Aubrey's sudden plunge into the cold and deep stream of trouble,
had--the first shock over--served, as it were, to brace his nerves. 'Tis
at such a time, and on such an occasion, that the temper and quality of
the soul are tried; whether it be weak in seeming strength, or strong in
seeming weakness. How many are there, walking with smiling complacent
confidence along the flowery bank, who, if suddenly bidden to strip and
enter, would turn pale and tremble as they reluctantly prepared to obey
the stern mandate; and, after a convulsive shudder, a faint shriek, a
brief struggle, disappear from the surface, paralyzed, never to be seen
again! In such a point of view, let me hope that the situation of
Aubrey, one of deepening difficulty and danger--the issue of which, hid
in the darkness of the future, no earthly intelligence could
predict--will excite in the thoughtful reader an anxiety not unmingled
with confidence.
The enervating effects of _inactivity_ upon the physical structure and
energies of mankind, few can have failed to observe. Rust is more fatal
to metal than wear. A thorough-bred racer, if confined in stable or
paddock, or a boxer, born of the finest muscular make, if prematurely
incarcerated in jail, will, after a few years, become quite unable to
compete with those vastly their inferiors in natural endowments and
capabilities; however they may, with careful training, be restored to
the full enjoyment and exercise of their powers. Thus is it with the
temper and intellect of man, which, secluded from the scenes of
_appropriate_ stimulus and exercise, become relaxed and weakened. What
would have become of the glorious spirit and powers of Achilles, if
his days had all melted away in the tender, delicate, emasculating
inactivity and indulgence of the court of Lycomedes? The language
of the ancient orator concerning his art may be applied to _life_,
that not only its greatness, but its enjoyment, consists in
action--_action_--ACTION. The feelings, for instance, may become so
morbidly sensitive, as to give an appearance of weakness to the whole
character; and this is likely to be specially the case of one born with
those of superior liveliness and delicacy, if he be destined to move
only in the realms of silent and profound abstraction and
contemplation--in those refined regions which may be termed a sort of
paradise; where every conceivable source of enjoyment is cultivated for
the fortunate and fastidious occupants, to the very uttermost, and all
those innumerable things which fret, worry, and harass the temper, the
head, and the heart of the dwellers in the rude regions of ordinary
life--most anxiously weeded out; instead of entering into the throng of
life, and taking part in its constant cares and conflicts--scenes which
require all his energies always in exercise, to keep his place, and
escape being trodden under foot. Rely upon it, that the man who feels a
tendency to shrink from collision with his fellows, to run away with
distaste or apprehension from the great practical business of life, does
not enjoy moral or intellectual health; will quickly contract a silly
conceit and fastidiousness, or sink into imbecility and misanthropy; and
should devoutly thank Providence for the occasion, however momentarily
startling and irritating, which stirs him out of his lethargy, his
_cowardly_ lethargy, and sends him among his fellows--puts him, in a
manner, upon a course of training; upon an experience of comparative
suffering, it may be of sorrow, requiring the exercise of powers of
which he had before scarcely been conscious, and giving him presently
the exhilarating consciousness that he is exhibiting himself--a MAN.
"It is probable," says the late Mr. Foster, in his Essay on "Decision of
Character"--"that the men most distinguished for decision, have not, in
general, possessed a large share of tenderness: and it is easy to
imagine that the laws according to which our nature is formed, will with
great difficulty allow the combination of the refined sensibilities,
with a hardy, never shrinking, never yielding constancy. Is it not
almost of the essence of this constancy, to be free from even the
_perception_ of such impressions as cause a mind, weak through
susceptibility, to relax, or to waver?--No doubt, this firmness consists
partly in overcoming feelings--but it may consist partly, too, in not
having them." The case I am contemplating is perhaps the difficult,
though by no means, I am persuaded, uncommon one--of a person possessing
these delicate sensibilities, these lively feelings; yet with a native
strength of character beneath, which, when the occasion for its display
has arisen--when it is placed in a scene of constant and compulsory
action, will fully evince and vindicate itself. It is then "that another
essential principle of decision of character," to quote from another
part of the same essay, "will be displayed; namely, a total incapability
of surrendering to indifference or delay the serious determinations of
the mind. A strenuous will accompanies the conclusions of thought, and
constantly urges the utmost efforts for their practical accomplishment.
The intellect is invested, as it were, with a glowing atmosphere of
passion, under the influence of which the cold dictates of reason take
fire, and spring into active powers."
There is, indeed, nothing like throwing a man of the description we are
considering, upon his own resources, and compelling him to exertion.
Listen, ye languid and often gifted victims of indolence and _ennui_, to
the noble language of one blessed with as great powers as perhaps were
ever vouchsafed to man--Edmund Barke!
"DIFFICULTY is a severe instructor, set over us by the Supreme
ordinance of a parental guardian and legislator, who knows us
better than we know ourselves, as He loves us better, too. _Pater
ipse colendi, haud facilem esse viam voluit._ He that wrestles with
us, strengthens our nerves and sharpens our skill; our antagonist
is our helper. This amicable contest with difficulty, obliges us to
an intimate acquaintance with our object, and compels us to
consider it in all its relations; it will not suffer us to be
superficial."
The man, moreover, whose disposition is one of sterling excellence,
despite the few foibles which it may have contracted in comparative
solitude and inactivity, when he is compelled to mix indiscriminately
with the great family of man, oh, how patient and tolerant becomes he of
the weakness and errors of others, when thus constantly reminded of, and
made to feel his own! Oh, how pitiful! how very pitiful is he!--How his
heart yearns and overflows with love, and mercy, and charity towards his
species, _individually_--whose eye looks oft on their grievous
privations, their often incurable distress and misery!--and who in the
spirit of a heavenly philanthropy penetrates even to those deserted
quarters--
"Where hopeless anguish pours her moan,
And lonely want retires to die!"
It may be that some of the preceding observations are applicable to many
individuals of the purest and most amiable characters, and powerful and
cultivated intellects, in the higher classes of society, whose
affluence exempts them from the necessity of actively intermingling
with the concerns of life, and feeling the consciousness of individual
responsibility,--of having a personal necessity for anxious care and
exertion. They are assured that a position of real precariousness and
danger, is that which is requisite for developing the energies of a man
of high moral and intellectual character; as it will expose to
destruction one of a contrary description.
I have endeavored, in previous portions of this history, to delineate
faithfully the character of Mr. Aubrey--one (how idle and childish would
have been the attempt!) by no means _perfect_, yet with very high
qualities. He was a man of noble simplicity of character, generous,
confiding, sincere, affectionate: possessing a profound sense of
religion, _really influencing his conduct in life;_ an intellect of a
superior order, of a practical turn, of a masculine strength--as had
been evidenced by his successful academical career, his thorough mastery
of some of the most important and difficult branches of human knowledge,
and by his aptitude for public business. He was at the same time
possessed of a sensibility that was certainly excessive. He had a morbid
tendency to pensiveness, if not melancholy, which, with a feeble
_physical_ constitution, was partly derived from his mother, and partly
accounted for by the species of life which he had led. From his early
youth he had been addicted to close and severe study, which had given
permanence and strength to his naturally contemplative turn. He had not,
moreover, with too many possessed of his means and station, entered,
just at the dawn and bloom of manhood, upon that course of dissipation
which is a sure and speedy means of destroying "the freshness of thought
and of feeling," which "never again can be theirs," and inducing a
_lowered tone_ of feeling, and a callousness which some seem to consider
necessary to enable them to pass through life easily and agreeably. He,
on the contrary, had stepped out of the gloom and solitude of the
cloister into the pure and peaceful region of domestic life, with all
its hallowed and unutterable tendernesses, where the affections grew
luxuriantly; in the constant society of such women as his mother, his
sister, his wife, and latterly his lovely children. Then he was
possessed, all this while, of a fine fortune--one which placed him far
beyond the necessity for anxiety or exertion. With such tastes as these,
such a temperament as his, and leading such a life as his, is it
surprising that the tone of his feelings should have become somewhat
relaxed? The three or four years which he had spent in Parliament, when
he plunged into its fierce and absorbing excitement with characteristic
ardor and determination, though calculated to sharpen the faculties, and
draw forth the resources of his intellect, subjected him to those
alternations of elevation and depression, those extremes of action and
reaction, which were not calculated to _correct_ his morbid tendencies.
Therefore came there up to him a messenger from Heaven, with trouble and
affliction in his countenance, telling him to descend from the happy
solitude of his high mountain, into the dismal hubbub and conflict in
the plain beneath. He came down with humility and awe, and with reverent
resignation; and was--instantly surrounded!--
A weak man would have been confused and stunned, and so sunk helpless
into the leaden arms of despair. But it was not so with Aubrey. There
was that dormant energy within, which, when appealed to, quickly shook
off the weakness contracted by inaction, and told him to _be up and
doing_; and that, not with the fitfulness of mere impulse, but the
constant strength of a well regulated mind, conscious of its critical
position; and also of a calm inflexible determination to vanquish
difficulty, and if possible escape the imminent danger, however long
and doubtful might prove the conflict. Above all, he was consoled and
blessed by the conviction, that nothing could befall him that was not
the ordination of Providence,
----"supremely wise,
Alike in what it gives and what denies;"
that His was the ordering of the sunshine and the gloom, the tempest and
the calm of life. This was to Aubrey--this is--as the humble writer of
these pages (who has had in his time his measure of anxiety and
affliction) has in his soul a profound and intimate persuasion and
conviction of--the only source of real fortitude and resignation, amid
the perplexities, and afflictions, and dangers of life. Depend upon it,
that a secret and scarce acknowledged disbelief, or at least doubt and
distrust of the very existence of God, and of His government of the
world--HIS REAL PRESENCE AND INTERFERENCE with the men and the things of
the world--lies at the bottom of almost all impatience and despair under
adverse circumstances. How can he be impatient, or despairing, who
believes not only the existence of God, and His moral government of the
world, but that He has mercifully vouchsafed to reveal and declare
expressly that the infliction of suffering and sorrow is directly from
Himself, and designed solely for the advantage of His creatures? _If ye
endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is he
whom the father chasteneth not? We have had fathers of our flesh which
corrected us, and we gave them reverence: shall we not much rather be in
subjection unto the Father of spirits, and live? For they verily for a
few days chastened us after their own pleasure; but he for our profit,
that we might be partakers of his holiness. Now, no chastening for the
present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it
yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which_ _are
exercised thereby. Wherefore lift up the hands which hang down, and the
feeble knees._ While thus benignantly teacheth the voice of God, thought
Aubrey, shall I rather incline mine ear to the blighting whisper of the
Evil One--_a liar, and the father of a lie_, who would fain that I
should become _a fool, saying within my heart there is no God_--or, if I
cannot but believe that there is one, provoking me to _charge Him
foolishly, to curse Him and die_? Not so, however, had Aubrey read the
Scriptures--not so had he learned the Christian religion.
The last time that we caught a glimpse of the ruined family, they had
arrived nearly at the end of their long and melancholy journey from
Yatton to the metropolis. When before had such been the character of
their journey to town? Had they not ever looked forward with pleasure
towards the brilliant gayeties of the season; their re-entrance into an
extensive and splendid circle of friends--and he into the delightful
excitement of political life--the opening of the parliamentary campaign?
Alas, how changed now all this! how gloomy and threatening the aspect of
the metropolis, whose dusky outskirts they were entering! With what
feelings of oppression--of vague indefinite apprehension--did they now
approach it: their spirits heavy, their hearts bleeding with their
recent severance from Yatton! _Now_, distress, desertion, dismay, seemed
associated with the formidable name of "London." They had now no place
of their own awaiting, thoroughly prepared for them, their welcome
arrival--but must drive to some quiet and inexpensive family hotel for
temporary shelter. As their eyes caught familiar point after point in
their route through the suburbs--now passed at a moderate pace, with a
modest pair of horses; formerly dashed past by them in their carriage
and four--there were very few words spoken by those within the carriage.
Both the children were fast asleep. Poor Kate, as they entered
Piccadilly, burst into tears: her pent-up feelings, suddenly gave way,
and she cried heartily; Mrs. Aubrey also weeping. Mr. Aubrey was calm,
but evidently oppressed with profound anxiety. Still he affectionately
grasped their hands, and, in something which was designed for a cheerful
tone and manner, besought them to restrain their feelings, and thank
Heaven that so far they had got on safely.
"I shall be better presently, Charles," said Miss Aubrey, passionately,
burying her face in her handkerchief, "but I feel quite _afraid_ of
London!"
Over the pavement they rattled, meeting carriages rolling in all
directions--for it was about the dinner-hour, and in the height of the
season; and it was the casual but vivid evidence thus afforded of their
desolate position, this sudden glimpse of old familiar scenes, which had
momentarily overcome the fortitude of Miss Aubrey. They drove to a quiet
family hotel in a retired street running parallel with Piccadilly; they
were all wearied, both in mind and body, and after a very slight repast,
and much anxious and desponding conversation, they bade each other
affectionate adieus, and retired to rest. They rose in the morning
refreshed with repose, and in a much more tranquil mood of mind than
could have been expected.
"Now we enter," said Aubrey, with a cheerful smile, "upon the real
business of life; so we must discard sentiment--we must not think of the
past, but the future."
At their request, they, shortly after breakfast, accompanied him to the
house agent who had been commissioned by Mr. Runnington to look out two
or three residences from which, on their arrival in town, they might
easily select that deemed most suitable for their purposes. One was
particularly recommended to them; and after due inquiry, within three
days after their arrival in town, they engaged it. 'Twas a small, but
convenient, airy, and comfortable house, within five minutes' walk of
Hyde Park, and situated in Vivian Street--a recently completed one--and
as quiet and retired as they could have wished. The rent, too, was
moderate--fifty pounds a-year. Though none of the houses in the street
were large, they were all strictly private residences, and had an air of
thorough respectability. Mr. Aubrey's house had but one window to the
dining-room, and two to the drawing-room. The passage and staircase were
sufficiently commodious, as were the chief apartments. At the back of
the house was a small garden, about twenty yards in length, and about
ten yards in width, with several lilacs, laburnums, and shrubs; and a
considerable portion of the wall was covered with ivy. Was not this a
delightful place for the children to play about in? The back parlor, a
somewhat small one certainly, looked into this garden, and was at once
appropriated to be a library for Mr. Aubrey. Within a week's time, all
their luggage, furniture, &c., had arrived in town from Yatton; and they
had quite sufficient to furnish their little residence out of the wreck
of the equipments of the old Hall--adapted as it was, under the tasteful
superintendence of Mrs. and Miss Aubrey, with equal regard to elegance,
simplicity, and economy. How busy were they all for a fortnight! Many
and many an irrepressible sigh, and rebellious tear, would the sight of
these old familiar objects, in their new situation, occasion them! Some
half dozen family pictures hung upon the wall. Over the mantel-piece was
suspended a piece of beautiful embroidery--by poor old Mrs. Aubrey, many
years before--of the arms of the family. In the dining-room was the old
high-backed chair in which she had sat for twenty years and more. In the
drawing-room was Miss Aubrey's favorite ebony inlaid cabinet, and Mrs.
Aubrey's piano; and, in short, everywhere might be seen the delicate
traces of dear, dear, graceful, and elegant _woman_--touching nothing
that she adorns not! What with the silk curtains, and a carpet of
simple but tasteful pattern, and the various articles of furniture and
ornament, all possessing a kind of _old family air_--all from Yatton, I
declare there was a sort of richness about the general aspect of the
drawing-room; and when Mrs. Aubrey and Kate came to fetch Mr. Aubrey out
of his little library to witness the completion of their labors, he
gazed round him for a while, looked at each object, and then at the two
dear fond beings standing beside him, awaiting his opinion with womanly
eagerness; but he could not express his feelings. He kissed each of them
very tenderly and in silence, and then they were a little overcome. His
library, also, though _very_ small, was as snug and comfortable as a
bookworm could have desired. All the sides were covered with books, and
in the middle were the library-table and armchair which he had used in
Grosvenor Street, and which were, it must be owned, on too large a scale
for the little room to which they had been removed.
That this oppressed family were not incessantly and very painfully
reminded of the contrast afforded by their present to their former
circumstances, I do not pretend to assert; but it very, very seldom
formed a topic of _conversation_ between any of them. When, however, the
little bustle and occupation of arranging their house was over, and Mrs.
Aubrey and Kate were left a good deal to themselves--Mr. Aubrey being
either absent from home, or in his library, engaged in matters of the
last importance to them all--then they would talk together with
increasing eagerness and excitement about past times, and their recent
troubles and bereavements; not displaying then--sweet souls!--_quite_
that degree of resignation and fortitude which they strove to exhibit in
the presence of Mr. Aubrey.
"Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them soon."
They passed a good deal of their time in-doors in needlework,
_practical_ family needlework, an art in which they were not
particularly accomplished, but which they quickly acquired from a
seamstress whom they kept engaged constantly in the house for several
weeks. Then sometimes they would sit down to the piano; at other times
they would read--on all occasions, however, frequently falling into
conversation on the all-engrossing topic of their expulsion from Yatton.
Now and then, they could scarcely refrain from a melancholy smile, when
they remarked upon their shrunken personal importance. "Really, Agnes,"
said one day Miss Aubrey, "I feel just as one can fancy a few poor newly
shorn sheep must feel! So light and cold! So much _less_ than they were
half an hour before! Surely they must hardly know what to make of
themselves!"
"Then, I suppose, mamma," said Charles, who was sitting on a stool
beside them--making believe to write on a small slate--"I am a _little_
sheep?" They both looked at the child with silent tenderness, and
presently thought of Him who "_tempers the wind_ to the shorn lamb."
Their proximity to the parks was delightful, and many a pleasant hour
did they pass there with the children; and then returning home, would
occupy themselves with writing letters--and long ones they usually
were--to early and loved friends, especially to Dr. Tatham, with whom
Miss Aubrey kept up a constant correspondence. I ought to have mentioned
before, that Mr. Aubrey, in bringing his favorite valet up to town with
him, had no other design than, with that kind thoughtfulness for which
he was remarkable, to have an opportunity of securing for him a good
situation; and that he succeeded in doing, after about a fortnight's
interval; but the poor fellow was quite confounded when he first heard
that he was to quit the service of Mr. Aubrey, and, almost falling on
his knees, begged to be permitted to continue and receive no wages, and
he should be a happy man. Mr. Aubrey was, however, firm; and on parting
with him, which he did with no little emotion, put two guineas into his
hand as a present, and wished him health and happiness. The poor
fellow's deep distress at parting with the family sensibly affected them
all, and reminded them vividly of one of the latest and bitterest scenes
at Yatton. On his departure, their little establishment consisted but of
three female servants, a cook, a housemaid, and a nursery-maid. It took
them some little time to familiarize themselves with the attendance of a
female servant at dinner! That was one little matter--and another was
Charles' now and then complaining of being tired, and inquiring why his
mamma did not drive in the carriage as she used to do, and how he should
like to go with her!--which brought home to them, in a lively manner,
their altered circumstances--their fallen fortunes. Many, many were the
anxious calculations they made together, of the probable amount of their
annual expenditure--which at length, inexperienced as they were, they
fixed at from £300 to £400, including everything; his wife and sister
eagerly assuring Mr. Aubrey, and persuading each other, that as for
clothes--_their_ wardrobe would, with care, last them for three or four
years to come--so that _that_ was an item which might be almost
altogether excluded from the account; except by the way, the
children--yes, _they_ should be always well-dressed; that all agreed
upon. Then there was their education--oh, Kate would see to _that_!
Could they, in this manner, with rigid and persevering economy, hold on
their way for a year or two? was a question they often asked one
another, with beating hearts. If they could, then, they said, they
should be happy; for they had _health_--they had peace of mind; their
consciences were not oppressed by a sense of misconduct--and they were
able to put their trust in Providence.
Mr. Aubrey resolved to live in strict privacy; and they consequently
communicated their residence to but one or two of their numerous
friends, and to them only in confidence. To have acted otherwise, would
have seriously interfered with the arrangements which, long ago
contemplated, he had now fixed upon. It would have been perpetually
calling their attention to the contrast between former days and scenes,
and the present; opening their wounds afresh; and moreover, subjecting
them to kind and generous importunities and offers, which, however
delicate, would have been exquisitely painful and trying to an honorable
pride. But it is time that I should proceed to give a more particular
account of the position, the personal feelings, and the purposes and
prospects of Mr. Aubrey.
From the moment when he received the first intimation of the
desperate assault about to be made upon his fortunes, he felt a
conviction--whether arising from weakness, or superstition, or any
other cause it concerns me not here to say--that the issue would be a
disastrous one for him; and, the first alarm and confusion over, he
addressed himself with serious calmness, with deep anxiety, to the
determination of his future course of life. A man of his refined taste
and feeling would inevitably appreciate exquisitely--with, indeed, a
most agonizing intensity--the loss of all those superior enjoyments--the
deliciæ of life--to which he had been from his birth accustomed. _Semper
enim delicatè ac molliter vixit._ I speak not here of the mere exterior
"appliances and means" of wealth and station, but of the fastidious and
sensitive condition of _feeling_ and temper, which such a state of
things is calculated to engender in a person of his description. He
could part with the one; but how could he divest himself of the other?
Even had he been alone in the world, and not surrounded with objects of
the tenderest regard, whose safety or ruin was involved in his own, one
of the results of his opponent's success--namely, his claim to the mesne
profits--was calculated to fetter all his movements, to hang like a
millstone round his neck; and that effect, indeed, it had. Still he
played the man--resolved to act promptly, and with the best
consideration he could give to his critical position. He had not yet
reached the prime of life; had a fair share of health; had been blessed
with the inestimable advantages of a thorough--a first-rate
education--and, above all, had followed out his early advantages by
laborious and systematic study. He had not only made accurate,
extensive, and valuable acquisitions of knowledge, but learned how to
use them--to turn them to practical account. What would, he thought,
have become of him, had he--or those before him--neglected his
education? Then he had acquired a considerable familiarity with business
habits, in the House of Commons; and had friends and connections who
might be of essential service to him, if he could but first succeed in
acquiring such a position as would enable him to avail himself of their
good offices. Surely all _these_ were cheering considerations! Had he
not even advantages superior to those possessed by many in entering upon
some one of the scenes of honorable struggles for a livelihood, and even
for distinction? He surveyed all the professions with much deliberation.
The army and navy were of course out of the question. There was the
_Church:_ but no--his soul recoiled from the degradation and guilt of
entering that holy calling from mercenary motives, merely as a means of
acquiring a livelihood; and he would rather have perished, than prefer
the prayer uttered by the doomed descendants of one whose lamentable
case is left on record--who _came and_ _crouched for a piece of silver,
and a morsel of bread, saying, Put me, I pray thee, into one of the
priest's offices, that I may eat a piece of bread._[15] A personage of
very high distinction in the Church--of eminent piety and learning--who
was aware of the misfortunes of Aubrey, and well acquainted with his
pure and exemplary character--his learning and acquirements--his fitness
for the ministerial office--wrote to him, offering him every facility
for taking orders, and assuring him that he need not wait long before he
should be placed in a situation of public usefulness. Though he assured
Mr. Aubrey that he believed himself consulting the best interests, both
of Mr. Aubrey and of the Church--the scruples of Mr. Aubrey were not to
be overcome; and he wrote to the kind and venerable prelate, a letter
declining his offers, and assigning reasons which filled him with
profound respect for Mr. Aubrey. Then literature, for which--for real
substantial literature--he possessed superior qualifications, was
proverbially precarious. As for _teaching_--he felt quite unfit for it;
he had not the least inclination for it; 'twas a cheerless scene of
exertion; in which, as it were, he felt his energies _perishing in the
using_. The BAR was the profession to which his tastes and inclinations,
and, he hoped, his qualifications, pointed him. One of the first things
he did, on reaching London, was to apply for information to one
consummately qualified to guide him in the matter. He wrote to the
Attorney-General, soliciting an interview at his chambers upon the
subject of entering the profession; and received an immediate answer,
appointing ten o'clock on Saturday, on which day the Attorney-General
expected to be partially free from public engagements. Precisely at that
hour, Mr. Aubrey entered the chambers of that distinguished person,
whose arrival he had anticipated. Poor Aubrey felt a little nervous and
depressed as the fussy clerk showed him into the room--_as he fancied_,
and only fancied--with an air of patronizing civility, as if aware of
his diminished personal consequence. He stood for a minute or two very
close to Mr. Aubrey, with a sort of confidence in his manner as he
rubbed his hands, and glibly observed on the innumerable engagements of
the Attorney-General, which slightly--_very slightly_--displeased Mr.
Aubrey, suggesting the idea of undue familiarity. He answered the
voluble clerk therefore courteously, but with an evident disinclination
to prolong the conversation, and was quickly left alone. Poor
Aubrey's pride had taken the alarm. Was it possible that the man
had been presuming to give him a hint not to occupy much of the
Attorney-General's time? Was it even possible that it had been done in
consequence of an intimation from the Attorney-General himself? Oh,
no--his own good sense came presently to his assistance, and banished so
absurd a notion. There were three tables in the room, and each was laden
with briefs, some of them of prodigious bulk. Seven or eight very recent
ones were placed on the table opposite to which his vacant chair was
standing; the very sight of all this oppressed Aubrey: how could one
man's head manage so much? He was ruminating on such matters--and
especially upon the powerful, versatile, and practised intellect which
was requisite successfully to cope with such perpetually accumulating
difficulties, independently of the harassing responsibilities and
occupations of political office, when the Attorney-General entered. He
was a tall and handsome man, about forty-five, with an extremely
graceful and gentlemanlike carriage. There was a slight dash of
negligence in it; while his manner was fraught with cheerful composure.
He looked quite a man of the world; you would have thought that he could
have nothing to do but lounge at his club; ride round the Park; saunter
into the House of Lords for an hour or two; and then surrender himself
to the pleasures of society. There was not a trace of anxiety or
exhaustion about him; yet had he been engaged during the whole of the
preceding day conducting a very great political cause, (one of high
treason,) not having concluded his reply till nine o'clock at night!
There was a playful smile about his mouth; his ample forehead seemed
unfurrowed by a wrinkle; and his bright penetrating hazel eyes seemed
never the worse for wear with all the tens of thousands of brief sheets
on which they had travelled for the last twenty years.
"Ha--Aubrey--I'm a few minutes behind time, I'm afraid!--How are you?"
said he, with a cheerful air, grasping his saddened visitor very
cordially by the hand.
"Good-morning, Mr. Attorney--_Cum tot sustineas, et tanta negotia
solus_"--commenced poor Aubrey, pointing to the piles of briefs.
"Pho, my dear Aubrey; nonsense! _They've_ enough of my time, surely,
without grudging me half an hour's conversation with a friend--ah, ha!"
They were both quickly seated--and within a minute or two's time the
Attorney-General--_more suo_--had _got to business_--the business of the
visit. Aubrey perceived the rapidity of the movement; but nothing could
be _kinder_ than the manner of his companion, however distinct and
decisive his intimation that time was very precious. He approved
entirely of Mr. Aubrey's coming to the bar, and strongly recommended him
not to lose one day in entering upon the serious practical study of it;
informing him that, as an university man, within three years' time he
would be eligible to be called to the bar. "I'll call you myself,
Aubrey, if you will allow me," said he; but before that period had
arrived, he had taken his seat upon the Woolsack, as Lord High
Chancellor of England!
"Undoubtedly," said he, among other things, when pressed by Aubrey
about the difficulties to be encountered in adopting the legal
profession--"the acquisition of the _technical_ knowledge will be for
some little time rather troublesome; but a twelvemonth's steady study by
a man who is in earnest, and accustomed to real _work_, will make a vast
inroad on it. Everything you master, you see, helps to master so much
more. Three years' serious application to the law, by a man like you, my
dear Aubrey, will place you far a-head of the mob of men at the bar.
Besides, 'tis not the study but the _practice_ of the law that teaches
law most effectually.... Always have an eye to _principle_, referring
_everything_ to it. Resolve thoroughly to understand the smallest
details; and it will be a wonderful assistance in fixing them for
practical use in your mind, to learn as much as you can, of the
_reasons_ and _policy_ in which they originated. You'll find Reeves'
History of the English Law of infinite service to you; I should study it
in the evenings; 'tis full of interest and value in every point of view.
I read every word of it, very carefully, soon after I left college; and,
by the way, I'll tell you another book, by which I did the same--the
State Trials: ay, you could hardly believe me, if I were to tell you how
much I have read of them--speeches, examinations, cross-examination of
witnesses, reply, and summing up. That's where I first learned how to
examine and cross-examine a witness! Consider, the counsel employed
were, you know, generally first-rate men, and exerted themselves, on
such occasions, to the utmost, and the records of their procedure show
you the best possible style of doing business. And there you also learn
a great deal of _constitutional_ law.... You ask me how I get through so
much? To be sure, one _has_ enough to do, and I'm afraid I neglect a
good deal; but the great secret is--_attention_, and to _one thing_ at a
time. The sun's rays scattered are comparatively powerless; condense
them, they are irresistible:--but all this you know, Aubrey, as well
as, or better than I do.... Certainly, law is difficult; but its
difficulty is often greatly overrated, especially by imperfectly
educated, and ill-disciplined, _quick_, _sharp_ men. _You_ will find it
a very different matter. What is wanted is a clear head; a good memory;
strong common sense; fixity of purpose; an aptitude for analysis and
arrangement: before these combined, the difficulties of law fly like the
morning mist before the sun.--_Tact_ with the court, and a jury, is
acquired by practice, to a considerable extent, in the absence even of
natural endowments. And as for _you_, Aubrey--upon my honor, I've often
listened with great satisfaction to you in the House; few ever made
clearer statements of facts, or reasoned more closely and cogently than
you did; with practice, you would have become--and you soon will
become--a formidable debater. In your new profession you will find
_facts_ become quite different things from what they have ever hitherto
appeared; flexible, elastic, accommodating--you may do anything with
them--twist, and turn, and combine; ha! ha! Aubrey!" [Here the
Attorney-General laughed in the plenitude of his own conscious power.]
"In a word, Aubrey, if you _determine_ to get on at the bar, you _will_:
and if you can but get a bit of a _start_ at the beginning; now, for
instance, there's Runningtons' house--one of the very first in
London--why if _they_ would push you--your fortune's made. But you must
make up your mind to wait a little: you can't get into a great business
by a hop, step, and a jump, believe me. Certainly _I_ have no cause to
be dissatisfied; I've done pretty well; but I can tell you that eight
years passed over me before I earned enough a-year to pay my laundress!
With me, accident supplied the place of _connection_: but only suppose
how I must have worked in the mean time to be able to do business when
it came to me! I know it's said that I was always an idle man; but
people were a good deal mistaken about that matter, I can promise them!
What _idiots_, indeed, to suppose such a thing! Why, my very first start
lifted me into a business of a thousand a-year; and, in the name of
common sense, how could I have got through it, if I hadn't worked
beforehand? Bah!--Now, if Runningtons'--one of the first firms in the
profession--will stand by you, I'll guarantee your making £300 your
first year! and if they _won't_, why, don't despair, you'll have to wait
a little longer; but it will come at last, depend on it, if you continue
on the look-out! Besides, you can help _me_ a little bit, eh? It will be
a sort of introduction, you know; but we've time enough to see about
that.--I recommend you to get at once into the chambers of some
hard-working man, with a good deal of general business, particularly
Pleading--let me see"--Here the Attorney-General paused, and stroked his
chin for a moment or two in a musing manner, "Ah, yes, there's WEASEL,
the very man for your purpose. He's a good pleader, and a neat
draftsman; gets through his work very _cleanly_--ah! Weasel's a
clear-headed painstaking little fellow--all for law; and he's got a good
deal of it. He's not a very polished person, Weasel, ha! ha! but he's an
honorable, right-minded man--shall I introduce you? Well, by-and-by,
I'll walk over with you.--As to books? oh! why--I suppose you've looked
into Blackstone? He's a fine fellow, Blackstone, and deserves all that
has been said in his praise. Many think that he's only to be glanced at,
at the beginning of their studies; never believe it! He's good to the
end of the chapter! I've a profound respect for Blackstone; it's the
only book I've read four or five times through--ay, from cover to cover;
he makes law lovely! Stick to Blackstone by all means! Reeves--oh! I
mentioned _him_, you know. Then I should go, I think, to Coke on
Littleton; but we shall have several opportunities of talking over
_these_ matters. I really believe, Aubrey, that you are doing a very
wise thing in coming to the bar. If you've health, and the average
opportunities, (though I think you will have _more_,) I'll undertake to
say that in a few years' time you will realize an income--which _may_ be
a great one--but which (whatever it may be) you'll _earn_, as you did
not the one you've lost; and you'll enjoy it, my dear Aubrey, ten
thousand times more! All that I can do for you, I will--command me! By
the way," he added, assuming a somewhat anxious expression of
countenance and a manner very different from that free, buoyant,
off-hand one in which, for the last twenty minutes, he had been
speaking, (Aubrey feeling all the while the easy commanding power and
simplicity of the resplendent intellect with which he was communing,)
"I'm almost afraid to ask; but how do you come on, about the----Mesne
Profits?"
"I have heard nothing whatever about them, as yet," replied Aubrey,
sighing; his face suddenly overshadowed with gloom. A moment's pause
ensued; which was interrupted by the Attorney-General saying in a very
earnest and feeling manner, "I hope to Heaven you'll be able to get some
favorable arrangement made! You've not seen anything of Mr. Titmouse's
attorneys, I suppose?"
"Oh, no!" replied Aubrey, sighing, "nor heard anything from them!"
"_I've_ had very little to do with them; Quirk, Gammon, and Snap--these
are the people, eh?" Mr. Aubrey nodded. "Quirk is a stubborn
wooden-headed fellow--an old hedgehog! Egad! that man's compounded more
felonies, the old scamp, than any man in England! I should like to have
him in the witness-box for a couple of hours, or so! I think I'd tickle
him a little," said the Attorney-General, with a bitter smile. "They say
he's a confidential adviser to a sort of Thieves' Association! But
there's Gammon: I've had several things to do with _him_. He is a
superior man, that Gammon, a very superior man. A keen dog! I recollect
him being principal witness in a cause when I was for the plaintiff; and
he completely baffled Subtle--ah, ha, how well I recollect it!--Subtle
lost his temper at last, because he couldn't make Gammon lose _his_! Ah,
how cleverly the fellow twisted and turned with Subtle for nearly an
hour! ah, ha--Subtle looked so chagrined!--Have you seen Mr. Gammon?"
"No, I've had no occasion."
"He has a pleasing, gentlemanlike appearance; rather a striking face.
_He's_ the man you'll have to deal with in any negotiations on the
subject I named. You must mind what you're about with him. You mustn't
think me intrusive, Aubrey; but, have they sent in their bill yet?"
Mr. Aubrey involuntarily shuddered, as he answered in the negative.
"I'd give a trifle to know how the plague such people ever came to be
concerned in such a case. 'Tis quite out of their way--which is in the
criminal line of business!--They'll make their client pay for it through
the nose, I warrant him:--By the way, what an inconceivably ridiculous
little ass that Titmouse is--I saw him in court at York. If he'd only go
on the stage, and act _naturally_, he'd make his fortune as a
fool!"--Mr. Aubrey faintly smiled at this sally; but the topics which
the Attorney-General had just before touched upon, had not a little
oppressed his spirits.
"As this is comparatively an idle day with me," said the
Attorney-General, "and I've got ten minutes more at your
service--suppose I go with you at once--nothing like the present
moment--to Mr. Weasel's?"
"I am greatly obliged to you," replied Aubrey--and both rose to
go. "Say I shall be back in a few minutes," said the Attorney-General,
in answer to his clerk, who reminded him as he passed, that Mr.
Sergeant Squelch and Mr. Putty would be there in a moment or two's
time. As they crossed the court--"How do you do, Mr. Putty?" said the
Attorney-General, with lofty civility, to a grinning little confident
personage who met him, exclaiming with flippant familiarity,
"How do you do, Mr. Attorney?--Coming to your chambers--you don't
forget?--Consultation--eh?"
"I perfectly recollect it, Mr. Putty, I shall return presently. Perhaps,
if convenient, you will have the goodness to wait for a few
minutes"--replied the Attorney-General, somewhat stiffly, and passed on,
arm-in-arm with Mr. Aubrey.
"Now, that forward little imp's name, Aubrey, is Putty," whispered the
Attorney-General. "He was a glazier by trade; but just as he finished
his apprenticeship, an uncle left him a few hundred pounds, with
which--would you believe it?--nothing would suit him but decking himself
in a wig and gown, and coming to the bar--ah, ha!--The fellow's
creeping, however, into a little business, positively! They say he has a
cousin who is one of the officers to the sheriff of Middlesex, and puts
a good many little things in his way! He's my junior in an action of
libel against a newspaper, for charging his father-in-law--a baker who
supplies some workhouse with bread--with making it of only one-third
flour, one-third rye, and the remainder _saw-dust_--ah, ha, ha!--I dared
hardly look at the judges while I moved the Rule for a New Trial, for
fear of laughing! This is the case in which we're going to have the
consultation he spoke of--but here's Mr. Weasel's." They mounted a
narrow, dingy-looking, well-worn staircase--and on the first floor,
beheld "MR. WEASEL" painted over the door. On the Attorney-General's
knocking, as soon as his clear silvery voice was heard asking for Mr.
Weasel, and his dignified figure had been recognized by the clerk, who
had one pen in his mouth, and another behind his ear--that humble
functionary suddenly bent himself almost double three or four times; and
with flustered obsequiousness assured the great man that Mr. Weasel was
quite at liberty. The next moment the Attorney-General and Mr. Aubrey
were introduced into Mr. Weasel's room--a small dusky apartment
wretchedly furnished, the walls being lined with book-shelves, well
filled--and the table at which he was writing, and a chair on each side
of him, strewed with draft paper, which he was covering at a prodigious
rate. He was, in fact, drawing a "Declaration" in an action for a
_Breach of promise of Marriage_, (taking a hasty pinch of fiery Welsh
snuff every three minutes;) and his task seemed to be rendered very
difficult, by the strange conduct of the defendant--surely the most
fickle of mankind--who, with an extraordinary inconsistency, not knowing
his own mind for a day together, had promised to marry Miss M'Squint,
the heart-broken plaintiff, _firstly_, within a reasonable time;
_secondly_, on a given day; _thirdly_, on the defendant's return from
the Continent; _fourthly_, on the death of his father, (both of which
events were averred to have taken place;) _fifthly_, when the defendant
should have cut his wise teeth, (which it was averred he had;) and
lastly, on "_being requested_" by the lady--which it was averred she had
done, and in the most precise and positive manner, that she had been
_ready and willing, and then_ [what will the ladies say?] "_tendered and
offered herself to marry the said defendant_," who had then wholly
neglected and refused to do any such thing. One notable peculiarity of
the case was, that all these promises had been made, and all these
events appeared to have come to pass in one particular place--and that
rather an odd one, viz. in "_the parish of Saint Mary Le Bow, in the
ward of Cheap, in the city of London_."[16] If you had been better
acquainted with Mr. Weasel's associations and mode of doing business,
you would have discovered that, in _his_ imagination, almost all the
occurrences of life took place at this same spot! But to return--thus
was that astute little pleader engaged when they entered. He was a
bachelor, upwards of forty; was of spare make, of low stature, had a
thin, sharp, sallow face, and short stiff black hair; there was an
appearance about the eyes as if they were half-blinded with being
incessantly directed to white paper; he had a furrowed forehead, a small
pursed-up mouth--one hardly knew why, but really there was something
about his look that instantly suggested to you the image of the creature
whose name he bore. He was a ravenous lawyer, darting at the point and
pith of every case he was concerned in, and sticking to it--just as
would his bloodthirsty namesake at the neck of a rabbit. In _law_ he
lived, moved, and had his being. In his dreams he was everlastingly
spinning out pleadings which he never could understand, and hunting for
cases which he could not discover. In the daytime, however, he was more
successful. In fact, everything he saw, heard, or read of--wherever he
was, whatever he was doing, suggested to him questions of law, that
might arise out of it. At his sister's wedding (whither he had not gone
without reluctance) he got into a wrangle with the bridegroom, on a
question started by himself, (Weasel,) whether an _infant_ was liable
for goods supplied to his wife, before marriage. At his grandmother's
funeral he got into an intricate discussion with a puzzled proctor about
_bona notabilia_, with reference to a pair of horn spectacles, which the
venerable deceased had left behind her in Scotland, and a poodle in the
Isle of Man; and at church, the reading of the parable of the _Unjust
Steward_, set his devout, ingenious, and fertile mind at work for the
remainder of the service, as to the modes of stating the case,
now-a-days, against the offender, and whether it would be more advisable
to proceed civilly or criminally; and if the former, at law or in
equity. He was a hard-headed man; very clear and acute, and accurate in
his legal knowledge; every other sort he despised, if, indeed, he had
more than the faintest notion, from hearsay, of its existence. He was a
Cambridge man; and there had read nothing but mathematics, in which he
had made a decent figure. As soon as he had taken his degree, he
migrated to the Temple, where he had ever since continued engaged in the
study, and then the successful practice, of the law, as a special
pleader under the bar. He had a very large business, which he got
through ably and rapidly. He scarcely ever went into society; early want
of opportunity for doing so, had at length abated his desire for it--to
say nothing of his want of _time_. When, as was seldom the case, he
ventured out for a walk, he went, muttering to himself, at a postman's
pace, to get the greatest quantity of exercise in the smallest space of
time. He was not a bad-tempered man, but, from the absorbing and
harassing nature of his employments, he had become nervous, fidgety, and
irritable. His tone of voice was feeble, his utterance hesitating, his
manner hurried. What a laughable contrast between him and his visitor!
The Attorney-General coming to Mr. Weasel's chambers, suggested the idea
of a magnificent mastiff suddenly poking his head into the little kennel
of a querulous pug-dog; and I suppose Mr. Aubrey might be likened to a
greyhound accompanying the aforesaid mastiff! On seeing his visitors,
Mr. Weasel instantly got up with a blush of surprise, and a little hurry
and embarrassment of manner. His clerk put out a couple of chairs, and
down they sat. The Attorney-General came to the point in about half a
minute, and the matter was very quickly settled; it being arranged that
within a day or two's time, as soon as the forms necessary for admitting
Mr. Aubrey to an Inn of Court should have been completed, he should
commence his attendance at Mr. Weasel's, from ten o'clock till five
daily.
"It's a comical-looking little animal, isn't it?" quoth the
Attorney-General, with a laugh, as soon as they had got out of hearing.
"Certainly, I don't feel particularly prepossessed"----
"Oh, pho! He's the very man for you--the very man. There's no nonsense
with Weasel; you may learn an infinite deal of law from him, and that is
all you want. He's a very inoffensive fellow; and I've no doubt you'll
soon like his chambers greatly, if you're in earnest in studying the
law. You go or not, of course, as you choose; whatever you do is
perfectly voluntary; pay him his hundred guineas, and then, if you like,
you may get many thousand pounds' worth out of him in the twelvemonth.
Now, I _must_ bid you good-morning--I've really not another moment to
spare. God bless you, my dear Aubrey; and," he added with great
kindness, and a very pointed manner, "whenever you may think it worth
your while to talk over your affairs with me, come without notice or
ceremony--wherever I may be, I shall be delighted to see you!" Then they
parted. Mr. Aubrey was not aware of a certain stroke of delicacy and
generosity on the part of the Attorney-General; viz. that immediately on
the _Rule_ for a new trial being discharged, he had sent for Mr.
Runnington, and insisted on returning every sixpence of his
fees--upwards of six hundred guineas--desiring that Mr. Aubrey should
not be made acquainted with it, if by any means Messrs. Runnington could
conceal it from him!
A little fatigued and harassed by several important matters, which kept
him engaged till a late hour in the afternoon, he reached Vivian Street
in a depressed and desponding mood. Just as he turned the corner, he
beheld, at about twenty yards' distance, Mrs. Aubrey and Miss Aubrey
slowly walking homeward, on their return from the Park. Mrs. Aubrey held
Charles by the hand, who was dancing and frisking wildly about, and Miss
Aubrey's beautiful little Cato she was leading along by a slender chain.
They were in half-mourning; there was such an air of elegant simplicity
about them--their figures, their carriage, so easy and graceful! Aubrey,
as he neared them, gazed at them with mingled feelings of pride and
tenderness.
"Oh, my papa! my papa!" suddenly exclaimed Charles, who, happening to
turn round, had caught sight of his father, and ran eagerly down to him:
with what a thrill of love did he take in his arms the beautiful
breathless boy, and how his heart yearned towards his wife and sister,
as they also turned quickly round to meet him, after a long day's
absence! How inexpressibly dear were they to him--how, that day, he
enjoyed their quiet little dinner-table--the romp with his children
afterwards--and a long evening of eager and interesting conversation,
after the little ones had gone to bed, Mrs. Aubrey and Kate busy, the
while, with some slight matter of needlework! They had received several
letters from Yorkshire, which they read to him. One was from poor Dr.
Tatham, who, though he concealed a good deal that would have occasioned
needless pain, yet gave them a melancholy notion of the altered state of
things at the Hall. Though it was rather late before they retired to
rest on the evening of the ensuing Sunday, Mr. Aubrey was to be found
seated in his study by half-past four on Monday morning, perusing, with
profound attention, stimulated by the strong observation of the
Attorney-General, the second volume of Blackstone's Commentaries,--a
work with which he had already a very tolerable familiarity. 'Twas
really a thing to be thankful for that Mr. Aubrey, with so many
absorbing anxieties, such distracting apprehensions concerning the
future, _could_ command his attention in the way he did. To be sure, he
felt that it was plainly life-and-death work with him; but he might have
derived great encouragement from perceiving himself possessed of that
faculty of concentrating the attention, which the Attorney-General had
spoken of as so essential an attribute of a lawyer. The way in which he
parcelled out his time was this: From the time that he entered his study
till breakfast-time, he resolved to read law--from ten o'clock till four
or five, was to be spent at Mr. Weasel's chambers--and the evenings were
to be devoted to the society of his children, his wife, and sister, and
also to certain occasional literary efforts, from which he hoped to
derive some little increase to his means. This was severe work; but it
was probably the most fortunate and salutary thing in the world for
Aubrey, that his energies should be thus occupied, and his mind kept
from the corroding effects of constant reflection upon his misfortunes,
and dismal apprehensions concerning the future. After he had spent a few
days in Mr. Weasel's chambers, a good deal of his prejudice against that
gentleman began to wear off. Mr. Aubrey found him all that the
Attorney-General had described him as being--a very acute and able
lawyer, with a constant current of important, varied, and instructive
business running through his chambers, and every disposition to render
his utmost assistance to Mr. Aubrey, whom he quickly found out to be a
man of very superior intellect, and most seriously bent upon acquiring a
knowledge of the profession. Mr. Weasel was not blessed with the power
of formally communicating elementary knowledge; Mr. Aubrey had, as it
were, to _extort_ from him what he wanted, with something like a painful
effort. The real advantages of his position, were, the innumerable
practical hints and suggestions as to the mode of dealing with
miscellaneous business, which he derived from a watchful attention to
whatever passed in chambers--to the mode, in which Weasel hunted up and
applied his law, and reduced the facts involved in litigation into legal
shape and language, in the process of pleading. The penetrating eye of
Mr. Aubrey, thus closely fixed on everything that came under his notice,
quickly began to discover and appreciate the good sense, the practical
utility of most of the positive rules of law which he saw in operation;
and at the end of a fortnight or three weeks, he began to feel interest
in the study upon which he had so vigorously entered, and in which he
felt himself making real progress. Mr. Weasel, during even that time,
perceived the prodigious superiority of Mr. Aubrey over another pupil,
who had nearly completed his second year in Mr. Weasel's chambers, after
a twelvemonth spent in a conveyancer's; not, of course, in respect of
legal knowledge, but of intellectual power and aptitude for
business.--Mr. Aubrey would return to Vivian Street about six o'clock
each evening, a little fatigued with a very long day's work, (for he was
never later than five o'clock in entering his study, in the morning;)
but he was quickly cheered and refreshed by the sight of the fond and
lovely beings whom he there rejoined, and who had been counting the very
minutes till he returned. Every day knit that little family together, if
possible, in stronger bonds of love; for they clung to each other with a
feeling of having been thrust out of the great gay world together, and
sent, as it were, upon a pilgrimage afar, amid scenes of increasing
gloom, difficulty, and danger. Each day that bore them farther from that
of their expulsion from Yatton, mellowed, as it were, their
recollections of past scenes, and poured upon their wounded feelings the
soothing balm of pious resignation; and sometimes, also, faint and
trembling beams of hope concerning the future, would steal across the
gloomy chambers of their hearts. Thank God, the view of the past
presented to them no occasion for shame, for remorse, for
self-condemnation! They trusted that, in their day of wealth and
distinction, many as had been their shortcomings, they had not been
found wilfully neglecting the duties imposed upon them. Therefore they
derived a just consolation from a view of the past. But the
FUTURE--indeed--
"Shadows, clouds, and darkness rested on it."
Their hearts involuntarily fluttered and shrank within them, when they
gazed upon the threatening gloom which hung over it. Their straitened
circumstances--an honorable poverty--had been a burden light, indeed, to
bear. They were very happy in one another's company; their house, though
small, was convenient, and even elegantly comfortable; they had health;
Mr. Aubrey had constant exercise for an active and vigorous mind, in the
acquisition of the learning of a noble profession, the practice of which
might possibly hereafter raise all of them to even affluence and
distinction--at all events, might secure them the substantial comforts
of life. But he would have moments of heaviness and trepidation. When
engaged in his little study, in the profound solitude and silence of the
early morning, while he was thus straining his faculties to their
utmost, on behalf of the sweet innocent beings--his wife--his
children--his sister--sleeping above, he would sometimes lean back in
his chair, with a very deep sigh, and sink into a revery--oh, how sad
and painful!--deepening occasionally into agony; but he would suddenly
arouse himself, and resume his studies with a powerful effort at
abstraction--with additional intensity of application.--How, indeed,
could he be otherwise than momentarily _paralyzed_, when he surveyed his
truly alarming, his tremendous pecuniary liabilities? Bills of
costs--Heaven only knew to what amount--due to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon,
and Snap; to his own attorneys, Messrs. Runnington; and to Mr.
Parkinson: and then--sickening and fearful object!--the Mesne
Profits--what _was_ to become of them all? The mind which, in the
presence of such disturbing forces as these, could apply its energies so
successfully as did that of Mr. Aubrey to the acquisition of knowledge,
with any degree of calmness, must surely have been of no common order,
and have undergone no slight discipline; but, alas! alas! what could all
this have availed him, unless he had been vouchsafed assistance from on
high? When the _waters were come in unto his soul_; when he was _sinking
in deep mire, where there was no standing_; when he was _come into deep
waters, where the floods overflowed him_--whither was he to look but to
one quarter, and that ABOVE, with earnest, and faithful, and constant
supplication to the Almighty?
The constant apprehension of very great evil--_suspense_--is a state
almost as terrible and insupportable, especially to those of lively
susceptibilities, as that produced by the infliction of the evil. Every
morning when Aubrey left home, he dreaded to think of what might happen
before his return; and when he quitted the Temple, he experienced a
sinking of the heart, when he thought of what might have transpired in
his absence. In fact, they all of them felt like those whom the ominous
silence and repose of surrounding nature--a portentous calm and gloom
overhead--fill with trembling apprehension of the coming storm. Their
fears are quickened by the occasional falling of large spreading drops
of rain through the sultry sky, not a breath of air stirring. Upward is
oft turned the pale cheek and apprehensive eye towards the black
accumulating clouds, from which may soon flame the destructive
lightning--what, in such a case, is there to rely upon, but the mercy of
Him around whose throne are clouds and darkness, and the whirlwind and
tempest His ordering?
The little family were sitting one morning at their usual early and
simple breakfast, and Mr. Aubrey was reading aloud, for his wife and
sister's suggestions, a second article which he had commenced
over-night, designed for a recently-established Review--having, some
fortnight before, sent off his first effort, about which, however, he
had as yet heard nothing; and Kate was playfully patting his cheek, and
telling him that, for all he might say to the contrary, a particular
expression was not, in her opinion, "_elegant English!_"
"It _is_, you pert puss," insisted Aubrey, with a good-natured laugh;
and then, turning to Mrs. Aubrey, "What do _you_ say, Agnes?"
"Oh--why--I really like it very much as it is."
"I sha'n't alter it," said Aubrey, laughing.
"Then I'll alter it when you're gone," quoth Kate, jauntily, and
bringing her beautiful laughing face so near his own, with a kind of air
of defiance, that he kissed her forehead, and said it should be as she
chose.
Just then a knock at the door announced a visitor, who proved to be Mr.
Runnington. Why it was they hardly knew; but they all slightly changed
color. He had called so early, he said, to insure seeing Mr. Aubrey
before he went to the Temple; and, though he had been shown into the
study, Mr. Aubrey insisted on his joining the breakfast-table.
"We've very plain fare for you, however," said he, as Mr. Runnington
yielded to his wishes.
Mr. Aubrey perceived, with some uneasiness, that the kind and
thoughtful countenance of Mr. Runnington wore rather an anxious
expression. And indeed so it was. When he looked at those who sat before
him--lovely, elegant, yet with a plainly forced cheerfulness--reflected
on the sufferings which they had passed through, and those which were
but too evidently in store for them--and for the first bitter instalment
of which he had come to prepare Mr. Aubrey--could he but feel very deep
sympathy for them? As soon as he had retired with Mr. Aubrey to the
study, in a low tone he explained his errand, which was to apprise him
that, the evening before, Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's BILL had
come in.
"Well, show it me, if you please," said Mr. Aubrey, calmly, extending
his hand.
"My dear sir, why do you suppose I have it _with me_?" inquired Mr.
Runnington, with a concerned air. "You are not accustomed to such
matters--God forbid you should be! It is too bulky for me to have
brought with me, and lies at our office!"
"What is the _amount_ of it, then?" inquired Mr. Aubrey, dreading to
hear the answer; while Mr. Runnington took out of his pocket-book a slip
of paper, which he handed to Mr. Aubrey, and on which the latter
read--"£3,946, 14s. 6d." He gazed at it for some moments in silence, and
became very pale. Mr. Runnington could hardly bear to look at him, and
think of the two lovely women in the adjoining room, who were so
fearfully interested in the intelligence which had so dismayed Mr.
Aubrey.
"This is a very--large--amount," said the latter at length, with
suppressed emotion.
"It is a most serious affair," replied Mr. Runnington, shaking his head
and sighing.
"Then there is yours--and Mr. Parkinson's."
"Oh, Mr. Aubrey--_sufficient for the day is the evil thereof_."
"Will you oblige me by saying what is the probable amount of _your_
bill?" inquired Mr. Aubrey, with a calmness which seemed lent to him by
despair.
"Oh! I assure you we have thought nothing at all about it, nor shall we
for some time to come, Mr. Aubrey. We have not the slightest intention
of troubling ourselves, or you, with the matter till you may be in a
position to attend to it without serious inconvenience."
"But _do_ favor me with something like a _notion_," pressed the unhappy
Aubrey.
"Why--perhaps I am hardly doing right in mentioning it; but whenever our
bill is sent in, it will be less by some six hundred and fifty pounds,
by the noble generosity of the Attorney-General, who has returned all
his fees"----
"Returned all his fees!" echoed Mr. Aubrey, starting, while the color
rushed into his cheek, and the expression of his countenance was of
pride struggling with astonishment, and gratitude, and admiration. He
profoundly appreciated the conduct of his distinguished friend; and at
the same time felt a _totally new_ and very painful sense of pecuniary
obligation.
"I feel, Mr. Aubrey, that I have broken my promise to the
Attorney-General, who extracted from me a solemn pledge, to endeavor so
to manage the matter as that you should never know it. What is it, after
all--noble as it is--to the Attorney-General, with his £12,000 or
£15,000 a-year?"
"Oh--do not talk _so_, Mr. Runnington; I am overpowered, oppressed.
Never in all my life have I experienced feelings like those by which I
am now agitated!" He rose, and stood opposite the window for a few
minutes, neither of them speaking. Then he returned to his seat.
"How much does that leave me your debtor?"
"Why--really it is hard to say, unprepared--I should imagine--if you
will really force me to speak of such an unpleasant topic--that our
account is reduced to some £1,500 or £1,600--about which"----
"Then there is Mr. Parkinson's," said Aubrey, in a low tone, but with a
desperate air; presently adding--"Here are some £6,000 or £7,000 to
start with; and _then_ we come to the mesne profits--gracious, gracious
God!" he suddenly added with a visible shudder. He folded his arms
convulsively, and gazed, for a second or two, at Mr. Runnington, with an
eye, the expression of which was overpowering. In his face Mr.
Runnington beheld no longer the melancholy mildness to which he had been
accustomed, but a sternness and power were apparent in his features,
which Mr. Runnington had not imagined them capable of exhibiting. They
told of a strong soul thoroughly roused, and excited, and in agony. At
that moment a knocking was heard at the door, as of very little fingers.
"Come in!" exclaimed Mr. Aubrey, with unusual quickness and sternness.
He was obeyed--and Charles's little face peeped into the room timidly.
He was evidently quite startled by the tone in which he had been
addressed. "Come in, my child!" said Mr. Aubrey, rather tremulously,
when he saw that it was _his son_, and observed the apprehensiveness
overspreading his little features. Charles immediately advanced, with a
serious submissive air, saying--"This letter is just come--Mamma sent me
with it, dear papa"----
"Give it me, Charles," said Mr. Aubrey, extending his hand for it, while
with the other he gently placed the child upon his lap, and kissed him.
"I'm not angry with you, Charles," said he, tenderly.
"I've not been naughty, you know, dear papa!" said he, with innocent
surprise.
"No, no, my little love." The ruined FATHER could say no more; but
putting aside the child's flowing curly locks from his temples, as it
were mechanically, he gazed on his little face for a moment, and then
folded him in his arms with unspeakable tenderness. Mr. Runnington rose,
and stood for some moments gazing through the window, unwilling that his
own emotion should be observed. When Mr. Aubrey opened the letter, it
proved to be from the publisher of the Review to which he had sent his
article, enclosing a check for forty guineas, expressing an earnest
desire that he would continue his contributions, and assuring him that
the editor considered the article "in every way admirable." As soon as
he had glanced over the letter--"You little messenger of hope and
mercy!" he thought, again kissing his son, who sat passively gazing at
the agitated countenance of his FATHER--"I cannot, I will not despair!
You have brought me, as it were, a ray of light from heaven, piercing
the fearful gloom of my situation; 'tis a token, surely, that I am not
forgotten: I feel as though an angel, momentarily brightening the night
of sorrow, had come and whispered in my ear--'COURAGE!'" His features
began to resume their natural serenity of expression. "Take it in to
your mamma," said he, kissing little Charles, and despatching him with
the letter. Shortly afterwards, as soon as he had recovered the command
of his manner sufficiently to avoid occasioning uneasiness to Mrs. and
Miss Aubrey, he proposed to Mr. Runnington that they should walk towards
the Temple; and bidding adieu to those whom he left behind him, without
giving them an opportunity to ask him as to the nature of Mr.
Runnington's errand, but leaving them in high spirits at the letter
which he had sent in to them, he quitted the house arm-in-arm with Mr.
Runnington. I am persuaded that if that gentleman had had no one to
consult, he would, serious as was the amount of his claim, have
relieved Mr. Aubrey altogether from liability to _him_; but he had four
partners; their own pecuniary outlay had been considerable; the thing,
therefore, was practically quite out of the question. As they walked
along, in the course of much anxious conversation, Mr. Runnington told
Mr. Aubrey that he considered Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's bill to
be most outrageous and profligate in its charges; and that it might, on
taxation--a process which he explained to Mr. Aubrey--be reduced,
probably, by at least _one-half_. But he also reminded Mr. Aubrey of the
power which they held in their hands, in respect of the mesne profits;
and intimated his opinion, that in all probability they had constructed
their account with an eye to such considerations--namely, that it should
be discharged without rigorous scrutiny into its constituent items,
before they would listen to any proposed terms for the payment of the
mesne profits; and that Mr. Aubrey's position, with respect to Messrs.
Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, was one requiring the greatest possible
deliberation and circumspection on his part, especially in the matter of
the bill which had just been delivered in by them.
"I see! The whole," said Mr. Aubrey, "comes to this: they will relieve
me from liability to Mr. Titmouse, for as much of what may be due to
him, as they can divert into their own pockets!"
"That certainly seems very much like it," replied Mr. Runnington,
shrugging his shoulders; "but you will leave all such considerations and
matters to us; and rely on our vigilance and discretion. At what may
appear to us the exact moment for doing so with effect, depend upon our
most cautious interference. We know, Mr. Aubrey, the kind of people we
have to deal with. Mr. Titmouse is very likely to be merely a puppet in
their hands--at least in those of Mr. Gammon, who is a very long-headed
man; and with him, I have no doubt, our negotiations will have to be
carried on."
"That is just what the Attorney-General said--and he invited me,
moreover, to converse with him whenever I might consider that his advice
would be useful."
"Could you have a better adviser? He has a most penetrating sagacity,
long exercised--in short, his qualifications are consummate; and I
should not hesitate about consulting him in a friendly way, whenever we
feel at a loss."
"Why should I disguise anything from you, Mr. Runnington?"--said
Aubrey--"you ought to know the exact state of my affairs. I have a
little family plate, which I could not bear to part with; my books; and
the remnants of the furniture at Yatton, which I have saved in order to
furnish our present residence. Besides this, the outside of all that I
am possessed of--and I have no expectations, nor has my wife nor my poor
sister, from any quarter--is a sum of about £3,000 in the funds, and
£423 at my banker's. Those are my circumstances; they appall me merely
in stating them:--Why, I owe double the sum I have named, for lawyers'
bills only. I have not enough, without parting with my books and plate,
to discharge even Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's bill!"
"It would be cruel and absurd in me not to express at once, Mr. Aubrey,
my conviction that your situation is fearfully critical; and that your
sole hope is in the moderation which may be hoped for from Messrs.
Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, and their client, Mr. Titmouse. Serious as are,
at present, your other liabilities--to that one, of the mesne profits,
they are but as a bucket of water to the Thames. As we are talking, Mr.
Aubrey, in this candid and unrestrained manner, I will tell you my chief
source of apprehension on your account, with reference to Messrs. Quirk,
Gammon, and Snap: namely, that they may possibly speculate on your
being able, if placed in real peril, to call around you, in your
extremity, a host of wealthy and powerful friends--as security, or
otherwise"--
"They will find themselves, then, utterly mistaken," said Mr. Aubrey,
sternly. "If they and their client are really capable of such shocking
brutality--such wanton oppression--let them do their worst: I am
resigned. Providence will discover a shelter for my poor wife and
children, and my dear, devoted, high-spirited sister; and as for myself,
rather than satiate the rapacity of such wretches, by plundering
good-natured and generous friends, I will spend the remainder of my days
in prison!"
Mr. Aubrey was evidently not a little excited while he said this; but
there was that in his tone of voice, and in his eye, which told Mr.
Runnington that he meant what he said; and that, as soon as it should
have come to the point of oppression and injustice, no man could resist
more powerfully, or endure with a more dignified and inflexible
resolution. But Mr. Runnington expressed strong hopes that it would not
come to such an issue. He consoled Mr. Aubrey with assurances that, as
for their own demand, it might stand over for years; and that so, he was
sure, would it be with the far lesser demand of Mr. Parkinson; and that
if, by a great effort, sufficient could be raised to discharge promptly
the bill of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, some much more favorable
arrangement respecting the amount and mode of payment of the mesne
profits might be effected--leaving Mr. Aubrey, in the mean time, leisure
to apply himself vigorously to his studies for the bar, for which Mr.
Runnington assured him that he considered him peculiarly qualified; and
pledged himself to back him with all the influence he had, or could
command.
"Gracious Heaven, Mr. Runnington!" said Aubrey, with a little
excitement, "is it not very nearly intolerable that I should pass the
prime of my days in thraldom to such people as these, and be encircled
by the chains of such a man as this Titmouse is represented as being? I
will not call myself his foe, nor his victim; but I am the one through
whose sudden destitution he has obtained a splendid fortune. I did not
_knowingly_ deprive him of it--he must be bereft of all the ordinary
feelings of humanity, to place me, whom he has already stripped of all,
upon the rack--the rack of extortion! Oh! put me in his place, and him
in mine--do you think I would not have been satisfied with what I had
gained? Would _I_ have alarmed and tortured him by calling for an
account of what he had spent with a firm, a reasonable persuasion that
it was his own--profoundly unconscious of its being another's? Oh, no! I
would not only have forgiven him all, but endeavored to secure him from
future want!" He sighed. "Oh, that I were at this moment a free man!
_pauper--sed in meo ære_; that I had but five hundred pounds to keep
me and mine for a year or two--with a mind at ease, and fit for study!
but here we are at the Temple. When shall we meet again--or shall I hear
from you?"
"Very shortly," replied Mr. Runnington, who for the last few minutes had
been listening to Mr. Aubrey in respectful and sympathizing silence; and
shaking him warmly by the hand, with much cordiality and fervency of
manner, he pledged himself to do all in his power to promote his
interests.