Behold now, thoughtful reader--for in your eyes it is anxiously desired
that this history may find favor--the dreadful--the desperate reverse in
Mr. Aubrey's circumstances. He has suddenly fallen from a very
commanding position in society: from that of a high-born English
gentleman, possessed of a fine unencumbered income, and all of luxury
and splendor, and of opportunity for gratifying a disposition of noble
munificence, that it can secure--and whose qualifications and prospects
justified him in aspiring to the highest senatorial distinction:--behold
him, I say, with his beloved and helpless family, sunk--lower than into
straitened circumstances--beneath even poverty--into the palsying
atmosphere of _debt_--and debt, too, inextricable and hopeless. Seeing
that no one can be so secure, but that all this, or something of the
like kind, may one day or other happen to him, 'tis hoped that it will
be found neither uninteresting nor uninstructive to watch carefully and
closely the present condition and _conduct_ of the Aubreys.
Bound hand and foot--so to speak--as Mr. Aubrey felt himself, and
entirely at the mercy of Mr. Titmouse and his solicitors, Messrs. Quirk,
Gammon, and Snap, what could he do but submit to almost any terms on
which they chose to insist? It will be recollected that Mr. Gammon's
proposal was,[28] that Mr. Aubrey should forthwith discharge, without
scrutiny, their bill of £3,946, 14s. 6d.; give sufficient security for
the payment of the sum of £10,000 to Mr. Titmouse, within twelve or
eighteen months' time, and two promissory notes for the sum of £5,000
each, payable at some future period, as to which he had to rely solely
on the sincerity and forbearance of Mr. Gammon, and the ratification of
his acts by Mr. Titmouse. This proposal was duly communicated by the
unfortunate Aubrey to Messrs. Runnington, who obtained from Messrs.
Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, a fortnight's time in which to deliberate upon
it. Messrs. Runnington almost immediately advised him to accept the
proposed terms as unquestionably fair, and, under the circumstances,
much more lenient than could have been expected. This might be so; but
yet, how dismaying and hopeless to _him_ the idea of carrying them into
effect! _How, indeed, was it to be done?_ First of all, how were Messrs.
Runnington's and Mr. Parkinson's bills to be got rid of--the former
amounting to £1,670, 12s., the latter to £756? And how were Mr. Aubrey
and his family to _live_ in the mean while, and how, moreover, were to
be met the expenses of his legal education? As was intimated in a former
part of this history, all that Mr. Aubrey had, on settling in London,
was £3,000 stock (equal to £2,640 of money) and £423 in his banker's
hands:--so that all his cash in hand was £3,063! and if he were to
devote the whole of it to the discharge of the three attorneys' bills
which he owed, he would still leave a gross balance unpaid of £3,310,
6s. 6d.! And yet for _him_ to talk of _giving security_ for the payment
of £10,000 within eighteen months, and his own notes of hand for £10,000
more! It was really almost maddening to sit down and contemplate all
this. But he must not fold his arms in impotence and despair--he must
look his difficulties straight in the face, and do the best that was in
his power. He resolved to devote every farthing he had, except £200, to
the liquidation of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's account, and (in
smaller proportion) of those also of Messrs. Runnington and Mr.
Parkinson; if necessary he resolved, though his heart thrilled with
anguish at the thought, to sell his books, and the remnant of old family
plate that he had preserved. Then he would strain every nerve to
contribute towards the support of himself and of his family--poor
oppressed soul!--by his literary exertions, in every moment that he
could spare from his legal studies; and practise the severest economy
that was consistent with health, and the preservation of a respectable
exterior. He resolved also, though with a shudder, to commit himself to
Gammon and Titmouse's mercy, by handing to them (though a fearful farce
it seemed) his two notes of hand for £10,000--_payable on demand_--for
such Gammon intimated was usual in such a case, and would be required in
the present one. But whither was he to look for security for the payment
of £10,000 within eighteen months' time? This was a matter which indeed
staggered him, and almost prostrated his energies whenever he directed
them to the subject; it occasioned him inexpressible agitation and
anguish. Individuals there were, he believed--he knew--who would
cheerfully enter into the desired security on his behalf; but what a
mockery! For them to be asked to secure _his_ payment of the sum, at the
time mentioned, was, in effect, palpably asking them to pay the money
for him; and in that light they could not but view such an application.
The reader will easily understand the potency of such considerations
upon so sensitive and high-minded a person as Mr. Aubrey. While
revolving these distracting and harassing topics in his mind, the name
of Lord De la Zouch always presented itself to him. Had he not
solemnly--repeatedly--_pledged_ himself to communicate with that kind,
and wealthy, and generous nobleman, in such an emergency as the present?
His Lordship's income was at least eighty or a hundred thousand pounds
a-year; his habits were simple and unostentatious, though he was of a
truly munificent disposition; and he had not a large and expensive
family--his only child being Mr. Delamere. He had ever professed, and,
as far as he had hitherto had an opportunity, proved himself to be a
devoted, a most affectionate friend to Mr. Aubrey:--did not Providence,
then, seem to point him out distinctly as one who should be applied to,
to rescue from destruction a fallen friend? And why should Aubrey
conjure up an array of imaginary obstacles, arising out of a diseased
delicacy? And whom were such scruples reducing to destitution along with
him!--his wife, his children, his devoted and noble-minded sister! But,
alas! the thought of sweet Kate suggested another source of exquisite
pain and embarrassment to Aubrey, who well knew the ardent and
inextinguishable passion for her entertained by young Delamere. 'Twas
true that, to pacify his father, and also not to grieve or harass Miss
Aubrey by the constant attentions with which he would have otherwise
followed her, he had consented to devote himself with great assiduity
and ardor to his last year's studies at Oxford; yet was he by no means
an infrequent visitor at Vivian Street, resolutely regardless of the
earnest entreaties of Miss Aubrey, and even of her brother. Not that
there was ever anything indelicate or obtrusive in his attentions;--how
could it be? Alas! Kate really loved him, and it required no very great
acuteness in Delamere to discover it. He was as fine, handsome a young
fellow as you could see anywhere; frank, high-spirited, accomplished,
with an exceedingly elegant deportment, and simple, winning manners--and
could she but be touched with a lively sense of the noble
disinterestedness of his attachment to her! I declare that Kate wrote
him several letters, in _bonâ fide_ dissuasion of his addresses, and
which wore such a genuine and determined air of repulsion, as would have
staggered most men; but young Delamere cared not one straw for any of
them: let Kate vary her tone as she pleased, he told her simply that he
had sent them to his mother, who said they were very good letters
indeed; so he would make a point of reading all she would send him, and
so forth. When Kate, with too solemn an emphasis to be mistaken or
encountered with raillery, assured him that nothing upon earth should
prevail upon her to quit her present station in her brother's family, at
all events until he had completely surmounted all his troubles,
Delamere, with looks of fond admiration, would reply that it signified
nothing, as he was prepared to wait her pleasure, and submit to any
caprice or unkindness in which her heart would allow her to indulge. I
must own that poor Kate was, on more than one occasion of his exhibiting
traits of delicate generosity towards her brother, so moved and melted
towards her lover, that she could--shall I say it?--have sunk into his
arms in silent and passionate acquiescence; for her heart had, indeed,
long been really his.--But whither am I wandering?--To return, then--I
say, that when Mr. Aubrey adverted for a moment to this state of things,
was it not calculated a thousand-fold to enhance the difficulty of his
applying _to the father of Delamere_? So indeed it was; and, torn with
conflicting emotions and considerations of this kind, nearly the whole
of the fortnight granted to him for deliberation had elapsed, before he
could make up his mind to apply to Lord De la Zouch. At length, however,
with a sort of calm desperation, he determined to do so; and when he had
deposited in the Post-Office his letter--one in every line of which the
noble and generous person to whom it was addressed might easily detect
the writhings of its writer's wounded spirit--the quiverings of a broken
heart--he looked indeed a melancholy object. The instant that, by
dropping his letter into the box, he had irrecoverably parted with all
control over it, and to Lord De la Zouch it must go, Aubrey felt as if
he would have given the world to recall it. Never had he heaved so many
profound sighs, and felt so utterly miserable and destitute, as during
his walk homeward that afternoon. Those dear beings did not know of the
step he had intended to take; nor did he tell them that he had taken it.
When he saw his sister he felt sick at heart; and during the whole of
the evening was so oppressed and subdued, that the faint anxious
raillery of lovely Mrs. Aubrey and Kate, and the unconscious
sportiveness of his children, served only to deepen the gloom which was
around his spirit!--He had requested Lord De la Zouch to address his
answer to him at the Temple; and sure enough, by return of post, Mr.
Aubrey found lying on his desk, on reaching the Temple three or four
mornings afterwards, a letter addressed, "Charles Aubrey, Esq., at
---- Weasel's, Esq., No. 3, Pomegranate Court, Temple, London;" and
franked, "DE LA ZOUCH."
"I shall return presently," said Mr. Aubrey to the clerk, with as much
calmness as he could assume, having put the letter into his pocket,
resolving to go into the Temple gardens and there read it, where any
emotion which it might excite, would be unobserved. Having at length
seated himself on a bench, under one of the old trees near the river,
with a somewhat tremulous hand he took out, and opened the letter, and
read as follows:--
"_Fotheringham Castle, 18th July 18--._
"MY VERY DEAR AUBREY,
"If you really value my friendship, never pain my feelings again by
expressions, such as are contained in your letter, of distrust as
to the issue of _any_ application of yours to me. Has anything
that has ever hitherto passed between us, justified them? For
Heaven's sake, tell your solicitors not to lose a moment in
procuring the necessary instruments, and forwarding them to me
through Messrs. Framlingham, _my_ solicitors. I will execute
immediately all that are sent, and return them by the next post, or
mail. If you will but at once set about this in a business-like
way, I will forgive and forget all the absurd and _unkind_ scruples
with which your letter abounds. Since you would probably make a
mighty stir about it, I shall not at present dwell upon the
_inexpressible pleasure_ it would give me to be allowed to
emancipate you at once from the vulgar and grasping wretches who
are now harassing you, my very dear Aubrey, and to constitute
myself your creditor instead of them. But on further consideration,
I suppose you would distress yourself on the ground of _my
restricted_ means rendering it so much more difficult for me, than
for them, to give you time for the payment of your debt!! Or will
you PLAY THE MAN, and act at once in the way in which, I assure
you, upon my honor, I would act by you, on a similar solicitation,
were our situations reversed? By the way, I intend to insist on
being your _sole surety_; unless, indeed, your creditors doubt my
solvency, in which case I hope we shall be able, among our common
friends, to find a sufficient co-surety!--
"And now, dear Aubrey, how get you on with law? Does she smile, or
scowl upon you? I wonder why you did not go to the fountain-head,
and become at once a pupil to your friend, the Attorney-General.
Who is the gentleman whom you are reading with? He certainly has
rather a curious name! Well, my dear Aubrey, may Heaven in its own
good time crown your virtuous efforts--your unconquerable
resolution--with success! Won't it be odd if, when I am dead and
gone, and my son is occupying my present place on the benches of
the House of Lords, you should be sitting on the woolsack? More
unlikely things than this have come to pass: look at----!
"How are dear Mrs. Aubrey and Miss Aubrey, and your darling little
ones? Though we are going in a fortnight's time to fill this old
place, (the ----s, the ----s, and the ----s, and others, are
coming,) we shall be, till then, quite deserted, and so, after they
are gone. Would that we could insist on all of you taking up your
abode with us! Have you seen Geoffrey lately? He tells me that he
is working very hard indeed at Oxford; and so says his tutor. But I
have my doubts; for it is more than ever I did. Pray write me by
return. I am ever, my dear Aubrey, yours, faithfully and
affectionately,
"DE LA ZOUCH."
"CHARLES AUBREY, Esq.
"P. S. On further consideration, let _your_ people send the deeds,
&c., at once on to me, direct from themselves;--'tis a private
matter, which is of no consequence to any one but ourselves. No one
else, indeed, except your own solicitors, and your opponents, need
know anything about it. Neither Lady De la Zouch nor my son will
have the least inkling of the matter."
No language of mine can do justice to the feelings with which Mr.
Aubrey, after many pauses, occasioned by absolutely irrepressible
emotion, perused the foregoing letter. Its generosity was infinitely
enhanced by its delicacy; and both were exquisitely appreciated by a man
of his susceptibility, and in his circumstances. His eyes--his heart,
overflowed with unutterable gratitude towards the Almighty, and the
noble instrument of his mercy. He could have flown on the wings of the
wind to the dear beings in Vivian Street, with joyous face and light
elastic step, to make them participators in his joy. He rose and walked
to and fro by the river side with most exhilarated spirits. The sky was
cloudless: the sun shone brilliantly; and innumerable brisk and busy
craft were moving to and fro upon the swelling bosom of the magnificent
Thames. Gladness was in his soul. The light without was typical of that
within. Several times he was on the point of starting off to Vivian
Street; but, on consideration, he resolved to go to Messrs. Runnington,
and put them into instant communication with Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and
Snap; and matters having been set in train for the speediest possible
settlement, Mr. Aubrey returned to chambers; but quitted them an hour
earlier than usual, to brighten the countenances of those he loved, by
the joyous intelligence he bore. But he found that they also had
cheering news to communicate; so that this was indeed a memorable day to
them.
Lady Stratton, not only a relative, but a devoted bosom friend of the
late Mrs. Aubrey, had, it may easily be believed, never ceased to take a
lively interest in the fortunes of the unhappy Aubreys. She was now far
advanced in years, and childless; and though she enjoyed an ample life
income, derived from the liberality of her husband, Sir Beryl Stratton,
Baronet, who had died some twenty or thirty years before; yet, seeing no
necessity for saving money, she had followed the noble example of her
deceased friend Mrs. Aubrey, and bestowed annually all her surplus
income in the most liberal and systematic charity. Many years before,
however, she had resolved upon making a provision for Miss Aubrey, whom
she loved as if she had been her mother; and the expedient she had
resorted to (quite unknown to the Aubreys) was to insure her life for
the sum of £15,000, the whole of which sum she had intended to bequeath
to Miss Aubrey. The premiums on so large an insurance, were heavy annual
drains upon her purse; and, together with her long-continued charities,
and the expenditure necessary to support her station, left her but
stinted means for contributing to the relief of the ruined Aubreys. With
some difficulty, however, the old lady, in one way or another,
principally by effecting a loan from the insurance company upon her
policy, had contrived to raise a sum of £2,000; and Miss Aubrey had that
morning received a letter from her, full of tenderness, begging her to
present the sum in question (for which Lady Stratton had lodged a credit
with her bankers in London) to her brother Mr. Aubrey, to dispose of as
he pleased--trusting that it might be effectual in relieving him from
the difficulties which were more immediately pressing upon him. Never
had they spent so happy an evening together since they had quitted
Yatton. In the excitement of the hour, even Aubrey felt for a while as
if they now saw their way through all their embarrassments and dangers.
Can the reader imagine what must have been the feelings of Miss Aubrey
when she first heard of, and afterwards reflected upon, the princely
munificence of Lord De la Zouch? If he can, it is well--it is more than
I am equal to describing. Her agitation kept her awake more than half
the night; and when she appeared at breakfast, her brother's quick eye
detected in her countenance the traces of a severe conflict of feelings.
With him also much of the excitement occasioned by the two occurrences
above mentioned, had disappeared by the time that he took his seat in
his little study at his usual early hour. First of all, he felt very
uneasy in receiving so large a sum from Lady Stratton, whom he knew to
be by no means rich--at all events, not rich enough to part with so
considerable an amount without inconvenience; and he resolved not to
accept of her proffered kindness, unless she would allow him to transmit
to her his bond for the repayment, together with interest on what he
might borrow. Surely this was an unnecessary step; yet where is the man
who, on all occasions, acts precisely as a calm and reflecting observer
of his conduct, _long afterwards_, could have wished him to act? One
must make allowance for the feelings which prompted him--those of a
highly honorable and independent and over-sensitive man, who felt
himself oppressed already by the weight of pecuniary obligation which he
had incurred, and sought for the semblance of relief to his feelings by
receiving that as a _loan_, only, which had been nobly proffered as a
gift; and thus, as it were, in point of fact destroying all the grace
and courtesy of the benefaction; but it is useless discussing the
matter. I regret that Mr. Aubrey should have allowed himself to be
influenced by such considerations; but so it was--and worthy Lady
Stratton was informed by him in a letter certainly abounding in
expressions of heartfelt gratitude and affection, that he had availed
himself of her generous assistance, but only on the terms of his being
allowed to deposit his bond for the repayment of it, with interest, with
her solicitors; expressing his hope that ere long he should be enabled
to fulfil every engagement into which he might have entered.
This seasonable assistance enabled him to make the following arrangement
for liquidating the sums due on account of his sickening attorney's
bills:--
Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's bill was £3,946 14 6
Messrs. Runnington's 1,670 12 0
Mr. Parkinson's 756 0 0
-----------
£6,373 6 6
These were his liabilities. Then his assets were:--
Money in the funds £2,640
Money at his banker's 423
Advanced by Lady Stratton 2,000
------
£5,063
Therefore, from £6,373 6 6
Deduct 5,063 0 0
----------
And there remained £1,310 6 6
As soon as he had made the foregoing statement on a slip of paper early
in the morning in his study, (as already intimated,) he averted his eye
from it, for a moment, with a sort of cold shudder. Were he to devote
every farthing of assets that he had, he still could not come within
£1,310 odd of his mere attorney's bills. What was he to do? The result
of a long and anxious morning's calculation and scheming was to
appropriate £4,000 of his assets thus--(if he could prevail upon his
creditors to be for the present content with it:)--
To Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap £2,500
Messrs. Runnington 1,000
Mr. Parkinson 500
------
£4,000
If this arrangement could be effected, then he would be able to reserve
in his own hands £1,063, and retain liabilities as under:--
Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's (balance) £1,446 14 6
Messrs. Runnington's (ditto) 670 12 0
Mr. Parkinson's (ditto) 256 0 0
-----------
£2,373 6 6
Heavy was his heart at beholding this result of even the most favorable
mode of putting his case: but he placed the memoranda in his
pocket-book, and repaired to his dressing-room; and having completed his
toilet, appeared at breakfast with as cheerful a countenance as he could
assume. Each of the three assembled, perceived, however, that the others
were _striving_ to look gay and happy. Suffice it to say, that within a
week's time, Messrs. Runnington received the necessary security from
Lord De la Zouch, who had thereby bound himself in the penal sum of
£20,000 that Mr. Aubrey should, on or before the 24th day of January
18--, (that is, in eighteen months' time from the date of the bond,) pay
the principal sum of £10,000, with interest at 5 per cent; and this
instrument, together with Mr. Aubrey's two promissory-notes for £5,000
each, and also cash to the amount of £2,500 in part payment of their
bill, having been delivered to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap--who,
after a great deal of reluctance on the part of Mr. Quirk, finally
consented to allow the balance of £1,446, 14s. 6d. to stand over--they
gave him, first, a receipt for so much on account of their own bill; and
secondly, an instrument by which Tittlebat Titmouse, for the
considerations therein expressed, did "_remise, release, and forever
quit claim_," unto Charles Aubrey, his heirs, executors, and
administrators, all other demands whatsoever, [_i. e._ other than the
said sum of £20,000.] By this arrangement Mr. Aubrey was absolutely
exonerated from the sum of £40,000, in which he stood indubitably
indebted to Mr. Titmouse; and so far he had just cause for
congratulation. But was not his situation still one calculated to
depress and alarm him more and more every time that he contemplated it?
Where was he to find the sum requisite to release Lord De la Zouch from
any part of his enormous liability? For with such a surety in their
power as that great and opulent peer, was it likely that Messrs. Quirk,
Gammon, and Snap, would be otherwise than peremptory and inflexible when
the day of payment arrived? And if so, with what feelings must Mr.
Aubrey see his noble and generous friend called upon to pay down nearly
£11,000 for him? And was he not liable at any moment upon his own two
notes for £5,000 each? And were they not likely to insist speedily on
the discharge of their own serious balance of £1,446 odd? What more
probable, than that persons such as they and their client were
represented to be, would, as soon as they decently could, proceed to
extremities with him, in the confidence that the sight and the sound of
his agonies would call in powerful and affluent friends to his
assistance?
Still pressed, as indeed he was, his spirit had by no means lost its
elasticity, supported as he was by a powerful, an unconquerable
WILL--and also by a devout reliance upon the protection of Providence.
Though law is indeed an exhausting and absorbing study, and it was
pursued by Mr. Aubrey with unflagging energy, yet he found time (those
who choose may find time enough for everything) to contribute sensibly
to the support of himself and his family by literary labors, expended
principally upon compositions of an historical and political character,
and which were forwarded from time to time to the distinguished Review
which has been already mentioned. To produce, as he produced, articles
of this description--of considerable length and frequency--requiring
ready, extensive, and accurate knowledge, and careful composition;
original and vigorous in their conception and their execution, and by
their intrinsic merit arresting, immediately on their appearance, the
attention of the public; I say, to do such things--and only in those
precious intervals which ought to have been given to the relaxation of
his strained mental and physical powers--and under the pressure, too, of
such overpowering anxieties as were his--argued surely the possession of
superior energies--of an indomitable resolution. All this while,
moreover, he contrived to preserve an unruffled _temper_--which, with a
man of such sensibilities as his, afforded indeed a signal instance of
self-control; and in short, on all these grounds, Mr. Aubrey appears
really entitled to our deepest sympathy and respect. I spoke of his
anxieties. Suppose, thought he, health should fail him, what was to
become of him, and of those absolutely dependent upon him? Suppose
illness should invade the dear members of his family, what was in
prospect but destitution--or surrendering them up--bitter and
heart-breaking contingency!--to the precarious _charity_ of others. What
would avail all his exhausting labors in the acquisition of professional
knowledge, while his liberty was entirely at the command of Mr.
Titmouse, and Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, who might, at any moment,
actuated by mercenary motives, or impelled by caprice, blight all his
prospects, and incarcerate him in a prison! Yet, under this burden--to
adopt the language of Sir Henry Spelman on an analogous occasion, "_non
ingentem solum, sed perpetuis humeris sustinendum_"--Mr. Aubrey stood
firmly. He felt that he was called upon to sustain it; a blessed spirit
ever, as it were, beside him, whispering the consolatory assurance, that
all this was ordered and designed by the Supreme Disposer of events, as
a _trial_ of his constancy, and of his faith, and that the _issue_ was
with HIM. It is mercifully ordained, that "hope springs eternal in the
human breast," and that, too, in every turn and variety of mortal
misery. It was so with Aubrey. So long as he felt his health unimpaired,
and his mental energies in full vigor, he looked on these blessings as a
sort of guarantee from Heaven that he should be able to carry on a
successful, though it might be a long and wearisome, struggle with
adverse circumstances. Still it cost him a very painful effort to assume
and preserve that exterior of tranquillity, which should calm and assure
the beloved beings associated with him in this hour of peril and
suffering; and oftener than they chose to let him know of it, did the
keen eye of a wife's, and sister's love, detect the gloom and oppression
which darkened his countenance, and saddened his manner. Theirs was,
notwithstanding all I have said, a happy little home. He was generally
punctual to his dinner-hour, to a moment; knowing the thousand fears on
his account which would otherwise assail the fond beings who were
counting the minutes till his arrival. When they had once thus met, they
seldom separated till bed-time. Sometimes Miss Aubrey would sit down to
her piano, and accompany herself in some song or air, which equally,
whether merry or mournful, revived innumerable touching and tender
recollections of former days; and she often ceased, tremulously and in
tears, in which she was not unfrequently joined by both of those who had
been listening to her. Then he would betake himself to his labors for
the rest of the evening (not quitting the room), they either assisting
him--fair and eager amanuenses! or themselves reading, or engaged at
needlework. Oh! it was ecstasy, too, to that poor oppressed father to
enter into the wild sports and gambols of his light-hearted little ones,
Charles and Agnes, who always made their appearance for about a couple
of hours after dinner; to tell them "stories;" to listen to theirs; to
show them pictures; to hear Charles read; and to join heartily in their
frolics, even rolling about on the floor with them! But when he paused
for a moment, and his wife and Kate succeeded him as their playmates,
for a short interval; when his eye followed their movements--what sudden
and sharp pangs would pass through his heart, as he thought of the
future, and what was to become of them!--And when their maid arrived at
the appointed hour, causing all sport instantly to cease, and longing
looks to be directed to papa and mamma, saying as plainly as could be
said, "only a _few_ minutes more," how fondly would he embrace them! and
when he felt their tiny arms clasping his neck and caressing him, and
their kisses "all over" his face, feelings were excited within him,
which were too deep for utterance--which defy description. 'Tis said--I
know not with what truth--of Robespierre, as an instance of his fearful
refinement in cruelty, that a person of distinction who had become
obnoxious to him he formally condemned to death, but allowed to remain
in the torturing, the excruciating presence of his lovely family; he and
they aware, all the while, that his doom was _irrevocable_, inevitable;
and he momentarily liable to the summons to the guillotine, and which
in fact--oh, horror!--came at length, when they were all seated
together, one day, at the breakfast-table! Oh, the feelings with which
that unfortunate person must have daily regarded the countenances of
those around him! How applicable to his condition the heart-breaking
strains of Medea--
[Greek: Pheu pheu, ti prosderkesthe m' ommasin, tekna;
Ti prosgelate ton panustaton gelôn;
Ai, ai, ti drasô; Kardia gar oichetai,
Gunaikes, omma phaidron ôs eidon teknôn.][29]
The above passage was one which very frequently, on the occasions I have
alluded to, occurred to the mind of Mr. Aubrey; for he felt himself
indeed every moment at the mercy of those to whom he owed such a fearful
amount of money, and for which he was liable, at any moment selected by
malice or rapacity, to be plucked from his little home, and cast into
prison!
Oh, happy ye, now reading these pages, _unto whom the lines are fallen
in pleasant places! yea, who have a goodly heritage_; who live, as it
were, in a _land flowing with milk and honey_; with whom life glides
away like a tranquil and pleasant dream; who are not sternly bidden _to
eat your bread with quaking, and drink your water with trembling and
with carefulness_,[30] nor _in vain to rise up early_, to _sit up late,
to eat the bread of sorrows_; who have, indeed, _no thought for the
morrow_;--oh, ye who have leisure and ample means to pursue the objects
of an honorable ambition, undisturbed by daily fears for daily bread--by
terror, lest implacable creditors should at length frustrate all your
efforts, drive you from your position in society, and precipitate you
and yours into ruin;--I say, oh ye! do I appeal to you in vain? Do you
turn from this painful portion of my narrative with indifference, or
contempt, or wearisomeness? If the mere _description_, brief though it
may be, of the sufferings of the Aubreys be trying and unpleasing to
you, what must have been to them the actual _endurance_? Poor Aubrey! As
he walked along the crowded thoroughfares, morning and evening, between
the Temple and Vivian Street, what a disheartening consciousness he felt
of his personal insignificance! Which of the passengers, patrician or
plebeian, who met or passed him, cared--if personally unknown to
him--one straw for him, or _would_ have cared a straw for him, had they
even known the load of misery and misfortune under which he staggered
past them? Every time that he thus passed between the scene of his
absorbing labors at the Temple, and that green spot--his house in Vivian
Street--in the world's wide desert, where only his heart was refreshed
by the never-failing spring of domestic love and tenderness, he felt, as
it were, but a prisoner out upon parole! It is easy to understand that,
when a man walks along the streets of London, depressed in spirit, and
alarmed by the consciousness of increasing pecuniary embarrassment, his
temper is likely to become irritable, his deportment forbidding, his
spirit stern and soured, particularly against those who appeal to his
charity; which then, indeed, he might be pardoned for feeling, and
bitterly--_to begin at home_. It was not so, however, with Aubrey, whose
constant feeling was--_Haud ignarus mali, miseris succurrere disco_; and
though it may appear a small thing to mention, I feel gratification in
recording of him, that, desperate as were his circumstances, infinitely
enhanced to him as was the value of money, he went seldom unprovided
with the means of relieving the humbler applicants for charity whom he
passed in the streets--of dropping some small token of his love and pity
into the trembling and feeble hand of _want_--of those whose necessities
he felt to be greater even than his own. Never, indeed, did the timid
eye of the most tattered, starved, and emaciated object suffered to
crawl along the streets, catch that of Mr. Aubrey, without making his
heart acknowledge the secret bond of misery which bound them
together--that he beheld a brother in bondage, and on whom he cheerfully
bestowed the humble pittance which he believed that Providence had yet
left at his disposal!--Prosperity and adversity have equally the effect,
upon an inferior mind and heart, of generating _selfishness_. The one
encourages, the other forces it. Misery is apt to think its own
sufferings greater than those of any one else--and naturally. The eye,
as it were, is filled with the object--that is to say, of distress and
danger--which is nearest--which is in such fearful contiguity, obscuring
from view all remoter objects, at once scaring away presence of mind,
and centring its hopes and fears upon _self_. Not so, however, is it
when a noble nature is the sufferer--and more especially when that
nature is strengthened and brightened by the support and consolation
derived from philosophy--and, above all, religion. To many a strong
spirit, destitute of such assistance, alas! how often, under similar
circumstances, have come--ghastly visitants!--_Despair_ and _Madness_,
with their hideous attendant SUICIDE, to do their bidding?
To Mr. Aubrey the Sabbath was indeed not only a day for performing the
public services of religion, but also a day of real rest from the labors
of life. It was not one, to him, of puritanical gloom or excitement, but
of sincere, cheerful, fervent, enlightened devotion. It would have been
to the reader, I think, not an uninteresting sight to behold this
unfortunate and harassed family at church. They took almost the only pew
which was vacant in the gallery--in a church not far distant from Vivian
Street--a pew just holding themselves and little Charles; who, since
their arrival in town, had begun to accompany them to the morning
service. There was something in their appearance--punctual as they were
in both the morning and evening--which could hardly fail to have
interested any one who observed them. There were two very elegant and
lovely women, dressed in simple half-mourning: a man of calm,
gentlemanly manners, and an intellectual countenance, but overshadowed
with deep seriousness, if not melancholy--as, indeed, was the case with
the whole of the little group, except the beautiful child, Charles. If
their mere appearance was thus calculated to interest those around, who
beheld them so punctual in their attendance, how much would that
interest have been increased, had the beholder known their singular and
melancholy history? Here were individuals, whose condition was testing
the reality of the consolations of religion, exhibiting humility,
resignation, faith, a deep delight in attending the house of HIM who had
permitted such dreadful disasters to befall them, and whose will it yet
seemed to be that they should pass through deeper sufferings than they
had yet experienced. His temple seemed, indeed, to them, a refuge and
shelter from the storm. To Mr. Aubrey every portion of the church
service was precious, for its purity, its simplicity, its solemnity, its
fervor, its truly scriptural character, its adaptation to every
imaginable condition of feeling and of circumstance, indeed, "to all
sorts and conditions of men." A little incident fraught with much
interest, occurred to them shortly after they commenced their attendance
at the church. An occasional sermon was preached one evening by a
stranger, from the words "_Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him_,"
on behalf of a neighboring dispensary. Mr. Aubrey was soon struck by the
unusual strength and beauty of the sermon, in point of composition--the
fervor and simplicity of the preacher. Its language was at once chaste
and forcible; its reasoning clear and cogent; its illustration apt and
vivid; its pathos genuine. As he went on, Mr. Aubrey became more and
more convinced that he had seen or heard the preacher before; and on
inquiring, afterwards, his name, his impressions proved to be
correct;--the clergyman had been at Oxford, at the very same college
with him, and this was the first time that they had since come within
sight of each other. Mr. Aubrey very soon afterwards had an opportunity
of introducing himself to the clergyman, and was recognized, and they
renewed their early friendship. Mr. Neville--for that was his name--poor
soul, had nothing upon earth to support himself with, but an afternoon
lectureship in one of the city churches, from which he derived about £75
a-year; and on this sum alone he had contrived, for the last four or
five years, to support both himself and his wife--a very amiable and
fond woman. Fortunately, they had no children; but they had seen much
affliction, each of them being in but precarious health, and a sad
proportion of his little income was, consequently, devoted to doctors'
bills. He was an admirable scholar; a man of very powerful
understanding, and deeply read in metaphysics and divinity. Yet this
wretched pittance was all he could procure for his support; and pinching
work for them, poor souls, it was indeed, to "make ends meet." They
lived in very small but creditable lodgings; and amid all their
privations, and with all the gloom of the future before them, they were
as cheerful a little couple as the world ever saw. They dearly loved,
and would have sacrificed everything for each other; and so long as they
could but keep their chins above water, and he realize the stern and
noble feeling, "pauper, _sed in meo ære_," they cared not for their
exclusion from most of the comforts and all the elegancies of life. They
were, both of them, entirely resigned to the will of Heaven as to their
position--nay, in all things. She generally accompanied him
whithersoever he went; but on the occasion to which I have been
alluding, the good little creature was lying at home in bed, enduring
great suffering; and the thought of it made the preacher's heart very
heavy, and his voice to falter a little, several times during his
sermon. He was perfectly delighted when Mr. Aubrey introduced himself;
and when the latter had heard all his friend's little history--who had
indeed a child-like simplicity and frankness, and told Mr. Aubrey
everything he knew about himself--Mr. Aubrey wrung his hand with great
emotion, almost, indeed, too great for expression. It seemed that a
bishop, before whom poor Neville had accidentally preached seven years
before, had sent for him, and expressed such a very high opinion of his
sermon, as led him reasonably to look for some little preferment at his
Lordship's hands; but in vain. Poor Neville had no powerful friends, and
the bishop was overwhelmed with applicants for everything he had to give
away; so it is not much to be wondered at, that, in time, he totally
lost sight of Mr. Neville, and of the hopes which had blossomed, but to
be blighted. What touched Mr. Aubrey to the soul, was the unaffected
cheerfulness with which poor Mr. Neville--now in his fortieth
year--reconciled himself to his unpromising circumstances; the calmness
with which he witnessed the door of preferment evidently _shut upon him
forever_. Mr. Aubrey obtained from him his address; and resolved that,
though, for reasons long ago explained, he had withdrawn from almost
every one of his former friends and associates, yet with this poor, this
neglected, but happy clergyman, he would endeavor to renew and cement
firmly their early-formed but long-suspended friendship. And when, on
his return to Vivian Street, (whither Mrs. and Miss Aubrey had proceeded
alone, at his request, while he walked on with Mr. Neville,) he told
them the little history which I have above indicated to the reader, how
the hearts of all of them went forth towards one who was in many
respects a fellow-sufferer with themselves, and, _practising what he
preached_, was really a pattern of resignation to the will of God; of
humble but hearty faith in His mercy and loving-kindness!
Mr. Aubrey was not long in paying his promised visit to Mr. Neville,
accompanied by Mrs. Aubrey. 'Twas a long and not very agreeable walk for
them towards St. George's in the East; and on reaching a small row of
neat houses, only one story high, and being shown into Mr. Neville's
very little sitting-room, they found Mrs. Neville lying on a little
rickety sofa near the fire, looking very ill, and Mr. Neville sitting
before her, with a number of books on the table, and pen, ink, and
paper, with which he was occupied preparing his next Sunday's sermon;
but there was also a slip of paper on the table of a different
description, and which had occasioned both of them great distress; viz.
a rather peremptory note from their medical man, touching the payment of
his "trifling account" of £14 odd. Where poor Neville was to obtain such
a sum, neither he nor his wife knew: they had already almost deprived
themselves of necessary food and clothing to enable them to appease
another urgent creditor; and this new and sudden demand of an old claim,
had indeed grievously disquieted them. They said nothing about it to Mr.
and Mrs. Aubrey, who soon made themselves at home, and by their
unaffected simplicity and cordiality of manner, relieved their humble
hosts from all anxiety. They partook of tea, in a sufficiently homely
and frugal style; and before they rose to go they exacted a promise,
that, as soon as Mrs. Neville should have recovered, they would both
come and spend a long day in Vivian Street. They soon became very
intimate; and, Mrs. Neville's health at length being such as to preclude
her from attending at all to her needle, the reader will possibly think
none the less of Mrs. Aubrey and Kate, when he hears that they insisted
on taking that task upon themselves, (a matter in which they were
becoming somewhat expert,) and many and many an hour did these two
charming women spend, both in Vivian Street and at Mrs. Neville's, in
relieving her from her labors--particularly in preparing her slight
stock of winter clothing. And now that I am on this point, I may as well
mention another not less amiable trait in Kate; that, hearing of a
girl's school about to be founded in connection with the church which
they attended, and in support of which several ladies had undertaken to
prepare various little matters, such as embroidery, lace, pictures, and
articles of fancy and ornament, Kate also set to work with her pencil
and brushes. She was a very tasteful draughtswoman, and produced four or
five such delicate and beautiful sketches, in water color, of scenes in
and about Yatton, as made her a very distinguished contributor to the
undertaking; each of her sketches producing upwards of two guineas. She
also drew a remarkably spirited crayon sketch of the pretty little head
of Charles--who accompanied her to the place where her contributions
were deposited, and delivered it in with his own hand.--Thus, in short,
were this sweet and amiable family rapidly reconciling themselves to
their altered circumstances--taking real pleasure in the new scenes
which surrounded them, and the novel duties devolving upon them; and as
their feelings became calmer, they felt how true it is that happiness in
this world depends not upon mere external circumstances, but upon THE
MIND--which, contented and well regulated, can turn everything around it
into a source of enjoyment and thankfulness--making indeed _the
wilderness to bloom and blossom as the rose_.
They kept up--especially Kate--a constant correspondence with good old
Dr. Tatham; who, judging from the frequency and the length of his
letters, which were written with a truly old-fashioned distinctness and
uniformity of character, must have found infinite pleasure in his task.
So also was it with Kate, who, if she had even been writing to her
lover--nay, between ourselves, what would Mr. Delamere have given to
have had addressed to himself one of the long letters, crossed down to
the very postscript, full of sparkling delicacy, good nature, and good
sense, which so often found their way to the "Rev. Dr. Tatham, Vicarage,
Yatton, Yorkshire!" They were thus apprised of everything of moment that
transpired at Yatton, to which their feelings clung with unalienable
affection. Dr. Tatham's letters had indeed almost always a painful
degree of interest attached to them. From his frequent mention of Mr.
Gammon's name--and almost equally _favorable_ as frequent--it appeared
that he possessed a vast ascendency over Mr. Titmouse, and was, whenever
he was at Yatton, in a manner, its moving spirit. The doctor represented
Titmouse as a truly wretched creature, with no more sense of religion
than a monkey; equally silly, selfish, and vulgar--unfeeling and
tyrannical wherever he had an opportunity of exhibiting his real
character.
It exquisitely pained them, moreover, to find pretty distinct
indications of a sterner and stricter rule being apparent at Yatton,
than had ever been known there before, so far as the tenants and
villagers were concerned. Rents were now required to be paid with the
utmost punctuality; many of them were raised, and harsher terms
introduced into their leases and agreements. In Mr. Aubrey's time a
distress or an action for rent was a thing literally unheard of in any
part of the estate; but nearly a dozen had occurred since the accession
of Mr. Titmouse. If this had been at the instance of the ruling spirit,
Mr. Gammon personally had certainly got none of the odium of the
proceeding; every letter announcing a resort to hostile measures
expressly purporting to be authorized by Mr. Titmouse himself; Mr.
Gammon on most of such occasions, putting in a faint word or two in
favor of the tenant, but ineffectually. The legal proceedings were
always conducted in the name of "Bloodsuck and Son," whose town agents
were, "Quirk, Gammon, and Snap;" but _their_ names never came under the
eye of the defendants! No longer could the poor villagers, and poorer
tenants, reckon on their former assistance from the Hall in the hour of
sickness and distress: cowslip wine, currant wine, elderberry wine, if
made, were consumed in the Hall. In short, there was a discontinuance of
all those innumerable little endearing courtesies, and charities, and
hospitalities, which render a good old country mansion the very _heart_
of the neighborhood. The doctor in one of his letters, intimated, with a
sort of agony, that he had heard it mentioned by the people at the Hall
as probable, that Mr. Titmouse--the little Goth--would pull down that
noble old relic, the turreted gateway; but that Mr. Gammon was
vehemently opposed to such a measure; and that, if it were preserved
after all, it would be entirely owing to the taste and the influence of
that gentleman. Had Dr. Tatham chosen, he could have added a fact which
would indeed have saddened his friends--viz. that the old sycamore,
which had been preserved at the fond entreaties of Kate, and which was
hallowed by so many sad and tender associations, had been long ago
removed, as a sort of eyesore: Mr. Gammon had, in fact, directed it to
be done; but he repeatedly expressed to Dr. Tatham, confidentially, his
regret at such an act on the part of Titmouse. The doctor could also
have told them that there had been a dog-fight in the village, at which
Mr. Titmouse was present! Persons were beginning to make their
appearance too, at Yatton, of a very different description from any who
had been seen there in the time of the Aubreys--persons, now and then,
of loose, and wild, and reckless characters. Mr. Titmouse would often
get up a fight in the village, and reward the victor with five or ten
shillings! Then the snug and quiet little "Aubrey Arms" was
metamorphosed into the "Titmouse Arms" and another set up in opposition
to it, and called "The Toper's Arms;" and it was really painful to see
the increasing trade driven by each of them. They were both full every
night, and often during the day also; and the vigilant, and
affectionate, and grieved eye of the good vicar noticed several seats in
the church, which had formerly been occupied every Sunday morning and
afternoon, to be--empty! In his letters, he considerately sank the
grosser features of Titmouse's conduct, which would have only uselessly
grieved and disgusted his beloved correspondents. He informed them,
however, from time to time, of the different visitors at the Hall,
particularly of the arrival and movements of their magnificent kinsfolk,
the Earl of Dreddlington and Lady Cecilia, the Marquis Gants-Jaunes de
Millefleurs and Mr. Tuft--the novel state and ceremony which had been
suddenly introduced there--at which they all ceased reading for a
moment, and laughed, well knowing the character of Lord Dreddlington. At
length, some considerable time after Mr. Titmouse's grand visitors had
been at the Hall, there came a letter from Dr. Tatham, sent by a private
hand, and not reaching Vivian Street till the evening, when they were
sitting together, after dinner, as usual, and which contained
intelligence that was received in sudden silence, and with looks of
astonishment; viz. _that Mr. Titmouse had become the acknowledged suitor
of the Lady Cecilia_!! Mr. Aubrey, after a moment's pause, laughed more
heartily than they had heard him laugh for many months--getting up, at
the same time, and walking once or twice across the room--Mrs. Aubrey
and Miss Aubrey gazed at each other for a few moments, without speaking
a word; and you could not have told whether their fair countenances
showed more of amusement or of disgust at the intelligence. "Well! it is
as I have often told you, Kate," commenced Mr. Aubrey, after a while
resuming his seat, and addressing his sister with an air of good-humored
raillery; "you've lost your chance--you've held your head so high. Ah,
'tis all over now--and our fair cousin is mistress of Yatton!"
"Indeed, Charles," quoth Kate, earnestly, "I do think it's too painful a
subject for a joke."
"Why, Kate!--You must bear it as well"----
"Pho, pho--nonsense, Charles! To be serious--did you ever hear anything
so shocking as"----
"Do you mean to tell me, Kate," commenced her brother, assuming suddenly
such a serious air as for a moment imposed on his sister, "that to
become mistress of dear old Yatton--which was _offered_ to you, you
know--you would not have consented, when it came to the point, to
become--Mrs. _Titmouse_?" For an instant, Kate looked as if she would
have made, in the eye of the statuary, an exquisite model of beautiful
disdain--provoked by the bare idea even, and put forward, as she knew,
in raillery only. "You know, Charles," said she at length, calmly, her
features relaxing into a smile, "that if such a wretch had ten thousand
Yattons, I would, rather than marry him--oh!"--she shuddered--"spring
from Dover cliff into the sea!"
"Ah, Kate, Kate!" exclaimed her brother, with a look of infinite pride
and fondness. "Even supposing for a moment that you had no prev"----
"Come, Charles, no more nonsense," said Kate, patting his cheek, and
slightly coloring.
"I say, that even if"----
"Only fancy," interrupted Kate, "_Lady Cecilia_--TITMOUSE! I see her
before me now. Well, I protest it is positively insufferable; I could
not have thought that there was a woman in the whole world--why"--she
paused, and added laughingly, "how I should like to see their
correspondence!"
"What!" said Mrs. Aubrey, with a sly smile, first at her husband, and
then at Kate, "as a model for a certain _other_ correspondence that I
can imagine--eh, Kate!"
"Nonsense, nonsense, Agnes!--what a provoking humor you are both in this
evening," interrupted Kate, with a slight pettishness; "what we've heard
makes _me_ melancholy enough, I assure you!"
"I suppose that about the same time that Lady Cecilia Titmouse goes to
court," said her brother, "so will the Honorable Mrs. Dela"----
"If you choose to tease me, Charles, of course I cannot help it," quoth
Kate, coloring still more; but it required no _very_ great acuteness to
detect that the topic was not excessively offensive.
"Mrs. De"----
"Have done, Charles!" said she, rising; and, putting her arm round his
neck, she pressed her fair hand on his mouth; but he pushed it aside
laughingly.
"Mrs. De--Dela--Delamere," he continued.
"I will finish it for you, Charles," said Mrs. Aubrey, "the Honorable
Mr. and Mrs. Delamere"----
"What! do _you_ turn against me too?" inquired Kate, laughing very
good-humoredly.
"I wonder what her stately Ladyship's feelings were," said Aubrey, after
a pause, "the first time that her elegant and accomplished lover
_saluted_ her!!"
"Eugh!" exclaimed both Kate and Mrs. Aubrey, in a breath, and with a
simultaneous shudder of disgust.
"I dare say poor old Lord Dreddlington's notion is, that this will be a
fine opportunity for bringing about his favorite scheme of _reuniting
the families_--Heaven save the mark!" said Mr. Aubrey, just as the
twopenny postman's knock at the door was heard; and within a few
moments' time the servant brought up-stairs a letter addressed to Mr.
Aubrey. The very first glance at its contents expelled the smile from
his countenance, and the color from his cheek: he turned, in fact, so
pale, that Mrs. Aubrey and Kate also changed color--and came and stood
with beating hearts, and suddenly suspended breath, one on each side of
him, looking over the letter while he was reading it. As I intend
presently to lay a copy of it before the reader, I shall first state a
few circumstances, which will make it appear that this same letter may
be compared to a shell thrown into a peaceful little citadel, by a
skilful, though distant and unseen engineer--in short, I mean Mr.
Gammon.