"'I ask,' she continued, 'because you have often spoken of him as if you
could not confidently. May he not have--I judge of him only from your
report--some motive for his present conduct which we cannot penetrate? It
is an unkind world, and the innocent and guileless are not safe from the
schemes and contrivances of the wicked. I speak at random, but I am filled
with alarm for you. You are safe now--but one step may be your ruin.'
"'You are right, Anna,' I replied; 'it is too great a venture, I cannot
trust this man. I will not leave the path of duty. I will refuse his offer
this very night.'
"And I did so. In her presence I wrote an answer to his letter, and
declined respectfully the brilliant prospect which he had placed before
me. The letter was dispatched--Anna was at peace, and my own mind was
satisfied.
"It was, however, not my fate to pass safely through this fiery ordeal.
Nothing but my destruction, final and entire, would satisfy my greedy
persecutor--and artfully enough did he at length encompass it. In a few
days, there arrived a third communication on the same subject, but from
another hand. My mother became the correspondent, and she conjured me by
my filial love and duty, not to disobey her. She desired to retire into
privacy. She was growing old and it was time to make arrangements for
another world. Her son, if he would, might enable her to carry out her
pious wish--or, by his obstinate refusal, hurry her with sorrow to the
grave. There was much more to this effect. Appeal upon appeal was made
_there_, where she knew me to be most vulnerable, and the choice of
action was not left me. To deny her longer--would be to stand convicted
of disobedience, undutifulness, and all unfilial faults. From this
period, I was lost. One word before I hurry to the end. I absolve my
mother from all participation in the crimes of which boldly I accuse my
uncle. She, poor helpless woman, was but his instrument, and believed,
when she urged me, that it was with a view to my advancement and lasting
benefit. I conveyed my mother's communication immediately to Anna. She
made no observation on its contents--bade me seek counsel of her father;
and with her eyes streaming with agonizing tears, left me to pray upon my
knees for counsel and direction from on high. Her father--I could not
blame him--a man who had struggled hardly for his bread as a clergyman
and a scholar--and seen more of the dark shadows than the light of
life--received my intelligence with unmingled satisfaction. He charged
me, as I loved his child, and valued her future welfare, to accept the
princely kindness of my friends--to see them instantly, and secure my
fortune whilst time and circumstances served. And then, as if to appease
his own qualms of conscience, and to justify his counsel, he reasoned
about the usefulness which, even to a pious mind, was permitted in the
exercise of trade. Infinite was the good that I might do. Yea, more,
perhaps, than if I persisted in my first design, and remained for ever a
poor clergyman; I might relieve the poor even to my heart's content. What
privilege so great as this! What suffering so acute as the desire to help
the sick and needy with no ability to do it! 'Be sure, young man, the
hand of Providence is here; it would be sinful to deny it.' O
_interest--interest!--self--self_!--words of magic and of power; they
rendered my poor friend blind as they did me. I listened to his advice
with eagerness and delight; and though I knew that to obey it was to cast
myself from security into turmoil and danger, I laboured to persuade
myself that he was right, and that hesitation was now criminal. Again I
saw my betrothed, and I approached her--innocent and truthful as she
was--with shame and self-abasement. I repeated her father's words, and
she shook her head sadly, but made no reply. What need was there of
reply? Had she not already spoken?
"'Let me, at least, dear Anna, go to London,' I said, 'and implore my
mother to retract this wish, unsay her words. I would rather give up the
world, than take it without your cheerful acquiescence. Your happiness is
every thing to me. You shall decide for me.'
"'No, Warton,' she replied--'you and my father must decide, and may Heaven
direct you both. Go to London--do as you wish. I am resigned. I am
presumptuous, and may be wrong. All will be for the best. Go! God bless
you and support you.'
"And I went, traitor and renegade that I was, prepared to surrender to the
bitterest foe that ever hunted victim down. Believe me not, sir, when I
say that any sense of filial duty actuated me in my resolve, that any
feeling influenced this unsteady heart but one--The desire to call my Anna
mine--the pride I felt in the consciousness of wealth--and of the power
to bestow it all on her.
"My reception in London was as favourable as I could wish it. My uncle was
an altered man--at least he appeared so. He met me with smiles and honied
words, and made such promises of friendship and protection, that I stood
before him convicted of uncharitableness and gross misconduct. I
reproached myself for the old prejudices, and for the malice which I had
always borne him, and attributed them all to boyish inexperience, and
stubbornness. I was older now, and could see with the eyes of a man. Not
only did I acquit him of all intention of wrong, but I could have fallen
on my knees before him, and asked his pardon for my own offences. I wrote
a long letter to Anna, and described in lively colours my own agreeable
surprise, desired her to be of good heart, and to rely upon my prudence. I
engaged to write daily, to announce the progress of my mission--and to
advise her of the proposed arrangements. This was my first communication.
Before she could receive a second, I had put my hand to paper, and signed
my death-warrant. I had irretrievably committed myself. I was living with
my uncle. His wine was of the best. He could drink freely of it, and get
cooler and more collected at each glass, but frequent draughts animated
and inflamed my younger head. He spoke to me with kindness, and I grew
confiding and loquacious. I told him of my engagement with Anna, described
her beauty, extolled her virtues. He seized the golden opportunity, and
reproved me gently for the little consideration which I exhibited for one
so worthy of my love. It was unpardonably selfish to hesitate one instant
longer. It was due to her, and to our future offspring, to make every
provision for their maintenance and comfort. It was madness to overlook
the advantages which my mother's offer gave. She herself, the lovely Anna,
as her cares increased, would mourn over the cruel obstinacy of him who
might have placed her beyond anxiety and apprehension, but who preferred
to keep her poor, dependent, joyless. She was young, and spoke, doubtless,
as she felt--but time would dissipate romance, and bitterly would she
regret that he who professed to love her had not taken pains to prove that
love more thoughtful and sincere. So he went on--and, in the height of his
appeal, a visitor was announced--Mr Gilbert, an old friend, an intimate,
who was immediately admitted. I was requested not to mind him, for he knew
every secret of my uncle's. The latter repeated my story, and ended with
an account of my ingratitude to Anna. Mr Gilbert could scarcely speak for
his astonishment. He shook his head severely, and vowed the case was quite
unparalleled. I drank on--the thought of the immediate possession of my
Anna flashed once powerfully and effectually across my brain, and I held
out no longer. I yielded to the sweet solicitation--and was lost.
"On the following morning, Mr Gilbert arrived to breakfast. The subject
was resumed. My uncle produced a paper, which he had hastily drawn up. It
should be signed by all. Mr Gilbert, as a friend, could witness it. It was
a rough draught, but would answer every purpose for the present. The
statement was very simple. My mother left in the firm twenty thousand
pounds in stock, and cash and book debts. For this I made myself
responsible, and undertook to pay an interest of five per cent. All
profits in the business were my own. Fool that I was, I signed the
document without reflection--gave, with one movement of the pen, my
liberty, my happiness, and life, into the power of one who had for years
resolved to get them in his clutch. My uncle followed with his
signature--then Mr Gilbert. To make all sure, however, a clerk of the
former was summoned to the room, and requested to act as second witness
to the deed.
"You are perfectly satisfied with the contents?' said Mr Gilbert to my
uncle, when the clerk had finished.
"'Quite so,' was the answer.
"'And you, sir?' he continued, turning then to me.
"'I answered, '_Yes_,' whilst a sickening shudder crept through my blood,
and the remonstrance of Anna sounded in my ears like a knell.
"I remained in London, and a week after this ceremony I entered upon my
duties at the counting-house. _At the earnest recommendation of my
uncle_, I carried into the business, as additional capital, the sum of
money from which I had hitherto derived my income. This amounted to
nearly four thousand pounds. It may seem strange to you, sir, as it does
to me now, that I should so readily have adopted the statement of my
uncle, and so deeply involved myself upon the strength of his simple
_ipse dixit_. It was a mad-man's act, and yet there were many excuses for
it at the time. I was but a boy--fresh from a life of retirement and
study--unused to the ways of men--unprepared for fraud. Satisfied of my
own integrity, I believed implicitly in the ingenuousness of others. I
had no friend to act for me--to investigate and warn--my heart was
burthened with its love, and all my thoughts were far away. The business
had prospered for years, and it was conducted externally as in the days
of my poor father. All was decorous and business-like, and the reputation
of the house was high and unblemished. There was nothing in the
appearance of things to excite suspicion--and not a breath was suggested
from my own too easy and confiding nature. The father of my betrothed!
was delighted at the step which I had taken. He wrote me an impassioned
letter, full of praise and brilliant prophecies, none of which he lived
to see fulfilled. His daughter, he assured me, would yet be grateful to
me for the firmness I had evinced, and that the blessing of Heaven must
attend conduct so estimable and wise. Anna herself wrote in another
strain. The act which she had so long dreaded was accomplished--it was
useless to look back--she could only hope and pray for the future. She
entreated me to be careful of my health, and to accustom myself gradually
to my new employment. It was a consolation to behold her father so very
happy, and to find me contented in my position. Nothing would give her
now such satisfaction, as to be convinced that she had been wrong
throughout, and that I had done well in giving up my former occupations.
A month passed quickly by. The engagements of the firm were met--and its
affairs were carried on as usual. No change took place. The only
difference was my presence, and the appearance of my name in all the
transactions of the house. I saw my mother frequently--but my uncle, by
degrees, withdrew. His own affairs required his constant attention, but
he provided me with help and countenance in the person of Mr Gilbert.
This gentleman, in addition to the character of a bosom friend, sustained
another--that of _legal adviser_ to my uncle! He visited me daily, and
helped me marvellously. He procured from my uncle my patrimony of four
thousand pounds--drew up in return for it a release, which I
executed--paid the money into my banker's hands--received my mother's
dividend--inspected the accounts--advised summary proceedings against
defaulters--and settled, at a certain rate, to purchase a few outstanding
debts, which it would cost some trouble and manoeuvring to get in. I
could not choose but act upon advice that was at once so very friendly
and professional. My inexperience, for a time, gratefully reposed in Mr
Gilbert. Exactly two months after I had entered the concern, I married.
Sun never rose more promisingly upon a wedding-day--a lovelier bride had
never graced it. I pass over the few intoxicating weeks during which life
assumes a form and hue which it never wore before--never puts forth
again. The novelty of my situation--the joy I had in her possession, and
in the knowledge that she was wholly mine--lived now and breathed for
me--the pride with which I gazed upon her blooming beauty, and communed
with her, as with a new-found better self--all combined to render one
brief season a sweet delirium--an ecstatic dream. It is time to wake from
it. I return to the business. I had agreed to pay my mother's dividend
every quarter--and, as I told you, Mr Gilbert received the money for her.
She did not live to enjoy it. A short illness removed her from a world
which had never been one of sorrow to her. Her heart was adamant, and
troubled waters passed over--did not enter and disturb it. All that she
had became my uncle's, and he was now my creditor. I beg you, sir, to
mark this. Twice had he inherited the property which should have been my
own. It was about a twelvemonth after the death of my mother, that small,
dark shadows appeared in the horizon, foretelling storm and tempest. At
first they gave me no uneasiness, but they increased and gathered, and
soon compelled me to take measures for the outbreak. I continued to
discharge my uncle's claim with undeviating regularity. Mr Gilbert
sharply saw to that; but a difficulty arose at length of meeting
punctually all the demands which came upon me in the way of business.
This was overcome in the beginning, by enforcing payment from customers
who had traded previously on a liberal credit. The evil thus temporarily
repaired gave rise, however, to a greater evil. Our friends withdrew
their favours, and offered them else where. This critical state of things
did not improve, but caused me daily fresh alarm. Money became more
scarce--the difficulty of meeting payments more imminent and harassing.
It was very strange. It had not been so in my father's time; nor later,
when my mother had the management of affairs. Was it my fault? What had I
done amiss. Frightful thoughts began to haunt my bosom, and my sleep was
broken, as a criminal's might be. One day I had a heavy sum to pay. It
was on the fourth of the month--a serious day to many--and, although I
had made every exertion to meet this payment, I found myself, on the very
morning, at least two hundred pounds deficient. I have told you, that the
credit of our house was without a spot. Its reputation stood high amongst
the highest. Slander had not dared to breathe one syllable against it. To
me was entrusted this precious jewel, and I was now upon the very brink
of losing it. I rose from my pillow before daylight, and endeavoured to
contrive a plan for my relief. Fear and excitement prevented all
deliberate thought, and I walked to the counting-house confounded--almost
delirious. I had taken no food. I could not break my fast until the
exigency had passed away. I was sitting in the little room, filled with
dismal apprehensions, when Mr Gilbert was announced, and suddenly
appeared. As suddenly I resolved to tell him of my necessity, and to ask
his aid or counsel. Blushing to the forehead, I confided my situation to
him, and asked what it was possible to do. He smiled in answer produced
his pocket-book, and gave me, without a word; a draft upon his banker for
the sum required. At that moment, sir, I felt what it was to be respited
after sentence of death--to be rescued from drowning--to awaken into life
from horrible and numbing dreams. I pressed the hand of my deliverer with
the most affectionate zeal, and assured him of my everlasting gratitude.
"'No occasion, my dear sir,' answered Mr Gilbert. 'This is a very common
case in business, and will happen to the best of men. Never hesitate to
ask me when you are in need. When I have the cash, you shall command me
always. Give me your IOU--that will be quite sufficient, and pay the money
back when it is quite convenient.' Disinterested, most praiseworthy man!
He left me, impressed with his benevolence, and with my spirit at rest.
With the dismissal of my incubus, my appetite was restored. I partook of a
hearty dinner, and returned home, happy as a boy again. At the end of a
week, I was enabled to repay my benefactor; but, at the end of a
fortnight; I was again in need of his assistance. Emboldened by his offer,
I did not hesitate to apply; as freely as before he responded to my call;
and I felt that I had gained a friend indeed. Men who have committed
heinous crimes, will tell you that it is the first divergence from the
point of rectitude that gives them pain and anguish. The false direction
once obtained, and the moral sense is blunted. So in matters of this kind.
There was no blushing or palpitation when I begged a third time for a
temporary loan. The occasion soon presented itself, and I asked
deliberately for the sum I wanted. Mr Gilbert likewise had grown familiar
with these demands; and familiarity, they say, does not heighten our
politeness and respect. He had not the money by him, but he might get it,
though, from a friend, he thought, if it were absolutely necessary. But
then a friend is not like one's self. He must be paid for what he did.
Well, for once in the way, I could afford it. I must borrow as cheaply, as
I could, and give my note of hand, &c. Sir, in less than three months; I
was in a mesh of difficulties, from which it was impossible to tear
myself. Bill after bill had I accepted and given to this Gilbert--pounds
upon pounds had he sucked from me in the way of interest; He grew greedier
every hour. If I hesitated; he spoke to me of exposure--I refused, he
threatened enforcement of his previous claims. And, what was worse than
all, notwithstanding the heavy sums which he advanced, and for which he
held securities, my affairs remained disordered, and the demand for money
increased with every new supply. I could not understand it. I had not
communicated with my uncle. I was afraid to do it; but I took care to pay
his dividend the instant it was due. Had I omitted it, Mr Gilbert would
have looked to me; for he was even more anxious than myself to keep my
affairs a secret from my uncle. It was not long before I got bewildered by
the accumulated anxieties of my position. My mind was paralyzed. My days
were wretched. Home had no delight for me; and neither there nor elsewhere
could I find repose. Before daybreak, I quitted my bed, and until
midnight, I was occupied in arranging for the engagements of the coming
day. Legitimate and profitable business was neglected; lost sight of, and
all my faculties were engrossed in the one great object of obtaining
_money_ to appease the present and the pressing importunity. In the midst
of my trouble, I was thrown, for the first time, upon a bed of sickness. I
was attacked with fever, but I rallied in a day or two, and was prepared
once more to cast myself into the vortex from which I saw no hope or
possibility of escape. It was the evening before the day on which I had
determined to resume the whirl of my sickening occupation. I was in bed,
and, tired with the thought that weighed upon my brain, had fallen into a
temporary sleep, from which I woke too soon, to find my wife, now about to
become a mother, weeping as if her heart were broken, at my side. Trouble,
sir, had soured my temper, and I had ceased to be as tender as she
deserved. I was base enough to speak unkindly to her.
"'You are discontented, Anna,' I exclaimed. You are not satisfied--you
repent now that you married me'--I see you do.'
"'Warton,' she exclaimed, 'if you love me, leave this cruel business. Let
us live upon a crust. I will work for you. I will submit to any thing to
see you calm and happy. This will kill you.'
"'It will, it must!' I cried out in misery. 'I cannot help it. What is to
be done?'
"'Retire from it--resign all--every thing--but save us both. This
agitation--this ceaseless wear and tear--must eventually, and soon,
destroy you. What, then, becomes of me?'
"'Show me, Anna, how I can do what you desire with honour. Show me the
way, and I will bless you. Oh, why did I not heed your words before! Why
did I suffer myself to be entrapped'--
"She stopped me in my exclamations.
"'You have promised, dear,' said she, 'never to look upon the past. You
acted for the best. So did we all. It is our consolation and support. But
the present is sad and mournful, and, I believe, it rests with ourselves
to secure our happiness for the future. Are you content to do it?'
"'Oh, can you ask me, Anna? Tell me how I may escape without
discredit--without shame and one dishonourable taint--and you take me
from the depths of my despair. I see no end to this career. I am fixed to
the stake, and I must burn.'
"'Listen to me, dearest. You shall write to your uncle without delay, and
explain to him your wishes. You shall tell him of your difficulties
frankly and unreservedly. Make known to him your state of health, and tell
him firmly that you are unequal to the burden which is laid upon you.
Should he insist upon a recompense for your loss, you have money of your
own there--yield it to him, and these hands shall never rest until they
have earned for you every shilling of it back again. Be tranquil,
resolute, cheerful, and all will yet be well, I trust--I feel it will.'
"I had once refused to act on her advice, and the consequences had been
dire enough. When compliance was too late, I implicitly obeyed her. The
letter was written, and an answer came as speedily as we could wish it. It
was a kind reply. My uncle was sorry for my illness, and was content to
take the business off my hands, if I was ready to resign it in the
condition that I had found it. And this, I thanked my God with tears of
joy, I was prepared to do. My personal expenses had been trifling. The
amount of business done was large--my the profits had not been withdrawn.
Although my sufferings had been great, and difficulties had met me which I
could neither prevent nor comprehend, still reason told me that the
property must have increased in value. It was with alacrity that I
engaged, at my uncle's particular request, an accountant to investigate
the proceedings of the house, and to pronounce upon its present state. The
result of the examination could not but be most satisfactory. It did not
occur to me at the time, that my uncle had deemed no accountant necessary
when he heaped upon me the responsibility which I had borne so ill. It
would have been but fair, methinks. A time was fixed for a meeting with my
uncle, and for producing the result of the enquiry. The accountant had
been closely engaged at his work for many days, and had brought it to an
end only on the evening preceding the day of our appointment. He submitted
his estimate to me, and you shall judge my horror when I perused it. There
were many sheets of paper, but in one line my misery was summed up. EIGHT
THOUSAND POUNDS _were deficient and unaccounted for_. Yes, and my own
small fortune had been included in the amount of capital. The accountant
had been careful and exact--there was not a flaw in his reckoning. The
glaring discrepancy stared me in the face, and pronounced my ruin. I knew
not what to think or do. In accents of the most earnest supplication, I
entreated the accountant to pass the night in reviewing his labours, and
to afford me, if possible, the means of rescuing my name from the obloquy
which, in a few hours, must attach to it. I offered him any sum of
money--all that he could ask--for his pains, and he promised to comply
with my request. The idea that I had been the victim of a trick, a fraud,
never glanced across my mind. No, when my wretchedness permitted me to
think at all, I suspected and accused no one but myself. I could imagine
and believe that, inadvertently, I had committed some great error when my
soul had been darkened by the daily and hourly anxieties which had
followed it so long. But how to discover it? How to make my innocence
apparent to the world? How to face my uncle? How to brave the taunts of
men? How, above all, to meet the huge demands which soon would press and
fall upon me? The tortures of hell cannot exceed in acuteness all that I
suffered that long and bitter night. The accountant was waiting for me in
the parlour when I left my bed. He had spent the night as I had wished
him but had not found one error in his calculations. I tore the papers
from his hands, and strained my eyes upon the pages to extract the lie
which existed there to damn me. It would not go--it could not be removed.
I was a doomed, lost man. Whatever might be the consequence, I resolved
to see my uncle, and to speak the truth. I relied upon the sympathy which
I believed inherent in the nature of man. I relied upon my own integrity,
and the serenity which conscious innocence should give. I met my uncle. I
shall never forget that interview. He received me in his private
house--in his drawing-room. We were alone. He sat at a table: his face
was somewhat pale, but he was cool and undisturbed--ah, how much more so
than his trembling sacrifice! I placed before him the condemning paper.
It was that only that he cared to see. He looked at once to the result,
and then, without a word, he turned his withering eye upon me.
"'I know it,' I cried out, not permitting him to speak. 'I know what you
would say. It is a mystery, and I cannot solve it. There is a fearful
error somewhere--but where I know not. I am as innocent--'
"'Innocent!' exclaimed my uncle, in a tone of bitterness, 'Well, go on,
sir.'
"'Yes, innocent,' I repeated. 'Time will prove it, and make the mystery
clear. My brain is now confused; but it cannot be that this gigantic error
can escape me when I am calm--composed. Grant me but time.'
"'I grant nothing,' said my uncle, fiercely. 'Plunderer! I show no mercy.
You would have shown me none--you would have left me in the lurch, and
laughed at me as you made merry with your stolen wealth. Mark me,
sir--restore it--labour till you have made it good, or I crush you--once,
and for ever.'
"I was rendered speechless by these words. I attempted to make answer; but
my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth--my throat grew dry and hot--my
brain was dizzy, and the room swam round me. I thought of the name which I
had been striving for years to build up--the honourable name which I had
gained--the height from which I was about to fall--the yawning gulf
below--a thousand painful thoughts rushed in one instant to my mind, and
overcame me. I should have fallen to the earth, had not my heart found in
my eyes a passage for its grief, and rendered me weaker than a child
before a creature who had never felt the luxury of one human tear. I wept
aloud and fearfully.
"'Guilt, guilt, palpable guilt!' exclaimed my uncle. 'None but the guilty
weep. You do not take me by surprise, young man. I was prepared for
this--I have but a word to say. Restore this money, or undertake to pay
it back to me--to the last farthing of my lawful claim. Do this, and I
forgive you, and forget your indiscretion. Refuse, and to-morrow you are
a bankrupt and a beggar. Leave me, and take time for your decision. Come
to me again this evening. If you fail--_you_ may expect a visit in the
morning.'
"This was said deliberately, but in a tone most expressive of sincerity. I
staggered from his presence, and hurried homeward. A sickening sensation
checked me as I approached my door. I could not enter it. I rushed away;
and in the open fields, where I could weep and rave unnoticed and alone, I
cursed my fate, and entreated heaven to smite me with its thunders. My
mind was tottering. Hours passed before I reached the house again, how,
when, or by what means I arrived there, I could not tell. The servant girl
who gave me admittance looked savagely upon me, as I thought. It was
sorrow, and not anger, that was written in her face; but how could I
discriminate? Her mistress was seriously ill. She had been alarmed by the
visit of a gentleman, who waited for me in the parlour, and by my
protracted absence; and her agitation had brought on the pangs of labour.
A physician was now with her. Who was this gentleman? I entered the room,
and there the fiend sate, white with irritation and gnawing
disappointment. I started back, but he advanced to me--held my papers to
my face, and pointed to one portion of them with a finger that was alive
with rage and agitation.
"'Is it true?' asked my uncle, gnashing his teeth. 'Answer me--yes or
no?--one word, is it true?'
"'It is a lie!' I answered, ignorant of his meaning, and half crazed with
the excitement. 'I am innocent--innocent--Heaven knows I am.'
"'Have you, or have you not given to Gilbert, for these heavy sums, a
power of attorney? Has he got it? Answer me in a word.'
"'He advanced me money,' I replied, 'and I gave him such documents as he
required.'
"'Enough!' said my uncle. 'You are a beggar!'--and without another word he
left me.
"For a week my wife remained in a dangerous condition. Threatened with the
loss of her, I did not leave her side. What was the business to me at such
a time?--what was reputation--what life? Life!--sir, I carried about with
me a potent poison, and I waited only for her latest breath to drink it
off, and join her in the grave. She rallied, however, and once more I
walked abroad--to find myself a bankrupt and a castaway. The very day that
my uncle quitted me, he called my creditors together--exposed the state of
my affairs--and accused me of the vilest practices. A docket was struck
against me. Every thing that I possessed was dragged away--even to the bed
on which my Anna had been cast, and which she so much needed now. Every
thing was gone; but the blow had fallen, and I was callous to the loss. In
the midst of the desolation I struggled to preserve one trifle from the
common wreck. Do not smile, sir, when I mention _my reputation_. Yes, I
felt that if it could be rescued all might be spared, and I might yet defy
and shame my persecutors. I appealed to the commissioner who had charge of
my estate. I proclaimed aloud, and in the face of men, my innocence. I
conjured him to subject me to the severest trial--to compel the closest
examination of my affairs--my books--and every individual connected with
the house. I demanded it for the sake of justice--for my own sake, and for
the sake of the poor creatures--I was a father now--whose fortunes were
linked with mine, whose bread depended upon the verdict which should be
pronounced against me. My passionate supplication was not in vain. The
affairs of our house were looked into--the business that had been done for
years was sifted--and clerks and men were subjected to every interrogatory
that could elucidate a fact. At the end of six months it was publicly
announced that an important error had been discovered--that the estimate
given to me was incorrect, _and by many thousand pounds greater than the
true value_.
"There had been a _mistake_! The bankrupt departed from the court without
a blemish on his character. He had been indiscreet in entering heedlessly
upon so large an undertaking, and must pay dearly for that in discretion.
He was strictly liable and bound to pay what he had acknowledged with his
hand to be a lawful debt. There was no help for him. The young man was
worthy of commiseration, and his creditors should show him mercy." This
was the verdict of the commissioner, spoken in the ears of one who was a
stranger to mercy, and who had vowed to show me _none_. Guilt, however,
attached to my good name no longer, and I smiled at his malignity. It was
too soon _to smile_. The secret of all my difficulty was now explained.
Trading upon a false capital, to an extravagant extent beyond the real
one--draining my exchequer of its resources to pay an ever-recurring
interest, whilst the principal was but a fiction in the estate, it was no
wonder that I became hemmed in by claims impossible to meet, and that the
services of Mr Gilbert were so soon in requisition. In giving to Mr
Gilbert a power over the firm, I acted according to my ideas of justice.
When I was impoverished, he furnished me with the means of keeping up the
credit of the house. But for him it must have fallen. I believed that I
was solvent. Why should I hesitate to make this man secure? But it is for
this preference, which rendered my uncle's dividend comparatively nothing,
that I have been followed through my life with rancour and malevolence
unparalleled. Mark me, sir; the _mistake_, as it was called--the vital
_error_--was a deliberate fraud committed by my uncle at the outset.
He had withdrawn this heavy sum of money at the beginning--he had resolved
to keep me for my life his servant and his slave--to feast upon the
dropping sweat of my exhausted mind--to convert my heart's blood into
gold, which was his god. He hated me for my conduct towards him in my
boyhood, which he had neither forgotten nor forgiven; and his detestation
gave zest to his hellish desire of accumulating wealth at any cost. Had I
applied to _him_, had I entered into new engagements with _him_, given to
_him_ the securities which, from a notion of right, I had presented to
Gilbert--had I made over to the fiend soul as well as body, I might still
have retained his friendship, still been permitted to labour and to toil
for his aggrandizement and ease. It was Gilbert himself who revealed to me
his patron's villany. It was time for the vultures to quarrel when they
could not both fatten on my prostrate carcass; but they were bound
together by the dark doings of years, and it was only by imperfect hints
and innuendoes that I was made aware of their treachery. If proofs existed
to convict my uncle, Gilbert could not afford to produce them. The price
was life, or something short of it; but I heard enough for satisfaction.
Although I was deprived of everything that I possessed, my mind recovered
its buoyancy, and my spirit, after the first shock, grew sanguine. I had
been proclaimed an innocent and injured man, and my beloved Anna was at my
side smiling and rejoicing. In our overthrow, she beheld only the dark
storm of morning, that sometimes ushers in the glorious noon and golden
sunset. I spoke of the past with anger; she reverted to it with the
chastened sorrow of a repentant angel. I looked to the future with
distrust and apprehension, she, with a bright, abiding confidence. Never
had she appeared so happy, so contented--never had the smile remained so
constant to her cheek, so unalloyed with touch of care, as when we stood
houseless and homeless in the world, and nothing but her fortitude and
love were left me to rely upon. My first care after my dismission into
life again, was to obtain my certificate from my creditors, and with
almost all of them I was successful. The exceptions were my uncle, and
three individuals--his creatures, and willing instruments of torture. They
were sufficient to brand me with disgrace, and to affix for ever to my
name that mark of infamy which an after life of virtue shall never wash
away or hide. UNCERTIFICATED BANKRUPT was the badge I carried with me.
From this period my decline was rapid and unequivocal. A creditor, who had
not proved his debt upon the estate, hearing tell of my defenceless
situation, cast me forthwith into prison. I will not tell you of the
sufferings we endured during a two years' cruel incarceration. Starvation
and its horrors came gradually upon us. Application upon application was
made to my uncle; entreaties for nothing more than justice; and my poor
meek Anna was turned with contumely from his doors. After years of
privation, a glimmering of light stole in upon us, to be soon
extinguished. I obtained temporary employment in a school far away from
the scenes of my misery, and hither my evil fortune followed me. The
schoolmaster was an ignorant, gross man. He gained my services for a song,
and he treated me with disrespect in consequence. I had been with him
about six months when some silver spoons were stolen from his house. The
thief escaped detection; but the master received an anonymous
communication, containing a false history of my life, with a true
statement of my unfortunate position. He at once charged me with the crime
of being an uncertificated bankrupt. I confessed to it, and the very day I
was dragged before a magistrate on suspicion of felony. I was acquitted,
it is true, for want of evidence; but what could acquit me--what could
release me from the super-added stigma? _An uncertificated bankrupt, and a
suspected felon_! Alas! the charity of man will not look further than the
surface of things, and is it not secretly pleased to find there, rather an
excuse for neglect, than a reason for exertion? Excited almost to madness
by privation and want, and unable to get assistance from a human being, I
visited my uncle. I could not see my wife and children drooping and
sinking day by day, and not make one great struggle for their rescue. I
resolved to accost him with meekness and humility--yes, to fall upon my
knees and kiss the dust before him, so that he would fill their famished
mouths. He would not see me. I watched for him in the street, and there
addressed him. He reviled me--cast me off--provoked me to exasperation,
and finally gave me into custody for an attempt upon his life. Again I was
taken to the magistrate, but not again discharged so easily. My character
and previous _offences_ were exhibited. The magistrate, serious with
judicial sorrow, looked upon me as you would turn an eye towards a reptile
that defiles the earth. I appealed to him, and in a loud and animated
voice proclaimed my grievances. It was suggested that I was a lunatic, and
whilst the justice committed me to hard labour, he benevolently promised
that the prison surgeon should visit me, and pronounce upon my fitness for
Saint Luke's. It was during my temporary confinement for this offence,
that I was seized with the illness from which I have never since been
free. For three years I was unable to work for my family, and by the end
of that period we were sunk into the lowest depths. My Anna sickened
likewise; but as long as she was able she laboured for our support. We
have been hunted and driven from place to place, and the little which we
have been able to earn in our wanderings, has hardly kept us alive. Twice
have I stolen a loaf of bread to appease the children's hunger. What could
I do? I could not bear to see their languid glassy eyes, and hear their
little voices imploring for the food--God knows, I could not let them die
before my face--I could not be their murderer--I could not--"
"Stay, Mr Warton," said I, interrupting the narrator, "I have heard
enough. Spare me for the present. Your statements must be corroborated.
This is all I ask. Leave the rest to me."
If the reader has perused, with painful interest, the account that I have
laid before him, let me gratify him with the intelligence that I have
accomplished for this unfortunate family all that I could wish. Warton's
account of himself was strengthened and confirmed by the strict enquiry
which I set on foot immediately. He was, as he asserted, _an innocent and
injured man_. Satisfied of this, I transmitted to the worthy judge, who
had been moved by the man's misfortunes, a faithful history of his life. I
was not disappointed here. It was that functionary who obtained for Warton
the situation which he at present fills--and for his children the
education which they are now receiving. Nor was this his first exertion on
their behalf. It was he who furnished them with clothing on the night of
the criminal's discharge. They are restored to happiness, to comfort, and
to health. The moderate ambition of the faithful Anna is realized, and my
vision is a vision no longer.
Reader, I have nothing more to add. I have told you a simple tale and a
true one. It is for you to say whether it shall be--useless and
uninstructive.
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