should fall an easy victim to the wiles of Lord Englethorpe’s youngest
son, the Honourable James Ferrard. That gentleman was at Canterbury,
attending the races at Barham Downs with a kindred spirit of his former
regiment (then quartered in that city); his commission in which he had
been permitted—and only just permitted—to resign; and it had occurred
to him that it would be amusing to run over to Margate and contend for
a time with humbler Don Juans for the smiles of the Cockney beauties
of the place. It so happened that Amy was just then staying there
with some relations; and the two met on the jetty, and were mutually
attracted by one another’s good looks. The gallant captain found no
difficulty in introducing himself both to the girl and her friends; on
all of whom his appearance and manner—so different from those of the
gentlemen of _their_ society—made a most favourable impression. They
met frequently; and he soon succeeded in captivating the heart of poor
Amy.
It is due to the captain’s pride of birth and ancestry to say that,
at first, flirtation and not marriage was in his thoughts. But when
he discovered that the girl’s father was a man of very great wealth,
and that she was an only child, he began to think that the game might
be worth keeping up in London, with a view to honourable matrimony,
immediate comfort, and succession in the future to the old man’s money.
For it would have been difficult for Captain Ferrard to have indicated
with any precision his present means of existence. It was notorious
that his family had long declined to hold any communication with him,
further than that the earl allowed him the sum of two hundred and fifty
pounds a year, which indeed was all that he could afford, being—for a
peer—almost penniless, with a good many children to provide for. The
sum named was about enough to keep the young gentleman in gloves and
cigars. The balance of his expenditure had to be made up by means of
credit, the turf, billiards, pigeon-shooting, and cards. But the first
was nearly at an end; the second required capital; the next two are not
improved by overmuch tobacco and brandy; and at the fifth the captain
was becoming a little too skilful. He was in a desperate state. Why
should he not betake himself to his last weapon? He was twenty-eight,
with a manly and well-made figure, smooth-faced as a boy of eighteen,
brilliant of complexion, with eyes of a peculiarly dark blue. It was
more the face of a beautiful woman than that of a man; but there was
something wrong about it. The forehead was too retreating, the mouth
too hard, and too often expanded in a smile. His manner and bearing
were extremely pleasant and ingratiatory. How should an ignorant
little girl, fresh from a North London seminary, or her auctioneering
papa, detect the festering vices and the cruel heart beneath that fair
outside? So he asked permission to call on Miss Cross in London, and
readily obtained it.
He called accordingly, saw her alone, and made most satisfactory
progress. The second time, he was introduced to papa. Papa, in fact,
having heard of the former visit, and knowing the visitor well by
repute through certain bill-discounting acquaintances, had left
instructions with a faithful retainer—the cook—that he was to be
fetched from the City immediately on a repetition of the visit. The
result was not quite what Captain Ferrard had expected. Papa sat
glum and moody through the interview; when it was over, he attended
the visitor to the door, and with some coarseness of manner and
roughness of tone, requested him to take notice that his attentions
were not desired. Not all Captain Ferrard’s smoothest explanations and
assurances sufficed to appease the auctioneer, who simply replied that
he didn’t believe a word of them; and that, supposing them to be true,
his girl did not want any fine gentleman for a husband, least of all
of the stamp of Captain Ferrard, as to whose character and pursuits he
further expressed himself pretty roundly. The captain answered with
aristocratic contempt and insolence, applied with an ease and absence
of emotion which reduced the auctioneer to speechless fury; and so
departed.
The only result of this was that the ill-regulated girl, whose lover
was the first toy which had been denied to her, became mutinous. She
entered, first upon a clandestine correspondence, then upon a series
of secret meetings, and ultimately left home one fine day just after
she had attained twenty-one, and was married at a suburban church by
license. Ferrard calculated that when once the irrevocable step had
been taken, a reconciliation with her father and a handsome dowry would
be a matter of only a few weeks, and that the plebeian alliance, gilded
with the auctioneer’s gold, would be condoned by his family, and would
even cause him to be received by them with open arms. But everything
went wrong. The bereaved parent, whatever may have been his sufferings
in private, did not hasten to clasp his erring daughter to his bosom.
When at last she wrote him a letter, carefully dictated by her husband,
the only reply received was from a lawyer, stating that Mr Cross
declined all communication with Mrs Ferrard or her husband; but that as
he did not desire that his daughter should starve, he proposed to make
to her exactly the same allowance as her husband received from the Earl
of Englethorpe. That nobleman, who had been waiting to see what would
happen before finally committing himself, thereupon wrapped himself
with much dignity in his family grandeur, and refused to receive either
his son or his son’s wife, or to add a farthing to the two hundred and
fifty pounds a year.
All this was so far beneath the Honourable James’s just expectations,
that he became not a little disgusted with his bargain, with the usual
results. Indifference and neglect were speedily followed by quarrels,
upbraiding, and taunts; at last by covert, yet none the less positive,
unmanly cruelty on the part of the husband, and a return to his former
mode of life. This, indeed, he had never really abandoned, though he
had put some sort of restraint on the open indulgence of his vices so
long as it appeared that anything might be got by doing so; and even
now, having regard to what the day might bring forth, he was cunning
and cautious to the last degree. At length, Amy fled in despair to her
father, who received her coldly, but without anger, in the interview
with which this tale commences.
Amy sat on the sofa, her wild sobs becoming less frequent, for she
saw that her father was thinking. Weak and foolish as she was, she
instinctively appreciated his strength of character enough to know
that when Mr Cross took to thinking, something generally happened in
consequence; and she hoped that he would find some means of extricating
her from the trouble which she had brought upon herself.
Some time had gone by, and the auctioneer remained in the same vein of
thought, seemingly forgetful of his daughter’s presence. At last she
spoke to him, and he roused himself with a start.
‘Ten o’clock,’ he said, looking at his watch; ‘time you were home.’
‘Home, papa? I dare not. I don’t know what he won’t do, when he finds
where I’ve been, and he’s sure to get it out of me. Oh, don’t send me
back!’ and she burst into a fresh fit of hysterical weeping.
‘Hush, hush, my girl!’ he said soothingly. ‘Nonsense! A married woman
oughtn’t to be away from her husband. I’m going to write him a letter
for you to give him, and you’ll find he won’t be so angry as you think.
I suppose you’ll see him to-night?’
‘Yes. He said he should be home to-night, and he generally is when he
says so.’
‘That’s well,’ said the auctioneer; and sitting down, he wrote a few
lines:
‘SIR—I should like a word with you on family matters, and will
call on you at eleven o’clock to-morrow.—Yours faithfully,
R. CROSS.’
‘There!’ he said; ‘you give him that, and it will quiet him down. Now,
get on your bonnet, and I’ll send for a cab.’
Captain Ferrard did come home, and in a very queer temper. Before he
could proceed to vent it, his trembling wife put the note into his
hand; and with a sharp glance at her, he opened and read it. ‘O ho!’
cried he. ‘So,’ he said, after musing a little, ‘you have been to see
papa, eh? Singing your husband’s praises so well, that our good papa is
anxious to make his acquaintance.—Is that it, Mrs Ferrard?’
She did not answer, but cast down her eyes.
He reflected again. ‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘I don’t much care what
you have been saying, or what you have not. Perhaps it may turn
out to be the best thing you could have done. Anyway, I’ll see him
to-morrow—“comes he in peace, or comes he in war”—and on his behaviour,
my pet, will depend our future happiness.—Now, get to bed!’
Meanwhile, Mr Cross had returned to his old position at the table and
remained deep in thought far into the night. He was a man strong in his
likes and dislikes, but his feelings towards this Ferrard surprised
himself. In the first place, the man belonged to a class which the
auctioneer, with or without reason, had come to despise or dislike.
Secondly, he possessed the three vices which are most hateful to a
steady and prosperous man of business—he was an idler, a gambler, and
a spendthrift. On the above grounds alone, the very name of Ferrard
was obnoxious to Mr Cross. But this worthless fellow, after coolly
insulting him on his own doorstep, had succeeded in robbing him of
his daughter—his daughter, as to whom the dream of his life had been,
that she would repay his tenderness and care by becoming the solace
of his age, until she should be honourably and happily married to
some prosperous young votary of commerce, and should surround him
with a troop of grandchildren, who would recall to him their mother’s
childhood. To realise such hopes, he had worked like a slave, and had
accumulated money until his name was a proverb for wealth. All over
now—he was childless and alone with his riches—a gloomy and cheerless
old age was coming fast upon him, and he owed it all to this gentleman
of long descent, at whose patrician hands ill-usage and shame were his
child’s portion.
How should he answer her cry for aid? How rescue her? Was it in any
way—by any sacrifice—possible to undo the miserable past; to wipe
the slate clean, and to start afresh, with the hope of realising the
old dreams? This was the problem the auctioneer set himself to work
out, sitting there in the silence. And his heart sank, as he bitterly
acknowledged to himself that the chances were but of the slenderest.
Money would no doubt buy the man off, so that the father might have
his girl safe in his home once more—but not to send her from it again
as the happy wife of a husband after his own heart. Of course, legal
proceedings might be instituted; but their success might be doubtful.
The whole of Amy’s conversation with her father has not been detailed;
but it was clear from what she had said that the ill-treatment
inflicted upon her had been carefully confined to those petty and
spiteful persecutions which a cruel and cunning man is so skilful in
inflicting, which cause neither wound nor bruise, elicit no cries of
anguish, yet in their power of breaking, by constant repetition, the
proudest spirit, are like the continual dropping which wears away the
rock.
As he thought of these things, the heart of the auctioneer swelled
within him with perplexity and rage. He was not a cruel or revengeful
man; he was a church-goer, and would have taken it extremely ill if any
one had told him that he was not a Christian. Yet he did most heartily
and fervently desire that the worthless and disreputable destroyer of
his happiness would take himself with all convenient speed out of the
world, so that the distress and difficulty which he had originated
might perish with him. ‘I wish he were dead!’ he muttered to himself—‘I
wish he were dead!’ And the wish, once formed, refused to quit his
mind, but presented itself again and again as an eminently desirable
solution of the whole question.
But Ferrard was young and strong, and not at all likely to oblige Mr
Cross by dying for some time to come; so the auctioneer rose and paced
the room, forcing himself to regard the matter in another and more
wholesome light. He had formed no particular plan of action for the
morrow, having had in making the appointment merely a vague idea that
he would endeavour in some way to arrange matters for his daughter’s
happiness, if money could do it. He now told himself that, after
all, Ferrard might not be so black as he was painted. He had not,
perhaps, had a fair chance; he had been exposed, still young, to great
temptations, and had succumbed to them. He was without a friend—a true
friend—in the world, and might well be reckless and desperate. He, the
auctioneer, would endeavour to make his acquaintance; he would invite
him to his house; he would inquire into his affairs; he would see
whether it would be possible to take him by the hand and—as he phrased
it—‘make a man of him.’ There would be no harm, at anyrate, in trying
to make the best of a bad job—indeed, it was the one sorry resource
left. He could but fail; should he do so, then it would be time to
think of other measures. What a miserable, wearing business it all was!
If that wish would but come true, what a cutting of the knot it would
be!
PROLONGING LIFE.
The possibility of prolonging human life has undoubtedly, from the most
ancient times, afforded a fascinating and extensive field alike for
the visionary and the deepest thinkers. Plans for prolonging existence
have ever been amongst the principal allurements held forth by empirics
and impostors; and by thus imposing upon the credulity of the public,
many notorious charlatans have acquired rich harvests of ill-gotten
gold. Men of science have throughout all ages devoted their attention
to the subject, as one deserving of the most profound investigation.
And their researches have been attended with more or less benefit to
posterity. We find that Bacon himself attached so much importance to
the matter that he prosecuted inquiry in that direction with the utmost
assiduity. Although it would be almost impossible to review all the
schemes advanced, yet a review of the most notable theories advocated
for prolongation of life is certainly deserving of attention. At the
same time, an elucidation of their fallacies, as occasion may arise, is
of no small moment, in order to ascertain with greater certainty their
true value. It is indeed interesting to observe the various and often
opposite means advocated by enthusiasts for attaining the same end.
Even as far back as the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman periods, we find the
idea of prolonging life prevalent. The Egyptians bestowed considerable
attention to the attainment of longevity, and they believed that life
could be prolonged through the efficacy of sudorifics and emetics
continually used. Instead of saying, ‘How do you do?’ as an ordinary
salutation, they inquired of each other, ‘How do you perspire?’ In
those days, it was a general custom to take at least two emetics during
each month. Hippocrates and his disciples recommended moderation in
diet, friction, and well-timed exercise, which was certainly a step in
the right direction.
It was during the darkness of the middle ages, ripe with fanaticism and
superstition, that the most absurd ideas of witchcraft, horoscopes,
chiromancy, and empirical panaceas for the prolongation of life first
became disseminated. The philosopher’s stone and elixir of life were
then vaunted by the alchemists. Foremost among the prolongers of
life we find Paracelsus, an alchemist of great renown, and a man of
considerable attainments. He claimed to have discovered the elixir of
life. So great was his influence, that even the learned Erasmus did
not disdain to consult him. Patients and pupils flocked around him
from every quarter of Europe. Notwithstanding his famous ‘stone of
immortality,’ he died at the age of fifty. His vaunted elixir was a
kind of sulphur similar to compound sulphuric ether. Nevertheless, to
the researches of Paracelsus we are indebted for our primary knowledge
of mercury, which he was the first to use as a medicine.
About this epoch, one Leonard Thurneysser attained world-wide celebrity
as an astrologer and nativity-caster. He was a physician, printer,
bookseller, and horoscopist all in one. He professed that, by the aid
of astrology, he could not only predict future events, but likewise
prolong life. He published yearly an astrological calendar, describing
the nature of the forthcoming year and its chief events. His calendar
and other quackeries enabled him to amass the sum of one thousand
florins. He declared that every man lay under the influence of a
certain star, by which his destiny was ruled. On ascertaining from what
planet a person’s misfortunes or sickness proceeded, he advised his
patient to remove his residence within the control of a more propitious
luminary. In short, to escape from the influence of a malignant to a
more friendly satellite was the basis of his theory.
Marsilius Ficinus, in his _Treatise on the Prolongation of Life_,
recommended all prudent persons to consult an astrologer every seven
years, thereby to avoid any danger which might threaten them. During
the year 1470, an individual named Pansa dedicated to the Council of
Leipsic a book entitled _The Prolongation of Life_, in which he most
strongly urges all persons desirous of longevity to be on their guard
every seven years, because Saturn, a hostile planet, ruled at these
periods. According to the teachings of astrology, metals were believed
to be in intimate connection with the planets. Thus no doubt it was
that amulets and talismans originated, as reputed agents for prolonging
life. The disciples of this creed had amulets and talismans cast of the
proper metal, and under the influence of certain constellations, in
order to protect themselves from the evil influence of adverse planets.
These absurd conceits were at a later period revived by Cagliostro, of
whom we shall have more to say presently. It would indeed appear that
the more mysterious and ridiculous the conceptions of fanatics and
impostors were, the greater was their success.
The example of the renowned Cornaro affords a brilliant instance of the
superiority of an abstemious life to the foolish doctrines put forth at
that period. Up to forty years of age he was excessively intemperate
both in eating and drinking, so that his health suffered considerably.
He then resolved to submit himself to a strictly temperate regimen,
and for the remaining sixty years of his life, which almost reached
one hundred years, he continued the observance of his rules, with the
result given. Although life might be prolonged by exercising greater
moderation in eating and drinking than is generally adopted, yet,
nevertheless, few persons could safely follow so strict a dietary.
Shortly after the death of Louis XIII. of France, who was bled
forty-seven times during the last ten months of existence, a contrary
method came into fashion. Transfusion was for a time relied upon as a
means for invigorating and prolonging life. The operation was performed
by aid of a small pipe conveying blood from the artery of one person
to another. In Paris, Drs Dennis and Riva were enabled to cure a young
man who had previously been treated in vain for lethargy. Further
experiments not being so satisfactory, this device as a prolonger of
life became discarded.
Francis Bacon held somewhat unique ideas regarding the possible
prolongation of existence. He regarded life as a flame continually
being consumed by the surrounding atmosphere, and he thence concluded
that by retarding vital waste and renewing the bodily powers from
time to time, life might be lengthened. With the object of preventing
undue external vital waste, he advised cold bathing, followed by
friction. Tranquillity of mind, cooling food, with the use of opiates,
he advocated as the most suitable measures for lessening internal
consumption. Furthermore, he proposed to renovate life periodically,
first by a spare diet combined with cathartics; subsequently, through
choice of a refreshing and succulent diet. With some degree of
modification, there seems to be much wisdom in his views, excepting as
regards the use of opiates, which are decidedly of a prejudicial nature.
Numerous charlatans have appeared, and still appear at intervals,
loud in their asseverations of having discovered the veritable elixir
of life—gold, tinctures, and many other nostrums with which they
mendaciously promise to prolong life. The most notorious of these
empirics was the Count de St Germain, who with barefaced effrontery
protested that he had already existed for centuries by aid of his ‘Tea
of Long Life,’ which he declared would rejuvenate mankind. On close
examination, his miraculous philter was ascertained to consist of a
simple infusion of sandal-wood, fennel, and senna leaves.
A great stir was created in 1785 by the occult pretensions of a
fanatical physician in France named Mesmer. He vaunted the possession
of extraordinary magnetic power, which enabled him forthwith, by its
agency, to remove every disease and prolong life. At the king’s desire,
a commission was instituted to report upon this phenomenon, in which
Dr Franklin took a leading part. The only practical result of this
inquiry was the discovery of animal electricity. At one time, Mesmer
refused three hundred and forty thousand livres for his secret. After
Dr Franklin’s investigations, Mesmer lapsed into obscurity.
Last, but not least in the foremost rank of impostors was Joseph
Balsamo, alias Count de Cagliostro. This charlatan appeared just before
the first French Revolution. During his remarkable career, Cagliostro
made more than one fortune, which he subsequently lost, and died in
prison in 1795. The distinguished Cardinal de Rohan was one of his
chief dupes. Like St Germain, Balsamo boasted that he had discovered
the elixir of life, and throughout Europe, found persons of all
degrees eager to possess his panacea. This elixir was a very powerful
stomachic, possessed of great stimulating properties, tending to
augment vital sensations. It is a fixed law of nature that everything
which increases the vital forces tends to abridge their duration.
Concentrated and potent stimulants, which are usually the active
principle of most elixirs, although for the time increasing physical
strength, are in truth very prejudicial to longevity.
We will now pass on to examine other theories more worthy of attention,
before we proceed to establish what at present appears to be the most
certain means for promoting longevity. The plan of ‘hardening’—based
upon a false supposition that by toughening the physical organs they
would wear longer—obtained at one time numerous followers. When we
reflect that the main principle of life depends upon the pliability
of every organ, combined with free circulation, it naturally follows
that rigidity must be unfriendly to longevity. Perpetual cold baths,
exposure to keen air, and exhausting exercise, were advocated by
the ‘hardening school.’ Like most enthusiasts, they carried their
ideas to excess, a limited use of which would have been beneficial.
Later on, a theory well suited to the idle and luxurious gained many
adherents, namely, to retard bodily waste by a trance-like sleep. One
enthusiast, Maupertuis, went so far as to propound the possibility of
completely suspending vital activity. Even Dr Franklin, having observed
the restoration of apparently dead flies by exposure to warmth, was
struck with the feasibility of promoting long life by the agency of
immobility. The misconception of this theory, from a physiological
point of view, is at once self-evident, as want of exercise is simply
poisonous to health. Upon a constant metamorphosis of the tissues,
physical well-being must depend to a great extent. A destructive
plethora would most certainly be induced by attempting ‘vital
suspension.’
That celebrated sect of mystical philosophers, the Rosicrucians—famous
for their profound acquaintance with natural phenomena, and the higher
branches of physical, chemical, and medical science—considered that
human existence might be protracted far beyond its supposed limits.
They professed to retard old age by means of certain medicaments, whose
action upon the system should curb the progress of natural decay. The
means by which they professed to check senile decrepitude, were, like
other mysteries of their fraternity, never revealed. The celebrated
English Rosicrucian Dr Fludd, whose writings became famous, is said to
have lived a century.