haired man. " It's 
 just three-and-twenty years ago last Michaelmas. I remember 
 it because of the hard frost two years before, that young Jim 
 Hornby left Otley to go to Lunnon : just the place, I'm told, 
 to give the finishing polish to such a miscreant as he seemed 
 likely to be. He was just out of his time to old Hornby, his 
 uncle, the grocer." 
 
 " He that's left him such heaps of money .'"' 
 
 " Ay, boy, the very same, though he wouldn't have given him 
 I or any one else a cheese-paring whilst he lived. This one is a 
 i j true chip of the old block, I'll warrant. You noticed that he 
 rode outside, bitter cold as it is .''' 
 
 " Surely, Gaffer Hicks. But do ye mind what it was he went 
 off in such a skurry for ! Tom Harris was saying last night at 
 the Horse-Shoe, it was something concerning a horse-race or a 
 young woman ; he warn't quite sensible which." 
 
 " I can't say," rejoined the more ancient oracle, " that I 
 quite mind all the ups and downs of it. Henry Burton horse- 
 whipped him on the Doncaster race-course, that I know ; but 
 whether it was about Cinderella that had, they said, been tam- 
 pered with the night before the race, or Miss Elizabeth G-ains- 
 ford, whom Burton married a few weeks afterwards, I can't, as 
 Tom Harris says, quite' clearly remember." 
 
 " Old Hornby had a heavy grip of Burton's farm for a long 
 •ime before he died, they were saying yesterday at Otley. The 
 jheepskins will now no doubt be in the nephew's strong box." 
 
 " Tru&, lad ; and let's hope Master Burton will be regular with 
 his payments ; for if not, there's Jail and Ruin for him written 
 in capital letters on yon fellow's cast-iron phiz, I can see." 
 
170 
 
 The random hits of these Pool gossips, which were here in- 
 terrupted by the departure of the coach, were not very wide of 
 the mark. James Hornby, it was quite true, had been publicly 
 horsewhipped twenty-three years before by Henry Burton on 
 the Doncaster race-course, ostensibly on account of the sudden 
 withdrawal of a horse that should have started, a transaction 
 with which young Hornby was in some measure mixed up ; but 
 especially and really for having dared, upon the strength of pre- 
 sumptive heirship to his uncle's wealth, to advance pretensions 
 to the fair hand of Elizabeth Gainsford, the eldest daughter of 
 Mr. Robert Gainsford, surgeon, of Otley — pretensions indirectly 
 favored, it was said, by the father, but contemptuously repudiated 
 by the lady. Be this as it may, three weeks after the races, 
 Elizabeth Gainsford became Mrs. Burton, and James Hornby 
 hurried oif to London, grudgingly furnished for the journey by 
 his uncle. He obtained a situation as shopman in one of the 
 large grocer establishments of the metropolis ; and twenty-three 
 years afterwards, the attorney's letter, informing him that he 
 had succeeded to all his deceased uncle's property, found him in 
 the same place, and in the same capacity. 
 
 A perfect yell of delight broke from the lips of the taciturn 
 man as his glance devoured the welcome intelligence. " At 
 last !" he shouted with maniacal glee ; and fiercely crumpling 
 the letter in his hand, as if he held a living foe in his grasp, 
 whilst a flash of fiendish passion broke from the deep caverns 
 of his sunken eyes — " at last I have thee on the hip ! Ah, 
 mine enemy ! — it is the dead — the dead alone that never return 
 to hurl back on the head of the wrong-doer the shame, the misery, 
 the ruin he inflicted in his hour of triumph !" The violence of 
 passions suddenly unreined after years of jealous curb and watch- 
 fulness for a moment overcame him, and he reeled as if fainting.^ 
 
171 
 
 into a chair. The fierce, stern nature of the man soon mastered 
 the unwonted excitement, and in a few minutes he was cold, si- 
 lent, impassable as ever. The letter which he despatched the 
 same evening gave calm, business orders as to his uncle's funeral, 
 and other pressing matters upon which the attorney had de- 
 manded instructions, and concluded by intimating that he should 
 be in Yorkshire before many days elapsed. He arrived, as we 
 have seen, and took up his abode at one of the houses bequeathed 
 to him in Pool, which happened to be unlet. 
 
 Yes, for more than twenty bitter years James Hornby had 
 savagely brooded over the shame and wrong inflicted on him 
 before the" mocking eyes of a brutal crowd by Henry Burton. 
 Ever as the day's routine business closed, and he retired to the 
 dull solitude of his chamber, the last mind-picture which faded 
 on his waking sense was the scene on the crowded race-course, 
 with all its exasperating accessories — the merciless exultation of 
 the triumphant adversary — the jibes and laughter of his com- 
 panions — the hootings of the mob — to be again repeated' with 
 fantastic exaggeration in the dreams which troubled and per- 
 plexed iis broken sleep. No wonder that the demons of Re- 
 venge and Hate, by whom he was thus goaded, should have 
 withered by their poisonous breath the healthful life which God 
 had given — ^have blasted with premature old age a body rocked 
 with curses' to unblessed repose ! It seemed, by his after-con- 
 fessions, that he had really loved Elizabeth Gainsford with all 
 the energy of his violent, moody nature, and that her image, 
 fresh, lustrous, radiant, as in the dawn of life, unceasingly 
 haunted his imagination with visions of tenderness and beauty, 
 lost to him, as he believed, through the wiles, the calumnies, 
 and violence of his detested, successful rival. 
 
 The matronly person who, a few days after the Christmas fol 
 
172 "the accommodation bill." 
 
 lowing Hornby's arrival at Pool, was conversing witli her hus- 
 band in the parlor of G-range farmhouse, scarcely realized the 
 air-drawn image which dwelt in the memory of the unforgiving, 
 unforgetting man. Mrs. Burton was at this time a comely dame, 
 whose embonpoint contour, however indicative of florid health and 
 serenity of temper, exhibited little of the airy elegance and grace 
 said to have distinguished the girlhood of Elizabeth Gainsford. 
 Her soft brown eyes were gentle and kind as ever, but the bril- 
 liant lights of youth no longer sparkled in their quiet depths, 
 and time had not only " thinned her flowing hair" — necessitating 
 caps — but had brushed the roses from her cheeks, and swept 
 away, with his searing hand, the pale lilies from the furtive 
 coverts whence they had glanced in tremulous beauty, in life's 
 sweet prime ; yet for all that, and a great deal more, Mrs. Bur- 
 ton, I have no manner of doubt, looked charmingly in the bright 
 fire-blaze which gleamed in chequered light and shade upon the 
 walls, pictures, curtains of the room, and the green leaves and 
 scarlet berries of the Christmas holly with which it was profusely 
 decorated. Three of her children — the eldest, Elizabeth, a re- 
 suscitation of her own youth — were by her side, and opposite 
 sat her husband, whose frank, hearty countenance seemed to 
 sparkle with careless mirth. 
 
 " Hornby will be here presently, Elizabeth," said he. " What 
 a disappointment awaits the rascally curmudgeon ! His uncle 
 was a prince compared to him." 
 
 " Disappointment, Henry ! to receive four hundred pounds 
 he did not expect .?" 
 
 " Ay, truly, dame. Lawyer Symonds' son Frank, a fine, 
 
 good-hearted young fellow as ever stepped in shoe-leather 
 
 Lizzy, girl, if that candle were nearer your face it would light 
 without a match" 
 
"the accommodation bill." 173 
 
 " Nonsense, father !" 
 
 " Very likely. Frank Symonds, I was saying, believes, and 
 so does his father, that Hornby would rejoice at an opportunity 
 of returning with interest the smart score I marked upon his 
 back three-and-twenty years ago." 
 
 " It was a thoughtless, cruel act, Henry," rejoined his wife, 
 " and the less said of it the better. I hope the fright we have 
 had wOl induce you -to practice a better economy than hereto- 
 fore ; so that, instead of allowing two years' interest to accumu- 
 late upon us, we may gradually reduce the mortgage." 
 
 " That we will, dear, depend upon it. We shall be pushed a 
 little at first : Kirkshaw, who lent me the two hundred and fifty, 
 can only spare it for a month ; but no doubt the bank wiU do a 
 bill for part of it by that time. But sufficient for the day is the 
 evil thereof. Here is the money for Hornby at all events : and 
 here at last comes the shrivelled atomy ; I hear his horse. 
 Fanny, light the candles." 
 
 If Mrs. Burton had consciously or unconsciously entertained 
 the self-flattering notion that the stUl unwedded bachelor who 
 had unsuccessfully wooed her nearly a quarter of a century be- 
 fore, still retained a feeling of regretful tenderness for her, she 
 must have been grievously surprised by the cold, unrecognizing 
 glance which Hornby threw on her as he entered, and curtly 
 replied to her civil greeting. That was not the image stamped 
 upon his heart and brain ! But when her eldest daughter ap- 
 proached the lights to place paper and pens upon the table, the 
 flashing glance and white quivering lip of the grave visitor re- 
 vealed the tempest of emotion which for an instant shook him. 
 He quickly suppressed all ^outward manifestation of feeling, and 
 in a dry, business tone, demanded if Mr. Burton was ready to 
 pay the interest of the mortgage. 
 
174 
 
 " Yes, thank God," replied Burton, "I am : here is the 
 money in notes of the G-overnor and Company of the Bank of 
 England. Count them !" 
 
 Hornhy bent down over the notes, shading his face with his 
 hand, as if more accurately to examine them, and the glance of 
 baffled rage which swept across his features was not observed. 
 
 " They are quite right," he said, rising from his chair ; " and 
 here is your receipt." 
 
 " Very Good ! And now, Hornby, let us have a glass of wine 
 together for the sake of old times. Well, well ; you need not 
 look so fierce about it. Let bygones be bygones, I say. Oh, 
 if you will go — go in God's name ! Good-night !" 
 
 " Good-night !" 
 
 " Baffled — foiled !" muttered Hornby as he rode homeward. 
 " Where could he get the money .? Borrowed it, doubtless ; 
 but of whom } Well, patience — patience ! I shall grip thee 
 yet, Henry Burton I" And the possessed man turned round in 
 his saddle, and shook his clenched hand in the direction of the 
 house he had quitted. He then steadily pursued his way, and 
 soon regained his hermitage: 
 
 The month for which Burton had borrowed the two hundred 
 and fifty pounds passed rapidly — as months always do to bor- 
 rowers — and expedient after expedient for raising the money 
 was tried in vain. This money must be repaid, Kirkshaw had 
 emphatically told him, on the day stipulated. Burton applied 
 to the bank at Leeds, with which he usually did business, to 
 discount an acceptance, guaranteed by one or two persons whose 
 names he mentioned. The answer was the usual civil refusal to 
 accept the proffered security for repayment — " the bank was just 
 then full of discounts." Burton ventured, as a last resource, to 
 call on Hornby with a request that, as the rapid advance in the 
 
"the accommodation bill." 175 
 
 market-value of land consequent on the high war -prices obtained 
 for its produce, had greatly increased the worth of Grange Farm, 
 he would add the required sum to the already-existing mortgage. 
 He was met by a prompt refusal. Mr. Hornby intended to fore- 
 close as speedily as possible the mortgages he akeady held, and 
 invest his capital in more profitable securities. " Well, then, 
 would he lend the amount at any interest he chose .'" 
 
 " The usury laws," replied Hornby, with his usual saturnine 
 sneer, " would prevent my acceptance of your obliging oSer, 
 even if I had the present means, which I have not. My spare 
 cash happens just now to hs temporarily locked up." 
 
 Burton, half-crazed with anxiety, went the following day to 
 the Leeds bank with the profier of a fresh name agreed to be 
 lent him by its owner. Useless ! " They did not know the 
 party." The applicant mused a few moments, and then said, 
 " Would you discount the note of Mr. James Hornby of Pool .'" 
 
 " Certainly ; with a great deal of pleasure." Burton hurried 
 away ; had his horse instantly saddled, and gallopped oif to 
 Pool. Hornby was at home. 
 
 " You hinted the other day," said Burton, " that if you had 
 not been short of present means you might have obliged me 
 with the loan I required " 
 
 " Did I >" 
 
 " At least I so understood you. I am of course not ignorant, 
 Mr. Hornby, that there is no good blood between us two ; but I 
 also know that you are fond of money, and that you are fully 
 aware that I am quite safe for a few hundred pounds. I am 
 come, therefore, to offer you ten pounds bonus for your accept- 
 ance at one month for two hundred and fifty pounds." 
 
 " What ?" exclaimed Hornby with strange vehemence. 
 " What .'" 
 
176 "the accommodation bill." 
 
 Burton repeated his offer, and Hornby turned away towards 
 the window without speaking. 
 
 When he again faced Burton, his countenance wore its usual 
 color ; but the expression of his eyes, the applicant afterwards 
 remembered, was wild and exulting. 
 
 " Have you a bill stamp .?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then draw the bUl at once, and I will accept it." 
 
 Burton did not require to be twice told. The biU was quickly 
 drawn ; Hornby took it to another table at the further end of 
 the apartment, slowly wrote his name across it, folded, and re- 
 turned it to Burton, who tendered the ten pounds he had offered, 
 and a written acknowledgment that the bill had been drawn and 
 accepted for his (Burton's) accommodation. 
 
 " I don't want your money, Henry Burton," said Hornby, 
 putting back the note and the memorandum. " I am not afraid 
 of losing by this transaction. You do not know me yet." 
 
 " A queer stick," thought Burton, as he gained the street ; 
 " but Old Nick is seldom so black as he's painted ! He was a 
 plaguy while, I thought, signing his name ; but I wish I could 
 sign mine to such good purpose." 
 
 Burton laid the accepted bill, face downwards, on the bank 
 counter, took a pen, indorsed, and passed it to the managing 
 clerk. The gray-headed man glanced sharply at the signature, 
 and then at Burton, " Why, surely this is not Mr. Hornby's sig- 
 nature .' It does not at all resemble it !" 
 
 " Not his signature !" exclaimed Burton ; " what do you 
 mean by that .'" 
 
 " Keynolds, look here," continued the clerk, addressing an- 
 other of the bank employes. Reynolds looked, and his immedi- 
 
177 
 
 ate glance of surprise and horror at Burton revealed the im- 
 pression he had formed. 
 
 " Please to Step this way, Mr. Burton, to a private apart- 
 ment," said the manager. 
 
 " No — no, I wont," stammered the unfortunate man, over 
 whose mind a dreadful susjpicion had glanced with the sudden- 
 ness of lightning. " I will go back to Hornhy ;" and he made 
 a desperate but vain effort to snatch the fatal instrument. Then, 
 pale and staggering with a confused terror and bewilderment, he 
 attempted to rush into the street. He was stopped, with the 
 help of the bystanders, by one of the clerks, who had jumped 
 over the counter for the purpose. 
 
 The messenger despatched by the bankers to Hornby returned 
 with an answer that the alleged acceptance was a forgery. It 
 was stated on the part of Mr. Hornby that Mr. Burton had in- 
 deed requested him to hnd two hundred and fifty pounds, but 
 he had refused. The frantic asseverations of poor Burton were 
 of course disregarded, and he was conveyed to jail. An exami- 
 nation took place the next day before the magistrates, and the 
 result was, that the prisoner was fully committed on the then 
 capital charge for trial at the ensuing assize. 
 
 It were useless, as painful, to dwell upon- the consternation 
 and agony which fell upon the dwellers at Grange Farm when 
 the terrible news reached them. A confident belief in the per- 
 fect innocence of the prisoner, participated by most persons who 
 knew his character and that of Hornby, and that it would be 
 triumphantly vindicated on the day of trial, which rapidly ap- 
 proached, alone enabled them to bear up against the blow, and 
 to await with trembling hope the verdict of a jury. 
 
 It was at this crisis of the drama that I became an actor in it. 
 I was retained for the defence by my long-known and esteemed 
 
178 "the accommodation bill." 
 
 friend Symonds, whose zeal for hia client, stimulated by strong 
 personal friendship, knew no bounds. The acceptance, he; in- 
 formed me, so little resembled Hornby's handwriting, that if 
 Burton had unfolded the bill when given back to him by the 
 villain, he could hardly have failed to suspect the nature of the 
 diabolical snare set for his life. 
 
 In those -days, and until Mr., now Sir, Robert Peel's amend- 
 ment of the criminal law and practice of this country, the, ac- 
 ceptor of a bill of exchange, on the principle that he was inter- 
 vsted in denying the genuineness of the signature, could not, 
 according to the Engish law of evidence, be called, on the part 
 of the prosecution, to prove the forgery ; and of course, after 
 what had taken place, we did not propose to call Hornby for the 
 defence. The evidence for the crown consisted, therefore, on 
 the day of trial, of the testimony of persons acquainted with 
 Hornby's signature, that the acceptance across the inculpated 
 bill was not in his handwriting. Burton's behavior at the bank, 
 in endeavoring to-repossess himself of the bill by violence, was 
 of course detailed, and told heavily against him. 
 
 All the time this testimony was being given, Hornby sat on 
 one of the front seats of the crowded court, exulting in the 
 visible accomplishment of his Satanic device. We could see 
 but little of his face, which, supported on his elbow, was par- 
 tially concealed by a handkerchief he held in his hand ; but I, 
 who narrowly observed him, could occasionally discern flashes 
 from under his pent brows — revealments of the fierce struggle 
 which raged within. 
 
 The moment at last arrived for the prisoner, whose eyes had 
 been for some time fixed on Hornby, to speak or read his de- 
 fence, and a breathless sUence pervaded the court. 
 
 Burton started at the summons, like a man unexpectedly re- 
 
"the accommodation bill." 179 
 
 called to a sense of an imperious, but for tte moment forgotten, 
 di^ty. 
 
 ■' James Hornby !" he suddenly cried with a voice which 
 rang through the assembly like a trumpet, " stand up, and if 
 you can face an innocent man " 
 
 Hornby, surprised out of his self-possession, mechanically 
 obeyed the strange order, sprang involuntarily to his feet, let 
 fall the handkerchief that had partially concealed his features, 
 and nervously confronted the prisoner. 
 
 " Look at me, I say," continued Burton with increasing ex- 
 citement ; " and as you hope to escape the terrors of the last 
 judgment, answer truly : did you not, with your own hand, and 
 in my presence, sign that bill .''" 
 
 " This cannot be permitted," interrupted the judge. 
 
 " If you do not speak," proceeded the prisoner, heedless of 
 the intimation from the bench ; " or if you deny the truth, my 
 life, as sure as there is a God in heaven, will be required at your 
 hands. If, in consequence of your devilish plotting, these men 
 consign me to a felon's grave, I shall not be cold in it when you 
 will be calling upon the mountains to fall and cover you from 
 the vengeance of the Judge of heaven and earth ! Speak, man 
 — save me : save your own soul from mortal peril whilst there is 
 yet time for mercy and repentance !" 
 
 Hornby's expression of surprise and confusion had gradually 
 changed during this appeal to its usual character of dogged im- 
 passibility. He turned calmly and appealingly towards the 
 bench. 
 
 " You need not answer these wild adjurations, Mr. Hornby," 
 said the judge, as soon as he could make himself heard. 
 
 A smile curled the fellow's lip as he bowed deferentially to 
 his lordship, and he sat down without uttering a syllable 
 
180 
 
 " May the Lord, then, have mercy on my soul !" exclaimed 
 the prisoner solemnly. Then glancing at the bench and jury- 
 box, he added, " And you, my lord and gentlemen, work your 
 will with my body as quickly as you may : I am a lost man !" 
 
 The calling of witnesses to character, the opening of the 
 judge's charge, pointing from its first sentence to a conviction, 
 elicited no further manifestation of feeling from the prisoner : 
 he was as culm as despair. 
 
 The judge had been speaking for perhaps ten minutes, when 
 a bustle was heard a.t the hall, as if persons were striving to force 
 their way into the body of the court in spite of the resistance of 
 the officers. 
 
 " Who is that disturbing the court .'" demanded the judge 
 angrily. 
 
 " For the love of Heaven let me pass !" we heard uttered in 
 passionate tones by a female voice. " I must and will see the 
 judge !" 
 
 " Who can this be ?" T inquired, addressing Mr. Symonds. 
 
 " I cannot conceive," he replied ; " surely not Mrs. Burton P' 
 
 I had kept my eye, as I spoke, upon Hornby, and noticed 
 that he exhibited extraordinary emotion at the sound of the 
 voice, to whomsoever it belonged, and was now endeavoring to 
 force his way through the crowded and anxious auditory. 
 
 " My lord," said I, " I have to request on the part of the 
 prisoner that the person desirous of admittance may be heard." 
 
 " What has she to say ? Or if a material witness, why have 
 you not called her at the proper time .?" replied his lordship 
 with some irritation. 
 
 " My lord, I do not even now know her name ; but in a case 
 iijvolving the life of the prisoner, it is imperative that no chance 
 be neglected " 
 
"the accommodation bill." 181 
 
 " Let the woman pass into the witness-box," interrupted the 
 judge. 
 
 The order brought before our eyes a pale, stunted woman, of 
 about fifty years of age, whose excited and by no means unintel- 
 leetual features, and hurried, earnest manner, seemed to betoken 
 great and unusual feeling. 
 
 " As I'm alive, Hornby's deformed housekeeper !" whispered 
 Symonds. " This poor devil's knot will be unraveled yet." 
 
 The woman, whose countenance and demeanor, as ^he gave 
 her evidence, exhibited a serious, almost solemn intelligence, 
 deposed to the following effect : — 
 
 " HA: name was Mary M'Grrath, and she was the daughter of 
 L-ish parents, but born and brought up in England. She had 
 been Mr. Hornby's housekeeper, and remembered well the 4th 
 of February last, when Mr. Burton, the prisoneT, called at the 
 house. Witness was dusting in an apartment close to her mas- 
 ter's business-room, from which it was only separated by a thin 
 wooden partition. The door was partly open, and she could see 
 as well as hear what was going on without being seen herself. 
 She heard the conversation between the prisoner and her mas- 
 ter ; heard Mr. Hornby agree to sign the paper — bUl she ought 
 to say — ^for two hundred and fifty pounds ; saw him do it, and 
 then deliver it folded up to Mr. Burton." 
 
 A shout of execration burst from the auditory as these words 
 were uttered, and every eye was turned to the spot where Hornby 
 had been seated. He had disappeared during the previous con- 
 fiision. 
 
 " Silence !" exclaimed the judge sternly. " Why, woman," 
 he added, " have you never spoken of this before ?" 
 
 " Because, my lord," replied the witness with downcast looks, 
 and in a low, broken voice — " because I am a sinful, wicked 
 
182 "the accommodation bill." 
 
 creature. When my master, the day after Mr. Burton had 
 been taken up, discovered that I knew his secret, he bribed me 
 with money and great promises of more to sUence. I had been 
 nearly all my life, gentlemen, poor and miserable, almost an 
 outcast, and the temptation was too strong for me. He mis- 
 trusted me, however — for my mind, he saw, was sore troubled — 
 and he sent me off to London yesterday, to be out of the way 
 -tUl all was over. The coach stopped at Leeds, and, as it was 
 heavy upon me, I thought, especially as it was the blessed 
 Easter-time, that I would step to the chapel. His holy name 
 be praised that I did ! The scales seemed to fall from my eyes, 
 and I saw clearer than I had before the terrible wickedness I 
 was committing. I told all to the priest, and he has brought 
 me here to make what amends I can for the sin and cruelty of 
 which I have been guilty. There — there is all that is left of 
 the wages of crime," she added, throwing a purse of money on 
 the floor of the court ; and then bursting into a flood of tears, 
 she exclaimed with passionate earnestness, " for which may the 
 Almighty of his infinite mercy pardon and absolve me !" 
 
 " Amen !" responded the deep husky voice of the prisoner, 
 snatched back, as it were, from the very verge of the grave to 
 liberty and life. " Amen, with all my soul !" 
 
 The counsel for the crown, cross-examined the witness, but his 
 efforts only brought out her evidence in, if possible, a still clearer 
 and more trustworthy light. Not a thought of doubt was enter- 
 tained by any person in the court, and the jury, with the alacrity 
 of men relieved of a grievous burthen, and without troubling the 
 judge to resume his interrupted charge, returned a verdict of 
 acquittal. 
 
 The return of Burton to his home figured as an ovation in the 
 Pool and Otley annals. The greetings which met him on all 
 
"the accommodation bill." 183 
 
 sides were boisterous and hearty, as English, greetings usually 
 are ; and it was with some difficulty the rustic constabulary could 
 muster a sufficient force to save Hornby's domicile from sack 
 and destruction. All the windows were, however, smashed, and 
 that the mob felt was something at all events. 
 
 Burton profited by the painful ordeal to which he had, prima- 
 rily through his own thoughtlessness, been exposed, and came in 
 a few years to be regarded as one of the most prosperous yeomen- 
 farmers of Yorkshire. Mr. Frank Symonds' union with Eliza- 
 beth Burton was in due time solemnized : Mr. WUberforce, the 
 then popular member for the West Riding, I remember hear- 
 ing, stood sponsor to their eldest born : and Mary M'Grath 
 passed the remainder of her life in the service of the family her 
 testimony had saved from disgrace and ruin, 
 
 Mr. James Hornby disappeared from Yorkshire immediately 
 after the trial, and, except through his business agents,, was not 
 again heard of till the catastrophe at the Brunswick Theatre, 
 where he perished. He died penitent, after expressing to Mr. 
 Frank Symonds, for whom h^ had sent, his deep sorrow for the 
 evU deed he had planned, and, but for a merciful interposition, 
 would have accomplished. As a proof of the sincerity of his 
 repentance, he bequeathed the bulk of his property to Mrs. 
 Symonds, the daughter of the man he had pursued with such 
 savage and relentless hate ! 
 
THE REFUGEE. 
 
 The events whicli I am about to relate occurred towards the 
 close of the last century, some time before I was called to the 
 bar, and do not therefore in strictness fall within my own expe- 
 riences as a barrister. Still, as they came to my knowledge 
 with much greater completeness than if I had been only pro- 
 fessionally engaged to assist in the catastrophe of the drama 
 through which they are evolved,, and, as I conceive, throw a 
 strong light upon the practical working of our criminal jurispru- 
 dence, a brief page of these slight leaves may not inappropri- 
 ately record them. 
 
 About the time I have indicated, a Mrs. Rush ton, the widow 
 of a gentleman of commercial opulence, resided in Upper Harley 
 Street, Ckvendish Square. She was a woman of " family," and 
 by her marriage had greatly lowered herself, in her relatives' 
 opinion, by a union with a person who, however wealthy and 
 otherwise honorable, was so entirely the architect of his own 
 fortunes — owed all that he possessed so immediately to his own 
 skill, sagacity, and perseverance — that there was an unpleasant 
 rumor abroad about his widowed mother being indebted to her 
 son's success in business for having passed the last ten years of 
 her life in ease and competence. Mr. Rushton had left his 
 widow a handsome annuity, and to his and her only son a weU- 
 invested income of upwards of seven thousand a year. Since 
 the death of her husband, Mrs. Rushton, who inherited quite her 
 
THE REFUGEE. 185 
 
 full share of family pride, if nothing else, had sought by every 
 method she could devise to re-enter the charmed circle from 
 ifrhich her union with a city merchant had excluded her. The 
 most effectual mode of accomplishing her purpose was, she knew, 
 to bring about a marriage between her son and a lady who would 
 not be indisposed to accept of wealth and a well-appointed 
 establishment in Mayfair as a set-off against birth and high 
 connection. 
 
 Arthur Rushton, at this time between two and three-and- 
 twenty years of age, was a mild, retiring, rather shy person, and 
 endowed with a tenderness of disposition, of which the trahquil 
 depths had not as yet been ruffled by the faintest breath of pas- 
 sion. His mother possessed almost unbounded influence over 
 him ; and he ever listened with a smile, a languid, half-disdain- 
 ful one, to her eager speculations upon the numerous eligible 
 matches that would present themselves the instant the " season " 
 and their new establishment in Mayfair — of which the decoration 
 and furnishing engaged all her available time and attention-r- 
 enabled them to open the campaign with effect. Arthur Rush- 
 ton and myself had been college companions, and our friendly 
 intimacy continued for several years afterwards. At this period 
 especially we were very cordial and unreserved in our intercourse 
 with each other. 
 
 London at this time was crowded with French exiles, escaped 
 from the devouring sword of Robespierre and his helpers in the 
 work of government by the guillotine, almost aU of whom claimed 
 to be members of, or closely connected with, the ancient nobility 
 of France. Among these was an elderly gentleman of the name 
 of De Tourville, who, with his daughter Eugenie, had for a 
 considerable time occupied a first floor in King Street, Holborn. 
 Him I never saw in life, but Mademoiselle de TourvUk was one 
 
186 THE REFUGEE. 
 
 of the most accomplished, graceful, enctantingly-interesting per- 
 sons I have ever seen or known. There was a dangerous fascin- 
 ation in the pensive tenderness through which her natural gaiety 
 and archness of manner would at intervals flash, like April sun- 
 light glancing through clouds and showers, which, the first time 
 I saw her, painfully impressed as much as it charmed me — per- 
 ceiving, as I quickly did, that with her the future peace, I could 
 almost have said life, of Arthur Eushton was irrevocahly bound 
 up. The fountains of his heart were for the first time stirred to 
 their inmost depths, and, situated as he and she were, what but 
 disappointment, bitterness, and anguish could well-up from those 
 troubled waters .' Mademoiselle de Tourville, I could perceive, 
 was fully aware of the impression she had made upon the sensi- 
 tive and amiable Englishman ; and I sometimes discovered an 
 expression of pity — of sorrowful tenderness, as it were — rpass 
 over her features as some distineter revelation than usual of the 
 nature of Arthur Eushton 's emotions flashed upon her. I also 
 heard her express herself several times, as overtly as she could, 
 upon the impossibility there existed that she should, however 
 much she might desire it, settle in England, or even remain in 
 it for any considerable length of time. AU this I understood, 
 or thought I did, perfectly ; but Eushton, bewildered, entranced 
 by feelings altogether new to him, saw nothing, heard nothing 
 but her presence, and felt, without reasoning upon it, that in 
 that delirious dream it was his fate either to Kve or else to bear 
 no life. Mrs. Eushton — and this greatly surprised me — ab- 
 sorbed in her matrimonial and furnishing schemes and projects, 
 saw nothing of what was going, on. Probably the notion that 
 her son should for an instant think of allying himself with an 
 obscure, portionless foreigner, was, to a mind like hers, too 
 absurd to be for a moment entertained ; or But stay : 
 
THE REFUGEE. 187 
 
 borne along by a crowd of rusHng. tlioughtSj^I have, I find, 
 somewhat anticipated the regular march of my narrative. 
 
 M. and Mademoiselle de Tourville, according to the after- 
 testimony of their landlord, Mr. Osborn, had, from the time of 
 their arrival in England, a very constant visitor at their lodgings 
 in King Street. He was a taU French gentleman, of perhaps 
 thirty years of age, and distinguished appearance. His name 
 was La Houssaye. He was very frequently with them indeed, 
 and generally he and M. de Tourville would go out together in 
 the evening, the latter gentleman not returning home till very 
 late. This was more especially the case after Mademoiselle de 
 Tourville ceased to reside with her father. 
 
 Among the fashionable articles with which BIrs. Rushton was 
 anxious to surrotmd herself, was a companion of accomplish- 
 ments and high-breeding, who might help her to rub off the rust 
 she feared to have contracted by her connection with the city. 
 A Parisian lady of high lineage and perfect breeding might, 
 she thought, be easily obtained ; and an advertisement brought 
 Mademoiselle de Tourville to her house. Mrs. Rushton was 
 delighted with the air and manners of the charming applicant ; 
 and after a slight inquiry by letter to an address of reference 
 given by the young lady, immediately engaged her, on exceed- 
 ingly liberal terms, for six months — ^that being the longest period 
 for which Mademoiselle de TourvUle could undertake to remain. 
 She also stipulated for permission to pass the greater part of one 
 day in the week — that which might happen to be most conven- 
 ient to Mrs. Rushton — ^with her father. One other condition 
 testified alike to M. de Tourville's present poverty and her own 
 filial piety : it was, that her salary should be paid weekly — she 
 would not accept it in advance — avowedly for her parent's 
 necessities, who, poor exUe ! and tears stood in Eugenie's dark 
 
188 THE REFUGEE. 
 
 lustrous eyes as she spoke, was ever trembling on tlie brink of 
 the grave from an affection of the keart with which he Lad been 
 long afflicted. Mademoiselle de Tourville, I should state, spoke 
 English exceedingly well as far as the rules of syntax and the 
 meanings of words went, and with an accent charming in its 
 very defectiveness. 
 
 She had resided with Mrs. Rushton, who on all occasions 
 treated her with the greatest kindness and consideration, for 
 rather more than two months, when an incident occurred which 
 caused the scales to fall suddenly from the astonished mother's 
 eyes, and in a moment revealed to her the extent of the risk and 
 mischief she had so heedlessly incurred. The carriage was at 
 the door, and it struck Mrs. Rushton as she was descending the 
 stairs that Mademoiselle de TourviUe, who had complained of 
 headache in the morning, would like to take an airing with her. 
 The sound of the harp issuing from the drawing-room, and the 
 faintly-distinguished tones of her voice in some plaintive sUver 
 melody perhaps suggested the invitation ; and thither the mis- 
 tress of the mansion at once proceeded. The folding-doors of 
 the back drawing-room were partially open when Mrs. Rushton, 
 on kind thoughts intent, entered the front apartment. Made- 
 moiselle de Tourville was seated with her back towards her at 
 the harp, pouring forth with her thrilling and delicious voice a 
 French romaunt ; and there, with his heaid supported on his 
 elbow, which rested on the marble chimney-piece, stood her son, 
 Arthur Rushton, gazing at the aparently-unconscious songstress 
 with a look so full of devoted tenderness — so completely reveal- 
 ing the intensity of passion by which he was possessed — that 
 Mrs. Rushton started with convulsive affright, and could not for 
 several minutes give articulation to the dismay and rage which 
 choked her utterance. Presently, however, her emotions found 
 
THE REFUGEE. 189 
 
 expression, and a storm of vituperatiye abuse was showered upon 
 the head of the astonished Eugenie, designated as an artful 
 intrigante, a designing pauper, who had insinuated, herself into 
 the establishment for the sole purpose of entrapping Mr. Arthur 
 Eushton — with a great deal more to the same effect. Made- 
 moiselle de TourvUle, who had first been too much surprised by 
 the unexpected suddenness of the attack to quite comprehend 
 the intent and direction of the blows, soon recovered her self- 
 possession and hauteur. A smile of contempt curled her beau- 
 tiful lip, as, taking advantage of a momentary pause in Mrs. 
 Kushton's breathless tirade, she said, "Permit me, madam, to 
 observe that if, as you seem to apprehend, your son has contem- 
 plated honoring me by the offer of an alliance with his ancient 
 House " Her look at this moment glanced upon the dread- 
 fully agitated young man ; the expression of disdainful bitter- 
 ness vanished in an instant from her voice and featm'es ; and 
 after a few moments, she added, with sad eyes bent upon the 
 floor, " That he could not have made a more unhappy choice^ — 
 more unfortunate for him, more impossible for me !" She then 
 hastily left the apartment, and before a quarter of an hour had 
 elapsed, had left the house in a hackney-coach. 
 
 The scene which followed between the mother and son was a 
 violent and distressing one. Mr. Eushton, goaded to fury by 
 his mother's attack upon Mademoiselle de Tourville, cast off the 
 habit of deference and submission which he had always worn in 
 her presence, and asserted with vehemence his right to wed with 
 whom he pleased, and declared that no power on earth should 
 prevent him marrying the lady just driven ignominiously from 
 the house if she could be brought to accept the offer of his hand 
 and fortune ! Mrs. Eushton fell into passionate hysterics ; and 
 her son, having first summoned her maid, withdrew to ruminate 
 
190 THE REFUGEE. 
 
 on Mademoiselle de TourviUe's concluding sentence, whicli trou- 
 bled him far more that what he deemed the injustice of his 
 mother. 
 
 "Vyhen Mrs. Rushton, by the aid of water, pungent essences, 
 and the relief which even an hour of time seldom fails to yield 
 in such cases, had partially recovered her equanimity, she deter- 
 mined, after careful consideration of the best course of action, 
 to consult a solicitor of eminence, well acquainted with her late 
 husband, upon the matter. She had a dim notion that the Alien 
 Act, if it could' be put in motion, might rid her of Mademoiselle 
 de Tourville and her friends. Thus resolving, and ever scrupu- 
 lous as to appearances, she carefully smoothed her ruffled plum- 
 age, changed her disordered dress, and directed the carriage, 
 which had been dismissed, to be again brought round to the 
 door. " Mary," she added a few moments afterwards, " bring 
 
 me my jew:el-case — the small one : you wiU find it in Made ■ 
 
 in that French person's dressing-room." 
 
 Mary Austin reappeared in answer to the violent ringing of 
 her impatient lady's bell, and stated that the jewel-case could 
 nowhere be found in Mademoiselle's dressing-room. " Her 
 clothes, everything belonging to her, had been taken out of the 
 wardrobe, and carried away, and perhaps that also in mistake no 
 doubt." 
 
 " Nonsense, woman !" replied Mrs. Eushton. " I left it not 
 long ago on her toilet-glass. I intended to show her a purchase 
 I had made, and not finding her, left it as I tell you." 
 
 Another search was made with the same ill-success. Blary 
 Austin afterwards said that when she returned to her mistress 
 the second time, to say that the jewel-case was certainly gone, 
 an expression of satisfaction instead of anger, it seemed to her, 
 glanced across Mrs. Rushton's face, who immediately left the 
 
THE REFUGEE. 191 
 
 room, and in a few minutes afterwards was driven off in the 
 carriage. 
 
 About an hour after her departure I called in Harley Street 
 for Arthur Eushton, with, whom I had engaged to go this even- 
 ing to the theatre to witness Mrs. Siddons's Lady Macbeth, which 
 neither of us had yet seen. I found him in a state of calmed 
 excitement, if I may so express inyself ; and after listening 
 with much interest to the minute account he gave me of what 
 had passed, I, young and inexperienced as I was in such affairs, 
 took upon myself to suggest that, as the lady he nothing doubted 
 was as irreproachable in character as she was confessedly charm- 
 ing and attractive in person and manners, and as he was unques- 
 tionably his own master, Mrs. Rushton's opposition was not likely 
 to be of long continuance ; and that as to Mademoiselle de Tour- 
 ville's somewhat discouraging expression, such sentences from 
 the lips of ladies — 
 
 " That would be wooed, and not unsought be won " — 
 
 were seldom, if ever, I had understood, to be taken in a literal 
 and positive sense. Under this mUd and soothing treatment, 
 Mr. Rushton gradually threw off a portion of the load that 
 oppressed him, and we set off in tolerably cheerful mood for the 
 theatre. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons' magnificent and appalling impersonation over, 
 we left the house ; he, melancholy and sombre as I had found 
 him in Harley Street, and I in by no means a gay or laughing 
 mood. We parted at my door, and whether it was the effect of 
 the tragedy, so wonderfully realized in its chief creation, or 
 whether coming events do sometimes cast their shadows before, 
 I cannot say, but I know that an hour after Rushton's departure 
 I was stiU sitting alone, my brain -throbbing with excitement, 
 
192 THE REFUGEE. 
 
 and so nervous and impressionable, that a sudden, vehement 
 knocking at the street entrance caused me to spring up from 
 my chair with a terrified start, and before I could master the 
 impulsive emotion, the room-door was thrown furiously open, 
 and in reeled Arthtir Rushton — pale, haggard, wild — his eyes 
 ablaze with horror and affright ! Had the ghost of Duncan 
 suddenly gleamed out of the viewless air I could not have been 
 more startled — awed ! 
 
 " She is'dead ! — poisoned !" he shrieked with manical fury ; 
 " killed ! — murdered ! — and by ktr /" 
 
 I gasped for breath, and could hardly articulate — " What ! 
 whom ?" 
 
 " My mother !" he shouted with the same furious vehemence 
 — " Killed ! by hurl Oh, horror ! — horror ! — horror !" and ex- 
 hausted by the violence of his emotions, the unfortunate gentle- 
 man staggered, shuddered violently, as if shaken by an ague 
 fit, and feU heavily — for I was too confounded to yield him 
 timely aid — on the floor. 
 
 As soon as I could rally my scattered senses, I caused medical 
 aid to be summoned, and got him to bed. Blood was freely 
 taken from both arms, and he gradually recovered consciousness. 
 Leaving him in kind and careful hands, I hurried off to ascertain 
 what possible foundation there could be for the terrible tidings 
 so strangely announced. 
 
 I found the establishment in Harley Street in a state of the 
 wildest confusion and dismay. Mrs. Knshton was dead ; that, 
 at all events, was no figment of sudden insanity, and incredible, 
 impossible rumors were flying from mouth to mouth with bewil- 
 dering rapidity and incoherence. The name of Mademoiselle 
 de TourviUe was repeated in every variety of abhorrent empha- 
 sis ; but it was not till I obtained an interview with Mrs. Rush- 
 
THE REFUGEK. 19S 
 
 ton's solicitor that I could understand what really had occurred, 
 i or, to speak more properly, what was suspected. Mrs. Rushton 
 . had made a deposition, of which Mr. Twyte related to me the 
 essential points. The deceased lady had gone out in her car- 
 I riage with the express intention of calling on him, the solicitor, 
 ' to ascertain if it would be possible to apply the Alien Act to 
 I Mademoiselle de Tourville and her father, in order to get them 
 ; sent out of the country. Mr. Twyte did not happen to be at 
 home, and Mrs. Eushton immediately drove to the De Tour- 
 j vUles' lodgings in King Street, Holborn, with the design, she 
 j admitted, of availing herself of what ehe was in her own mind 
 j satisfied was the purely accidental, taking away of a jewel-case, 
 ! to terrify Mademoiselle de Tourville, by the threat of a criminal 
 I charge, into leaving the country, or at least to bind herself not 
 I to admit, under any circumstances, of Mr. Arthur Eushton's 
 j addresses. She found Eugenie in a state of extraordinary, and 
 I it seemed painful excitement ; and the young lady entreated that 
 '■ whatever Mrs. Eushton had to say should be reserved for another 
 I opportunity, when she would calmly consider whatever Mrs. 
 Eushton had to urge. The unfortunate lady became somewhat 
 ' in-itated at Mademoiselle de Tourville's obstinacy, and the un- 
 ruffled contempt with which she treated the charge of robbery, 
 I even after finding the missing jewel-case in a band-box, into which 
 j it had been thrust with some brushes and other articles in the 
 I hun-y of leaving. Mrs. Eushton was iterating her threats in a 
 loud tone of voice, and moved towards the bell to direct, she said, 
 the landlord to send for a constable, but with no intention what- 
 ever of doing so, when Mademoiselle de Tourville caught her 
 suddenly by the arm, and bade her step into the next room. Mrs. 
 Eushton mechanically obeyed, and was led in silence to the side 
 of a bed, of which Eugenie suddenly drew the curtain, and dis- 
 
194 
 
 THE REFUGEE. 
 
 played to her, with a significant and reproachful gesture, the 
 pale, rigid countenance of her father's corpse, who had, it ap- 
 pears, suddenly expired. The shock was terrible. Mrs. Rush- 
 ton staggered back into the sitting-room, sick and faint, sank 
 into a chau-, and presently asked for a glass of wine. " We 
 have no wine," replied Mademoiselle de Tourville ; " but there 
 is a cordial in the next room which may be better for^ou." 
 She was absent about a minute, and on returning, presented 
 Mrs. Eushton with a large wine-^assM of liquid, which the 
 deceased lady eagerly swallowed. The taste was strange, but 
 not unpleasant ; and irisimntly afterwards Mrs. Eushton left the 
 house. When the carriage reached Harley Street, she was 
 found to be in a state of great prostration : powerful stimulants 
 were administered, but her life was beyond the reach of medicine. 
 She survived just long enough to depose to the foregoing par- 
 ticulars ; upon which statement Mademoiselle de Tourville had 
 been awested, and was now in custody. 
 
 " You seem to have been very precipitate," I exclaimed 
 as soon as the solicitor had ceased speaking : " there appears 
 to be as yet no proof that the deceased lady died of other 
 than natui'al causes." 
 
 " You are mistaken," rejoined Mr. Twyte. " There is no 
 doubt on the subject in the minds of the medical gentlemen, 
 although the post-mortem examination has not yet taken place. 
 And, as if to put aside all doubt, the bottle from which, this 
 Eugenie de TourviUe admits she took the cordial proves to con- 
 tain distilled laurel- water, a deadly poison, curiously colored and 
 flavored." 
 
 Greatly perturbed, shocked, astonished as I was, my mind 
 refused to admit, even for a moment, the probability, hardly the 
 possibility, of Eugenie de Tourville's guilt. The reckless malig- 
 
THE REFUGEE. 195 
 
 nancy of spirit evinced by so atrocious an act dwelt not, I was 
 sure, within that beauteous temple. The motives alleged to have 
 actuated her — fear of a criminal charge, admitted to be absurd, 
 and desire to rid herself of an obstacle to her marriage with 
 Arthur Kushton — seemed to me altogether strained and inappli- 
 cable. The desperation of unreasoning hate could alone have 
 prompted such a deed ; for detection was inevitable, had, in 
 truthf been courted rather than attempted to be avoided. 
 
 My reasoning made no change in the conclusions of Mr. 
 Twyte the attorney for the prosecution, and I hastened home to 
 administer such consolation to Arthur Rushton as might consist 
 in the assurance of my firm conviction that his beloved mother's 
 life had not been wilfully taken away by Eugenie de Tourville. 
 I found him still painfully agitated ; and the medical attendant 
 told me it was feared by Dr. that brain fever would super- 
 vene if the utmost care was not taken to keep him as quiet and 
 composed as, under the circumstances, was possible. I was, 
 however, permitted a few minutes' conversation with him ; and 
 my reasoning, or, more correctly, my confidently-expressed be- 
 lief — for his mind seemed incapable of following my argument, 
 which it indeed grasped faintly at, but slipped from, as it were, 
 in an instant — ;appeared to relieve him wonderfully. I also 
 promised him that no legal or pecuniary assistance should be 
 wanting in the endeavor to clear Mademoiselle de Tourville of 
 the dreadful imputation preferred against her. I then left him. 
 The anticipation of the physician was unfortunately realized : 
 the next morning he was in a raging fever, and his life, I was 
 informed, was in very imminent danger. 
 
 It was a distracting time ; but I determihedly, and with much 
 self-effort, kept down the nervous agitation which might have 
 otherwise rendered me incapable of fulfilling the duties I had 
 
196 THE REFUGEE. 
 
 undertaken to perform. By eleven o'clock in the forenoon I 
 had secured the active and zealous services of Mr. White, one 
 of the most celebrated of the criminal attorneys of that day. 
 By application in the proper quarter, we obtained immediate 
 access to the prisoner, who was temporarily confined in a sepa- 
 rate room in the Red-Lion Square Lock-up House. Made- 
 moiselle de Tourville, although exceedingly pale, agitated, and 
 nervous, still looked as lustrously pure, as radiantly innocent of 
 evil thought or deed, as on the day that I fii-st beheld her. 
 The practiced eye of the attorney scanned her closely. " As 
 innocent of this charge," he whispered, " as you or I." I ten- 
 dered my services to the unfortunate young lady with an earnest- 
 ness of manner which testified more than any words could have 
 done how entirely my thoughts acquitted her of offence. Her 
 looks thanked me ; and when I hinted at the promise exacted 
 of me by Arthur Rushton, a bright blush for an instant mantled 
 the pale marble of her cheeks and forehead, indicating with the 
 tears, which suddenly filled and trembled in her beautiful eyes, 
 a higher sentiment, I thought, than mere gratitude. She gave 
 us her unreserved confidence ; by which, after careful sifting, 
 we obtained only the following by no means entirely satisfactory 
 results : — • 
 
 Mademoiselle de Tourville and her father had escaped from 
 the Terrorists of France by the aid of, and in company with, the 
 Chevalier la Houssaye, with'whom M. de Tourville had pre- 
 viously had but very slight acquaintance. The chevalier soon 
 professed a violent admiration for Eugenie ; and having contrived 
 to lay M. de Tourville under heavy pecuniary obligations at play 
 — many of them Mademoiselle de Tourville had only very lately 
 discovered — prevailed upon his debtor to exert his influence with 
 his daughter to accept La Houssaye's hand in marriage. After 
 
THE REFUGEK. 197 
 
 much resistance, Mademoiselle de TourviUe, overcome by the 
 commands, entreaties, prayers of her father, consented, but only 
 on condition that the marriage should not take place till their 
 return to France, which it was thought need not be very long 
 delayed, and, that no more money obligations should in the 
 meantime be incurred by her father. La Houssaye vehemently 
 objected to delay ; but finding Eugenie inexorable, sullenly 
 acquiesced. It was precisely at this time that the engagement 
 with Mrs. Eushton was accepted. On the previous afternoon 
 Mademoiselle de TourviUe, on leaving Harley Street after the 
 scene with the deceased lady, went directly .home, and there 
 found both her father and the chevalier in hot contention and 
 excitement. As soon as La Houssaye saw her, he seized his hat, 
 and rushed out of the apartment and house. Her father, who 
 was greatly excited, had barely time to say that he had fortu- 
 nately discovered the chevalier to be a married man, whose wife, 
 a woman of property, was still living in Languedoc, when what 
 had always been predicted would follow any unusual agitation 
 happened : M. de Tourville suddenly placed his hand on his 
 side, uttered a broken exclamation, fell into a chair, and expired. 
 It was about two hours after this melancholy event that Mrs. 
 Eushton arrived. The account before given of the interview 
 which followed was substantially confirmed by Mademoiselle de 
 Tourville ; who added, that the cordial she had given Mrs. 
 Rushton was one her father was in the constant habit of taking 
 when in the slightest degree excited, and that shejsras about to 
 give him some when he suddenly fell dead. 
 
 We had no doubt, none whatever, that this was the whole, 
 literal truth, as far as the knowledge of Mademoiselle de Tour- 
 ville extended ; but how could we impart that impression to an 
 Old Bailey jury of those days, deprived as we should be of the 
 
198 THE REFUGEE. 
 
 aid of counsel to address the jury, when in reality a speech, 
 pointing to the improbabilities arising from characterj and the 
 altogether MBguilty-like mode of administering the fatal liquid, 
 ■was the only possible defence ? Cross-examination promised 
 nothing ; for the evidence would consist of the dying deposition 
 of Mrs. Rushton, the finding of the laurel-water, and the medi- 
 cal testimony as to the cause of death. The only person upon 
 whom suspicion glanced was La Houssaye, and that in a vague 
 and indistinct manner. StUl, it was necessary to find him with- 
 out delay, and Mr. White at once sought him at his lodgings, 
 of which Mademoiselle de TourviUe furnished the address. He 
 had left the house suddenly with all his luggage early in the 
 morning, and our efforts to trace him proved fruitless. In the 
 meantime the post-mortem examination of the body had taken 
 place, and a verdict of -willful murder against Eugenie de Tour- 
 ville been unhesitatingly returned. She was soon afterwards 
 committed to Newgate for trial. 
 
 The Old Bailey session was close at hand, and Arthur Eush- 
 ton, though immediate danger was over, was still in too delicate 
 and precarious a state to be informed of the true position of 
 affairs when the final day of trial arrived. The case had excited 
 little public attention. It was not the fashion in those days to 
 exaggerate the details of crime, and, especially before trial, give 
 the wings of the morning to every fact or fiction that rumor with 
 het busy tongue obscurely whispered. Twenty lines of the 
 " Times " vwuld contain the published record of the commit- 
 ment of Eugenie de TourviUe for poisoning her mistress, Caro- 
 line Eushton ; and, alas ! spite of the crippled but earnest efforts 
 of the eminent counsel we had retained, and the eloquent inno- 
 cence of her appearance and demeanor, her conviction and con- 
 demnation to death without hope of mercy ! My brain swam as 
 
THE REFUGEE. 199 
 
 the measured tones of the recorder, commanding the almost 
 immediate and violent destruction of that beauteous master- 
 piece of God, fell upon my ear ; and had not Mr. White, who 
 saw how greatly I was affected, fairly dragged me out of court 
 into the open air, I should have fainted. I scarcely remember 
 how I got home — ^in a coach, I believe ; but face Kushton after 
 that dreadful scene with a kindly-meant deception — lie — ^in my 
 mouth, I could not, had a king's crown been the , reward. I 
 retired to my chamber, and on the plea of indisposition directed 
 that I should on no account be disturbed. Night had fallen, and 
 it was growing somewhat late, when I was startled out of the 
 painful reverie ia which I was still absorbed by the sudden pull- 
 ing up of a furiously-driven coach, followed by a thundering 
 summons at the door, similar to that which aroused me on the 
 evening of Mrs. Kushton's death. I seized my hat, rushed 
 down stairs, and opened the door. It was Mr. White ! 
 
 " Well !— well !" I ejaculated. , 
 
 " Quick — quick '" he exclaimed in reply. " La Houssaye — 
 he is found — ^has sent for us— ^quick ! for life — life is on our 
 speed !" 
 
 I was in the vehicle in an instant. In less than ten minutes 
 we had reached our destination — a house in Duke Street, Man- 
 chester Square. 
 
 " He is still alive," replied a young man in answer to Mr. 
 White's hurried inquiry. We rapidly ascended the stairs, and 
 in the front apartment of the first floor beheld' one of the sad- 
 dest, moumfulest spectacles which the world can offer — a fine, 
 athletic man, still in the bloom of natural health and vigor, and 
 whose pale features, but for the tracings there of fierce, un- 
 governed passions, were strikingly handsome and intellectual, 
 stretched by his own act upon the bed of death ! It was La 
 
200 THE REFUGKE. 
 
 Houssaye ! Two gentlemen were with him — one a surgeon, 
 and the other evidently a clergyman, and, as I subsequently 
 found, a magistrate, who had been sent for by the surgeon. A 
 faint smile gleamed over the face of the dying man as we 
 entered, and he motioned feebly to a sheet of paper, which, 
 closely written upon, was lying upon a table placed near the 
 sofa upon which the unhappy suicide was reclining. Mr. White 
 snatched, and eagerly perused it. I could see by the vivid 
 lighting up of his keen gray eye that it was, in his opinion, 
 satisfactory and sufficient. 
 
 " This," said Mr. White, " is your solemn deposition, know- 
 • ing yourself to be dying .?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," murmured La Houssaye ; " the truth — the 
 truth!" 
 
 " The declaration of a man," said the clergyman with some 
 asperity of tone, " who defyingly, unrepentingly, rushes into the 
 presence,of his Creator, can be of little value !" 
 
 "Ha!" said the dying man, -rousing himself by a strong 
 effort; "I repent — ^yes — ^yes — I repent! I believe — do you 
 hear ? — and repent — ^believe. Put that down," he added, in 
 .tones momently feebler and more husky, as he pointed to the 
 paper; "put that down, or — or perhaps — Bu — genie — per- 
 haps " 
 
 As he spoke, the faint light that had momently kindled his 
 glazing eye was suddenly quenched ; he remained for perhaps 
 half a minute raised on his elbow, and with his outstretched finger 
 pointing towards the paper, gazing blindly upon vacancy. Then 
 the arm dropped, and he fell back dead ! 
 
 We escaped as quickly as we could from this fearful death- 
 room, and I found that the deposition which Mr. White brought 
 away with him gave a full, detailed account, written in the 
 
THE REFUGEE. 201 
 
 French language, of the circumstances which led to the death 
 of Mrs.^Eushton. 
 
 La Houssaye, finding that M. de Tourville had by some 
 means discovered the secret of his previous marriage, and that 
 consequently all hope of obtaining the hand of Eugenie, whom 
 he loved with all the passion of his fiery nature, would be gone 
 unless De Tourville could be prevented from communicating 
 .with his daughter, resolved to compass the old man's instant 
 destrue'tion. The chevalier persuaded himself that, as he should 
 manage it, death would be attributed to the affection of the 
 heart, from which M. de Tourville had so long suffered. He 
 procured the distilled laurel-water^-how and ,from whom was 
 minutely explafned-^colored, flavored it to resemble as nearly 
 as possible the cordial which he knew M. de Tourville — and he 
 only — ^was in the habit of frequently taking. A precisely- 
 similar bottle he also procured-^-the shop at which it was pur- 
 chased was described — and when he called in King Street, he 
 found no difficulty, in an unobserved moment, of substituting 
 one bottle for the other. That containing the real cordial he 
 was still in possession of, and it would be found in his valise. 
 The unexpected arrival of Mademoiselle de Tourville frustrated 
 his design, and he rushed in ftiry and dismay from the house. A 
 few hours afterwards, he heard of the sudden death of M; de 
 Tourville, and attributing it to his having taken a portion of the 
 simulated cordial, he, La Houssaye, fearful of consequences, 
 hastily and secretly changed his abode. He had subsequently 
 kept silence till the conviction of Eugenie left him no other 
 alternative, if he would not see her perish on the scaffold, than 
 a full and unreserved confession. This done — Eugenie saved, 
 but lost to him — he had nothing more to live for in the world, 
 and should leave it. 
 
202 THE REFUGEE. 
 
 This was the essence of the document ; and all the parts of it 
 which were capable of corroborative proof having been substan- 
 tiated, a free pardon issued from tbe crown — ^the technical mode 
 of quashing an unjust criminal verdict — and Mademoiselle de 
 Tourville was restored to liberty. 
 
 She did not return to France. Something more perhaps than 
 a year after the demonstration of her innocence, she was mar- 
 ried to Arthur Kushton in the Sardinian Catholic Chapel, Lon- 
 don, the bridegroom having by her influence been induced to 
 embrace the faith of Rome. The establishments in Harley 
 Street and Mayfair were broken up ; and the newly-espoused 
 pair settled in the county of Galway, Ireland, where Mr. Rush- 
 ton made extensive landed purchases. They have lived very 
 happily a long life, have been blessed with a large and amiable 
 family, and are now — ^for they are both yet aUve — surrounded 
 with grandchildren innumerable. 
 
THE 
 
 DOOM OF EIGLISH WILLS, 
 
 DICKENS' " HOUSEHOLD WORDS." 
 
THE DOOM OP ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 CATHEDRAL NTJMBER ONE. 
 
 There are few things in this beautiful country of England, more 
 picturesque to the eye, and agreeable to the fancy, than an old 
 Cathedral town. Seen in the distance, rising from among corn- 
 fields, 'pastureS5 orchards, gardens, woods, the river, the bridge, 
 the roofs of ancient houses, and haply the ruins of a castle or 
 abbey, the venerable Cathedral spires, opposed for many hundred 
 years to the winter wind and summer sun, tower, like a solemn 
 historical presence, above the city, conveying to the rudest mind 
 associations of interest with the dusky Past. On a ne9,rer ap- 
 proach, this interest is heightened. Within the building, by the 
 long perspectives of pillars and arches ; by the earthy smell, 
 preaching more eloquently than deans and chapters, of the 
 common doom ; by the praying figures of knights and ladies on 
 the tombs, with little headless generations of sons and daughters 
 kneeling around them ; by the stained-glass windows, softening 
 and mellowing the light ; by the oaken carvings of the stalls, 
 where the shorn monks told their beads ; by the battered effigies 
 of archbishops and bishops, found bidlt up in the walls, when all 
 the world had been unconscious, for centuries, of their blunt 
 stone noses ; by the mouldering chapter-room ; the crypt, with 
 •its barred loopholes, letting in long gleams of slanting light from 
 the Cloisters where the dead lie, and where the ivy, bred among 
 the broken arches, twines about their graves ; by the sound-of 
 
206 THE DOOM or ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 the bells, high up in the massive tower ; by the universal gravity, 
 mystery, decay, and silence. Without, by the old environing 
 Cathedral-close, with its red-brick houses and staid gardens ; by 
 the same stained glass, so dark on that side though so bright 
 within ; by the pavement of half-obliterated tombstones ; by the 
 long echoes of the visitors' footsteps ; by the wicket-gate, that 
 seems to shut the moving world out of that retirement ; by the 
 grave rooks and jackdaws that have built their nests in steeple 
 crevices, where the after-hum of the chimes reminds them, per- 
 haps, of the wind among the boughs of lofty trees ; by the an- 
 cient scraps of palace and gateway ; by the ivy again, that has 
 grown to be so thick and strong ; by the oak, famous in all that 
 part, which has struck its mighty root through the Bishop's 
 wall ; by the Cathedral organ, whose sound fills all that space, 
 and all the space it opens in the charmed imagination. 
 
 There may be flaws in this whole, if it be examined, too 
 closely. It may not be improved by the contemplation of the 
 shivering choristers on a winter morning, huddling on their 
 gowns as they drowsily go to scamper through their work ; by 
 the drawling voice, without a heart, that drearily pursues the 
 dull routine ; by the avaricious functionary who lays aside the 
 silver mace to take the silver pieces, and who races through the 
 Show as if he were the hero of a sporting wager. Some uncom- 
 fortable doubts may, under special circumstances, obtrude them- ' 
 selves, of the practical Christianity of the head of some particular 
 Foundation. He may be a brawler, or a proud man, or a sleek, 
 or an artful. He may be usually silent, in the House of Lords 
 when a Christian minister should speak, and may make a point 
 of speaking when he should be silent. He may even be oblivious 
 of the truth ; a stickler by the letter, not the spirit, for his own 
 purposes ; a pettifogger in the supreme court of God's high law, 
 
THK DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS, 207 
 
 as there are pettifoggers in the lower courts administering the 
 laws of mortal man. Disturbing recollections may arise, of a 
 few isolated cases here and there, where country curates with 
 small incomes and large families, poor gentlernen and scholars, 
 are condemned to work, like blind horses in a mill, while others 
 who do not work get their rightful pay ; or of the inconsistency 
 and indecorum of the Church being made a Kobe and Candle- 
 stick question, while so many shining lights are hidden under 
 bushels, and so many black-cloth coats are threadbare. The 
 qaestion may present itself, by remote chance, whether some 
 shovel-hats be not made too much on the model of the banker's 
 shovel with which the gold is gathered on the counter, and too 
 little in remembrance of that other kind of shovel that renders 
 ashes unto ashes, and dust to dust. But, on the whole, the 
 visitor will probably be . content to say, " the time 'w^as, and this 
 old Cathedral saw it, when these things were infinitely worse ; 
 they will be better ; I will do all honor to the good that is in 
 them, (which is much), and I will do what in me lies for the 
 speedier amendment of the bad." 
 
 In this conclusion, we think the visitor of the old Cathedral 
 would be right. But, it is important to bring, io the knowledge 
 of all visitors of old Cathedrals in England, and of all who stay 
 at home too, the most gigantic and least known abuse, attaching 
 to those establishments. It is one which affects, not only the 
 history and learning of the country, and that powerfully, but the 
 legal rights and titles of all classes — of every man, woman, and 
 child, rich and poor, great and small, born into this English 
 portion of this breathiijg world. 
 
 For the purpose of the object on. which we now enter, we have 
 consulted a great mass of documents, and have had recourse to 
 the personal experience of a gentleman who has made this kind 
 
208 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 of research his business. In every statement we make, we shall 
 speak by the card, that equivocation may not undo us. The 
 proof of every assertion, is ready to our hand. 
 
 The public have lately heard some trifling facts relative to 
 Doctors' Commons, through the medium of a young gentleman 
 who was articled, by his aunt, to a proctor there. Our readers 
 may possibly be prepared to hear that the Registry of the Dio- 
 cese of Canterbury, in which are deposited all the wills proved 
 in that large, rich, and populous district, is a job so enormous as 
 to be almost incredible. That the Registrars, with deputies, and 
 deputies' deputies, are sinecurists of from sixteen to, seventeen 
 thousand pounds, to seven or eight thousand pounds, a-year ; 
 that the wills are not even kept secure from fire ; that the real 
 working men are miserably paid out of the rich plunder of the 
 public ; that the whole system is one of greed, corruption, and 
 absurdity, from beginning to end. It is not, however, with the 
 Registry of Canterbury that our business lies at present, but 
 with the Registries and Peculiars of other dioceses, which are 
 attached to the old Cathedrals throughout Grreat Britain, and of 
 which our readers may be by no means prepared to hear what 
 we shall have to»tell. 
 
 Let us begin by setting forth from London on a little suppo- 
 sitious excursion — say with Mr. William Wallace, of the Middle 
 Temple and the Royal Society of Antiquaries. 
 
 Mr. William Wallace, for the purpose of a literary pursuit in 
 which he is engaged, involving the gratification of a taste he has 
 for the history of old manners and old families, is desirous, at his 
 own proper cost and charge, to search the registers in some 
 Cathedral towns" for wills and records. Having heard whispers 
 of corruption in these departments, and difiSculty of search, Mr. 
 Wallace arms himself with letters from the Bishops of those 
 
THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 209 
 
 ' • ■■■--■ I . .1 I ■■ I ■■■■.--- —— ■ ■ ■ ■■■ 
 
 places. Putting money in his purse besides, he goes down, 
 pretty confidently. 
 
 Mr. William "Wallace arrives at Cathedral munber one ; and, 
 after being extremely affected, despite a heavy shower of rain, 
 by the contemplation of the building, inquires for the Kegistrar. 
 He is shown a very handsome house ia the Cathedral-close — a 
 house very superior to the Bishop's — wherein the Registrar re- 
 sides. For, the Registrar keeps a first rate roof over his own 
 head, though he keeps his deeds in a dilapidated Gate-house ; 
 at which he takes toU to the amount of seven thousand a-year ; 
 and where, as at other toll-houses, " no trust" is the rule ; for 
 he exacts his fees beforehand. 
 
 Mr. William Wallace now learns that, locally, the Registrar 
 is a person of almost inordinate power ; besides his seven thou- 
 sand-pound-per-annum place, he is Chapter Clerk, Town Clerk, 
 Clerk to the Magistrates — a Proctor, moreover, in boundless 
 practice. He lives in great state ; he keeps horses, carriage, 
 dogs, and a yacht ; he i?— could he be anything else .> — a staunch 
 tory ; he generally proposes the tory members for the county, 
 and has been known to pay the entire electioneering expenses 
 of a favorite tory candidate. Mr. Wallace, although fortified 
 with a letter bearing the mitred seal of the Bishop of the diocese, 
 feels that he is about to come in contact with a great power ; an 
 awful something that is not to be frifled with ; one of the noblest 
 institutions of our land, who is a very Miller of Dee, and ac- 
 countable to nobody. 
 
 With a due sense of the importance of this outside buttress 
 of the Church, Mr. Wallace presents himself with the Bishop's 
 letter. The "Registrar storms, and takes it extremely ill. He 
 appears to confound Mr. Wallace with his own foot-boy. He 
 says the Bishop has no power to interfere with him, and he won't 
 
210 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 endure it. He says the Bishop don't know what harm may 
 come of showing wills. He can't make out, what people want 
 to see wills for. He grudgingly concedes some obstructed search, 
 on the usual terms ; namely, two guineas per day for all the days 
 a clerk — not fond of any sort of fatigue — may choose to take in 
 making any particular search. " But perhaps you will allow 
 me to look at the indexes .?" asks Mr. Wallace. " Thafs of 
 no use," is the reply, " for a great many of. the years are miss- 
 ing ; and in those we have got, a great many wills are not en- 
 tered. We often have to spend two months in finding a wUl." 
 Our friend then performs a little mental arithmetic : — two 
 months — or, even say fifty days — means one hundred guineas, 
 to ferret out one will. Complete indexes-would only occasion 
 ten minutes' search, equal to one day, or, according to the 
 Registrar's tariff, two guineas. Mr. Wallace then draws the 
 inevitable conclusion, that had indexes partly occasion the in- 
 ordinate income of the Registrar, whose manifest interest it is to 
 keep them as imperfect as possible. Oife little trait of the very 
 early volumes (the earliest wills are dated a. d. HSO,) is as 
 quaint, as it is productive to the Registrar : the names of the 
 testators are arranged — alphabetically, it is true — but under the 
 Christian instead of the Surnames. Imagine the number of 
 days, or couples of guineas, that would drop into the Registrar's 
 coffers, for picking out one particular John Smith from the thou- 
 sands of " Johns," under the letter " J !" Since the year 1800, 
 the index is better : indeed it is almost as available as the old 
 catalogues of the British Museum, though not quite so perfect. 
 All this was despair to Mr. William Wallace, who modestly 
 hinted that his archaeological necessities pressed him to ask ad- 
 mission to the actual depository of the wills. The Registrar 
 was petrified with astonishment. His %ure expaaded with a 
 
THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 211 
 
 burst of indignation, which presently exploded in the interroga- 
 tive interjection, " What ?" that went off, like the sharp craclr 
 of a rifle. 
 
 What ? Exhibit, to any living soul, the dilapidative neglect, 
 the hideous disorder, the wOful destruction of documents, involv- 
 ing the transfer of the property, personal and landed, of seven 
 counties ; and which he, the Registrar, obtains seven thousand 
 pounds per annum for preserving carefully, and arranging dili- 
 gently ! Why, only last year the Archaeological Institute of 
 Great Britain, itself, was peremptorily refused admission ; and 
 was it likely that the Registrar would allow Mr. William Wal- 
 lace — the friend of a mere Bishop — ^to be turned loose, to browse 
 at wUl upon the waste the Registrar and his predecessors had 
 committed and permitted ? 
 
 But what will not an enthusiastic antiquary dare, in his loved 
 pursuit .? Mr. Wallace was bold enough to hint that a Bishop 
 had perhaps some power in his diocese — even over a Registrar, 
 This appeared in a degree to lull the tempest ; and after all 
 storms there is a calm. The Registrar refiected. There was 
 nothing very formidable in the applicant's appearance ; he had 
 not the hungry look of a legacy or pedigree hunter — a foolish 
 young fellow, perhaps, with a twist about old manners and cus- 
 toms : and, in short, he may take a look at the repositories. 
 
 Up a narrow stair, under the guidance of a grumpy clerk, our 
 persevering Middle Templar wends. In a long room, over the 
 arches of the gateway, he sees parallel rows of shelves laden 
 with wUls : not tied up in bundles, not docketed, not protected 
 in any way from dust or spiders by the flimsiest covering. Only 
 the modern wills are bound up ; but— not to encroach iipon the 
 Registrar's hard earnings — the backings of the bindings are 
 composed of such original wUls as were written on parchment. 
 
212 THE DOOM or ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 These are regularly cut up — that is, ■wilfully destroyed — for 
 bookbinding purposes ! 
 
 Mr. Wallace sees, at a glance, that he may as well try to find 
 a lost shell on a sea-shore, or a needle in a haystack, as attempt 
 to discover what he is desirous of picking out of this documentary 
 chaos. He looks round in mute grief; his archaic heart is 
 heavy ; he understands, exactly, how Kienzi felt amidst the 
 Ruins of Rome, or the daughters of Jerusalem when they wept. 
 Wherever he turns his eyes, he sees black, barbarous Ruin. In 
 one corner, he observes decayed boxes fiUed with rotten wills ; 
 in another, stands a basket, containing several lumps of mediaeval 
 mortar, and a few brick-bats of the early pointed style — the 
 edges, possibly, of some hole in the wall tot) large for even poor 
 seven thousand a-year to shirk the stopping of. Despite the 
 hints of the clerk that his time is valuable, Mr. Wallace is con- 
 templating these relics with the eager gaze of an P.S.A., when 
 he descries, hanging over the edge of the basket, something like 
 an ancient seal. He scrutinizes it intensely — there is a docu- 
 ment attached to it. He rescues it from the rubbish. 
 
 " What can this be .'" asks Mr. Wallace with glistening eye. 
 
 " Oh !" answers the clerk, with listless indifference, " nothing 
 of any consequence, Pm, sure." 
 
 By this, time, Mr. Wallace has found out that this "nothing 
 of any consequence," is a Charter of King William the Con- 
 queror ; the. identical instrument hy which the See of Dorchester 
 was transferred to Lincoln — that's all ! The broken seal is not 
 of " much consequence" either. Oh, no ! 
 
 Now it happens that there is -only one impression of the great 
 seal of the Gfreat Norman extant, and that is in the British 
 Museum, broken in half ; this, being a counterpart, supplies the 
 entire seal ! Such is the priceless historical relic found in the 
 
THE DOOM or ENGLISH .WILLS. 213 
 
 year 1860, by chance, in a lime-basket, in the very place where 
 it ought to have been as zealously preserved as if it had been the 
 jewel of a diadem I 
 
 But, other treasures — equally of "no consequence," and 
 about to be carried off by bricklayers' laborers, to where rub- 
 bish may be shot — are dug out by Mr. "William Wallaoo : — 
 Item a bundle of pardons from King John to certain barons and 
 bishops :. Itwn a Confession of the Protestant Faith made on his 
 death-bed by Archbishop Toby Matthew, hitherto supposed by 
 his biographers to have died a Catholic : Item, a contemporary 
 poem on the Battle of Bosworth. The Registrar's clerk is of 
 opinion, when these are shown to him, that " they an't worth 
 much," but growlingly saves them, on remonstrance, and bun- 
 dles them into his desk ; where we trust they still remain ; and 
 whence we hope they may be rescued by the proper authorities. 
 
 As Mr. Wallace follows his surly guido up the stairs of the 
 G-ate-house, the rain patters sharply against the casements, and 
 a fusty, damp odor emerges from the upper story. Under a 
 broken roof, and a ceiling being unplastered in huge patches by 
 time and rain, in the top room, lie — or, more correctly, rot — 
 the wills of the Archdeaconry of Blowe ; a " Peculiar" of the 
 diocese. The- papers below stairs are merely worm-eaten, 
 spider-woven, dusty, ill-arranged ; but, compared with those 
 which Mr. Wallace now sees — and smells — are in fastidious 
 glass-case order. After dodging the rain-drops Which filter 
 through the ceilmg, down among the solemn injunctions of the 
 dead, Mr. Wallace is aHe to examine one or two bundles. Mil- 
 dew and rot are so omnipotent in this damp depository, that the 
 shelves have, in some places, broken and crumbled , away. A 
 moment's comparison between the relative powers of wood and 
 paper, in resisting water, will give a vivid idea of the condition 
 
214 THE DOOM OP ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 of the wills in this Archdiaconal shower-hath. The corners of 
 most of the piles are as thoroughly rounded off, as if a populous 
 colony of water rats (the ordinary species could not have existed 
 there) had been dining off them since the days of King Stephen. 
 Others are testamentary agglomerations, soddened into pulp, — 
 totally illegible and inseparable ; having been converted by age, 
 much rain, and inordinate neglect, into post-morlem papier mache. 
 
 All these, are original wiUs : no such copies of them — which 
 Registrars are enjoined to provide — ^having been made by the 
 predecessors of the present pluralist. In order that the dura- 
 bility of parchment should be of no avail in arresting the most 
 complete destruction within the scope of possibility, it is the 
 sheepskin testaments of this collection that are reg-ularly shredded 
 to bind up the modern wills ranged in books below. 
 
 The very sight of this place, shows the futility of anything 
 like research. Mr. Wallace examines a few of the documents, 
 only to see their extreme historical as well as local importance ; 
 turns away ; and descends the stairs. 
 
 " Thus, then," says Mr. William Wallace solemnly, as he 
 takes a parting look at the ancient G-ate-house, " are documents, 
 involving the personal and real property of Seven English Coun- 
 ties, allowed to crumble to destruction ; thus, is ruin brought on 
 families by needless litigation ; thus, do Registrars roll in car- 
 riages, and Proctors grow rich ; thus, are the historical records 
 of the great English nation doomed— by an officer whom the 
 nation pays the- income of a prince to be their .conservator — to 
 rottenness, mildew, and dust. " 
 
 Mr. Wallace-having added nothing to the object of his pursuits 
 and inquiries, in the Registry of this Cathedral number one, de- 
 parted at once for Cathedral number two. How he fared there, 
 the reader shall soon learn. 
 
THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 215 
 
 CATHEDRAL NUMBER TWO. 
 
 Mr. William Wallace, having taken some repose in the 
 bosom of his family, and haying recruited his nervous system, 
 impaired for the moment by the formidable demonstrations made 
 in unimpeachable Ecclesiastical Registry number one, resolved 
 on making a visit to unimpeachable Ecclesiastical Registry num- 
 ber* two ; upheld by the consideration that, although an Eccle- 
 siastical Registry is a fine Institution, for which any Englishman 
 would willingly die ; and without which he could, in no patriotic 
 acceptation worth mentioning, be an Englishman at aU ; still, 
 that the last wiUs and testaments of Englishmen are not exactly 
 waste-paper, and that their depositaries ought, perhaps to be 
 kept as dry — say as skittle grounds, which are a cheaper luxury 
 than Registries, with the further advantage that no man need 
 frequent them unless he likes : whereas, to Registries he must go. 
 
 The literary object which Mr. Wallace had in view, in this 
 second expedition, beckoned him to the North of England. 
 " Indeed," said Mr. Wallace, pausing. " Possibly, to the 
 second city of England ; an Archbishopric ; giving one of the 
 princes of the blood his title ; enjoying the dignity of a Lord 
 Mayor of its own ; an ancient and notable place ; jenowned for 
 its antiquities ; famous for its Cathedral ; possessing walls, four 
 gates, six posterns, a castle, an assembly-room, and a Mansion 
 House ; this is surely the place for an unimpeachable Registry !'-': 
 
 He arrived at the venerable city of his purpose, at ten minutes' 
 past three p. m., according to Greenwich, or at three-ten, accord- 
 ing to Bradshaw. 
 
 Our traveler's first proceeding, was, to take a walk round the 
 walls, and gratify his fancy with a bird's-eye-view of the unim- 
 
216 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 peachable registry. He could hardly hit upon the roof of that 
 important building. There was a building in a severe style*of 
 architecture — but it was the jail. There was another that 
 looked commodious — but it was the mansion house. There 
 were others that looked comfortable — but they were private 
 residences. There appeared to be nothing in the way of Regis- 
 try, answering to the famous monkish legend in a certain Chap- 
 ter-House : 
 
 As shines tke rose above all common flowers, 
 So above common piles this building towers. 
 
 Yet such a building must be somewhere ! Mr. Wallace went 
 into the town and bought a Guide-book, to find out where. 
 
 He walked through the quiet narrow streets, with their gabled 
 houses, craning their necks across the road to pry into one 
 another's affairs ; and he saw the churches where the people 
 were married ; and the habitations where the doctors lived, who 
 were knocked up when the people were born ; and he acciden- 
 tally passed the residence of Mrs. Pitcher, who likewise officiated 
 on those occasions ; and he remarked an infinity of shops where 
 every commodity of life was sold. He saw the offices of the 
 lawyers who made the people's wUls, the banks where the peo- 
 ple kept their money, the shops of the undertakers who made 
 the people's coffins, the church-yards where the people were 
 buried, but not the Registry where the people's, wills were taken 
 care of. " Very, extraordinary !" said Mr. Wallace. " In tlie 
 gi-eat city of a great ecclesiastical see, where all kinds of moving 
 reverses and disasters have been occurring for many centuries ; 
 where all manner of old foundation and usage, piety, and su- 
 perstition, were, and a great deal of modern wealth is, a very 
 interesting and an unimpeachable Registry there must be, some- 
 where !" 
 
THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 217 
 
 _ , In search of this great puhlic edifice, the indefatigable Mr. 
 Wallace prowled through the city. , H« discovered*inany man- 
 sioHS ; but he could not satisfy himself about the Registry. 
 The uneasiness of Mr. Wallace's mind increasing with the 
 -%rowth of his suspicion that there must surely be a flaw in the 
 old adage, and that where there was a will (and a great many 
 wills) there was no way at all, he betook himself to the Cathe- 
 dral-close. Passing down an uncommonly pure, clean, tidy little 
 street, where the houses looked like a tasteful sort of missionary- 
 subscription-boxes, into which subscribers of a larger growth 
 were expected to drop their money down the chimneys, he came 
 
 1 1 by a turnstile, into that haven of rest, and looked about Mm. 
 
 1 1 " Do you know where the Registry is .'" he asked a farmer- 
 
 ' 1 looking man. 
 
 i; " The wa'at !" said he. 
 
 jt " The Registry ; where they keep the wills .'" 
 
 j ; " A' dinnot know for shower," said the farmer, looking round. 
 
 " Ding ! If Ishouldn't wondther if that wur it !" 
 
 Mr. Wallace concealed his disparaging appreciation of the 
 farmer's judgment, when he pointed with his ash-stick to a kind 
 of shed — such as is usually called a lean-to — squeezing itself, as 
 if it were (with very good reason) ashamedy into the south-west 
 corner of the cross, which the ground-plan of the cathedral 
 forms, and sticking to it like a dirty little pimple. But, what 
 was his dismay, on going thither to inquire, to discover that this 
 actually was the unimpeachable Registry ; and that a confined 
 den within, which would have made an indifferent chandler's 
 shop, with a pestilent little chimney in it, filling it with gmoke 
 like a Lapland hut, was the " Searching Office." 
 
 Mr. Wallace was soon taught that seven thousand pounds per 
 annum is, after all, but a poor pittance for the Registrar of a 
 
218 THE DOOM or ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 simple bishopric, wlien calculated by tbe ecclesiastical rule of 
 three ; for the registry of Cathedral number two, produces to 
 its fortunate patentees twenty thousand per annum ; about ten 
 thousand a year for the Registrar who does nothing, and the like 
 amount for his Deputy who helps him. 
 
 The portentous personage to whom Mr. Wallace was accred- 
 ited, received him in state in the small office surrounded by a 
 Surrogate (apparently retained on purpose to cross-examine Mr. 
 Wallace) and the clerks. Mr. Wallace mentioned that he 
 believed the Archbishop had written to the Deputy Registrar to 
 afford him every facility in consulting the documents under his 
 charge. The Deputy Registrar owned that the Archbishop had 
 done so, but declared that the Archbishop had no jurisdiction 
 whatever ov.er him ; and, claiming as he did, complete immunity 
 from, and irresponsibility to, all human control,Jie begged to 
 say that his Grrace the Archbishop, in presuming to write to the 
 high-authorities of that unimpeachable Registry on such a sub- 
 ject, had taken a very great liberty. Mr. William Wallace 
 inquired if that was to be the answer he was expected to convey 
 to the Archbishop .' bowed, and was about to retire, when the 
 awful Deputy recalled him. What did he want to search for ? 
 Mr. Wallace repeated that his object was wholly literary and 
 archseolffgical. The chief clerk who here came in as a reinforce- 
 ment, was so good as to intimate that he " didn't believe a word 
 of it." Whereupon a strong opinion was added that Mr. Wal- 
 lace wanted surreptitiously to obtain pedigrees, and to consult 
 wills. A powerful battery of cross-questionings was then opened 
 by the heavier authorities, aided by a few shots from the light- 
 bob, or skirmishing party — the clerk. But had Mr. William 
 Wallace been his great ancestor, he could not have held his 
 position against such odds more firmly. At length the prelimi- 
 
THE DOOM OP ENGLISH WILLS. 219 
 
 naries of a treaty were proposed by the enemy, the terms of 
 which were that Mr. Wallace should be allowed to consult any 
 records dated before the year one thousand four hundred ! This 
 was demured to ag utterly useless. Negotiations were then 
 resumed, and the authorities liberally threw in another century, 
 out of the fullness of a respect for the Archbishop, which they 
 had refrained from condescending to express ; — Mr. Wallace 
 might consult documents up to the year fifteen hundred. 
 
 With this munificent eoncession,-Mr. Wallace was obliged to 
 be satisfied, and proceeded to venture on another stipulation : — 
 The researches which he had proposed to himself at this 
 Cathedral number two, were elaborate and complicated ; they 
 would require such facilities as had been asked on his behalf by 
 the Archbishop. Could he have access to the documents them- 
 selves ? 
 
 The effect which this simple request produced in the office, 
 was prodigious ! A small schoolboy who should, at dinner, ask 
 for a piece of the master's apple-pie ; or a drummer on parade, 
 who should solicit from his captain a loan of five shillings, could 
 not produce a more sublime degree of astonishment, than that 
 which glared through the smoke from the faces of the deputy- 
 registrar, the surrogate, the chief clerk, and all the junior clerks, 
 then and there assembled. The effect produced amounted to 
 temporary petrefaction ; the principals neither spoke nor moved ; 
 the subordinates left off writing and poking the fire. So super- 
 lative was the audacity of the request, that it paralyzed the 
 pendulum of that small, rusty, dusty, smoky old ecclesiastical 
 clock, and stopped the works ! 
 
 Refusal in words was not vouchsafed to Mr. William Wallace ; 
 neither did he need that condescension. The silent but expres- 
 sive pantomine was enough. As the Eastern culprit receives 
 
220 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 his doom by the speechless gesture of the judge's hand across 
 his own neck ; so Mr. William Wallace fuUy understood that, 
 access to the record depositories of the province appertaining to 
 Cathedral number two, was nearly equivalent to getting into a 
 freemason's lodge after it ha,s been " tUed," or to obtaining ad- 
 mission to St. Paul's cathedral without two-pence. 
 
 He therefore waved as perfectly impossible that item of the 
 treaty. For the public, however, the evidence of that gentle- 
 man is hardly necessary to bring them acquainted with the man- 
 ner in which the trust imposed on the Eegistrar and his Deputy 
 is performed ; for while the Deputy Eegistrar and Mr. William 
 Wallace are' settling their differences over the next clause of 
 their treaty, we shall dip into the reports of the Ecclesiastical 
 Commission issued in 1832, to show what the state of things was 
 at that time ; and to any one who can prove that those venera- 
 ble documents have been by any means rescued from decay since 
 that year, the public will doubtless be much obliged. At page 
 one hundred and seventy of the report, Mr. Edward Protheroe, 
 M.P., states, on oath, that in the instance of every Court he 
 had visited the records suffered more or less from damp and the 
 accumulation of dust and dirt. Then, speaking of the Eegistry 
 of this same Cathedral number two, he declares its documents 
 to have been in a scandalous state. " I found them," he con- 
 tinues, " perfectly to accord with the description I had received 
 from various literary and antiquarian characters who had occa- 
 sion to make searches in the office ; and I beg leave to remark 
 that the place must have been always totally inadequate as a 
 place of deposit for the records, both as to space and security." 
 Some of the writings he found in two small cells, " in a state 
 of the most disgraceful filth ;" others in " two apertures in the 
 thick walls, scarcely to be called windows ; and the only accom- 
 
THE DOOM OF KNGLISH WILLS. 221' 
 
 modation for these records are loose i^ooden shelves, upon which 
 the wills are arranged in bundles, tied up with common strings, 
 and without any covering to them ; exposed to the effect of the 
 damp of the weather and the necessary accumulation of dirt." 
 To these unprotected wills the Deputy Registrar was perhaps 
 wise in his generation to deny access ; for Mr. Protheroe says 
 in addition that, " if it was the object of any person to purloin a 
 will, such a thing might be accomplished. " Perfectly and safely 
 accessible copies might be made, at " an expense quite trifling." 
 What ? Mr. Protheroe, would you rob these poor Registrars of 
 a shilling of their hard earnings, just to save landed and other 
 property, of some millions value, from litigation and fraud > 
 Would you discount their twenty thousand a year by even a 
 fraction per cent ? 
 
 The clause of the treaty, offensive and defensive, which was 
 being negotiated all this while, between the Deputy Registrar 
 and his visitor, was drawn up by the former in these concise 
 words, " How long do you want to be here !" 
 
 That, Mr. Wallace replied, would depend upon the facilities 
 afforded liim, the condition of the calendars and indexes, and 
 the assistance he might be allowed to call in. After much bat- 
 tling, the conference ended by Mr.j William Wallace, and a 
 friend who accompanied him, being allowed to set to work upoh 
 the calendars of such wills as had been deposited before the year 
 1500. 
 
 The two antiquaries would have commenced their researches 
 immediately ; only, on examining their dress, they found it in 
 such a state of filth from the smoke with which the oflB.<!e had 
 been filled during the arrangement of this important compact, 
 that they were obliged to return to the hotel to change their 
 linen. The prospect of spending a week in such a place was 
 
222 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 not altogether agreeable. Mr. Wallace did not enjoy the notion 
 of being smoke-dried ; and of returning to the Middle Temple 
 a sort of animated ham. A sojourn in the place was not to be 
 thought of without terror ; yet the poor clerks endured their 
 smoking fate with fortitude. Use was to them a second nature ; 
 and every man connected with these Registries must be com- 
 pletely inured to dust. But the man of the Middle Temple was 
 a kind of knight-errant in the matter of rescuing ancient docu- 
 ments from their tombs of filth ; and not to be daunted. He 
 and his friend opened the campaign directly in the face of the 
 enemy's fire — which, so great was their ardor, they only wished 
 would become a little more brisk and less smoky. 
 
 That day and the next day they bored on with patience and 
 perseverance through every obstacle. . When they found in the 
 calendar a reference to what they wanted, every possible obsta- 
 cle was thrown in their way. The required document was either 
 lost, or had been stolen, or had strayed. Nor was there the 
 slightest reason to doubt that this was true. It was well known 
 to the searchers that one class of documents at least had been 
 actually made away with by a former Deputy Registrar. Dr. 
 ThelwaU, of Newcastle, wrote in the Gentleman's Magazine for 
 1819, page four hundred and ninety : — " It is a fact weU known 
 that, by a Canon of James the First, the clergyman of every 
 parish was required to send a copy of the Register annually to 
 the Bishop of the Diocese. The most shameful negligence is 
 attributable to the person (the Deputy Registrar) in whose keep- 
 ing they have been placed. Indeed I have some reason to sup- 
 pose this, as I lately saw in the possession of a friend, a great 
 number of extracts from the Register of a certain parish in this 
 neighborhood, and, on questioning him as to the way in which he 
 became possessed of them, I was informed they were given to 
 
THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 223 «, 
 
 him Iby his cheesemonger, and that they were copies forwarded 
 by the clergymaii of the parish to the proper officer in a border- 
 ing diocese, and had been allowed through the negligence of 
 their keeper to obtain the distinguished honor of wrapping up 
 cheese and bacon." 
 
 The sale of Records, for waste paper, was the mode adopted 
 to revenge the meanness of the legislature, in not providing the 
 under-paid Registrars with remuneration for this addition to their 
 duties. Was it possible to keep life and soul together upon the 
 ten or fifteen thousand sterling per annum which these two poor 
 fellows were then obliged to starve upon ? Certainly not ! 
 Therefore, to eke out a wretched existence, they found them- 
 selves driven to sell the property of the public, if not for the 
 necessaries, for the lussuries, of life. They had, perhaps, man- 
 aged to keep their families, by a rigid, pinching economy in 
 bread — dry bread ; but to butter it ; to indulge themselves with 
 the proper diet of even Church mice, they were obliged to dis- 
 pose of paper — ^worth, perhaps, thousands and thousands of 
 pounds to the parties whose names were inscribed on it- — at a 
 few pence per pound, to the cheesemonger. 
 
 Erom this doom of some of the parochial records of the prov- 
 ince, Mr. WiUia,m Wallace inferred the degree of care and 
 exactitude with which the wills were kept. Previous knowledge 
 ha,d prepared him for it ; but he was not prepared to find that 
 the whole of another and most important class of records, up to 
 a comparatively late date, had been abstracted, in the lump, 
 from the Registry of this Cathedral number two. The case was 
 this : — 
 
 In the course of his investigations, it was necessary for him to 
 refer to a " marriage allegation," — that is, a copy of the state- 
 ment made by a bridegroom previous to converting himself, by 
 
224 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 the help of the Bishop's license, into a husband. He then 
 learnt that most of such documents are the " private property " 
 of one of the clerks, who kept them in his own private house ; 
 that he had bought them of a deceased member of the Herald's 
 College, and that for each search into them he charged accord- 
 ing to a sliding scale, arranged according to the station of the 
 applicant, the maximum of which was five poimds for the simple 
 search, and five pounds more if what the party wanted were 
 found. The English of this is, that the present custodier of 
 these papers purchased of a dead Herald what did not belong 
 to him ; and what there could have been no difficulty whatever 
 in restoring to the true owner ; (because no one could have 
 known better than the purchaser that they were public prop- 
 erty); and that their proper place was not his private house, 
 but the provincial Eegistry. The produce of this abstraction 
 is an illegal income better possibly than the legal gains of an 
 Admiral or a Government Commissioner ; double that of a 
 physician in good practice, or of a philanthropist in easy cir- 
 cumstances, — and treble that of our best dramatist, or our best 
 poet. 
 
 Besides these hindrances, which could not be helped, a certain 
 number of wilful obstructions were thrown in the way of our 
 inquiring friends, because they had been desired by the Arch- 
 bishop to be placed on the fee free-list. They were watched by 
 the entire office ; for it became Argus for the occasion. Re- 
 marks of a satirical character were discharged point-blank from 
 behind the desks, whenever a good opening occurred. The 
 non-paying searchers were " in the way " — (this was true, so 
 unfit is the apartment for public accommodation); " what peo- 
 ple got they ought to pay for, as other people did." Spies slid 
 silently out from behind the raipparts, or desks, to look over 
 
THE DOOM OP ENGLISH WILLS. 225 
 
 their shoulders, and to see that they did not piirloin any infor- 
 mation-posterior to the fifteenth century. 
 
 Mr. William Wallaoe stood all this manfully ; hut his ally 
 was ohliged to retire at the expiration of the second day. Mr. 
 William Wallace at length found he could not advance the 
 objects of his inquiries any more efficiently at this Cathedral 
 number two, than he had advanced them at Cathedral number 
 one ; so, at the end of a week, he beat a dignified retreat with 
 all the honors of war. He then turned his face towards the 
 unimpeachable Registry of Cathedral number three, hoping for 
 better success. ^. . 
 
 CATHEDRAL NUMBER THREE. 
 
 The core of the inquiry which Mr. WiUiam Wallace had at 
 heart, lay imbedded in the depositories of unimpeachable Eccle- 
 siastical Registry number three. To the city of that See he 
 therefore repaired, warmed by that flaming zeal which only 
 bums in the breast of an earnest antiquary, and which no 
 amount of disappointment can quench. Though sanguine, even 
 for an antiquity-hunter, the hopes which rebounded from his 
 previous failures, sunk within him, when he remeriibered that 
 whereas he was in former instances fortified with letters df rec- 
 ommendation^ — almost of command — from the Bishops of each 
 Diocese ; on this occasion, he had to fight single-handed, (like 
 another St. George,) the dragons that " guarded" the treasures 
 he sought. He had no better introduction to the third Deputy- 
 Registrar than an honest purpose ; and, his former experience 
 
226 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 taught him that that was about as unpromising an usher into 
 such a Presence as could be imagined. Mr. Wallace therefore 
 commenced this new attack with no strong presentiment of 
 success. 
 
 Strengthened with an ally, in the person of a friendly 
 attorney, Mr. WUliam Wallace marched boldly to the great 
 functionary's house, a splendid edifice in the Cathedral Close, 
 with thirty-three windows in front, extensive grounds behind, 
 detached stables and a tasteful boat-house at the edge of what 
 is here called the " Minster Pool." 
 
 Into this great house of a great man, Mr. William Wallace 
 was ushered by his friend. Nothing could exceed the obse- 
 quiousness of the man of law, and great was the civility of the 
 man of wills. The interview was going on pleasantly and the 
 antiquary was beginning to believe that at last he had found a 
 pattern Deputy-Registrar, when the lawyer happened to men- 
 tion that Mr. William Wallace was a literary man. Mr. Wal- 
 lace felt that this would be fatal — and it was so. He knew the 
 condign contempt Ecclesiastical Registrars entertained for the 
 literary world, from the little circumstance of hearing only the 
 week before in another Registry, the most eminent historian of 
 the present day, and our best archaic topographer, designated as 
 " contemptible penny-a-liners." Mr. Wallace was therefore 
 not at all astonished when the Deputy-Registrar folded, up his 
 f 'ailing countenance into a frown. He evidently knew what was 
 coming. Literary men never pay, and Mr. William Wallace 
 wanted to consult " his" registers gratis. 
 
 When this shrewd surmise was, by a word from the attorney, 
 realized, the Registrar struggled hard to smoothe his face again 
 to a condition of bland composure ; but in vain. The wound 
 which had pierced through his pocket, rankled within. The 
 
THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 227 
 
 depravity of literary people in endeavoring to dig and delve for 
 historical information without paying for the privilege of bene- 
 fitting the public by their researches, was too abominable ! The 
 Eegistrar was so good as to say that he would grant Mr. Wal- 
 lace the privilege of consulting any wUls he pleased — on the 
 usual terms : namely, two shillings and sixpence for every 
 document. 
 
 With this condescending permission (which placed Mr. Wal- 
 lace on exactly the same footing as the great body of the public 
 which had not done itself the honor of visiting the Deputy- 
 Registrar) he repaired to the Searching Office. The point he 
 had set himself to ascertain at this Cathedral Registry number 
 three, hinged upon an authentic attestation of the decease of the 
 father of a distinguished general imder Charles the Eirst. The 
 name was a very common one iiv the diocege, and of course con- 
 tinually occurred in the index. Will after will was produced by 
 the clerks ; haU-croTra after half-crown feU glibly out of Mr. 
 Wallace's pocket. Still no success. This proved an expensive 
 day. Mr. Wallace had had to pay, in the course of it, twenty- 
 five pounds ; although he was not allowed, as at the other 
 places, to make a single extract. 
 
 The income of the office even of Deputy Registrar sometimes 
 admits of the maintenance of from si;s to a dozen race-horses, 
 but the expense of compiling paper calendars could never be 
 tolerated. To make indexes of wills that have never been 
 catalogued would be quite out of the question ; for the Registrar 
 charges his clients for the time of his clerks in making searches, 
 and it was owned to Mr. Wallace that it would take a year (at 
 from one to two guineas per day) to find any will dated before 
 the year 1526, 
 
 The searching office of this Registry was,- like the others, in- 
 
228 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 convenient, small, and often crowded. The policy of the clerks 
 was, therefore, to despatch the inquirers as fast as possible, so 
 as to ensure a rapid change of visitors and a streaming influx of 
 half-crowns. On the second day of Mr. Wallace's search the 
 trouble he had given on the previous day for his money was in- 
 telligibly hinted to him. He was broadly told that he was 
 " very much in the way ;" for room was so much required that 
 some applicants were plainly told that they must " come again 
 to-morrow." To- others* who had not their inquiries ready cut 
 and dried, in a business form, and who threatened long explana- 
 tions respecting testators, a deaf ear was turned, or a pretended 
 search was made, and they were told " there was no such wiU 
 in the place." A pleasant case occurred on the second morn- 
 ing. An illiterate laborer tried to make, the officials understand 
 that an uncle of his wife had, he had heard, left him a legacy, 
 and " he wanted to know the rights o' it." He gave the name 
 and the exact date of the death, and a clerk retired under pre- 
 tence of searching for the document. In a very short time he 
 returned with — 
 
 " No such will in the place — half-a-crown, please." 
 
 " Half-a-croone r" said the countryman, " Wat vor .?" 
 
 " Half-a-crown !" repeated the clerk. 
 
 " Wat, vor telling me nought .?" 
 
 " Half-a-crown !" was again let off with a loud explosion, 
 over the stiff embrasure of white cravat. 
 
 " But darn me if oi pay't," persisted the expectant legatee. 
 
 " Half-a-crown !" 
 
 The countryman went on raising a storm in the office, in midst 
 of which- the " Half-a-crown !" minute guns were discharged 
 with severe regularity. At length, however, the agriculturist 
 was obliged to srjccumb, and after a mighty effort to disinter the 
 
THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 229 
 
 coin from under a smook-frock, and out of the depths of a huge 
 pocket and a leather purse, the poor man Was obliged to pro- 
 duce and pay over what was probahly a fifths of his week's 
 earnings. , 
 
 This circumstance having attracted Mr. Wallace's attention 
 and pity, he took a note of the name of the testator ; and, after 
 the inquirer had left, foufid it in the Calendar, and by-and-by, 
 by dint of a little manosuvring,. got a sight of the will. In it 
 he actually found that the poor raa,n"' had Jjeen left a small 
 legacy. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. WUliam Wallace had been actively employed 
 in calling for wills and paying out half-crowns. It was quite 
 evident from the calendars that no greater care was taken of 
 paper and parchment here than in the other Registries. Several 
 wills entered in it, as having been once in the depository — 
 wherever that was^-had against them the words " wanting" 
 and " lost." That ancient records should in the course of cen- 
 turies fall aside, cannot be wondered at, even in a Eegistry, 
 which produces at present to its officers ' from seven to ten 
 thousand per annum ; but what excuse can there be for the loss 
 of comparatively modern ones ? Certain wUls were not to be 
 found of the years 1746 ; 1750 ; 1753 ; and 1757. 
 
 Mr. Wallace soon found that in a place where dropping half- 
 crowns into the till and doing as little as possible in return for 
 them, is considered the only legitimate business, he was looked 
 upon even at twenty-five pounds per day as a sort of bad bar- 
 gain, who required a great deal too much for his money. They 
 could not coin fast enough by Mr. WiUiam Wallace, and the 
 Deputy-Eegistrar indulged the office with his august presence 
 to inform him, that as he gave so much trouble for the searches 
 he was making, he must pay, besides two-and-six-pence for 
 
230 THE DOOM OP ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 every future search, two guineas per diem for the use of the 
 office ! 
 
 It happened- that the Bishop of Cathedral numher three was 
 then in the city, officiating at an ordination, and to him Mr. 
 William Wallace determined to apply for relief from this extor- 
 tion. He enclosed to his Lordship his letters from other 
 prelates and stated his case. The answer he received was the 
 Bishop's unqualified auihority to search wherever and for what- 
 ever he wanted in the Eegisters of his Lordship's diocese. 
 
 Although this letter was addressed by the Bishop to the 
 servant or deputy of his servant,, the Registrar, yet Mr. Wal- 
 lace's dear-bought sagacity had taught him to place very little 
 faith in a Bishop's power over his inferiors. As it turned out, 
 he found himself one of those who are blessed, because, expect- 
 ing nothing, they are not disappointed. The Deputy-Registrar 
 received his superior's mandate with supercilious sang-froid. 
 The old story — " The Bishop had no jurisdiction whatever over 
 him," but this once, &c. &c. 
 
 Mr. William Wallace had met in Cathedrals numbers one 
 and two, repulses and rudeness. But each Cerberus who pre- 
 tended to guard the documentary treasures of those dioceses, 
 honestly showed his teeth. Thy had not been guilty of deceit. 
 Deputy-Registrar number three was wiser in his generation. 
 He gave a cold assent to the Bishop's mandate in Mr. Wal- 
 lace's behalf ; but with it such wily instructions to his clerks, as 
 rendered it as nugatory as if he had put it in his waste basket 
 or had lighted his cigar. During the two days that half-crowns 
 rained in silver showers from the Antiquary's purse, nearly every 
 WiU he asked for was produced ; but now, on the third day, 
 when the Bishop's letter had closed his purse-strings, Mr. 
 Wallace demanded document after document, and was told by 
 
THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 231 
 
 the " Conservators" of this important kind of public property, 
 that they bad " been lost," " could not be foiuid," « mislaid." 
 But the most frequent return was, " destroyed at the siege of 
 the City, in the year 1643"— stolen away with the Tomb of 
 Marmion when 
 
 " Fanatic Brooke 
 The fair Cathedral storm'd and took." 
 
 The result of the three days' investigations stood thus: 
 " During the two paying days, out of a hundred "Wills asked for, 
 eighty were produced. Throughout the non-paying day, out of 
 ninety Wills asked for, only owe was produced !" ' 
 
 When half-crowns were rife, not one word was said about 
 " the siege of the City, in the year 1643," although nearly all 
 the WiUs Mr. Wallace was obliged with a sight of, were dated 
 anterior to that destructive event. 
 
 For some explanation Mr. Wallace repaired to the Deputy- 
 Kegistrar's abode. It vi^as too late. The clever sub. knew 
 what was coming — and retreated from the field. The servant's 
 answer to Mr. Wallace was, 
 
 "Out of town, sir!" 
 
 But Mr. Wilham Wallace was foiled even more completely 
 in another point : he had a great desire to see where and how 
 the Wills were kept. He knew their condition- in 1832, from 
 what Ulster King-at-Arms said before the Ecclesiastical Com- 
 mission, " I consider the records very dirty ; they have not, 
 apparently, been dusted for many years." The remarkable 
 result of Mr. Wallace's urgent inquiries was that not a soul he 
 asked could, or would, tell in what place the ecclesiastical 
 records of Cathedral number three were deposited. 
 
 Mr. Wallace gave up this investigation in despair and left the 
 
232 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 city. The locus of the documents was to him a mystery and a 
 wonder ! 
 
 The habits of the antiquary do not, however, dispose him to 
 indulge in listless despair. To find out the secret masses of the 
 records of Cathedral number three was a task Mr. William 
 Wallace had so earnestly set himself, that next to his domestic 
 relations and his literary labors, it grew into one of the duties 
 of his existence ; therefore, on his way to Cathedral number 
 four, he paid another visit to the city of Cathedral number 
 three, fortified with letters to some of its clergy. To be sure 
 tkey could clear up the mystery. 
 
 His first application was to one of the Canons. Did he know 
 where the ecclesiastical records were kept ? Well, it was odd, 
 but it never entered his head to inquire. He really did not 
 know. Perhaps some of the Chapter officials could tell. 
 
 To one of these, hies Mr. Wallace. Even that functionary — 
 whose courteousness, together with that of his colleague, was 
 ^ipleasant to the applicant by the force of mere contrast — ^was 
 equally tmable to reveal the secret. " But surely," he added, 
 " such a place cannot, when one sets about it, be so impenetra- 
 ble a mystery. I have an idea that the Miller could enlighten 
 you:" 
 
 " The Miller ?" 
 
 " Yes. He knows everything about the town. Try him." 
 
 Mr. Wallace had business at the searching office, and having 
 transacted it, determined to make another effijrt in this legit- 
 imate quarter. The following short dialogue occurred between 
 him and the clerk : — " Pray," said Mr. Wallace, " where are 
 the WUls kept .?" 
 
 " That's not your business !" was the answer. Mr. Wallace 
 returned to the charge but the clerk became deaf, and went on 
 
THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 233 
 
 with some writing, precisely as if Mr. William Wallace were in- 
 visible and inaudible. 
 
 The Miller was the only resource. He was from home, and 
 his wife gave the same answer as everybody else had done. 
 " But," she said, pointing to an individual who was sauntering 
 into the Close, " there's one as can tell 'ee. He's a rachetty 
 man— he is." Without waiting to inquire the meanmg of this 
 strange expression, off starts the record-hunter upon the new 
 secret. He- runs down his game in no time. It consists of a 
 burly biped, bearing a cage of fine ferrets. Eound his person 
 is displayed the broad insignia of office, — he is a rat-catcher. 
 
 Here Mr. William Wallace's perseverance triumphs. The 
 Rat-catcher knows all about it. " Why you seei. Sir," he said, 
 " I contracts for the Registrar." 
 
 " What for .?" 
 
 " What for > Why, I catches the rata for him at so much 
 a-year." 
 
 " And where do you catch them .'" 
 
 " Where do I catch them .' Why, where the old wills is.''-'^ 
 
 " And where is that .'" 
 
 " Where is that .? Why, there." 
 
 The Rat-catcher points to a sort of barn that rises from the 
 edge of the Minster Pool. It has no windows on the ground- 
 floor. Oh the first-floor are six-^two in the front of the build- 
 ing and four at the end, — twenty- seven windows less than are 
 displayed in the front of the Registrar's beautifully glazed house ; 
 but much of the little glass afforded to the registry is broken. 
 To mend it upon seven thousand a-year would never do, 
 especially when old parchment is lying about in heaps. Why 
 pay glaziers' charges when ancient wills and other ecclesiastical 
 records keep out wind and weather as well as glass .' — for light 
 
234 
 
 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS 
 
 is a thing ratlier to be shunned than admitted into such places. 
 Accordingly, as the Eat-oatcher points to the shed, Mr. Wallace 
 observes numberless ends of record rolls and bundles of en- 
 grossed testaments poked into the broken windows : ia some 
 places variegated with old rags. 
 
 Judging from the exterior, and from the contract for rat- 
 catching, the interior of this depository of the titles of hundreds 
 of thousands of pounds worth of property, must be an archaeo- 
 logical Golgotha, a dark mouldy sepulchre of parchment and 
 dust. 
 
 Lawyers say that there is not an estate in this country with 
 an impregnable title ; in other words, it is on the cards in the 
 game of ecclesiastical and common law, for any family to be 
 deprived of their possessions in consequence of being unable to 
 establish a perfect title to them> How can it be otherwise when 
 the very deeds by which they have and hold what they enjoy, 
 are left to be eaten by rats, or to be stuffed into broken 
 windows ? 
 
 CATHEDRAL NUMBER FOUR. 
 
 An antiquary cannot approach the city of Chester from London, 
 even in an express railway train, without emotions more lively 
 than that class of observers generally have credit for. Despite 
 a sensation akin to that of being fired off in a rocket, and a 
 pardonable fancy that the hedges are endless bands of green 
 ribbon in eternal motion, that the houses, and cottages, and 
 churches, and trees, and villages, as they dart past the confines 
 
THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 235 
 
 of the carriage window, are huge missiles shot across fields which 
 are subjected to a rapid dispensation of distorted perspective ; 
 yet these mighty evidences of the Present do not dull his mind 
 to the Past. He remembers, with wonder, that two thousand 
 years ago, it was over this identical line of country that the le- 
 gions of Suetonius lagged along after they had blunted the scythes 
 of Boadicea, routed her hordes, and driven her to suicide. 
 
 We will not say that our own fellow of the Society of An- 
 tiquaries, Mr. William Wallace, retrojected his imagination so 
 far into the past while crossing the Chester platform with his 
 carpet-bag, because we are led to believe, from his report to 
 us, that his views were immediately directed to the more modern 
 times of St. Werburgh, who founded the Abbey of Chester 
 (once the most splendid in Englantl) ; seeing that it is in the 
 still-standing gateway of that obsolete establishment, that the 
 objects of Mr. Wallace's especial solicitude are now, and always 
 have been deposited, since Henry the Eighth erected Chester 
 into a diocese. 
 
 His hopes of success in seeking out certain facts from the 
 testamentary records of this seej were more slender than they 
 had been while entering upon his errand at the other three ca- 
 thedrals. He had written to the bishop for that permission to 
 search which had been by other prelates so readily granted, but 
 which had been rendered by the respective Registrars so utterly 
 nugatory, and had received no answer. Awkward reminiscences 
 of the state of this Registry, as disclosed before the last Parlia- 
 mentary Committee on the Ecclesiastical Courts, fell like a dark 
 shadow over his hopes. Up to the year 1832, the gateway 
 where the wills are kept was, upon the Deputy Registrar's own 
 showing, neither "fire-proof, sufficiently large, nor absolutely 
 free from plunder." The searching-office was a part of the 
 
236 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 gateway ; and was as inadequate as other searching offices. 
 The Chief Registrar in 1837 was a sinecurist in the seventieth 
 year of office, and was verging towards the hundredth of his 
 age ; having received, in his time, not less than three hundred 
 and fifty thousand pounds of the public money for doing nothing. 
 The fees for searches and extracts were heavy, and nobody was 
 allowed, as in most other Registries, to see how the wills were 
 kept. 
 
 Such were the gloomy prepossessions of Mr. William Wallace, 
 as he approached the archway which held the testamentary treas- 
 ures of Diocese Number Four. He sought the searching office 
 in vain, and at length was fain to address himself to the first 
 passenger — a burly blacksmith — who, at once, in answer to his 
 inquiry, pointed to a handsome new stone building, that stood 
 within the Abbey Square. 
 
 Mr. William Wallace ascended the steps doubtingly ; and 
 when he found himself in the wide passage of as evidently well- 
 planned public office — so contrary was the whole aspect of the 
 place to his preconceptions of it, and to his previous experience 
 of other ecclesiastical Registries — that he would have retired, 
 had not the words, " Searching Office," as plain as paint and 
 capitals could make them, stared him full in the face from a 
 door on his right. This he boldly opened, and beheld a hand- 
 some apartment, so mounted with desks, counters, and every 
 appurtenance for public convenience, as to put him in mind of 
 the interior of a flourishing assurance office. " The room," says 
 Mr. William Wallace, in his report to us, " is furnished with a 
 counter of ample size, extending round it, on which you examine 
 the indexes. On calling for one or two modern wills, the clerks 
 brought me a substantial, well-bound book, in which he informed 
 me all modern wills have been, since the appointment of the 
 
THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 237 
 
 present Registrar, enroUed at length, in a round text, so distinct 
 and plain, that UUterate persons might read them ; and not en- 
 grossed, so as to become a source of revenue, as at Doctor's 
 Commons, where the unlearned, in what is called ' court-hand,' 
 are obliged to call in the aid of a clerk, and disburse a fee for 
 the wiUs to be read to them. I was informed that I could see 
 the originals on giving a satifaotory reason to the Registrar, or, 
 in his absence, to a principal clerk. So promptly is business 
 done here, that I found the wills which had been received from 
 Manchester and other places that day, had been already indexed 
 —very different to York, where wills are sometimes not indexed 
 for six or eight months, and, consequently, often not at all. I 
 next inquired for some earlier wills, and stated that I might 
 probably want to have two or three days' research, for a literary 
 purpose. On hearing this, the clerk informed me that the Reg- 
 istrar made no charge under such circumstances, except for the 
 clerks' time. I^then called for about six early wills, and only 
 one of the six cpuld not be found. Afterwards I asked for the 
 returns of several Parish Registers ; each set of which are well 
 and substantially bound in a separate volume ; for this a fee of 
 three shillings and eight-pence is demanded ; at York, for the 
 production of a similar quantity of records, fifteen pounds is the 
 price, without clerks' fees ; and at Lincoln it would be impossi- 
 ble to collect them at all, many having' been used to bind up 
 modern wills, and for other such purposes." 
 
 Mr. William "Wallace, pleasingly surprised at the contrast this 
 Registry number four presented to others he had visited, and 
 where he had been so egregiously snubbed, determined to learn 
 and see as much respecting it as possible. With this view, he 
 applied, without any other introduction than his card, to the 
 Registrar ; whose excellent custom it was, he understood, to be 
 
238 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 in attendance daily for several hours. At that time he was ex- 
 amining witnesses in a case for the Ecclesiastical Court, and 
 handed the card to the bishbp's secretary, who was also in of- 
 ficial attendance. " That gentleman," says Mr. "Wallace, " im- 
 mediately came down, and informed me that the Bishop had 
 written to me, in answer to ray application, two days before, 
 giving me permission to search, at reasonable hours, and that 
 the Registrar, as was his usual custom, had not the slightest ob- 
 jection. I then asked to be shown the various parts of the 
 building, the modes of preserving the records, which request was 
 granted without the smallest hesitation." 
 
 Our informant then goes on to say that he found the building 
 — which was raised solely at the expense of the present Registrar, 
 since his appointment in 1837 — conveniently divided into differ- 
 ent departments like the best of the Government offices, — each 
 department legibly indicated for the benefit of the inquirer, on 
 the different doors. ,_ ' ^ 
 
 The manner in which the records are preserved at this Ca- 
 thedral number four, is spoken of by our friend with satisfac- 
 tion. His report to us is silent on rats, wet, mildew, smoke, 
 broken windows, torn testaments, and illegible calendars. 
 " Modern wills," he repeats, " are copied at length into vol- 
 umes, by the present Registrar, a practice which I regret is not 
 adopted at York, Lincoln, Lichfield, Winchester, and other 
 places I have visited. If wills of an earlier date than that of 
 the enrolment books are required to be taken out of the office 
 for production in any Court of Law, &c., an examined copy 
 made for the purpose, is deposited in its place during its tempo- 
 rary removal from the Registry. The principal portion of the 
 wills are deposited in a dry, but not a fire-proof building, in 
 good repair, called the Abbey Gateway ; where, during the 
 
THE DOOM. OP ENGLISH WILLS. 239 
 
 office hours, two clerks are constantly kept at work in copying 
 wills that come in. These are kept in boxes, arranged upon 
 shelves with just sufficient space to admit them, like drawers ; 
 and upon the top of the wills is a sheet of .pasteboard fitting the 
 box, as a further protection from dust. The wills are alphabeti- 
 cally arranged in the boxes, which are of uniform size, and con- 
 Uin more or less letters ; the first box for 1835, for instance, 
 contains the wills of testators whose names commence with A. 
 or B. The wills of each letter are placed sepiaratelyj and are 
 divided into packets of one month each, so that the exact date 
 of Probate being known, the will is found immediately. 
 
 Before the period of its renovation, the Eegistry of Chester 
 was as inefficient and exacting as the other three we have de- 
 scribed. To whom the merit of the change and the contrast is 
 really due, is not easily to be ascertained, although the present 
 incumbent of the office must necessarily have the largest share 
 of credit for it. ^"Wesuspect'J however, that the proximate im- 
 petus of the reform can be traced to ^e geographical position of 
 the see. It includes the busiest of the manufacturing towns, 
 and the most business-like, practical, and hard-handed examples 
 of the English character. The thorough-going Manchester or 
 Liverpool legatee would not endure, beyond a certain point and 
 a certain time, the impositions, delays, destructions, and mud- 
 dling confusion of the will offices in the more easy-going districts. 
 Time with him is cash. What he wants he must have at once, 
 especially if he pays for it. He may be put off once or twice 
 with a rotten, illegible index, or a " Come again to-morrow ;" 
 but when he once sees that these may be obviated, he takes care 
 to let there be no delay on his part, and agitates immediately. 
 To engage a Free Trade HaU, and get up a public meeting, is 
 with him a matter of no more consideration than scolding hia 
 
240 THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 
 
 clerk, or bringing a creditor to book. He has discredited the 
 maxim that " talking is not doing ;" and a constant iteration of 
 pertinent speeches, ending with stinging " resolutions," has been 
 found to do greater feats, to perform much greater wonders than 
 setting ecclesiastical registries in order. It is possible, therefore, 
 that the lay authorities of the Chester Registry, having the dread 
 of an uncompromising community before their eyes, saw their 
 safety in renovation ; and, like sensible men, made it, without 
 that whining sophistication, that grim tenacity, with which abuses 
 are excused and clung to, in exact proportion to their absurdity, 
 profitableness, and iujustice. 
 
 THE END . 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 5732.E9 1852 
 
 The experiences of a barrister, 
 
 3 1924 013 567 460