“You talk wildly, Ysaffich,” said I, restraining by a great effort the

emotions that were almost suffocating me. “Bethink you who I am,--poor,

friendless, and unprotected. Take it, even, that I had the most

indisputable right to this fortune; assume, if you will, that I am the

very person here alluded to,--where is there a single document to

prove my claim? Should I not be scouted at the bare mention of such

pretensions?”

“That would all depend on the way the affair was managed,” said he. “If

these solicitors whose names and addresses I have here, were themselves

convinced or even disposed to credit the truth of the tale we should

tell them, they would embark in the suit with all their influence and

all their wealth. Once engaged in it, self-interest would secure their

zealous co-operation. As to documents, proofs, and all that, these

things are a material that lawyers know how to supply, or, if need be,

explain the absence of. Of this missing youth's story I already know

enough for our purpose; and when you have narrated for me your own life,

we will arrange the circumstances together, and weave of the two one

consistent and plausible tale. Take my word for it, that if we can once

succeed in interesting counsel in your behalf, the very novelty of

the incident will enlist public sympathy. Jurors are, after all, but

representatives of that same passing opinion, and will be well disposed

to befriend our cause. I speak as if the matter must come to a head; but

it need not go so far. When our plans are laid and all our advances duly

prepared, we may condescend to treat with the enemy. Ay, Gervois, we may

be inclined to accept a compromise of our claim. These things are done

every day. The men who seem to sit in all the security of undisturbed

possession are buying off demands here, paying hush-money to this man,

and bribery to that.”

“But if the real claimant should appear on the stage--”

“I have reason to believe he is dead these many years,” said he,

interrupting; “but were it otherwise, these friends of his are of such

a scrupulous temperament, they would not adventure on the suit without

such a mass of proof as no concurrence of accidents could possibly

accumulate. They have not the nerve to accomplish an undertaking of this

kind, where much must be hazarded, and many things done at risk.”

“Which means, in plain words, done fraudulently,” said I, solemnly.

“Let us not fall out about words,” said he, smiling. “When a state

issues a paper currency, it waits for the day of prosperity to recall

the issue and redeem the debt; and if we live and do well, what shall

prevent us making an equally good use of our fortune? But you may leave

all this to me; I will undertake every document, from the certificate

of your father's marriage to your own baptism; I will legalize you and

legitimatize you; you have only to be passive.”

“I half suspect, Count,” said I, laughing, “that if my claim to

this estate were a real one, I should not be so sure of your aid and

assistance.”

“And you are right there, Gervois. It is in the very daring and danger

of this pursuit I feel the pleasure. The game on which I risk nothing

has no excitement for me; but here the stake is a heavy one.”

“And how would you proceed?” asked I, not heeding this remark.

“By opening a correspondence with Bickering and Ragge, the lawyers. They

have long been in search of the heir, and would be delighted to hear

there were any tidings of his existence. My name is already known to

them, and I could address them with confidence. They would, of course,

require to see you, and either come over here or send for you. In either

case you would be preceded by your story; the family parts should be

supplied by me; the other details you should fill in at will. All

this, however, should be concerted together. The first point is your

consent,--your hearty consent; and even that I would not accept, unless

ratified by a solemn oath, to persist to the last, and never falter nor

give in to the end, whatever it be!”

I at first hesitated, but at last consented to give the required pledge;

and though for a while it occurred to me that a frank avowal of my real

claim to be the person designated might best suit the object I had in

view, I suddenly bethought me that if Ysaffich once believed that he

himself was not the prime mover in the scheme, and that I was other than

a mere puppet in his hand, he was far more likely to mar than to make

our fortune. Intrigue and trick were the very essence of the man's

nature; and it was enough that the truthful entered into anything to

destroy its whole value or interest in his eyes. That this plot had long

been lying in his mind, I had but to remember the night in the garden at

Hamburg to be convinced of, and since that time he had never ceased to

ruminate upon it. Indeed, he now told me that it constantly occurred to

him to fancy that this piece of success was to be a crowning recompense

for a long life of reverses and failures.

How gladly did my thoughts turn from him and all his crafty counsels to

think of that true friend, poor Raper, and my dear, dear mother, as

I used to call her, who had, in the midst of their own hard trials,

devoted their best energies to my cause. It is not necessary to say that

Raper was the faithful clerk, and Polly the unknown lady who had given

the impulse to this search. The papers, of which Ysaffich showed me

several, were all in the handwriting of one or other of them; a few of

my father's own letters were also in one packet, and though referring to

matters far remote from this object, had an indescribable interest for

me.

“Seven years ago,” said the Count, “this estate was in the possession

of a certain Mr. Curtis, who claimed to be the next of kin of the

late owner, and who, I believe, was so, in the failure of this youth's

legitimacy. This is now our great fact, since we have already found the

individual. Eh, Gervois?” said he, laughing. “Our man is here, and from

this hour forth your name is--let me see what it is--ay, here we have

it: Jasper Carew, son of Walter Carew and Josephine de Courtois, his

wife.”

“Jasper Carew am I from this day, then, and never to be called by any

other name,” said I.

“Ay, but you must have your lesson perfect,” said he; “you must not

forget the name of your parents.”

“Never fear,” said I; “Walter Carew and Josephine de Courtois are easily

remembered.”

“All correct,” said he, well pleased at my accuracy. “Now, as to family

history, this paper will tell you enough. It is drawn out by Mr. Raper,

and is minutely exact. There is not a strong point of the case omitted,

nor a weak one forgotten. Read it over carefully; mark the points in

which you trace resemblance to your own life; study well where any

divergence or difficulty may occur; and, lastly, draw up a brief

memoir in the character of Jasper Carew, with all your recollections of

childhood: for remember that up to the age of twelve or thirteen, if not

later, you were domesticated with this Countess de Gabriac, and educated

by Raper. After that you are free to follow out what fancy, or reality,

if you like it better, may suggest. When you have drawn up everything,

with all the consistency and plausibility you can, avoid none of the

real difficulties, but rather show yourself fully aware of them, and

also of all their importance. Let the task of having persuaded you to

address Messrs. Bickering and Ragge be left to me; I have already held

correspondence with them, and on this very subject. I give you three

days to do this; meanwhile I start at once for Brussels, where I can

consult a lawyer, an old friend of mine, as to our first steps in the

campaign.”

The man who stoops once to a minute dissection of his life must perforce

steel his heart against many a sense of shame, since even in the story

of the good and the upright are passages of dark omen, moments when the

bad has triumphed, and seasons when the true has been postponed by the

false. It is not now that, having revealed so much as I have done of

my secret history, I dare make any pretensions to superior honesty,

or affect to be one of the “unblemished few.” Still, I have a craving

desire not to be judged over harshly,--a painful feeling of anxiety that

no evil construction should be put upon those actions of my life

other than what they absolutely merit. My “over-reachings” have been

many,--my “shortcomings” still more; but, with all their weight and

gravity before me, I still entreat a merciful judgment, and hope that

if the sentence be “guilty,” there will be at least the alleviation of

“attenuating circumstances.”

I am now an old man; the world has no more any bribe to my ambition than

have I within me the energy to attempt it. The friendships that warmed

up the late autumn of my life are departed; they lie in the churchyard,

and none have ever replaced them. In these confessions, therefore,

humiliating as they often would seem, there are none to suffer pain. I

make them at the cost of my own feelings alone, and in some sense I do

so as an act of atonement and reparation to a world that, with some

hard lessons, has still treated me with kindness, and to whom, with the

tremulous fingers of old age, I write myself most grateful.

If they who read this story suppose that I should not have hesitated to

propose myself a claimant for an estate to which I had no right, I have

no better answer to give them than a mere denial, and even that uttered

in all humility, since it comes from one whose good name has been

impeached, and whose good faith may be questioned. Still do I repeat

it, this was an act I could not have done. There is a kind of half-way

rectitude in the world which never scruples at the means of any success

so long as it injures no other, but which recoils from the thought of

any advantage obtained at another's cost and detriment. Such I suspect

to have been mine. At least, I can declare with truth that I am not

conscious of an incident in my life which will bear the opposite

construction.

But to what end should I endeavor to defend my motives, since my actions

are already before the world, and each will read them by the light his

own conscience lends? Let me rather hasten to complete a task which,

since it has involved an apology, has become almost painful to pursue.

So successfully had Ysaffich employed his time at Brussels that a

well-known notary there had already consented to aid our plans and

furnish means for our journey to England. I cannot go over with

minuteness details in which the deceptions I had to concur in still

revive my shame. I could, it is true, recite the story of my birth and

parentage, my early years abroad, and so on, with the conscious force of

truth; but there were supplementary evidences required of me with which

I could not bring myself to comply. Ysaffich, naturally enough, could

not understand the delicacy of scruples which only took alarm by mere

caprice, nor could he comprehend why he who was willing to feign a name

and falsify a position should hesitate about assuming any circumstances

that might be useful to sustain it.

Of course I could not explain this mystery, and was obliged to endure

all the sarcastic allusions he vented on the acuteness of my sense of

honor and the extreme susceptibility of my notions of right. It

chanced, however, that this very repugnance on my part should prove more

favorable for us than all his most artful devices, and indeed it shows

with clearness how often the superadded efforts fraud contributes to

insure success are as frequently the very sources of its failure,--just

as we see in darker crimes how the over care and caution of the murderer

have been the clew that has elicited the murder.

Ysaffich wished me to detail, amongst the memories of my childhood, the

having heard often of the great estate and vast fortune to which I was

entitled. He wanted me to supply, as it were from memory, many links

of the chain of evidence that seemed deficient,--vague recollections of

having heard this, that, and the other; but, with an obstinacy that

to him appeared incomprehensible, I held to my own unadorned tale, and

would not add a word beyond my own conviction.

Mr. Ragge, the solicitor by whom the case was undertaken, seemed most

favorably impressed by this reserve on my part; and, far from being

discouraged by my ignorance of certain points, appeared, on the

contrary, only the more satisfied as to the genuineness of my story.

Over and over have I felt in my conversations with him how impossible it

would have been for me to practise any deception successfully with him.

Without any semblance of cross-examination, he still contrived to bring

me again and again over the same ground, viewing the same statement from

different sides, and trying to discover a discrepancy in my narrative.

When at length assured, to all appearance, at least, of my being the

person I claimed to be, he drew up a statement of my case for

counsel, and a day was named when I should be personally examined by a

distinguished member of the bar. I cannot even now recall that interview

without a thrill of emotion. My sense of hope, dashed as it was by a

conscious feeling that I was, in some sort, practising a deception,--for

in all my compact with Ysaffich our attempt was purely a fraud,--I

entered the chamber with a faltering step and a failing heart Far,

however, from questioning and cross-questioning, like the solicitor, the

lawyer suffered me to tell my story without even so much as a word of

interruption. I had, I ought to remark, divested my tale of many of

the incidents which really befell me. I made my life one of commonplace

events and unexciting adventures, in which poverty occupied the

prominent place. I as cautiously abstained from all mention of the

distinguished persons with whom accident had brought me into contact,

since any allusion to them would have compromised the part I Was obliged

to play with Ysaffich. When asked what documents or written evidence

I had to adduce in support of my pretensions, and I had confessed to

possessing none, the old lawyer leaned back in his chair, and, closing

his eyes, seemed lost in thought.

“At the best,” said he, at length, “it is a case for a compromise. There

is really so little to go upon, I can advise nothing better.”

I need not go into the discussion that ensued further than to say

the weight of argument was on the side of those who counselled the

compromise, and, however little disposed to yield, I felt myself

overborne by numbers, and compelled to give in.

Weeks, even months, were now passed without any apparent progress in our

suit. The party in possession of the estate treated our first advances

with the most undisguised contempt, and even met our proposals with

menaces of legal vengeance. Undeterred by these signs of strength, Mr.

Ragge persevered in his search for evidence, sent his emissaries hither

and thither, and entered upon the case with all the warm zeal of a

devoted friend. It was at length thought that a visit to Ireland might

possibly elicit some information on certain points, and thither we went

together.

It was little more than a quarter of a century since the date of my

father's death, and yet such had been the changes in the condition of

Ireland, and so great the social revolution accomplished there, that men

talked of the bygone period like some long-past history. The days of the

parliaments, and the men who figured in them, were alike for* gotten;

and although there were many who had known my father well, all memory,

not to speak of affection for him, had lapsed from their natures.

Crowther and Fagan were dead, but Joe Curtis was alive, and continued to

live in Castle Carew in a style of riotous debauchery that scandalized

the whole country. In fact, the mere mention of his name was sufficient

to elicit the most disgraceful anecdotes of his habits. Unknown to

and unrecognized by his equals, this old man had condescended to form

intimacy with all that Dublin contained of the profligate and abandoned;

and, surrounded by men and women of this class, his days and nights were

one continued orgie. Although the estate was a large one, it was rumored

that he was deeply in debt, and only obtained means for this wasteful

existence by loans on ruinous conditions. In vain Mr. Ragge made

inquiries for some one who might possess his confidence and have the

legal direction of his affairs. He had changed from this man to that

so often that it was scarcely possible to discover in what quarter the

property was managed. Without any settled plan of procedure, but half

to watch the eventualities that might arise, it was determined that I

should proceed to Castle Carew and present myself as the son and the

heir of the last owner.

If there were circumstances attendant on this step which I by no means

fancied, there was one gratification that more than atoned for them

all: I should see the ancient home of my family; the halls wherein my

father's noble hospitalities had been practised; the chamber which had

been my dear mother's! I own that the sight of the princely domain and

all its attendant wealth, contrasting with my own poverty, served to

extinguish within me the last spark of hope. How could I possibly dream

of success against the power of such adjuncts as these? Were my cause

fortified by every document and evidence, how little would it avail

against the might of vast wealth and resources! Curtis would laugh my

pretensions to scorn, if not treat them with greater violence; and

with such thoughts I found myself one bright morning of June slowly

traversing the approach to the Castle. The sight of the dense dark

woods, the swelling lawns dotted over with grazing cattle, the distant

corn-fields waving beneath a summer wind, and the tall towers of the

Castle itself far off above the trees, all filled my heart with a

strange chaos, in which hope, and fear, and proud ambition, and the very

humblest terrors were all commingled. Although my plan of procedure had

been carefully sketched out for me by Ragge, so confused were all my

thoughts that I forgot everything. I could not even bethink me in what

character and with what pretension I was to present myself, and I was

actually at the very entrance of the Castle, still trying to remember

the part I was to play.

There before me rose the grand and massive edifice, to erect which had

been one of the chief elements of my poor father's ruin. Though far

from architecturally correct in its details, the effect of the whole was

singularly fine. Between two square towers of great size extended a long

facade, in which, from the ornamented style of architraves and brackets,

it was easy to see the chief suite of apartments lay; and in front of

this the ground had been artificially terraced, and gardens formed in

the Italian taste, the entire being defended by a deep fosse in front,

and crossed by a drawbridge. Neglect and dilapidation had, however,

disfigured all these; the terraces were broken down by the cattle,

the cordage of the bridge hung in fragments in the wind, and even the

stained-glass windows were smashed, and their places filled by paper

or wooden substitutes. As I came nearer, these signs of ruin and

devastation were still more apparent. The marble statues were fractured,

and fissured by bullet-marks; the pastures were cut up by horses' feet;

and even fragments of furniture were strewn about, as though thrown from

the windows in some paroxysm of passionate debauchery. The door of

the mansion was open, and evidences of even greater decay presented

themselves within. Massive cornices of carved oak hung broken and

shattered from the walls; richly cut wainscotings were split and

fissured; a huge marble table of immense thickness was smashed through

the centre, and the fragments still lay scattered on the floor

where they had fallen. As I stood, in mournful mood, gazing on this

desecration of what once had been a noble and costly estate, an

ill-dressed, slatternly woman-servant chanced to cross the hall, and

stopped with some astonishment to stare at me. To my inquiry if I could

see Mr. Curtis, she replied by a burst of laughter too natural to be

deemed offensive.

“By coorse you couldn't,” said she, at length; “sure there's nobody

stirrin', nor won't be these two hours.”

“At what time, then, might I hope to be more fortunate?”

If I came about three or four in the afternoon, when the gentlemen were

at breakfast, I might see Mr. Archy,--Archy M'Clean.

This gentleman was, as she told me, the nephew of Mr. Curtis, and his

reputed heir.

Having informed her that I was a stranger in Ireland, and come from a

long distance off to pay this visit, she good-naturedly suffered me to

enter the house and rest myself in a small and meanly furnished chamber

adjoining the hall. If I could but recall the sensations which passed

through my mind as I sat in that solitary room, I could give a more

correct picture of my nature than by all I have narrated of my actual

life. Hour after hour glided by at first, in all the stillness of

midnight; but gradually a faint noise would be heard afar off, and

now and again a voice would echo through the long corridors, the very

accents of which seemed to bring up thoughts of savage revelry and

debauch. It had been decided by my lawyers that I should present myself

to Curtis, without any previous notification of my identity or my claim;

that, in fact, not to prejudice my chances of success by any written

application for an audience, I should contrive to see him without his

having expected me; and thus derive whatever advantage might accrue from

any admissions his surprise should betray him into. I had been drilled

into my part by repeated lessons. I was instructed as to every word I

was to utter, and every phrase I was to use; but now that the moment to

employ these arts drew nigh, I had utterly forgotten them all. The one

absorbing thought: that beneath the very roof under which I now stood,

my father and mother had lived; that these walls were their own

home; that within them had been passed the short life they had shared

together,--overcame me so completely that I lost all consciousness about

myself and my object there.

At length the loud tones of many voices aroused me from my half

stupor, and on drawing nigh the door I perceived a number of servants,

ill-dressed and disorderly looking, carrying hurriedly across the hall

the materials for a breakfast. I addressed myself to one of these, with

a request to know when and how I could see Mr. Curtis. A bold stare

and a rude burst of laughter was, however, the only reply he made me.

I tried another, who did not even vouchsafe to hear more than half my

question, when he passed on.

“Is it possible,” said I, indignantly, “that none of you will take a

message for your master?”

“Begad, we have so many masters,” said one, jocosely, “it's hard to say

where we ought to deliver it;” and the speech was received with a roar

of approving laughter.

“It is Mr. Curtis I desire to see,” said I.

“It's four hours too early, then,” said the same speaker. “Old Joe won't

be stirring till nigh eight o'clock. If Mr. Archy would do, he's in the

stables, and it's the best time to talk to him.”

“And if it's the master you want,” chimed in another, “he 's your man.”

“Lead me to him, then,” said I, resolving at least to see the person who

claimed to be supreme in this strange household. Traversing a number of

passages and dirty, ill-kept rooms, we descended by a small stone stair

into an ample courtyard, two sides of which were occupied by ranges of

stables. The spacious character of the building and the costly style

of the arrangements were evident at a glance; and even a glance was all

that I had time for, when my guide, whispering, “There is Mr. Archy,”

hurriedly withdrew and left me. The person indicated was standing as

if to examine a young horse which had met with some accident, for the

animal could scarcely move, and with the greatest difficulty could bring

up his hind legs.

I had time to observe him; and certainly, though by no means deficient

as regarded good features, I had rarely seen anything so repulsive

as the expression of his face. Coarsely sensual and brutal, they were

rendered worse by habits of dissipation and debauch; and in the

filmy eye and the tremulous lip might be read the signs of habitual

drunkenness. In figure he was large and most powerfully built, and if

not over-fleshy, must have been of great muscular strength.

“Shoot him, Ned,” he cried, after a few minutes of close scrutiny; “he's

as great a cripple as old Joe himself.”

“I suppose, your honor,” said the groom, “there's nothing else to be

done, it 's in the back it is.”

“I don't care a curse where it is,” said the other, savagely; “I only

know when a horse can't go. You can put a bullet in him, and more's the

pity all other useless animals are not as easily disposed of.--And who

is our friend here?” added he, turning and approaching where I stood.

I briefly said that I was a stranger desirous of seeing and speaking

with Mr. Curtis; that my business was one of importance not less to

myself than to him; and that I would feel obliged if he could procure me

the opportunity I sought for.

“If you talk of business, and important business,” said he, sternly,

“you ought to know, if you haven't heard it already, that the man you

want to discuss it with is upwards of a hundred years of age; that he is

a doting idiot; and that, for many a day, the only one who has given any

orders here now stands before you.”

“In that case,” said I, courteously, “I am equally prepared to address

myself to him. Will you kindly accord me an interview?”

“Are you a dun?” said he, rudely.

“No,” said I, smiling at the abruptness of the demand.

“Are you a tenant in arrear of his rent? or wanting an abatement?”

“Neither one nor the other.”

“Are you sent by a friend with a hostile message?”

“Not even that,” said I, with impassive gravity.

“Then, what the devil are you?” said he, rudely; “for I don't recognize

you as one of my friends or acquaintances.”

I hesitated for a moment what reply I should make to this coarsely

uttered speech. Had I reflected a little longer, it is possible that

good sense might have prevailed, and taught me how inopportune was

the time for such reprisals; but I was stung by an insult offered in

presence of many others; and in a tone of angry defiance answered,--

“You may discover to your cost, sir, that my right to be here is

somewhat better than your own, and that the day is not very distant when

your presence in this domain will be more surely questioned than is

mine now. Is that name new to you?” And as I spoke I handed him my

card, whereupon, with my name, the ancient arms of my family were also

engraved. A livid paleness suddenly spread over his features as he read

the words, and then as quickly his face became purple red.

“Do you mean,” said he, in a voice guttural with passion, “do you mean

to impose upon a man of my stamp with such stupid balderdash as that?

And do you fancy that such a paltry attempt at a cheat will avail you

here? Now, I'll show you how we treat such pretensions without any help

from lawyers. Garvey,” cried he, addressing one of the grooms who stood

by, laughing heartily at his master's wit, “Garvey, go in and rouse the

gentlemen; tell them to dress quickly and come downstairs; for I 've

got sport for them. And you, Mick, saddle Ranty for me, and get out the

dogs. Now, Mr. Carew, I like fair play, and so I'll give you fifteen

minutes law. Take the shortest cut you can out of these grounds; for, by

the rock of Cashel, if you 're caught, I would n't be in your skin for a

trifle.”

A regular burst of savage laughter from the bystanders met this brutal

speech, and the men scattered in all directions to obey the orders,

while I, overwhelmed with passion, stood motionless in the now deserted

yard. M'Clean himself had entered the house, and it was only when a

signal from one of the grooms attracted my notice that I remarked his

absence.

“This way--this way, sir, and don't lose a second,” said the man; “take

that path outside the garden wall, and cross the nursery beyond it. If

you don't make haste, it's all over with you.”

“He would n't dare--”

“Would n't he?” said he, stopping me. “It's little you know him. The

dogs themselves has more mercy than himself when his blood is up.”

“Get the cob ready for me, Joe,” cried a half-dressed man from one of

the upper windows of the house, “and a snaffle bridle, remember.”

“Yes, sir,” was the quick reply. “That's ould Delany of Shanestown, and

a greater devil there isn't from this to his own place. Blood and ages,”

cried he, addressing me, “won't you give yourself a chance? do you want

them to tear you to pieces where you stand?”

The man's looks impressed me still more than his words; and though I

scarcely believed it possible that my peril could be such as he spoke

of, the terrified faces about me struck fear into my heart.

“Would men stand by,” cried I, “and see such an infamous cruelty?”

“Arrah! how could we help it?” said one, stopping me; “and if you won't

do anything for yourself, what use can we be?”

“There, be off, you, in the name of Heaven,” said another, pushing me

through a small door that opened into a shrubbery; “down that lane as

fast as you can, and keep to the right after you pass the fish-pond.”

“It wouldn't be bad to swim to one of the islands!” muttered another;

but the counsel was overruled by the rest.

By this time, the contagion of terror had so completely seized upon

me that I yielded myself to the impulse of the moment, and, taking the

direction they pointed out, I fled along the path beneath the garden

wall at full speed.

In the unbroken stillness I could hear nothing but the tramp of my own

feet, or the rustling of the branches as I tore through them. I gained

at last the open fields, and with one hurried glance behind to see that

I was not pursued, still dashed onwards. The young cattle started off at

full speed as they saw me, and the snorting horses galloped wildly here

and there as I went.

Again, beneath the shade of a wood I would have halted to repose myself,

but suddenly a sound came floating along the air, which swelled louder

and louder, till I could recognize in it the deep, hoarse bay of dogs,

as in wild chorus they yelped together; and high above all could

be heard the more savage notes of men's voices cheering them on and

encouraging them. With the mad speed of terror, I now fled onward; the

very air around me seeming to resound with the dreadful cries of my

pursuers. Now tumbling headlong over the tangled roots, now dashing

recklessly forward through stony watercourses or fissured crevices of

ground, I ran with mad impulse, heedless of all peril but one. At some

moments the deafening sounds of the wild pack seemed close about me; at

others, all was still as the grave around.

[Illustration: 564]

I had forgotten every direction the men had given me, and only thought

of pressing onward without any thought of whither. At last I came to a

rapid but narrow river, with steep and rugged banks at either side.

To place this between myself and my pursuers seemed the best chance of

escape, and without a second's hesitation I dashed into the stream. Far

stronger than I had supposed, the current bore me down a considerable

distance, and it was not till after a long and tremendous effort that

I gained the bank. Just as I had reached it, the wild cry of the dogs

again met my ears; and, faint and dripping as I was, once more I took to

speed.

Through dark woods and waving plains of tall grass, over deep

tillage ground and through the yellow corn, I fled like one bereft of

reason,--the terror of a horrible and inglorious death urging me on to

efforts that my strength seemed incapable of making. Cut and bleeding in

many places, my limbs were at last yielding to fatigue, when I saw at

a short distance in front of me a tall but dilapidated stone wall. With

one last effort I reached this, and, climbing by the crevices, gained

the top. But scarcely had I gained it when my head reeled, my senses

left me, and, overcome by sickness and exhaustion, I fell headlong to

the ground beneath.

[Illustration: Fell headlong to the ground]

It was already evening when I came to myself, and

still lay there stunned, but uninjured. A wild plain, studded over with

yellow furze bushes, lay in front, and beyond in the distance I could

see the straggling huts of a small village. It was a wild and dreary

scene; but the soft light of a summer's evening beamed calmly over

it, and the silence was unbroken around. With an effort, I arose, and,

though weak and sorely bruised, found that I could walk. My faculties

were yet so confused that of the late events I could remember but little

with any distinctness. At times I fancied I had been actually torn and

worried by savage dogs; and then I would believe that the whole was but

a wild and feverish dream, brought on by intense anxiety and care. My

tattered and ragged clothes, clotted over with blood, confused, but did

not aid, my memory; and thus struggling with my thoughts, I wandered

along, and, as night was falling, reached the little village of

Shanestown. Directing my steps towards a cabin where I perceived a

light, I discovered that it was the alehouse of the village. Two or

three country people were sitting smoking on a bench before the door,

who arose as I came forward, half in curiosity, half in respect; and as

I was asking them in what quarter I might find a lodging for the night,

the landlord came out. No sooner did his eyes fall on me than he started

back in seeming terror, and, after a pause of a few seconds, cried

out,--

“Molly! Molly! come here quick! Who's that standing there?” said he, as

he pointed with his finger towards me.

“The heavens be about us! but it's Mr. Walter Carew himself,” said the

woman, crossing herself.

This sudden recognition of my resemblance to my father so overcame me

that though I struggled hard for speech, the words would not come; and I

stood pale and gasping before them.

“For Heaven's sake, speak!” cried the man, in terror.

I heard no more; faint, agitated, and exhausted, I tottered towards the

bank, and swooned away.

CHAPTER XLVIII. THE PERILS OF EVIL

The last few pages I mean to append to these notices of my life might

be, perhaps, equally well derived from the public newspapers of the

time. At a period when great events were occurring; when the conquering

armies of France marched over the length and breadth of Europe,--the

humble historian of these pages was able, for a brief space, to engage

public attention, and become for a short season the notoriety of the

hour. I will not presume so far as to say that the fame to which I

attained was of that kind which flatters most, or that the reputation

attaching to me was above reproach. Still, I had my partisans

and adherents, nay, I believe I might even aver, my friends and

well-wishers. He must, perchance, have had a fortunate existence who can

say more.

Of what followed after the event detailed in my last chapter I can

relate nothing, for I was seized with shivering and other signs of fever

that same night, and for several weeks my life was despaired of. Even

when the dangerous period passed over, my convalescence made but little

progress. For me there were none of those aids which so powerfully

assist the return to health. The sympathy of friends, the affections of

family, the very hope of once more assuming one's place at hearth and

board,--I had none of these. If the past was filled with trouble and

suffering, the future was a bleak expanse that offered nothing to

speculate on. My thoughts turned to the New World beyond the seas, to a

region wherein nothing should recall a memory of the bygone, and where

even I might at last forget the early years of my own life. There were

not then, as now, the rapid means of intercourse between this country

and America; as little, too, was there of that knowledge of the great

continent of the west which now prevails. Men talked of it as a far-away

land only emerging into civilization, and whose vast regions were still

untrodden and unexplored. Dreamy visions of the existence men might

carve out for themselves in such a scene formed the amusements of the

long hours of my solitary sick bed. I fancied myself at times a lone

settler on the bank of some nameless river, and at other moments as a

member of some Indian tribe, following their fortunes to the chase

and to the battle-field, and dreaming through life in the uneventful

stillness of the forest.

In part from the effect of malady itself, in part from this dreamy

state of mind, I sank into a state of impassive lethargy wherein nothing

pleased or displeased me. Worse than actual despondency, a sense of

indifference had settled down on all my feelings; and if I could have

asked a boon, it would have been to have been left utterly alone.

To reply when spoken to became irksome; even to listen was a painful

exertion to me. Looking back now on this period, it seems to me that

such intervals of apathetic repose are often inserted in the lives of

men of more than ordinary activity, acting as sleep does in our habitual

existence, and serving to rest and recruit faculties overcharged and

overworked.

I was in a very humble lodging in a very humble street, still attended

by doctors, and besieged by lawyers and solicitors, who came and went,

held consultations, questioned and cross-questioned me with a greedy

avidity on themes in which my own interest had long ceased, and which I

was gradually learning to think of with absolute aversion.

Ysaffich, whose confidence in our success rose higher every day,

appeared from time to time to see me; but his visits were generally

hurried ones, as he was constantly on the road, travelling hither

and thither, exploring registries here, and certificates there, and

fortifying our case by every possible means he could think of.

His energy was untiring; and in the shrewd devices of his quick

intelligence, even the long-practised acuteness of the lawyers

discovered great resources.

Paragraphs of a half mysterious kind in the public newspapers announced

to the world that a most remarkable case might ere long transpire, and

a claim be preferred which should threaten the possession of one of

the largest estates in a county adjacent to the metropolis. To these

succeeded others, more openly expressed, in which it was announced that

some of the most distinguished members of the inner bar had received

retainers for a cause that would soon astonish the world, wherein the

plaintiff was represented to be the son and heir of one who once had

figured most conspicuously in the fashionable and political circles of

Dublin.

As the time approached for bringing the case to trial it was judged

expedient that I should be provided with lodgings in a more fashionable

quarter of the town, be seen abroad in places of public resort, and, in

fact, a certain _éclat_ be imparted to my presence, which should enlist,

so far as might be, popular feeling in my favor. The chief adviser and

leader of my case was a lawyer of great repute in the Irish bar of those

days,--a certain Samuel Hanchett,--one of those men who owe their

success in life less to actual learning than to the possession of

immense natural acuteness, great resources in difficulty, and a vast

acquaintance with all the arts of their fellow-men. There had been, I

believe, considerable difficulty in securing his services originally in

our behalf. It was reported that he disliked such cases; that they were

not what “suited him.” He made various objections when first addressed,

and threw every discouragement when the cause was submitted for his

opinion. He asked for evidence that was not to be obtained, and proofs

that were not forthcoming. The merest accident--if I am justified in

calling such what was to be followed by consequences so important to

myself--overruled these objections on his part. It chanced that in one

of my solitary walks on a Sunday afternoon I happened to find myself at

the bank of a little stream near Milltown, with an elderly man who

seemed to have some apprehensions about crossing on the slippery and

uncertain stepping-stones by which the passage was forded. Perceiving

his difficulty, I tendered my assistance to him at once, which he

accepted. On arriving at then opposite bank, and finding that our roads

led in the same direction, we began to converse together, during which

my accidental pronunciation of a word with a slightly foreign accent

attracted his notice. To a question on his part, I mentioned that a

great part of my life had been passed abroad; and amongst the places to

which I alluded was Reichenau. He asked me in what year I had been

there, and inquired if by any chance I had ever heard of a certain

school there in which it was said the son of the late Duke of Orleans

had been a teacher.

“You are speaking of Monsieur Jost, my old master?” said I, warmed up by

even this passing remembrance of happier days.

“Will you pardon the liberty I am about to take,” said he, with some

earnestness, “and allow me to ask, with whom I have the honor to speak?”

“My name is Jasper Carew, sir,” said I, with a degree of stern pride a

man feels in asserting a claim that he knows may be contested.

“Jasper Carew!” repeated he, slowly, while he stood still and stared

steadfastly at me--“Jasper Carew! You are then the claimant to the

estates of Castle Carew and Crone Lofty in Wicklow?”

“The property of my late father,” said I, assentingly.

“What a singular coincidence should have brought us together,” said he,

after a pause. “Do you know, sir, that when you overtook me half an hour

ago, and saw me standing on the side of the stream there, I was less

occupied in thinking how I should cross it than how I could reconcile

certain strange statements which had been made to me respecting your

claim. I am Mr. Hanchett, sir, the counsel to whom your case has been

submitted.”

“It is indeed a curious accident that has brought us thus in contact,”

exclaimed I, in surprise.

“I should like to give it another name, young gentleman,” said he,

thoughtfully, while he walked along at my side for some moments in

silence. “Has it ever been explained to you, Mr. Carew,” said he,

gravely, “what dangers attend such a course of proceeding as you are

now engaged in? How necessarily you must be prepared to give in your

adhesion to many things your advisers deem essential, and of which you

can have no cognizance personally,--in a word, how frequently you

will be forced into a responsibility which you never contemplated or

anticipated? Have all these circumstances been placed fairly and clearly

before you?”

“Never!” replied I.

“Then suffer me to endeavor, in a very few words, to show you some at

least of the perils I allude to.” In a few short and graphic sentences

he stated my case, with all its favorable points forcibly and well

delineated. He then exhibited its various weaknesses and deficiencies,

the assumptions for which no proofs were forthcoming, the positions

which were taken without power to maintain them. “To give the required

coherence and consistency to these, your advisers will of course take

all due precaution; but they will require aid also from you. You will

be asked for information you have no means of obtaining, for details you

cannot supply. A lawsuit is like a chase: the ardor of pursuit deadens

every sense of peril, and in the desire to win you become reckless for

the cost. I perceive,” said he, “that you demur to some of this; but

remember that as yet you have not entered the field, that you have only

viewed the sport from afar, and its passions of hope and fear are all

untasted by you!”

“It may be as you say,” said I, “and that hereafter I may seem to feel

differently; but for the present I can promise you that to secure a

verdict in my favor, not only would I not strain any point myself, but I

would not condescend to accept the benefit of such a sacrifice from

another. I believe--I have strong reasons to believe--that I am

asserting a rightful claim; the arguments that shall be sufficient to

convince others that I am wrong will, doubtless, be strong enough to

satisfy me.”

He had fixed his eyes steadily on me while I was speaking these words,

and I could, easily perceive that the impression they produced on

him was favorable. He then led me on to speak of my life and its

vicissitudes, and I could detect in many of his questions that he had

formed erroneous notions as to various parts of my story. I cannot

attempt to explain why it was so; but the fact unquestionably was, that

I opened my heart more freely and unreservedly to this stranger than I

had ever done to any of those with whom I had before conversed; and when

we parted at length, it was like old friends.

The accident of our meeting was not known to others, and there was

considerable astonishment excited when it was heard that Hanchett, who

had hitherto shown no disposition to engage in the cause, now accepted

the brief and exhibited the warmest anxiety for success. His acute

intelligence quickly detected many things which had been passed over

as immaterial, and by his activity various channels of information were

opened which others had not thought of. In these details Ysaffich came

more than once before him; and it was remarkable with what shrewdness

he read the man's nature, bold, resolute, and unscrupulous as it was.

Between the two, the feeling of distrust rapidly ripened into open

hatred, each not hesitating to accuse the other of treachery; and thus

was a new element of difficulty added to a case whose complications were

already more than enough.

My own position at this period was embarrassing in the extreme. Hanchett

frequently invited me to his house, and presented me freely to his

friends; while Ysaffich continued to suggest doubts of his good faith

on every occasion, and by a hundred petty slights showed his implacable

enmity towards him. Day after day this breach grew wider and wider,

every effort of the one being sure to excite the animosity and

opposition of the other. Ysaffich, too, far from endeavoring to repress

this spirit on his part, seemed to foster and encourage it, sneering at

the old lawyer's caution and reserve, and even insinuating against him

darker and more treacherous intentions.

“To what end,” said he, at length, one morning when our discussion had

become unusually warm and animated, “to what end the inquiries to which

this learned adviser of yours would push us: he wants to discover the

Countess of Ga-briac and Raper. Why, bethink you, my worthy friend, that

these are the very people we hope never to hear more of; that if by any

mischance they could possibly be forthcoming, our whole scheme is blown

up at once. We have now enough, or we shall have enough by the end of

the month, to go to a jury. There is not a document nor a paper that

will not, in some form or other, be supplied. Let us stand or fall by

that issue; but, of all things, let us not protract the campaign till

the arrival of the forces that shall overwhelm us. If this be your

policy, Master Gervois, speak it out freely, and let us be frank with

each other.”

There was a tone of bold defiance in this speech that startled me; but

the way in which he addressed me, as Gervois, a name he had never called

me by for several months, in even our closest intimacy, was like a

declaration of open hostility.

“I claim to be called Jasper Carew,” said I, calmly and slowly; “I will

accept no other designation from you nor any one.”

“You have learned your part admirably,” said he, with a sneer; “but

remember that I am myself the prompter; so pray reserve the triumphs of

your art for the public!”

“Anatole,” said I, addressing him with an emotion I could not repress,

“I desire to be frank and candid with you. This name of Jasper Carew I

believe firmly to be mine.”

A burst of laughter, insulting to the last degree, stopped me in my

speech.

“Why, Gervois, this is madness, my worthy fellow. Just bethink you of

how this plot originated; who suggested, who carried it on,--ay, and

where it stands at this very moment. That you yourself are as nothing

in it; the breath that made can still unmake you; and that I have but

to declare you an impostor and a cheat,--hard words, but you will have

them,--and the law will deal with you as it knows how to deal with those

who trade on false pretences. Yours be the blame if I be pushed to such

reprisals!”

“And what if I defied you, Count Ysaffich?” said I, boldly.

“If you but dared to do it!” said he, with a menace of his clenched

hand.

“Now listen to me calmly,” said I; “and there is the more need of calm,

since, possibly, these are the very last words that shall ever pass

between us. My claim can neither be aided nor opposed by you.”

“Is the fellow mad?” exclaimed he, staring wildly at me.

“I am in my calm and sober senses,” replied I, quietly.

“Then what say you to this bond?” said he, taking a paper from his

pocket-book. “Is this a written promise that if you succeed to the

fortune and estates of the late Walter Carew, you will pay me, Count

Anatole Ysaffich, one hundred thousand pounds?”

“I own every word of it,” said I.

“And for what service is this the recompense? Answer me that.”

“That I am indebted to you for having opened to me the path by which my

right was to be established.”

“Say rather that by me was the fraud of a false name, and birth, and

rank first suggested; that from Gervois the courier I created you Carew

the gentleman. The whole scheme was and is my own. You are as nothing in

it.”

Stupefied, almost stunned, by the outrageous insult of his words, I did

not speak, and he went on,--

“But you have not taken me unawares. I was not without my suspicion

that such an incident as this might arise. I foresaw at least its

possibility, and was prepared for it. Be advised, then, in time, since

if your foot was on the very threshold of that door you hope to call

your own, the power lies with me to drag you back again and proclaim you

to all the world a swindler.”

My passion boiled over at the word, and I sprung towards him, I know not

with what thoughts of vengeance. He darted back suddenly, and gained the

door.

“If you had dared,” said he, with a savage grin, “you had been a corpse

on that floor the minute after.”

The shining blade of a stiletto glanced within his waistcoat as he

spoke. The next moment he had descended the stairs, and was gone.

I will not speak of the suffering this scene cost me,--a misery, I am

free to declare, less proceeding from my dread of his resentment than

from the thought that one of the very few with whom I had ever lived on

terms approaching friendship had now become a declared and bitter enemy.

Oh for the hollowness of such attachments! The bonds which bind men to

evil are the deadliest snares that beset us; and thus the very qualities

which seem our best and purest, are among the weakest and the worst of

our depraved natures.

To add to my discomfiture, Hanchett was obliged to go over to London in

some case before the House of Lords, and my cause was intrusted to

the second counsel, one with whom I had little intercourse, and few

opportunities of knowing. Ysaffich's defection, too, threw a great gloom

over all my supporters. His readiness in every difficulty was not less

remarkable than his unwearied and untiring energy. He was, in fact, the

bond of union between all the parties, stimulating, encouraging,

and cheering them on. Even they who were least disposed towards him

personally, avowed that his loss was irreparable; and some, taking a

still graver view of the matter, owned their fears that he might seek

service with the enemy.

I cannot tell the relief I experienced on hearing that he had sailed

from Ireland the very night of our quarrel; and, from the observations

he had dropped, it was believed with the intention of going abroad.

As the day fixed for the trial drew nigh, public curiosity rose to the

very highest degree. The real nature of the claim to be set up was no

longer a secret, and the case became the town talk of every club and

society of the capital. Curtis had long ceased to be popular with any

party. His dissolute life had thrown a disrepute upon those who sided

with him; and the newspapers, almost without an exception, inclined

towards my side. There is, perhaps, something too that savors of

generosity in such cases, and disposes many to favor what they feel to

be the weaker party. I am sure I had reason to experience much of this

kind of sympathy, nor do I think of it even now without gratitude.

Early as it was when I prepared to leave my hotel, I found a

considerable crowd had assembled in the street without, curious to see

one whose story had attracted so much popular notice. They were mostly

of the lower classes, but I observed that a knot of gentlemen had

gathered on the steps of an adjoining door, and were eagerly watching

for my appearance. As the window of my room was almost directly over

their heads, and lay open, I could hear the conversation which passed

between them. Shall I own that the words I overheard set my heart a

beating violently?

“You knew Carew intimately, Parsons?” asked one.

“Watty! to be sure I did. We were class-fellows at school and at

college.”

“And liked him, I have heard you say?”

“Extremely. There was no better fellow to be found. He had his

weaknesses like the rest of us; but he was a true-hearted, generous

friend, and a resolute enemy also.”

“Were you acquainted with his wife, Ned?” asked another.

“I was presented to her the day he brought her over,” replied he; “we

all lunched with him at the hotel, but I never saw her after. The fact

was, Watty made a foolish match, and never was the same man to his

old friends after. Perhaps we were as much in fault as he was; at all

events, except MacNaghten and a few who were very intimate with him, all

fell off, and Carew, who was a haughty fellow, drew back from us, and

left the breach still wider.”

“And what's your opinion of this claim?” asked another, who had not

spoken before.

“That I 'd not give sixpence for the chance of its success,” said

he, laughingly. “Why, everybody knows that no trace of any document

establishing Carew's marriage could be found after his death. Some went

so far as to say that there never had been a marriage at all; and as to

the child, Dan MacNaghten told me years ago that the boy was killed

in some street skirmish in Paris,--so that, taking all the doubts and

difficulties together, and bearing in mind that old Joe Curtis has a

strong purse and is in possession, is there any man with common sense to

guide him would think the contest worth a trial?”

“Have you seen this young fellow yet?”

“No; and I am rather curious to have a look at him, for there were

strong family traits about the Carews.”

As I heard these last words, I walked boldly out upon the balcony as if

to examine the state of the weather. There was a slight murmur of voices

heard beneath as I came forward, and one speaker exclaimed, “Indeed!” to

which Parsons quickly replied,--

“Positively astounding! It is not only that he has Carew's features,

but the carriage of the head and a certain half supercilious look are

exactly his!”

The words sent a thrill of hope through me, more than enough to

recompense me for the pain his former speech had inflicted; and as I

left the window, I felt a degree of confidence in the future that never

entirely deserted me after.

CHAPTER XLIX. THE FIRST DAY

I can more easily imagine a man being able to preserve the memory of

all his sensations during some tremendous operation of surgery than to

recall the varied tortures of his mind in the progress of a long

and eventful trial. Certain incidents will impress themselves more

powerfully than others, not always those of the deepest importance,--far

from it; the veriest trifles--a stern look of the presiding judge, a

murmur in the court--will live in the recollection for long years after

the great events of the scene; and a casual glance, a half-uttered word,

become texts of sorrow for many a day to come.

I could myself be better able to record my sensations throughout a long

fever than tell of the emotions which I suffered in the three days of

that trial. I awake occasionally from a dream full of every circumstance

all sharply defined, clear, and distinct. My throbbing temples and moist

brow evidence the agonies I have gone through; my nerves still tingle

with the torture; but with the first moments of wakefulness the memory

is gone!--the sense of pain alone remains; but the cause fades away in

dim indistinctness, and my heart throbs with gratitude at last to know

it was but a dream, and has passed away.

But there are days, too, when all these memories are revived; and I

could recount, even to the slightest circumstance, the whole progress of

the case, from the moment when a doorkeeper drew aside a heavy curtain

to let me pass into the court, to the dreadful instant when--But I

cannot go on; already are images and forms crowding around me. To

continue this theme would be to call up spirits of torture to the

bedside, or the lonely chamber where, friendless and solitary, I sit as

I write these lines.

I owe it to him whose patience and sympathy may have carried him so far

as my listener, to complete this much of the story of my life; happily a

few words will now suffice to do so.

A newspaper of “Old Dublin,” a great authority in those days, the

“Morning Advertiser,” informed its readers on a certain day of February

that the interesting events of a recent trial should be its apology for

any deficiency in its attention to foreign news, or even the domestic

occurrences of the country, since the editor could not but participate

in the intense anxiety felt by all classes of his fellow-citizens in

the progress of one of the most remarkable cases ever submitted before a

jury.

After a brief announcement of the trial, he proceeds:

“Mr. Foxley opened the plaintiff's case, in the absence of Serjeant

Hanchett; and certainly even the distinguished leader of the Western

Circuit never exceeded in clearness, accuracy, or close reasoning the

admirable statement then delivered,--a statement which, while supported

by a vast variety of well-known incident, may yet vie with romance for

the strangeness of the events it records.

“Probably, with a view of enlisting public sympathy in his client's

behalf, not impossibly also to give a semblance of consistency to a

narrative wherein any individual incident might have startled credulity,

the learned counsel gave a brief history of the claimant from his birth;

and certainly a stranger tale it would be hard to conceive. Following

all the vicissitudes of fortune, fighting to-day in the ranks of the

revolutionists in Paris, we find him to-morrow the bearer of important

despatches from crowned heads to the members of the exiled family of

France. Ever active, ever employed, and ever faithful to his trust, this

extraordinary youth became mixed up with great events, and conversant

with great people everywhere. If a consciousness that he was a man of

birth, and with just claims to station and property, often sustained

him in moments of difficulty, there were also times when this thought

suggested his very saddest reflections. He saw himself poor, and almost

unfriended; he knew the scarcely passable barriers the law erects

against all pretenders, whatever the justice of their demands; he was

aware that his adversary would have all the benefit which vast resources

and great wealth can command. No wonder, then, if he felt faint-hearted

and dispirited! Another and a very different train of reasoning may,

possibly, have also had its influence on his mind.

“This boy grew up to manhood in the midst of all the startling theories

of the French Revolution. He had imbibed the doctrines of equality and

universal brotherhood; he had been taught that a state was a family,

and its population were the children, amongst whom no inequality of

condition should prevail. To sue for the restitution of his own was,

then, but a sorry recognition of the principles he professed. The

society of the time enjoined the theory that property was a mere

usurpation; and I say it is by no means improbable that, educated in

such opinions, he should have deemed the prosecution of such a suit a

direct falsification of his professions. The world, however, changed.

“After the Revolution came the reaction of order. To the guillotine

succeeded the court-martial; then the Consulate, then the Empire. All

the external forms of society underwent a less change than did the very

nature of men themselves.

“Wearied of anarchy, they sought the repose of a despotism. With

monarchy, too, came back all the illusions of pomp and splendor, all

the tastes that wealth fosters and wealth alone confers. Carew, who

had never bewailed his condition when a 'sansculottes,' now saw himself

degraded in the midst of the new movement. He knew that he had been

born to fortune and high estate. He had heard of the vast domains of

his ancestry, from his cradle. He had got off by heart the names of

townlands and baronies that all belonged to his family; and though, at

the time he learned the lesson, the more stern teaching of democracy

instilled the maxim that 'all property was a wrong,' yet now another

impression had gained currency in the world, and he saw that even for

the purposes of public utility, and the benefit of society, a man was

powerless who was poor.

“Alas, however, for his prospects! every document, every letter, every

scrap of writing that could have authenticated his claim was gone.

Of the very nature of these papers he scarcely retains a recollection

himself; he only knows that Madame de Gabriac, whose name I have already

introduced to your notice, deemed them all-sufficient, if only backed by

one essential document,--the certificate of his father's marriage with

his mother. To obtain this had been the great object of her whole life.

“With a heroic devotion to the cause of her friend's orphan child, she

had travelled over Europe in every direction, and during times of the

greatest peril and disturbance. Accompanied by one trusty companion, Mr.

Raper, she had never wearied in her pursuit.

“Probably, if the occasion permitted, the story I could tell of her

efforts in this cause would surprise you not less than that of my client

himself. Enough that I say that she stooped to poverty and privation of

the very severest kind; she toiled, and labored, and suffered for years

long; and, when having exhausted every resource the Old World seemed

to offer to her search, she set out for the New! Since that she has not

been heard of. The solicitors with whom she had corresponded have long

since ceased to receive tidings of her. The belief in her death was so

complete that her father, a well-known citizen of Dublin, who died

two years back, bequeathed his vast fortune to various charitable

institutions, alleging his childless condition as the cause.

“I have told you how, originally, my client, then a mere boy, became

separated from her he had ever regarded as his mother; I have traced him

through some, but far from the whole, of the strange incidents of his

eventful career; and it now only remains that I should speak of the

extraordinary accident by which he came upon the clew to his long

sought-for, long despaired-of, inheritance.

“A short statement will suffice here, since the witnesses I mean to

call before you will amply elucidate this part of my case. It was while

travelling with despatches to the North of Europe my client formed

acquaintance with a certain Count Ysaffich, at that time himself

employed in the diplomatic service; and though at the period a warm

friendship grew up between them, it was not till after the lapse of many

years that the Count came to know that a large mass of papers--copies of

documents drawn out by Raper, and which had come into the Count's hands

in a manner I shall relate to you--actually bore reference to his former

acquaintance,--the casual intimate of a journey.

“These two men, thrown together by one of the most extraordinary chances

of fortune, sit down to recount their lives to each other. Beside the

fire of an humble chalet, in a forest, Carew hears again the story he

had once listened to in his infancy; the very tale his dear mother had

repeated to him in the midst of the Alps, he now hears from the lips

of one almost a stranger. Names once familiar, but long forgotten, come

back to him. The very sounds thrilled through his heart like as the

notes of the Swiss melody awaken in the far-away wanderer thoughts

of home and fatherland. In an instant he throws off the apathy of his

former life, he ceases to be the sport and plaything of fortune, and

devotes himself heart and soul to the restitution of the ancient name of

his house and the long dormant honors of a distinguished family.

“We cannot,” writes the journalist, “undertake at this late hour to

follow the learned counsel into the minute enumeration he went into,

of small circumstances of proof, memoranda of conversations, scraps

of letters, allusions in the course of correspondence, and so on; the

object of which was to show that although the late Walter Carew had some

secret reason of his own for maintaining a mystery about his marriage,

that of the fact of the marriage there could be no doubt,--nor of the

legitimacy of him who claimed to be his heir; neither are we able to

enter upon the intricate question of establishing the identity of the

present claimant; suffice it to say that he succeeded in connecting him

with a number of events from the days of his earliest childhood to a

comparatively recent period, all corroboratory of his assumption; the

possession of the seal and arms of his family, his name, and, above all,

the unmistakable traits of family resemblance, being wonderful evidences

in his favor. Indeed, we are not aware of a more dramatic incident in

the administration of justice than our court presented yesterday,

when, at the close of his seven hours' speech, full of all its details,

narrative and legal, the able counsel suddenly paused, and, in a voice

of subdued accent, asked if there chanced at that moment to be present

in the court any of those who once enjoyed the friendship or even the

acquaintance of the late Walter Carew. He was one, continued he, not

easily to be forgotten, even by a casual observer. His tall and manly

figure, the type at once of dignity and strength, his bold, high

forehead, his deep-set blue eyes, soft as a child's in their expression,

or sparkling like the orbs of an eagle; his mouth more characteristic

than all, since, though marked by an air of pride, it never moved

without an expression of genial kindliness and good-humor,--the traits

that we love to think eminently national; the mingled nature of daring

intrepidity with a careless ease; the dash of almost reckless courage

with a still milder gayety,--these were all his. Are there not some

here, is there not even one who can recall them? And if there be, let

him look there! and he pointed to the gallery beside the jury-box, at

the end of which was seated a young man, pale and sickly-looking, it is

true, but whose countenance at once corroborated the picture. The vast

multitude that filled the body of the court, crowding every avenue and

space, and even invading the seats reserved for the Bar, rose as one

man, and turned to gaze on the living evidence of the description. It

would be difficult to conceive a more striking scene enacted within

walls where the solemnity of the law usually represses every semblance

of popular emotion; nor was it till after several seconds had elapsed

that the judges were enabled to recall the Court to the observance of

the rigid propriety of the justice-seat.

“Himself exhausted by his efforts, and really overborne by feeling, the

counsel was unable to continue his address, and the Court, willingly

granting an indulgence that his exertions amply deserved, adjourned till

to-morrow, when at ten o'clock this remarkable case will be resumed;

though it is believed, from the number of witnesses to be examined,

and the necessary length of 'the reply,' the trial cannot be completed

before Saturday evening.”

CHAPTER L. A TRIAL--CONCLUSION

The second day was chiefly occupied in examining witnesses,--old

acquaintances of my father's, for the most part, who had known him on

his return to Ireland, and who could bear their testimony as to the

manner in which he lived, and the acceptance he and my mother had met

with in the best society of the capital. Though their evidence really

went no further than a mere impression on their part, it was easy to

perceive that its effect was most favorable on the jury; nor could

cross-examination elicit the slightest flaw in the belief that they

lived amongst their equals, without the shadow of aspersion on their

honor.

An uninterested spectator of the scene might have felt amusement in

contrasting the description of manners and habits with the customs of

the present time; for although the evidence referred to a period so

recent, yet were all the details mixed up with usages, opinions,

and ways that seemed those of a long-past epoch. Men were just then

awakening after that long and splendid orgie which had formed the life

of Ireland before the Union. With bankrupt fortunes and ruined

estates, they saw themselves the successors of a race whose princely

hospitalities had never known a limit, and who had really imparted a

character of barbaric splendor to lives of reckless extravagance.

A certain Mr. Archdall was examined as to his recollection of Castle

Carew and the company who frequented there. He had been my father's

guest when the Viceroy visited him; and certainly his account of the

festivities might well have startled the credulity of his hearers.

It was not at first apparent with what object these revelations were

elicited by the cross-examination; but at length it came out that they

were intended to show that my father, having no heir, nor expecting

to have any, suffered himself to follow a career of the wildest

wastefulness. With equal success they drew forth from the witness

stories of my mother's unpopularity with the ladies of her own set

in society, and the suspicion and distrust that pervaded the world of

fashion that she had not originally been born in, or belonged to, the

class with which she was then associating.

It was but too plain to what all this pointed; and although old servants

of the family were brought forward to show the deference with which my

mother's position was ever regarded, and the degree of respect, almost

amounting to state, with which she was treated, yet the artfulness of

the cross-examiner had at least succeeded in representing her to the

jury as self-willed, vain, and capricious, constantly longing for a

return to France, and cordially hating her banishment to Ireland.

My mother's friendship and attachment to Polly Fagan was ingeniously

alluded to as a strange incident in the life of one whose circumstances

might seem to have separated her from such companionship; and the able

counsel dwelt most effectively on the disparity which separated their

conditions.

These circumstances were, however, not pressed home, but rather left to

make their impression, with more or less of force, while other incidents

were being related. To rebut in some measure these impressions, Foxley

showed that my mother had been a guest at the Viceroy's table,--an honor

which could not have been conferred on her on any questionable grounds.

Unimportant and trivial as was the fact, the mode of eliciting it formed

one of the amusing episodes of the trial, since it brought forward

on the witness-table a well-known character of old Dublin,--no less a

functionary than Samuel Cotterell, the hall trumpeter, now pensioned off

and retired, but still, with all the weight of nearly fourscore-and-ten

years, bearing himself erect, and carrying in his port the consciousness

of his once high estate and dignity.

It was some time before the old man could be persuaded that in all

the state and pomp of the justice-seat there was not occasion for some

exercise of his ancient functions.

He seemed ashamed at appearing without his tabard, and looked anxiously

around for his trumpet; but once launched upon the subject of his

recollections, he appeared to revel with eager delight in all the

associations they called up. It was perfectly miraculous to see with

what tenacity he retained a memory of the festivities of old Viceregal

times; they lived, however, in his mind like distinct pictures,

unconnected with all around him. There was a duke in his “garter,” and a

duchess in her diamonds; a gorgeously decked table; pineapples that came

from France; and a dessert wine newly arrived from Portugal, some of

which Sir Amyrald Fitzgerald spilled on Madame Carew's dress; at which

she laughed pleasantly, and, in showing the stains, displayed her ankles

to Barry Rutledge, who whispered his Grace that there was not such a

foot and leg in Ireland. Lord Gartymore backed Kitty O'Dwyer's for fifty

pounds, and lost his wager.

“How, then, was the bet decided, Mr. Cotterell?”

“We saw her dance the minuet with Colonel Candler, and my Lord said he

had lost.”

“Madame Carew was, then, much admired at Court?”

“She was.”

“And a favorite guest, too?”

“We asked her on Wednesdays generally; they were the small dinners, but

many thought them the pleasantest.”

“Her Grace noticed her particularly, you say?”

“She did so on one Patrick's night, and said she had never seen such

lace before; and Madame Carew told her she would show her some still

handsomer, for it had been given by the king to her grandmother, whom I

think they called Madame Barry, or Du Barry, or something like that.”

Though little in reality beyond the gossiping revelation of a very

old man, Cotterell's evidence tended to show that my mother had been a

welcome and a favored guest in all the best houses of the day, and

that, living as she did in the very centre of scandal, not the slightest

imputation had been ever thrown upon her position or her conduct.

The counsel probably saw that, not having any direct proof of the

marriage,--when, and how, and where solemnized,--it was more than ever

necessary to show the rank my mother had always occupied in the world,

and the respect with which she was ever received in society.

He had--I know not with what, if any, grounds--a little narrative of her

family and birthplace in France, and most conveniently disposed of all

belonging to her,--fortune, friends, and home,--by the events of “that

disastrous Revolution, which swept away not only the nobles of the land,

but every archive and document that had pertained to them.”

When he came to my own birth, he was fortunate enough to obtain all the

evidence he wanted. The priest of Rathmullen, who had officiated at my

christening, was yet alive, and related, with singular clearness of

recollection, every circumstance of that sorrowful night when the

tidings of my father's violent death reached the village beside Castle

Carew. Of those present on this occasion, among whom were Polly Fagan

and MacNaghten, he could not yet point to where one could be found.

There now only remained to sum up the evidence, and impart that

consistency and coherence to the story which should carry conviction to

the minds of the jury; and this task he performed with a most consummate

ability, concluding all with an account of my own visit to the home of

my fathers, and the reception which there had met me. The passionate

vehemence of his indignation seemed fired by the theme; and, warming

as he proceeded, he denounced the infamy of that morning as not only a

stain upon the nation, but the age, and called upon the jury, whatever

their decision might be in the cause itself,--whether to restore the

heir to his own, or send him a beggared wanderer through the world,--to

mark by some expression of their own the horror and disgust this act of

barbaric cruelty had filled them with.

A burst of applause and indignation commingled saluted the orator as

he sat down; nor was it till after repeated efforts of the criers that

silence was again restored, and the business of the trial proceeded

with.

Mr. M'Clelland, to whom the chief duty of the defence was intrusted,

requested permission of the court to defer the reply to the following

day, and, the leave being granted, the court arose.

I dined that day with Mr. Fozley. I would fain have been alone. The

intense excitement of the scene had made me feverish, and I would gladly

have felt myself at ease, and free to give way, in solitude, to the

emotions which were almost suffocating me; but he insisted on my

presence, and I went. The company included many very distinguished

names,--members of both Houses of Parliament, and men of high

consideration; and by all of them was I received with more than

kindness, and some went so far as to congratulate me on a victory which,

if not yet gazetted, was just as certainly achieved.

I dare not trust myself to dwell on this subject; the tremors of hope

and fear I then went through threaten even yet to come back in memory.

A few more words, and I have done. Would that I could spare myself the

pain of these! But it cannot be so; my task must be completed.

I suppose that very few persons have ever formed a rightful estimate

of the extent to which the skill and cleverness of an able lawyer

have enabled him to wound their feelings and insult their self-love. I

conclude this to be the case, not alone from my own brief and unhappy

experience, but from reading a vast number of trials and always

experiencing a sense of astonishment at the powerful perversity of these

men. The cruel insinuation, the imputed meanness, the perversion of

meaning, the insinuations of unworthy motive, are all acquired and

cultivated, like the feints and parries of an accomplished fencer. The

depreciation of a certain testimony, and the exaggerated estimate of

some other; the sneering acknowledgment of this, or the triumphant

assertion of that; the dark menace of a hidden meaning here, and the

subtle insinuation that there was more than met the eye there,--are all

studied and practised efforts, as artificial as the stage-trick of the

actor. And yet how little does all our conviction of this artifice avail

against their influence!

Bad as these are, they are as nothing to the resources in store when the

object is to assail the reputation and blacken the character; to hold

up some poor fellow-man--frail and erring as he may be--to everlasting

shame, and mark him with ignominy forever. Alas for the best and purest!

what an alloy of meanness and littleness, what vanity and self-seeking

mingle with their very noblest and highest efforts. What need, then, to

overwhelm the guilty with more than his guilt, and quote the “Heart”

in the indictment as well as the Crime? No, no; if the best be not all

good, believe me the worst are not all and hopelessly depraved. I have

a right to speak of these things, as one who has felt them. For eight

hours and more I listened to such a character of myself as made me sick,

to very loathing, at my own identity; I heard a man in a great assembly

denounce me as one of the most corrupt and infamous of mankind! I felt

the eyes that were turned towards me, I almost thought I overheard the

muttered reprobation that surrounded me. A number of the incidents of

my changeful life--how learned I know not--were related with every

exaggeration and every perversion that malice could invest them with.

For a while, a sense of guiltlessness supported me; I knew many of the

accusations to be false, others grossly overstated. The scenes in

which I was often depicted as an actor had either no existence, or were

falsehoods based upon some small germ of truth; and yet I heard them

detailed with a semblance of reality, and a degree of coherence as to

time and place, that smote me with very terror, since, though I might

deny, I could not disprove them.

To stamp me as an impostor, and my claim as a cheat, appeared to be the

entire line of the defence. Indeed, he avowed openly that with all the

evidence so painstakingly elicited by the opposite counsel, he should

not trouble the jury with one remark. “When I tell you,” said he, “who

this claimant really is, and how his claim originated, you will forgive

me that I have not embarrassed you with details quite irrelevant to this

action, since of Walter Carew or of any descendant of his there is no

question here! I will produce before you on that table, I will leave

him to all the ingenuity of my learned friend to cross-examine, one who

shall account to you how the first impulse to this daring imposture was

conceived. You will be astounded. It will be, I am aware, a tremendous

tax upon your credulity to compass it; but I will show to your entire

conviction that the man who aspires to the rank of an Irish gentleman,

a vast estate, and an illustrious name, is a foreigner of unknown origin

who began life as an emissary of the French revolutionary party. When

secret treachery superseded the guillotine, he served as a spy; this

trade failing, he fell into the straits and difficulties of the most

abject poverty; the materials of that period of his history are, of

course, difficult to come at. They who walk in such paths, walk darkly

and secretly; but we may be able to display some, at least, of his

actions at this time,--one of them, at all events, will exhibit the

character of the individual, and at the same time put you in possession

of an incident which, in all likelihood, originated this extraordinary

action.

“There may be some now present in this court sufficiently familiar with

London to remember a certain character well known in the precincts of

Charing Cross by the nickname of Gentleman Jack. To those not acquainted

with this individual I may mention that he swept a crossing in that

locality, and had, by a degree of pretension in his appearance, aided by

a natural smartness in repartee, attracted notice from many of the idle

loungers of fashion who daily passed and repassed there. I am not able

to say if his gifts were in any respect above the common. Indeed, I have

heard that it was rather the singular fact that a man in such a station

should be remarkable for any claim to notice whatever, which endowed him

with the popularity he enjoyed. At all events, he was remarkable enough

to be generally, I might say universally, known; and it was the caprice

of certain fashionable folk to accord him a recognition as they passed

by. This degree of attention was harmless, at least, and had it stopped

at that point, might never have called for any reprobation; but modish

follies occasionally take an offensive shape, and this man's pretension

offered the opportunity to display such.

“You have all heard of Carlton House, gentlemen,--of the society of wits

who frequent there, and the charms of a circle in which the chief figure

is not more distinguished for his rank than for the gifts which

elevate social intercourse. To the freedom which this exalted personage

permitted those who approached him thus nearly, there seemed to be

scarcely any limit. Admitting them to his friendship, he endowed them

with almost equality; and there was not a liberty nor a license which

could be practised in ordinary polite intercourse that was not allowed

at that hospitable board.

“You might imagine that men who enjoyed such a privilege would have been

guardedly careful against abusing it; you might fancy that even worldly

motives might have rendered them cautious about imperilling the princely

favor! Not so; they would seem to have lost every consciousness of

propriety in the intoxication of this same flattery; and they actually

dared to take a liberty with this Prince which had been more than

hazardous if ventured upon with a gentleman of private station.

“The story goes that, offended by his Royal Highness having pronounced

marked eulogium on the manners and breeding of an individual who was not

of their set either in politics or society, one of the party--I am not

disposed to give his name, if it can be avoided--dared to make a wager

that he would take a fellow off the streets, give him ruffles and

a dress-coat, and pass him off on the Prince as one of the most

accomplished and well-bred men in Europe.

“Gentlemen, you may fancy that in this anecdote which I have taken the

liberty to relate to you, I am endeavoring to compete with the very

marvellous histories which my learned brother on the opposite side

addressed to your notice. I beg most distinctly to disclaim all such

rivalry. My story has none of those stirring incidents with which his

abounded. The characters and the scene are all of home growth. It has

neither remoteness in point of time, nor distance in country, to lend

it attraction. It has, however, one merit which my learned friend might

reasonably envy, and this is, that it is true. Yes, gentlemen, every

particular I have stated is a fact. I will prove it by a witness whose

evidence will be beyond gainsay. The wager was accepted, and for a

considerable sum too, and a dinnerparty arranged as the occasion by

which to test it. The secrecy which I wish to observe as to the actors

in this most unpardonable piece of levity will prevent my mentioning the

names of those most deeply implicated. One who does not stand in this

unenviable category is now in court, and I will call him before you.”

Colonel Whyte Morris was now called to appear, and, after a brief delay,

a tall, soldier-like, and handsome man, somewhat advanced in life,

ascended the witness-table. I had no recollection of ever having seen

him before; but it is needless to say with what anxiety I followed every

word he uttered.

The ordinary preliminaries over, he was asked if he remembered a certain

dinner-party, of which he was a guest, on a certain day in the autumn of

the year.

He remembered it perfectly, and recounted that it was not easily to be

forgotten, since it took place to decide a very extraordinary wager, the

circumstances of which he briefly related.

“Gentleman Jack was the individual selected by a friend of mine,”

said he, “and who should succeed in winning his Royal Highnesses good

opinion, so as to obtain a flattering estimate of his manners and

good-breeding. To what precise extent the praise was to go was not

specified. There was nothing beyond a gentleman-like understanding that

if Jack passed muster as a man of fashion and ton, his backer was to

have won; if, on the contrary, the Prince should detect any anomalies

in his breeding, so as to throw suspicion upon his real rank, then the

wager was lost.

“I was present,” said the Colonel, “when the ceremony of presenting him

to the Prince took place; I did not know the man myself, nor had I

the slightest suspicion of any trick being practised. I had recently

returned from foreign service, and was almost a stranger to all the

company. Standing close beside Colonel O'Kelly, however, I overheard

what passed, and as the words were really very remarkable, under the

circumstances, I have not forgotten them.” Being asked to relate the

incident, he went on:

“There was a doubt in what manner--I mean rather by what name--the

stranger should be presented to his Royal Highness: some suggesting

one name,--others, a different one; and O'Kelly grew impatient, almost

angry, at the delay, and said, 'D----n it all him something: what shall

it be, Sheridan?' 'The King of the Beggars, say I,' cried Sheridan, and

in a voice, as I thought, to be easily heard all around. 'Who was he?'

asked O'Kelly. 'Bamfield Moore Carew,' answered the other. 'So be it,

then,' said O'Kelly. 'Your Royal Highness will permit me to present a

very distinguished friend of mine, recently arrived in England, and who,

like every true Englishman, feels that his first homage is due to the

Prince who rules in all our hearts.'--'Your friend's name?'--'Carew,

your Royal Highness; but being a wanderer and a vagabond, he has gone

by half-a-dozen names.' The Prince laughed, and turned to hear the

remainder of a story that some one at his side was relating. Meanwhile

the stranger had gone through his introduction, and as Mr. Carew was in

succession presented to the other members of the company--”

“Was he never addressed by any other designation, Colonel?” asked the

lawyer.

“Certainly not,--on that evening, at least.”

“Were you acquainted with his real name?” “No; O'Kelly told me, the

day after the dinner, that the fellow had made his escape from London,

doubtless dreading the consequences of his freak, and all trace of him

was lost.”

“Should you be able to recognize him were you to see him again, Colonel

Morris?”

“Unquestionably; his features were very marked, and I took especial

notice of him as he sat at the card-table.”

“Will you cast your eyes about you through the court, and inform us if

you see him here at present?”

The Colonel turned, and, putting his glass to his eye, scanned the faces

in the gallery and along the crowded ranks beneath it. He then surveyed

the body of the court, and at length fixed his glance on the inner bar,

where, seated beside Mr. Foxley, I sat, pale and almost breathless with

terror. “There he is! that man next but one to the pillar; that is the

man!”

It was the second time that I had stood beneath the concentrated stare

of a vast crowd of people; but oh, how differently this from the last

time! No longer with aspects of compassionate interest and kind feeling,

every glance now was the triumphant sparkle over detected iniquity, the

haughty look of insolent condemnation.

“Tell me of this--what does this mean?” wrote my adviser, on a slip of

paper, and handed it, unperceived, to me.

“It is true!” whispered I, in an accent that almost rent my heart to

utter.

The commotion in the court was now great; the intense anxiety to catch a

sight of me, added to the expressions of astonishment making up a

degree of tumult that the officers essayed vainly to suppress. That the

evidence thus delivered had been a great shock to my advisers was easily

seen; and though Foxley proceeded to cross-examine the Colonel, the

statement was not to be shaken.

“We purpose to afford my learned friend a further exercise for his

ingenuity,” said M'Clelland; “for we shall now summon to the table a

gentleman who has known the plaintiff long and intimately; who knew him

in his real character of secret political agent abroad; and who will be

able not alone to give a correct history of the individual, but also

to inform the jury by what circumstances the first notion of this most

audacious fraud was first suggested, and how it occurred to him to

assume the character and name he had dared to preface this suit by

taking. Before the witness shall leave that table I pledge myself to

establish, beyond the possibility of a cavil, one of the most daring,

most outrageous, and consummate pieces of rascality that has ever come

before the notice of a jury. It is needless that I should say one word

to exonerate my learned friends opposite,--they could, of course, know

nothing of the evidence we shall produce here this day; the worst that

can be alleged against them will be, the insufficiency of their own

searches, and the inadequacy of the proofs on which they began this suit

I can afford to reflect, however, upon their professional skill, as the

recompense for not aspersing their reputation; and I will say that a

more baseless, unsupported action never was introduced into a court of

justice. Call Count Anatole Ysaffich!”

I shall not attempt to describe a scene, the humiliation of which

no vindication of my honor can ever erase. For nearly three hours I

listened to such details, not one of which I could boldly deny, and

yet not one of which was the pure truth, that actually made me feel a

perfect monster of treachery and corruption. Of that life which my own

lawyer had given such a picturesque account, a new version was now to

be heard; the history of my birth I had once given to Ysafflch was all

related circumstantially.

He tracked me as the “adventurer” through every event and incident of my

career,--ever aiming at fortune, ever failing; the hired spy of a party,

the corrupt partisan of the press,--a fellow, in fact, without family,

friends, or country, and just as bereft of every principle of honor.

Ysafflch went on to say that, having shown me Raper's letters and

memoranda on one occasion, I had, on reading them, originated the notion

of this suit, suggesting my own obscure birth and origin as sufficient

to defy all inquiry or investigation. He represented me as stating that

such actions were constantly brought, and as constantly successful;

and even where the best grounds of defence existed, they who were in

possession frequently preferred to compromise a claim rather than to

contest it in open litigation. Though the Count always endeavored to

screen himself behind his ignorance of English law and justice, he made

no scruple of avowing his own complicity in the scheme. He detailed

all the earliest steps of the venture,--where the family crest had

been obtained; by whom it had been 'engraved on my visiting-cards. He

mentioned, with strict accuracy, the very date I had first assumed

the name of Carew; he actually exhibited a letter written by me on the

evening before, and in which I signed myself “Paul Gervois.” With these

matters of fact he mixed up other details, totally untrue,--such as a

mock certificate of my father's marriage at a small town in Normandy,

and which I had never seen nor heard of till that moment. He convulsed

the court with laughter by describing the way in which I used to

rehearse the part of heir and descendant of Walter Carew before him; and

after a vast variety of details, either wholly or partially untrue, he

produced my written promise to pay him an enormous sum, in the event of

the success of the present action. Truly had the lawyer said, “Such an

exposure was never before witnessed in a court of justice.” And now

for above an hour did he continue to accumulate evidences of fraud and

deception,--in the allegations made by me before officials of the court;

affidavits sworn to; documents attested before consuls in Holland;

inaccuracies of expression; faults even of spelling,--not very difficult

to account for in one whose education and life for the most part had

been spent abroad,--were all quoted and adduced, as showing the actual

insolence of presumption which had marked every step of this imposture.

The Court interrupted the counsel at this conjuncture by an observation

which I could not hear, to which the lawyer replied, “It shall be as

your Lordship suggests; though, were I permitted a choice, I should

infinitely prefer to probe this foul wound to its last depth. I would

far rather display this consummate impostor to the world, less as a

punishment to himself than as a warning and a terror to others.”

Here my counsel rose, and said that he had conferred with his learned

friends in the case as to the course he ought to pursue. He could

not express the emotions which he felt at the exposures they had just

witnessed; nor did he deem it necessary to say for himself and his

brother-barristers, as well as for the respectable solicitors employed,

that the revelations then made had come upon them entirely by surprise.

Well weighing the responsible position they occupied towards the

plaintiff, whose advocates they were, they still felt, after the

appalling exhibition they had witnessed,--an exposure unparalleled in a

court of justice,--it would be unbefitting their station as gentlemen,

and unworthy of their duty as barristers, any longer to continue this

contest.

A low murmur of approbation ran through the court as the words were

concluded, and the Judge solemnly added, “You have shown a very

wise discretion, sir, and which completely exonerates you from any

foreknowledge of this fraud.”

The defendant's counsel then requested that the Court would not permit

the plaintiff to leave.

“We intend to prefer charges of forgery and perjury against him, my

Lord,” said he; “and meanwhile I desire that the various documents we

have seen may be impounded.”

On an order from the Judge, the plaintiff was now taken into custody;

and after, as it appeared, one or two vain efforts to address the Court,

in which his voice utterly failed him, he was removed.

Mr. M'Clelland could not take his farewell of the case without

expressing his full concurrence in the opinion expressed by the Court

regarding his learned friends opposite, whose ability during the contest

was only to be equalled by the integrity with which they guided their

conduct when defence had become worse than hopeless.

The defence of this remarkable suit will cost Mr. Curtis, it is said,

upwards of seven thousand pounds.

A very few words will now complete this history. Let him who writes them

be permitted to derive them from the public journals of the time, since

it is no longer without deep humiliation he can venture to speak of

himself. Alas and alas! too true is it, the penalties of crime are as

stigmatizing as crime itself! The stripes upon the back, the brand upon

the brow, are more enduring than the other memories of vice. Be innocent

of all offence, appeal to your own heart with conscious rectitude, yet

say, if the chain has galled your ankle, and the iron bar has divided

the sunlight that streamed into your cell,--say, if you can, that

self-esteem came out intact and unwounded, after such indignity.

I speak this with no malice to my fellow-men--I bear no grudge against

those who sentenced me; too deeply conscious am I of my many offences

against the world to assume even to myself the pretension of martyr;

but I do assert that vindication of character, restitution to fair fame,

comes late when once the terrible ordeal of public condemnation has been

passed. The very pity men extend to you humiliates--their compassion

savors of mercy; and mercy is the attribute of One alone!

The “Morning Advertiser” informed its readers, amidst its paragraphs of

events, “That, on Wednesday last, Paul Gervois, the celebrated claimant

to the estates of the late Walter Carew, was forwarded to Cork, previous

to embarking on board the transport-ship 'Craven Castle,' in pursuance

of the sentence passed upon him last assizes, of banishment beyond the

seas for the term of his natural life. The wretched man, who since the

discovery that marked the concluding scene of his trial, has scarcely

uttered a word, declined all defence, and while obstinately rejecting

any assistance from counsel, still persisted in pleading not guilty, to

the last.

“It is asserted, we know not with what authority, that the eminent

leader of the Western Circuit is fully persuaded not only of Gervois'

innocence, but actually of his right to the vast property to which he

pretended to be the heir; and had it not been for a severe attack of

gout, Mr. Hanchett would have defended him on his late trial.”

Amidst the fashionable intelligence of the same day, we read that “a

very large and brilliant company are passing the Easter holidays at

the hospitable seat of Joseph Curtis, Castle Carew, amongst whom we

recognized Lord and Lady Ogletown, Sir Massy Digby, the Right Hon.

Francis Malone, Major-General Count Ysaffich, Knight of various orders,

and Augustus Clifford, etc.”

I was on board of a convict hulk in Cork harbor from March till the

latter end of November, not knowing, nor indeed caring, why my sentence

of transportation had not been carried out. The shock under which I had

fallen still stunned me. Life was become a dreary, monotonous dream,

but I had no wish to awake from it; on the contrary, the only acute

suffering I can trace to that period was, when the unhappy fate which

attached to me excited sentiments of either compassion or curiosity in

others. Prison discipline had not, at the time I speak of, received

the development it has since attained; greater freedom of action was

permitted to those in charge of prisoners, who, provided that their

safety was assured, were suffered to treat them with any degree of

severity or harshness that they fancied.

The extraordinary features of the trial in which I had figured--the

“outrageous daring of my pretensions,” as the newspapers styled

it--attracted towards me some of that half-morbid interest which,

somehow, attaches to any remarkable crime. Scarcely a week passed

without some visitor or other desiring to see me; and I was ordered

to come up on deck, or to “walk aft on the poop,” to be stared at and

surveyed, as though I had been some newly discovered animal of the

woods.

These were very mortifying moments to me, and as I well knew that their

humiliation formed no part of my sentence, I felt disposed to rebel

against this infliction. The resolution required more energy, however,

than I possessed, nor was it till after long and painful endurance that

I resolved finally to resist. As I could not refuse to walk up on deck

when ordered, the only resistance in my power was to maintain silence,

and not reply to a single question of those whose vulgar and heartless

curiosity prompted them to make an amusement of my suffering.

“The fellow won't speak, gentlemen,” said the superintendent one

morning to a very numerous party, who, in all the joyousness of life and

liberty, came to heighten their zest for pleasure by the sight of sorrow

and pain. “He was never very communicative about himself, but latterly

he refuses to utter a word.”

“He still persists in asserting his innocence?” asked one of the

strangers, but in a voice easily overheard by me.

“Not to any of us, sir,” replied the turnkey, gruffly; “he may do so

with his fellows below in the hold, but he knows better than to try on

that gammon with us.”

“I must say,” said one, in a half-whisper, “that, even in that dress, he

has the look of a gentleman about him.”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed another, “if his story were to be true!”

I know not what chord in my heart responded to that sudden burst

of feeling. I am fully convinced that, to anything like systematic

condolence or well-worded compassion, I should have been cold as a

stone; and yet I burst into tears as he spoke, and sobbed convulsively.

“Ah! he's a deep one,” muttered the turnkey. “Take him down with you,

corporal;” and I was marched away, glad to hide my shame and my sorrow

in secret.

Various drafts had been made of those who had been my companions, until

at last not one remained of those originally sentenced at the same

assizes with myself. What this might portend I knew not. Was I destined

to end my days on board of this dark and dismal hulk?--was I never to

press earth once more with my feet? How simply that sounds; but let me

tell you, there is some strange, high instinct in the heart of man that

attaches him to the very soil of earth. That clay of which we came, and

to which we are one day to return, has a powerful hold upon our hearts.

He who toils in it loves it with a fonder love than the great lord who

owns it. Its varied aspects in sunshine and in shade, its changeful hues

of season, its fragrance and its barrenness, are the books in which

he reads; its years of fruitfulness are the joyous episodes of his

existence. The mother earth is the parent that makes all men akin, and

teaches us to love each other like brethren.

“Well, Gervois,” said the turnkey to me one morning, “you are to go at

last, they say. Old Hanchett has argued your case till there is no more

to be said of it; but the Lords have decided against you, and now you

are to sail with the next batch.”

The announcement gave me neither pleasure nor pain; even this evidence

of Hanchett's kindness towards me did not touch my feelings, for I had

outlived every sentiment of regard or esteem, and lay cold and apathetic

to whatever might betide me.

Possibly this indifference of mine might have piqued him, for he tried

to stimulate me to some show of interest, or even of curiosity about my

own case, by dropping hints of the points of law on which the appeal was

grounded, and the ingenuity by which counsel endeavored to rescue me.

But all his efforts failed; I was dead to the past, and careless for the

future.

“Here's another order come about you,” said he to me about a week after

this; “you are not to be shipped off next time. They 've found something

else in your case now, which, they say, will puzzle the twelve judges.

Mayhap you 'd like to read it, if I could get you the newspaper?”

“It were kinder to leave me as I am,” replied I. “He who can only awake

to sorrow had better be let sleep on.”

“Just as you please, my man,” rejoined he, gruffly; “though, if I were

you, I 'd like to know that my case was not hopeless.”

“You fancy that it matters to me whether my sentence be seven years or

seventy; whether I be condemned to chains here, or hard labor there, or

mere imprisonment without either; but I tell you that for the terms of

the penalty I care almost nothing. The degradation of the felon absorbs

all the rest. When the law has once separated from all save the guilty,

it has done its worst.”

This was the second attempt he made to stimulate my curiosity. His third

venture was more successful.

“So, Gervois,” said he, seating himself opposite me, “they 're on the

right scent at last in your business; they're likely to discover the

real heir to that property you tried for.”

“What do you mean?” asked I.

“Why, it seems somehow there is, or there ought to be somewhere, a young

fellow, a son to this same Carew; and if what the newspapers here say be

true, his right to the estate can be soon established.”

I stared at him with amazement, and he went on.

“Listen to this: 'Our readers cannot fail to remember a very remarkable

suit which lately occupied no small share of public attention, by the

efforts of a fraudulent conspiracy to undermine the title of one of the

largest landed proprietors in this kingdom. It would appear now that

some very important discoveries have been made in America respecting

this claim, particulars of which have been already forwarded to England.

As the parties who have made these discoveries may soon be expected

in this country, it is not impossible that we may soon hear of another

action of ejectment, although on very different grounds, and with very

different results from the late one.'”

A very few days after this there appeared another and still more

remarkable paragraph, copied from the “London Chronicle,” which ran

thus:--

“We mentioned a few days back that an estate, the claim to which was the

subject of a late most remarkable lawsuit, was likely again to furnish

matter for the occupation of the gentlemen of the long robe. There would

seem now to be no doubt upon the subject, as one of the most eminent

solicitors in this country has received instructions to take the

necessary steps preliminary to a new action at law. The newly discovered

facts are sufficiently curious to deserve mention. The late Walter

Carew, Esq., was reputed to have married a French lady, who, although

believed to have been of high and distinguished rank, was no longer

traceable to any family, nor indeed to any locality in France» There

were many mysterious circumstances attending this alleged union, which

made the fact of a marriage very doubtful. Nothing certainly could

be discovered amongst Carew's papers, or little to authenticate the

circumstances, nor was there a single allusion to be found to it in his

handwriting. A singular accident has at length brought this document

to light; and although the individual whose fortune it most nearly

concerned has ceased to exist,--he died, it is believed, in the affair

of the Sections at Paris,--the result will, in all probability, affect

the possession of the vast property in question.

“The discovery to which we allude is as follows: A mass of papers and

family documents were deposited by the late Duke of Montpensier in the

hands of certain bankers in Philadelphia, in whose possession they have

remained, undisturbed and unexplored, up to within a few weeks back,

when the Duke of Orleans, desiring to know if a particular document that

he sought for was amongst the number, addressed himself to the firm for

this purpose. Whether success attended the search in question we know

not, but it certainly elicited another and most curious discovery:

no less than that the late Madame de Carew was a natural daughter

of Philippe, Duke of Orleans, the celebrated 'Égalité,' and that her

marriage had been the result of a wager lost by the Duke to Carew. We

are not at liberty to divulge any more of the singular circumstances of

this strange compact, though we may add, what in the present is the more

important element of the case, no less than this marriage certificate

of Walter Carew and Josephine de Courtois, forwarded to the Duke in a

letter from the Duchesse de Sargance, who had accompanied them.

“The letter of the Duchess herself is not one of the least singular

parts of this most strange history, since it mentions the marriage in

a style of apology, and consoles the Duke for the _mésalliance_ by the

assurance that, probably, in the obscurity of Ireland, they will never

more be heard of.

“Amongst the strange coincidences of this strange event, another still

remains to be told. It was in the hands of the firm of Rogers and Raper

that these documents were deposited, and Mr. Raper himself has passed

half a lifetime in the vain search for the very piece of evidence which

mere chance has thus presented to him.

“That Gervois, the celebrated impostor in this case, must have, by some

means or other, obtained an insight into the strange circumstances of

this story, is quite evident, and we understand that the order for

his departure has been countermanded till he be interrogated as to the

amount of his knowledge, and the sources from which he derived it. Mr.

Raper and the Countess of Gabriac, an Irishwoman by birth, are expected

daily to arrive in this country, and we may look forward to their coming

for the elucidation of one of the most curious stories in our domestic

annals.

“There is a story current that Lady Hester Stanhope remembers, some

years back, a young man having presented himself to Mr. Pitt as the son

of the late Walter Carew, and shown certain papers to authenticate his

claim; and as the occurrence took place subsequent to the year '95, it

is evident that if his pretensions were well founded, there could be

no truth in the account of his having fallen in the 'Battle of the

Sections.'”

I have no heart to speak of how these passages affected me. To hear that

my dear mother and Raper still lived; that they not only remembered me,

but that their deep devotion to my cause still animated them,--was too

much to bear! Bruised, and shattered, and broken down by fortune, this

proof of affection kindled the almost dead embers of feeling within me,

and I fell upon my knees in thankful prayer to Heaven that I was not

deserted nor forgotten! It was no longer rank, and wealth, and riches

that glittered before me. I sought for no splendors of fortune or high

estate. All that I asked, all that I prayed for, was an honorable

name before man, and that love which should once more reconcile me to

myself,--lift me from the lonely depths of my isolation, and make a home

for me with those to whom I was dear.

“On deck, Gervois,” said the turnkey, arousing me from a deep revery a

few days after this interview; “on deck--here are some strangers want to

have a look at ye.”

I slowly followed him up the ladder. I was weak and sickly, but no

longer dispirited nor depressed; a faint flickering of hope now burned

within me, and I felt that, even to the vulgar stare of curiosity, I

could present the steady gaze of one whose vindication might one day be

pronounced. I had but touched the deck with my foot when I was clasped

in a strong embrace, and Polly's voice, as she kissed me, cried, “My own

dear, dear boy; my own long-lost child!”

Raper's arms were around me too; and another that I knew not, a

white-haired man, old and sorrow-stricken, but noble-looking, grasped my

hand in his, and said,--

“His father, every inch of him!”

Poor MacNaghten! he had come from fourteen years of imprisonment to

devote his first moment of liberty to bless and embrace me.

Oh! you who have known what it is to be rescued from death when every

hope of life had left you; who have from the storm-tossed raft watched

the sail as it came nearer and nearer, and at last heard the loud

cheer that said, “Be of good courage--a moment more and we will be with

you!”--even you, in that moment of blissful agony, cannot sound the

depth of emotion which was mine, as, throwing off the stain of the

felon, I stood forth in the pride of my guiltlessness, able to say

to the world, See how you have wronged me! See how, confounding the

weakness and the folly of the human heart with direct and actual

criminality, you have suffered the probable or the possible to usurp the

place of the inevitably true; have been so carried away by prejudice

or by passion as to sentence an innocent man!--see, I say, that your

judgments are fallible and your tests are weak; and bethink you that all

you can do hereafter in atonement of your error can never erase the deep

welt of the fetter on his limb, or the more terrible brand that stamped

“guilty” on his name. If you cannot be always just, be sometimes

merciful; distrust, at least, the promptings that disposed you to

condemn, and say to your heart, “Good God, if this man were to prove

innocent!”

I am now wealthy and rich. Years of prosperity have rolled over

me,--years of tranquil happiness and sincere enjoyment. There is not

a day on which I have not to thank Heaven for blessings of health

and vigor, for the love of kind hearts, and for the affection of many

benevolent natures. I know and I acknowledge that these are more than

the recompense of any sorrows I have suffered; and in my daily walk of

life I try to aid those who suffer, to console affliction, and to cheer

weak-heartedness. The happiness that others seek and find within the

circle of their own, I look for in the wider family of mankind, and I am

not disappointed.

Polly and Raper live with me. MacNaghten, too, inhabits the old room

that once was his. Poor fellow, in his extreme old age he loves every

spot that revives a memory of the past, and in his wanderings often

calls me “Walter.”

It remains for me but to say that the singular events which ultimately

restored me to my own, attracted the attention of royalty. The various

details which came out upon the trial, with the evidence given by the

Countess of Gabriac and Raper,--all of which, involving so much already

known, I have spared the reader,--so far interested the King that he

expressed a desire to see me at Court.

I hastened, of course, to obey the command, and from the royal hand

received the honor of knighthood, his Majesty saying, “We should have

made you a baronet, only that it would have been of no use to you,

seeing that you are the last of the Carews of Castle Carew.”

Yes, kind reader, and these, too, are our last words to you. Would that

anything in these memorials of a life may have served to lighten a weary

hour, or softened a moment of suffering; since to the higher purposes of

instruction or improvement they lay no claim. At all events, think of

me as one too deeply conscious of his own faults to hide or to extenuate

them, and too sincerely sensible of his good fortune not to strive to

extend its blessings to others.--Adieu!

THE END.