The witnesses subpoenaed on either side in Hardie _v._ Hardie began to

arrive at ten o'clock, and a tall stately man paraded Westminster Hall,

to see if Skinner came with them. All other anxieties had merged in

this: for the counsel had assured him if nothing unexpected turned up,

Thomas Hardie would have a verdict, or if not, the damages would be

nominal.

At last the court crier cried, with a loud voice, “Hardie _v._ Hardie.”

Julia's eyes roved very anxiously for Alfred, and up rose Mr. Garrow,

and stated to the court the substance of the declaration: “To this,”

he said, “three pleas have been pleaded: first, the plea of not guilty,

which is a formal plea; also another plea, which has been demurred to,

and struck off the record; and, lastly, that at the time of the alleged

imprisonment the plaintiff was of unsound mind, and a fit person to be

confined; which is the issue now to be tried.”

Mr. Garrow then sat down, very tired of this preliminary work, and

wondering when he should have the luck to conduct such a case as Hardie

_v._ Hardie; and leaned forward to be ready to prompt his senior, a

portly counsel, whom Mr. Compton had retained because he was great at

addressing juries, and no point of law could now arise in the Case.

Colt, Q. C., rose like a tower, knowing very little of the facts, and

seeming to know everything. He had a prodigious business, and was rather

indolent, and often skimmed his brief at home, and then mastered it

in court--if he got time. Now, it is a good general's policy to open a

plaintiffs case warily, and reserve your rhetoric for the reply; and Mr.

Colt always took this line when his manifold engagements compelled

him, as in Hardie _v._ Hardie, to teach his case first and learn it

afterwards. I will only add, that in the course of his opening he was on

the edge of seven distinct blunders; but Garrow watched him and always

shot a whisper like a bullet just in time. Colt took it, and glided

away from incipient error imperceptibly, and with a tact you can have no

conception of. The jury did not detect the creaking of this machinery;

Serjeant Saunders did, and grinned satirically; so did poor Julia, and

her cheeks burned and her eyes flashed indignant fire. And horror of

horrors, Alfred did not appear.

Mr. Colt's opening may be thus condensed: The plaintiff was a young

gentleman of great promise and distinction, on whom, as usual in these

cases of false imprisonment, money was settled. He was a distinguished

student at Eton and Oxford, and no doubt was ever expressed of his

sanity till he proposed to marry, and take his money out of his trustees

hands by a marriage settlement. On this his father, who up to that time

had managed his funds as principal trustee, showed him great personal

hostility for some time, and looked out for a tool: that tool he soon

found in his brother, the defendant, a person who, it would be proved,

had actually not seen the plaintiff for a year and a half, yet, with

great recklessness and inhumanity, had signed away his liberty and his

happiness behind his back. Then tools of another kind--the kind that

anybody can buy, a couple of doctors--were, as usual, easily found to

sign the certificates. One of these doctors had never seen him but for

five minutes, and signed in manifest collusion with the other. They

decoyed this poor young gentleman away on his wedding morning--on his

wedding morning, gentlemen, mark that--and consigned him to the worst of

all dungeons. What he suffered there he must himself relate to you;

for we, who have the happiness to walk abroad in the air of reason and

liberty, are little able to realise the agony of mind endured by a sane

man confined among the insane. What we undertake is to prove his sanity

up to the very hour of his incarceration; and also that he was quite

sane at the time when a brutal attempt to recapture him by violence was

made under the defendant's order, and defeated by his own remarkable

intelligence and courage. Along with the facts the true reason why

he was imprisoned will probably come out. But I am not bound to prove

sinister motives. It is for the defendant to prove, if he can, that

he had lawful motives for a lawless act; and that he exercised due

precaution, and did not lend himself recklessly to the dark designs of

others. If he succeed in this, that may go in mitigation of damages,

though it cannot affect the verdict. _Our_ principal object is the

verdict, which will remove the foul aspersion cast on my injured client,

and restore him to society. And to this verdict we are entitled, unless

the other side can prove the plaintiff was insane. Call Alfred Hardie.

And with this he sat down.

An official called Alfred Hardie very loud; he made no reply. Julia

rose from her seat with dismay painted on her countenance. Compton's,

Garrow's, and Colt's heads clashed together.

Mr. Colt jumped up again, and said, “My Lud, I was not aware the

gentleman they accuse of insanity is just being examined for high

honours in the University of Oxford.” Aside to Compton, “And if he

doesn't come you may give them the verdict.”

“Well,” said the judge, “of course he will be here before you close your

case.”

On this the three heads clashed again, and Serjeant Saunders, for the

defendant, popped up and said with great politeness, and affectation of

sympathy, “My Lud, I can quite understand my learned friend's hesitation

to produce his, principal witness.”

“You understand nothing about the matter,” said Colt cavalierly. “Call

Mr. Harrington.”

Mr. Harrington was Alfred's tutor at Eton, and deposed to his sanity

there; he was not cross-examined. After him they went on step by step

with a fresh witness for every six months, till they brought him close

to the date of his incarceration; then they put in one of Julia's

witnesses, Peterson, who swore Alfred had talked to him like a

sane person that very morning; and repeated what had passed.

Cross-examination only elicited that he and Alfred were no longer good

friends, which rather strengthened the evidence. Then Giles and Hannah,

now man and wife, were called, and swore he was sane all the time he was

at Silverton House. Mr. Saunders diminished the effect by eliciting that

they had left on bad terms with Mr. Baker, and that Alfred had given

them money since. But this was half cured on re-examination, by being

set down to gratitude on Alfred's part. And now the judge went to

luncheon; and in came a telegraphic message to say Alfred was in the

fast train coming up. This was good news and bad. They had hoped he

would drop in before. They were approaching that period of the case,

when not to call the plaintiff must produce a vile impression. The

judge--out of good nature, I suspect--was longer at luncheon than usual,

and every minute was so much gained to Mr. Compton and Julia, who

were in a miserable state of anxiety. Yet it was equalled by Richard

Hardie's, who never entered the court but paced the hall the livelong

day to intercept Noah Skinner. And, when I tell you that Julia had

consulted Mr. Green, and that he had instantly pronounced Mr. Barkington

to be a man from Barkington who knew the truth about the fourteen

thousand pounds, and that the said Green and his myrmidons were hunting

Mr. Barkington like beagles, you will see that R. Hardie's was no vain

terror. At last the judge returned, and Mr. Colt was obliged to put in

his reserves; so called Dr. Sampson. Instantly a very dull trial became

an amusing one; the scorn with which he treated the opinion of Dr.

Wycherley and Mr. Speers, and medical certificates in general, was so

droll coming from a doctor, and so racily expressed, that the court was

convulsed. Also in cross-examination by Saunders he sparred away in

such gallant style with that accomplished advocate that it was mighty

refreshing. The judge put in a few intelligent questions after counsel

had done, and surprised all the doctors in court with these words: “I

am aware, sir, that you were the main instrument in putting down

bloodletting in this country.”

What made Sampson's evidence particularly strong was that he had seen

the plaintiff the evening before his imprisonment.

At this moment three men, all of them known to the reader, entered the

court; one was our old acquaintance Fullalove, another was of course

Vespasian; and the third was the missing plaintiff.

A buzz announced his arrival; and expectation rose high. Mr. Colt called

him with admirably feigned nonchalance; he stepped into the box, and

there was a murmur of surprise and admiration at his bright countenance

and manly bearing.

Of course to give his evidence would be to write “Hard Cash” over again.

It is enough to say that his examination in chief lasted all that day,

and an hour of the next.

Colt took him into the asylum, and made him say what he had suffered

there to swell the damages. The main points his examination in chief

established were his sanity during his whole life, the money settled

on him, the means the doctors took to irritate him, and then sign him

excited, the subserviency of his uncle to his father, the double motive

his father had in getting him imprisoned; the business of the L. 14,000.

When Colt sat down at eleven o'clock on the second day, the jury looked

indignant, and the judge looked very grave, and the case very black.

Mr. Saunders electrified his attorney by saying, “My advice is, don't

cross-examine him.”

Heathfield implored him not to take so strange a course.

On this Saunders shrugged his shoulders, rose, and cross-examined

Alfred about the vision of one Captain Dodd he had seen, and about his

suspicions of his father. “Had not Richard Hardie always been a kind

and liberal father?” To this he assented. “Had he not sacrificed a large

fortune to his creditors?” Plaintiff believed so. “On reflection, then,

did not plaintiff think he must have been under an illusion?” No; he had

gone by direct evidence.

Confining himself sagaciously to this one question, and exerting all his

skill and pertinacity, Saunders succeeded in convincing the court that

the Hard Cash was a myth: a pure chimera. The defendant's case looked

up; for there are many intelligent madmen with a single illusion.

The re-examination was of course very short, but telling; for Alfred

swore that Miss Julia Dodd had helped him to carry home the phantom of

her father, and that Miss Dodd had a letter from her father to say that

he was about to sail with the other phantom, the L. 14,000.

Here Mr. Saunders interposed, and said that evidence was inadmissible.

Let him call Miss Dodd.

_Colt._--How do you know I'm not going to call her?

_The Judge._--If you are, it is superfluous; if not, it is inadmissible.

Mr. Compton cast an inquiring glance up at a certain gallery. A

beautiful girl bowed her head in reply, with a warm blush and such a

flash of her eye, and Mr. Colt said, “As my learned friend was afraid

to cross-examine the plaintiff on any point but this, and as I mean to

respond to his challenge, and call Miss Dodd, I will not trouble the

plaintiff any further.”

Through the whole ordeal Alfred showed a certain flavour of Eton and

Oxford that won all hearts. His replies were frank and honest, and under

cross-examination he was no more to be irritated than if Saunders

had been Harrow bowling at him, or the Robin sparring with him. The

serjeant, who was a gentleman, indicated some little regret at the

possible annoyance he was causing him. Alfred replied with a grand air

of good fellowship, “Do not think so poorly of me as to suppose I feel

aggrieved because you are an able advocate and do your duty to your

client, sir.”

_The Judge._--That is very handsomely said. I am afraid you have got an

awkward customer, in a case of this kind, Brother Saunders.

_Serjt. S._--It is not for want of brains he is mad, my lord.

_Alfred._--That is a comfort, any way. (Laughter.)

When counsel had done with him, the judge used his right, and put

several shrewd and unusual questions to him: asked him to define

insanity. He said he could only do it by examples: and he abridged

several intelligent madmen, their words and ways; and contrasted them

with the five or six sane people he had fallen in with in asylums;

showing his lordship plainly that _he_ could tell any insane person

whatever from a sane one, and _vice versa._ This was the most remarkable

part of the trial, to see this shrewd old judge extracting from a

real observer and logical thinker those positive indicia of sanity and

insanity, which exist, but which no lawyer has ever yet been able to

extract from any psychological physician in the witness-box. At last, he

was relieved, and sat sucking an orange among the spectators; for they

had parched his throat amongst them, I promise you.

Julia Dodd entered the box, and a sunbeam seemed to fill the court.

She knew what to do: her left hand was gloved, but her white right hand

bare. She kissed the book, and gave her evidence in her clear, mellow,

melting voice; gave it reverently and modestly, for to her the court was

a church. She said how long she had been acquainted with Alfred, and how

his father was adverse, and her mother had thought it was because they

did not pass for rich, and had told her they were rich, and with this

she produced David's letter, and she also swore to having met Alfred and

others carrying her father in a swoon from his father's very door.

She deposed to Alfred's sanity on her wedding eve, and on the day his

recapture was attempted.

Saunders, against his own judgment, was instructed to cross-examine her;

and, without meaning it, he put a question which gave her deep distress.

“Are you now engaged to the plaintiff?” She looked timidly round,

and saw Alfred, and hesitated. The serjeant pressed her politely, but

firmly.

“Must I reply to that?” she said piteously.

“If you please.”

“Then, no. Another misfortune has now separated him and me for ever.”

“What is that, pray?”

“My father is said to have died at sea: and my mother thinks _he_ is to

blame.”

_The judge to Saunders._--What on earth has this to do with Hardie

against Hardie?

_Saunders._--You are warmly interested in the plaintiff's success?

_Julia._--Oh yes, sir.

_Colt_ (aside to Garrow).--The fool is putting his foot into it: there's

not a jury in England that would give a verdict to part two interesting

young lovers.

_Saunders._--You are attached to him?

_Julia._--Ah, that I do.

This burst, intended for poor Alfred, not the court, baffled

cross-examination and grammar and everything else. Saunders was wise and

generous, and said no more.

Colt cast a glance of triumph, and declined to re-examine. He always let

well alone. The judge, however, evinced a desire to trace the fourteen

thousand pounds from Calcutta; but Julia could not help him: that

mysterious sum had been announced by letter as about to sail, and then

no more was heard about it till Alfred accused his father of having it.

All endeavours to fill this hiatus failed. However, Julia, observing

that in courts material objects affect the mind most, had provided

herself with all the _pieces de conviction_ she could find, and she

produced her father's empty pocket-book, and said, when he was brought

home senseless, this was in his breast-pocket.

“Hand it up to me,” said the judge. He examined it, and said it had been

in the water.

“Captain Dodd was wrecked off the French coast,” suggested Mr. Saunders.

“My learned friend had better go into the witness-box, if he means to

give evidence,” said Mr. Colt.

“You are very much afraid of a very little truth,” retorted Saunders.

The judge stopped this sham rencontre, by asking the witness whether her

father had been wrecked. She said “Yes.”

“And that is how the money was lost,” persisted Saunders.

“Possibly,” said the judge.

“I'm darned if it was,” said Joshua Fullalove composedly.

Instantly, all heads were turned in amazement at this audacious

interruption to the soporific decorum of an English court. The

transatlantic citizen received this battery of eyes with complete

imperturbability.

“Si-lence!” roared the crier, awaking from a nap, with an instinct that

something unusual had happened. But the shrewd old judge had caught the

sincerity with which the words were uttered, and put on his spectacles

to examine the speaker.

“Are you for the plaintiff or the defendant?”

“I don't know either of 'em from Adam, my lord. But I know Captain

Dodd's pocket-book by the bullet-hole.”

“Indeed! You had better call this witness, Mr. Colt.”

“Your lordship must excuse me; I am quite content with my evidence,” said

the wary advocate.

“Well then, I shall call him as _amicus curiae;_ and the defendant's

counsel can cross-examine him.”

Fullalove went into the box, was sworn, identified the pocket-book, and

swore he had seen fourteen thousand pounds in it on two occasions. With

very little prompting, he told the sea-fight, and the Indian darkie's

attempt to steal the money, and pointed out Vespasian as the rival

darkie who had baffled the attempt. Then he told the shipwreck to an

audience now breathless--and imagine the astonished interest with which

Julia and Edward listened to this stranger telling them the new strange

story of their own father!--and lastly, the attempt of the two French

wreckers and assassins, and how it had been baffled. And so the mythical

cash was tracked to Boulogne.

The judge then put this question, “Did Captain Dodd tell you what he

intended to do with it?”

_Fullalove_ (reverently).--I think, my lord, he said he was going to

give it to his wife. (Sharply.) Well, what is it, old hoss? What are

you making mugs at me for? Don't you know it's clean against law to

telegraph a citizen in the witness-box?

_The Judge._--This won't do; this won't do.

_The Crier._--Silence in the court.

“Do you hyar now what his lordship says?” said Fullalove, with ready

tact. “If you know anything more, come up hyar and swear it like an

enlightened citizen; do you think I am going to swear for tew?” With

this Vespasian and Fullalove proceeded to change places amidst roars of

laughter at the cool off-hand way this pair arranged forensicalities;

but Serjeant Saunders requested Fullalove to stay where he was. “Pray

sir,” said he slowly, “who retained you for a witness in this cause?”

Fullalove looked puzzled.

“Of course somebody asked you to drop in here so very accidentally: come

now, who was it?”

“I'm God Almighty's witness dropped from the clouds, I cal'late.”

“Come, sir, no prevarication. How came you here just at the nick of

time?”

“Counsellor, when I'm treated polite, I'm ile; but rile me, and I'm

thunder stuffed with pison: don't you raise my dander, and I'll tell

you. I have undertaken to educate this yar darkie,”--here he stretched

out a long arm, and laid his hand on Vespasian's woolly pate--“and I'm

bound to raise him to the Eu-ropean model.” (Laughter.) “So I said to

him, coming over Westminster Bridge, 'Now there's a store hyar where

they sell a very extraordinary Fixin; and it's called Justice; they

sell it tarnation dear; _but_ prime. So I make tracks for the very court

where I got the prime article three years ago, against a varmint that

was breaking the seventh and eighth commandments over me, adulterating

my patent and then stealing it. Blast him!” (A roar of laughter.) “And

coming along I said this old country's got some good pints after all,

old hoss. One is they'll sell you justice dear, _but_ prime in these yar

courts, if you were born at Kamschatkee; and the other is, hyar darkies

are free as air, disenthralled by the univarsal genius of British

liberty; and then I pitched Counsellor Curran's bunkum into this darkie,

and he sucked it in like mother's milk, and in we came on tiptoe, and

the first thing we heard was a freeborn Briton treated wus than ever a

nigger in Old Kentuck, decoyed away from his gal, shoved into a darned

madhouse--the darbies clapped on him----”

“We don't want your comments on the case, sir.”

“No, nor any other free and enlightened citizen's, I reckon. Wal,

Vespasian and me sat like mice in a snowdrift, and hid our feelings out

of good manners, being strangers, till his lordship got e-tarnally fixed

about the Captain's pocket-book. Vesp., says I, this hurts my feelings

powerful. Says I, this hyar lord did the right thing about my patent:

he summed up just: and now he is in an everlasting fix himself: one good

turn deserves another, I'll get him out of this fix, any way.” Here the

witness was interrupted with a roar of laughter that shook the court.

Even the judge leaned back and chuckled, genially though quietly. And

right sorrowful was every Briton there when Saunders closed abruptly the

cross-examination of Joshua Fullalove.

His lordship then said he wished to ask Vespasian a question.

Saunders lost patience. “What, another _amicus curiae,_ my lud! This is

unprecedented.”

“Excuse my curiosity, Brother Saunders,” said the judge ironically. “I

wish to trace this L. 14,000 as far as possible. Have you any particular

objection to the truth on this head of evidence?”

“No, my lud, I never urge objections when I can't enforce them.”

“Then you are a wise man.” (To Vespasian, after he had been sworn),

“Pray did Captain Dodd tell you what he intended to do with this money?”

“Is, massa judge, massa captan told dis child he got a branker in some

place in de old country, called Barkinton. And he said dis branker bery

good branker, much sartiner not to break dan the brank of England. (A

howl.) De captan said he take de money to dis yer branker, and den hab

no more trouble wid it. Den it off my stomach, de captan say, and dis

child heerd him. Yah!”

The plaintiff's case being apparently concluded, the judge retired for a

few minutes.

In the buzz that followed, a note was handed to Mr. Compton; _“Skinner!_

On a hot scent. Sure to find him to-day.--_N.B._ He is wanted by another

party. There is something curious a-foot.”

Compton wrote on a slip, “For Heaven's sake, bring him directly. In half

an hour it will be too late.”

Green hurried out and nearly ran against Mr. Richard Hardie, who was

moodily pacing Westminster Hall at the climax of his own anxiety. To him

all turned on Skinner. Five minutes passed, ten, fifteen, twenty: all

the plaintiff's party had their eyes on the door; but Green did not

return; and the judge did. Then to gain a few minutes more, Mr. Colt,

instructed by Compton, rose and said with great solemnity, “We are

about to call our last witness: the living have testified to my client's

sanity, and now we shall read you the testimony of the dead.”

_Saunders._--That I object to, of course.

_Colt._--Does my learned friend mean to say he objects at random?

_Saunders._--Nothing of the kind. I object on the law of evidence--a

matter on which my learned friend seems to be under a hallucination as

complete as his client's about that L. 14,000.

_Colt._

--There's none ever feared

That the truth should be heard

But they whom the truth would indict.

_Saunders._--A court of justice is not the place for old songs; and new

law.

_Colt._--Really, my learned friend is the objective case incarnate. (To

Compton.--I can't keep this nonsense up for ever. Is Skinner come?) He

has a Mania for objection, and with your lordship's permission I'll buy

a couple of doctors and lock him up in an asylum as he leaves the court

this afternoon. (Laughter.)

_The judge._--A very good plan: then you'll no longer feel the weight

of his abilities. I conclude, Mr. Colt, you intend to call a witness who

will swear to the deceased person's hand-writing and that it was written

in the knowledge Death was at hand.

_Colt._--Certainly, my lord. I can call Miss Julia Dodd.

_Saunders._--That I need not take the trouble of objecting to.

_The judge_ (with some surprise).--No, Mr. Colt. That will never do. You

have examined her, and re-examined her.

I need hardly say Mr. Colt knew very well he could not call Julia Dodd.

But he was fighting for seconds now, to get in Skinner. “Call Edward

Dodd.”

Edward was sworn, and asked if he knew the late Jane Hardie.

“I knew her well,” said he.

“Is that her handwriting?”

“It is.”

“Where was it written?”

“In my mother's house at Barkington.”

“Under what circumstances?”

“She was dying--of a blow given her by a maniac called Maxley.”

“Maxley!” said the judge to counsel. “I remember the Queen _v._ Maxley.

I tried him myself at the assizes: it was for striking a young lady with

a bludgeon, of which she died. Maxley was powerfully defended; and it

was proved that his wife had died, and he had been driven mad for a

time, by her father's bank breaking. The jury _would_ bring in a verdict

that was no verdict at all; as I took the liberty to tell them at the

time. The judges dismissed it, and Maxley was eventually discharged.”

_Colt._--No doubt that was the case, my lord. To the witness.--Did Jane

Hardie know she was dying?

“Oh yes, sir. She told us all so.”

“To whom did she give this letter?”

“To my sister.”

“Oh, to your sister? To Miss Julia Dodd?”

“Yes, sir. But not for herself. It was to give to Alfred Hardie.”

“Can you read the letter? It is rather faintly written. It is written in

pencil, my lord.”

“I _could_ read it, sir; but I hope you will excuse me. She that wrote

it was very, very dear to me.”

The young man's full voice faltered as he uttered these words, and

he turned his lion-like eyes soft and imploring on the judge. That

venerable and shrewd old man, learned in human nature as well as in

law, comprehended in a moment, and said kindly, “You misunderstand him.

Witnesses do not read letters _out_ in court. Let the letter be handed

up to me.” This was fortunate, for the court cuckoo, who intones most

letters, would have read all the sense and pathos out of this, with his

monotonous sing-song.

The judge read it carefully to himself with his glasses, and told the

jury it seemed a genuine document: then the crier cried “Silence in the

court,” and his lordship turned towards the jury and read the letter

slowly and solemnly:

_“DEAR, DEAR BROTHER,--Your poor little Jane lies dying, suddenly but

not painfully, and my last earthly thoughts are for my darling brother.

Some wicked person has said you are insane. I deny this with my dying

breath and my dying hand. You came to me the night before the wedding

that was to be, and talked to me most calmly, rationally and kindly; so

that I could not resist your reasons, and went to your wedding, which,

till then, I did not intend. Show these words to your slanderers when I

am no more. But oh! Alfred, even this is of little moment compared with

the world to come. By all our affection, grant me one request. Battered,

wounded, dying in my prime, what would be my condition but for the

Saviour, whom I have loved, and with whom I hope soon to be. He smoothes

the bed of death for me, He lights the dark valley; I rejoice to die and

be with Him. Oh, turn to Him, dear brother, without one hour's delay,

and then how short will be this parting. This is your dying sister's one

request, who loves you dearly._”

With the exception of Julia's sobs, not a sound was heard as the judge

read it. Many eyes were wet: and the judge himself was visibly affected,

and pressed his handkerchief a moment to his eyes. “These are the words

of a Christian woman, gentlemen,” he said. And there was silence. A

girl's hand seemed to have risen from the grave to defend her brother

and rend the veil from falsehood.

Mr. Colt, out of pure tact, subdued his voice to the key of the

sentiment thus awakened, and said impressively, “Gentlemen of the jury,

that is our case:” and so sat down.

CHAPTER LIII

SERGEANT SAUNDERS thought it prudent to let the emotion subside before

opening the defendant's case: so he disarranged his papers, and then

rearranged them as before: and, during this, a person employed by

Richard Hardie went out and told him this last untoward piece of

evidence. He winced: but all was overbalanced by this, that Skinner had

not come to bear witness for the Plaintiff.

Sergeant Saunders rose with perfect dignity and confidence, and

delivered a masterly address. In less than ten minutes the whole affair

took another colour under that plausible tongue. The tactician began by

declaring that the plaintiff was perfectly sane, and his convalescence

was a matter of such joy to the defendant, that not even the cruel

misinterpretation of facts and motives, to which his amiable client had

been exposed, could rob him of that sacred delight “Our case, gentlemen,

is, that the plaintiff is sane, and that he owes his sanity to those

prompt, wise, and benevolent measures, which we took eighteen months

ago, at an unhappy crisis of his mind, to preserve his understanding

and his property. Yes, his property, gentlemen; that property which in a

paroxysm of mania, he was going to throw away, as I shall show you by an

unanswerable document. He comes here to slander us and mulet us out of

five thousand pounds; but I shall show you he is already ten thousand

pounds the richer for that act of ours, for which he debits us five

thousand pounds instead of crediting us twice the sum. Gentlemen, I

cannot, like my learned friend, call witnesses from the clouds, from the

United States, and from the grave; for it has not occurred to my client

strong in the sense of his kindly and honourable intentions, to engage

gentlemen from foreign parts, with woolly locks and nasal twangs, to

drop in accidentally, and eke out the fatal gaps in evidence. The class

of testimony we stand upon is less romantic; it does not seduce the

imagination nor play upon the passions; but it is of a much higher

character in sober men's eyes, especially in a court of law. I rely, not

on witnesses dropped from the clouds, and the stars, and the stripes--to

order; nor even on the prejudiced statements of friends and sweethearts,

who always swear from the heart rather than from the head and the

conscience; but on the calm testimony of indifferent men, and on written

documents furnished by the plaintiff', and on contemporaneous entries in

the books of the asylum, which entries formally describe the plaintiff's

acts, and were put down at the time--at the time, gentlemen--with no

idea of a trial at law to come, but in compliance with the very proper

provisions of a wise and salutary Act. I shall also lay before you the

evidence of the medical witnesses who signed the certificates, men of

probity and honour, and who have made these subtle maladies of the mind

the special study of their whole life. I shall also call the family

doctor, who has known the plaintiff and his ailments, bodily and mental,

for many years, and communicated his suspicions to one of the first

psychological physicians of the age, declining, with a modesty which

we, who know less of insanity than he does, would do well to

imitate--declining, I say, to pronounce a positive opinion unfavourable

to the plaintiff, till he should have compared notes with this learned

man, and profited by his vast experience.”

In this strain he continued for a good hour, until the defendants case

seemed to be a thing of granite. His oration ended, he called a string

of witnesses: every one of whom bore the learned counsel out by his

evidence in chief.

But here came the grand distinction between the defendants case and

the plaintiff's. Cross-examination had hardly shaken the plaintiff's

witnesses: it literally dissolved the defendant's. Osmond was called,

and proved Alfred's headaches and pallor, and his own suspicions. But

then Colt forced him to admit that many young people had headaches

without going mad, and were pale when thwarted in love, without going

mad: and that as to the L. 14,000 and the phantom, he _knew_ nothing;

but had taken all that for granted on Mr. Richard Hardie's word.

Dr. Wycherley deposed to Alfred's being insane and abnormally irritable,

and under a pecuniary illusion, as stated in his certificate: and to his

own vast experience. But the fire of cross-examination melted all his

polysyllables into guesswork and hearsay. It melted out of him that he,

a stranger, had intruded on the young man's privacy, and had burst into

a most delicate topic, his disagreement with his father, and so had

himself created the very irritation he had set down to madness. He also

had to admit that he knew nothing about the L. 14,000 or the phantom,

but had taken for granted the young man's own father, who consulted him,

was not telling him a deliberate and wicked falsehood.

_Colt._--In short, sir, you were retained to make the man out insane,

just as my learned friend there is retained.

_Wycherley._--I think, sir, it would not be consistent with the dignity

of my profession to notice that comparison.

_Colt._--I leave defendant's counsel to thank you for that. Come, never

mind _dignity;_ let us have a little _truth._ Is it consistent with

your dignity to tell us whether the keepers of private asylums pay you

a commission for all the patients you consign to durance vile by your

certificates?

Dr. Wycherley fenced with this question, but the remorseless Colt only

kept him longer under torture, and dragged out of him that he received

fifteen per cent. from the asylum keepers for every patient he wrote

insane; and that he had an income of eight hundred pounds a year from

that source alone. This, of course, was the very thing to prejudice a

jury against the defence: and Colt's art was to keep to their level.

Speers, cross-examined, failed to conceal that he was a mere tool of

Wycherley's, and had signed in manifest collusion, adhering to the

letter of the statute, but violating its spirit for certainly, the Act

never intended by “separate examination,” that two doctors should come

into the passage, and walk into the room alternately, then reunite, and

do the signing as agreed before they ever saw the patient. As to the

illusion about the fourteen thousand pounds, Speers owned that the

plaintiff had not uttered a word about the subject, but had peremptorily

declined it. He had to confess, too, that he had taken for granted Dr.

Wycherley was correctly informed about the said illusion.

“In short,” said the judge, interposing, “Dr. Wycherley took the very

thing for granted which it was his duty to ascertain; and you, sir, not

to be behind Dr. Wycherley, took the thing for granted at second hand.”

And when Speers had left the box, he said to Serjeant Saunders, “If this

case is to be defended seriously, you had better call Mr. Richard Hardie

without further delay.”

“It is my wish, my lud; but I am sorry to say he is in the country very

ill; and I have no hope of seeing him here before to-morrow.”

“Oh, well; so that you _do_ call him. I shall not lay hearsay before the

jury: hearsay gathered from Mr. Richard Hardie--whom you will call

in person if the reports he has circulated have any basis whatever in

truth.”

Mr. Saunders said coolly, “Mr. Richard Hardie is not the defendant,”

and flowed on; nor would any but a lawyer have suspected what a terrible

stab the judge had given him so quietly.

The surgeon of Silverton House was then sworn, and produced the case

book; and there stood the entries which had been so fatal to Alfred

with the visiting justices. Suicide, homicide, self-starvation. But the

plaintiff got to Mr. Colt with a piece of paper, on which he had written

his view of all this, and cross-examination dissolved the suicide

and homicide into a spirited attempt to escape and resist a false

imprisonment As for the self-starvation, Colt elicited that Alfred

had eaten at six o'clock though not at two. “And pray, sir,” said he,

contemptuously, to the witness, “do you never stir out of a madhouse?

Do you imagine that gentlemen in their senses dine at two o'clock in the

nineteenth century?”

“No. I don't say that.”

“What _do_ you say, then? Is forcible imprisonment of a bridegroom in

a madhouse the thing to give a _gentleman_ a _factitious_ appetite at

_your_ barbarous dinner-hour?”

In a word, Colt was rough with this witness, and nearly smashed him.

Saunders fought gallantly on, and put in Lawyer Crawford with his draft

of the insane deed, as he called it, by which the erotic monomaniac

Alfred divested himself of all his money in favour of the Dodds. There

was no dissolving this deed away; and Crawford swore he had entreated

the plaintiff not to insist on his drawing so unheard-of a document;

but opposition or question seemed to irritate his client, so that he had

complied, and the deed was to have been signed on the wedding-day.

All the lawyers present thought this looked really mad. Fancy a man

signing away his property to his wife's relatives!! The court, which had

already sat long beyond the usual time, broke up, leaving the defendant

with this advantage. Alfred Hardie and his friends made a little knot in

the hall outside, and talked excitedly over the incidents of the trial.

Mr. Compton introduced Fullalove and Vespasian. They all shook hands

with them, and thanked them warmly for the timely and most unexpected

aid. But Green and a myrmidon broke in upon their conversation. “I am

down on Mr. Barkington _alias_ Noah Skinner. It isn't very far from

here, if you will follow me.” Green was as excited as a foxhound when

Pug has begun to trail his brush: the more so that another client of his

wanted Noah Skinner; and so the detective was doing a double stroke of

business. He led the way; it was dry, and they all went in pairs after

him into the back slums of Westminster; and a pretty part that is.

Now as they went along Alfred hung behind with Julia, and asked her what

on earth she meant by swearing that it was all over between her and

him. “Why your last letter was full of love, dearest; what could you be

thinking of to say that?”

She shook her head sadly, and revealed to him with many prayers for

forgiveness that she had been playing a part of late: that she had

concealed her father's death from him, and the fatal barrier interposed.

“I was afraid you would be disheartened, and lose your first class and

perhaps your trial. But you are safe now, dear Alfred; I am sure the

judge sees through them; for I have studied him for you. I know his

face by heart, and all his looks and what they mean. My Alfred will be

cleared of this wicked slander, and happy with some one----Ah!”

“Yes, I mean to be happy with some one,” said Alfred. “I am not one of

your self-sacrificing angels; thank Heaven! Your shall not sacrifice

us to your mother's injustice nor to the caprices of fate. We have

one another; but you would immolate me for the pleasure of immolating

yourself. Don't provoke me too far, or I'll carry you off by force. I

swear it, by Him who made us both.”

“Dearest, how wildly you talk.” And with this Julia hung her head, and

had a guilty thrill. She could not help thinking that eccentric little

measure would relieve her of the sin of disobedience.

After making known to her his desperate resolution, Alfred was silent,

and they went sadly side by side; so dear, so near, yet always some

infernal thing or other coming between them. They reached a passage in

a miserable street. At the mouth stood two of Green's men, planted there

to follow Skinner should he go out: but they reported all quiet. “Bring

the old gentleman up,” said Green. “I appointed him six o'clock, and

it's on the stroke.” He then descended the passage, and striking a light

led the way up a high stair. Skinner lived on the fifth story. Green

tapped at his door. “Mr. Barkington.”

No reply.

“Mr. Barkington, I've brought you some money.”

No reply.

“Perhaps he is not at home,” said Mr. Compton.

“Oh, yes, sir, I sent a sharp boy up, and he picked the paper out of the

keyhole and saw him sitting reading.”

He then applied his own eye to the keyhole. “I see something black,”

said he, “I think he suspects.”

While he hesitated, they became conscious of a pungent vapour stealing

through the now open keyhole.

“Hallo!” said Green, “what is this?”

Fullalove observed coolly that Mr. Skinner's lungs must be peculiarly

made if he could breathe in that atmosphere. “If you want to see him

alive, let me open the door.”

“There's something amiss here,” said Green gravely.

At that Fullalove whipped out a tool no bigger than a nutcracker, forced

the edge in, and sent the door flying open. The room or den was full of

an acrid vapour, and close to them sat he they sought motionless.

“Keep the lady back,” cried Green, and threw the vivid light of his

bull's eye on a strange, grotesque, and ghastly scene. The floor was

covered with bright sovereigns that glittered in the lamp-light. On the

table was an open book, and a candle quite burnt down: the grease had

run into a circle.

And, as was that grease to the expired light, so was the thing that sat

there in human form to the Noah Skinner they had come to seek. Dead this

many a day of charcoal fumes, but preserved from decomposition by those

very fumes, sat Noah Skinner, dried into bones and leather waiting for

them with his own Hard Cash, and with theirs; for, creeping awestruck

round that mummified figure seated dead on his pool of sovereigns, they

soon noticed in his left hand a paper: it was discoloured by the vapour,

and part hid by the dead thumb; but thus much shone out clear and

amazing, that it was a banker's receipt to David Dodd, Esq., for L.

14,010, drawn at Barkington, and signed for Richard Hardie by Noah

Skinner. Julia had drawn back, and was hiding her face; but soon

curiosity struggled with awe in the others: they peeped at the Receipt:

they touched the weird figure. Its yellow skin sounded like a drum, and

its joints creaked like a puppets. At last Compton suggested that Edward

Dodd ought to secure that valuable document. “No no,” said Edward: “it

is too like robbing the dead.”

“Then I will,” said Compton.

But he found the dead thumb and finger would not part with the Receipt;

then, as a trifle turns the scale, he hesitated in turn: and all but

Julia stood motionless round the body that held the Receipt, the soul of

the lost Cash, and still, as in life, seemed loth to part with it.

Then Fullalove came beside the arm-chair, and said with simple dignity,

“I'm a man from foreign parts; I have no interest here but justice:

and justice I'll do.” He took the dead arm, and the joint creaked:

he applied the same lever to the bone and parchment hand he had to the

door: it creaked too, but more faintly, and opened and let out this:--

No. 17. BARKINGTON, Nov. 10, 1847.

_Received of_ DAVID DODD, Esq., _the sum of Fourteen Thousand and Ten

Pounds Twelve Shillings and Six Pence,_

to account on demand

_For_ RICHARD HARDIE,

NOAH SKINNER.

L. 14,010: 12: 6.

A stately foot came up the stair, but no one heard it. All were absorbed

in the strange weird sight, and this great stroke of fate; or of

Providence.

“This is yours, I reckon,” said Fullalove, and handed the receipt

to Edward. “No, no!” said Compton. “See: I've just found a will,

bequeathing all he has in the world, with his blessing, to Miss Julia

Dodd. These sovereigns are yours, then. But above all, the paper: as

your legal adviser, I insist on your taking it immediately. Possession

is nine points. However, it is actually yours, in virtue of this

bequest.”

A solemn passionless voice seemed to fall on them from the clouds,

“No; it is Mine.”

MY story must now return on board the _Vulture._ Just before noon,

the bell the half hours are struck on was tolled to collect the ship's

company; and soon the gangways and booms were crowded, and even

the yards were manned with sailors, collected to see their shipmate

committed to the deep. Next came the lieutenants and midshipmen and

stood reverently on the deck: the body was brought and placed on a

grating. Then all heads being uncovered below and aloft, the chaplain

read the solemn service of the dead.

Many tears were shied by the rough sailors, the more so that to most of

them, though not to the officers, it was now known that poor Billy had

not always been before the mast, but had seen better days, and commanded

vessels, and saved lives; and now he had lost his own.

The service is the same as ashore, with this exception: that the words

“We commit his body to the ground, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” &c.,

are altered at sea, thus: “We commit his body to the deep, to be turned

into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body, when the sea

shall give up her dead; and the life of the world to come.” At these

words the body is allowed to glide off the grating into the sea. The

chaplain's solemn voice drew near those very words, and the tears

of pity fell faster; and Georgie White, an affectionate boy, sobbed

violently, and shivered beforehand at the sullen plunge that he knew

would soon come, and then he should see no more poor Billy who had given

his life for his.

At this moment the captain came flying on deck, and jumping on to a gun,

cried sharply, “Avast! Haul that body aboard.”

The sharp voice of command cut across the solemn words and tones in

the most startling way. The chaplain closed his book with a look of

amazement and indignation: the sailors stared, and for the first time

did not obey an order. To be sure it was one they had never heard

before. Then the captain got angry, and repeated his command louder, and

the body was almost jerked in board.

“Carry him to my cabin; and uncover his face.”

By this time nothing could surprise Jackey Tar. Four sailors executed

the order promptly.

“Bosen, pipe to duty.”

While the men were dispersing to their several stations, Captain

Bazalgette apologised to the chaplain, and explained to him and to the

officers. But I give his explanation in my own words. Finding the ship

quiet, the purser went to the captain down below, and asked him coolly

what entry he should make in the ship's books about this William

Thompson, who was no more William Thompson than he was. “What do you

mean?” said the captain. Then the purser told him that Thompson's

messmates, in preparing him last night for interment, had found a little

bag round his neck, and inside it, a medal of the Humane Society, and a

slip of paper written on in a lady's hand; then they had sent for him;

and he had seen at once that this was a mysterious case: this lady spoke

of him as her husband, and skipper of a merchant vessel.

“What is that?” roared the captain, who hitherto had listened with scarce

half an ear.

“Skipper of a merchant vessel, sir, as sure as you command her majesty's

frigate _Vulture:_ and then we found his shirt marked with the same name

as the lady's.”

“What was the lady's name?”

“Lucy Dodd; and David Dodd is on the shirt.”

“Why didn't you tell me this before?” cried the captain.

“Didn't know it till last night.”

“Why it is twelve o'clock. They are burying him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lucy would never forgive me,” cried the captain. And to the purser's

utter amazement he clapped on his cocked hat, and flew out of the cabin

on the errand I have described.

He now returned to the cabin and looked: a glance was enough: there lay

the kindly face that had been his friend man and boy.

He hid his own with his hands, and moaned. He cursed his own blindness

and stupidity in not recognising that face among a thousand. In this he

was unjust to himself. David had never looked _himself_ till now.

He sent for the surgeon, and told him the whole sad story: and asked him

what could be done. His poor cousin Lucy had more than once expressed

her horror of interment at sea. “It is very hot,” said he; “but surely

you must know some way of keeping him till we land in New Zealand: curse

these flies; how they bite!”

The surgeon's eyes sparkled; he happened to be an enthusiast in the art

of embalming. “Keep him to New Zealand?” said he contemptuously, “I'll

embalm him so that he shall go to England looking just as he does

now--by-the-by, I never saw a drowned man keep his colour so well

before--ay, and two thousand years after that, if you don't mind the

expense.”

“The expense! I don't care, if it cost me a year's pay. I think of

nothing but repairing my blunder as far as I can.”

The surgeon was delighted. Standing over his subject, who lay on the

captain's table, he told that officer how he should proceed. “I have all

the syringes,” he said; “a capital collection. I shall inject the veins

with care and patience; then I shall remove the brain and the viscera,

and provided I'm not stinted in arsenic and spices----”

“I give you carte blanche on the purser: make your preparations, and

send for him. Don't tell me how you do it; but do it. I must write and

tell poor Lucy I have got him, and am bringing him home to her--dead.”

The surgeon was gone about a quarter of an hour; he then returned with

two men to remove the body, and found the captain still writing his

letter, very sorrowful: but now and then slapping his face or leg with a

hearty curse as the flies stung him.

The surgeon beckoned the men in softly, and pointed to the body for them

to carry it out.

Now, as he pointed, his eye, following his finger, fell on something

that struck that experienced eye as incredible: he uttered an

exclamation of astonishment so loud that the captain looked up directly

from his letter; and saw him standing with his finger pointing at the

corpse, and his eyes staring astonishment “What now?” said the captain,

and rose from his seat.

“Look! look! look!”

The captain came and looked, and said he saw nothing at all.

“The fly; the fly!” cried the surgeon.

“Yes, I see one of them has been biting him; for there's a little blood

trickling. Poor fellow.”

“A dead man can't bleed from the small veins in his skin,” said the man

of art. “He is alive, captain, he is alive, as sure as we stand here,

and God's above. That little insect was wiser than us; he is alive.”

“Jackson, don't trifle with me, or I'll hang you at the yard-arm.

God bless you, Jackson. Is it really possible? Run some of you, get a

mirror: I have heard that is a test.”

“Mirror be hanged. Doctor Fly knows his business.”

All was now flutter and bustle: and various attempts were made to

resuscitate David, but all in vain. At last the surgeon had an idea.

“This man was never drowned at all” said he: “I am sure of it. This is

catalepsy. He may lie this way for a week. But dead he is not. I'll

try the douche.” David was then by his orders stripped and carried to

a place where they could turn a watercock on him from a height: and the

surgeon had soon the happiness of pointing out to the captain a slight

blush on David's skin in parts, caused by the falling water. All doubts

ceased with this: the only fear was lest they should shake out the

trembling life by rough usage. They laid him on his stomach, and with

a bellows and pipe so acted on the lungs, that at last a genuine sigh

issued from the patient's breast. Then they put him in a warm bed, and

applied stimulants; and by slow degrees the eyelids began to wink, the

eyes to look more mellow, the respiration to strengthen, the heart to

beat: “Patience, now,” said the surgeon, “patience, and lots of air.”

Patience was rewarded. Just four hours after the first treatment,

a voice, faint but calm and genial, issued from the bed on their

astonished ears, “Good morning to you all.”

They kept very quiet. In about five minutes more the voice broke out

again, calm and sonorous--

“Where is my money--my fourteen thousand pounds?”

These words set them all looking at one another: and very much puzzled

the surgeon: they were delivered with such sobriety and conviction.

“Captain,” he whispered, “ask him if he knows you.”

“David,” said the captain kindly, “do you know me?” David looked at him

earnestly, and his old kindly smile broke out, “Know ye, ye clog,”

said he, “why, you are my cousin Reginald. And how came you into this

thundering bank? I hope you have got no money here. 'Ware land sharks!”

“We are not in a bank, David; we are on board my ship.”

“The deuce we are. But where's my money?”

“Oh, we'll talk about that by-and-by.”

The surgeon stepped forward, and said soothingly, “You have been very

ill, sir. You have had a fit.”

“I believe you are right,” said David thoughtfully.

“Will you allow me to examine your eye?”

“Certainly, doctor.”

The surgeon examined David's eye with his thumb and finger and then

looked into it to see how the pupil dilated and contracted.

He rubbed his hands after this examination; “More good news, captain!”

then lowering his voice, _“Your friend is as sane as I am._”

The surgeon was right. A shock had brought back the reason a shock had

taken away. But how or why I know no more than the child unborn. The

surgeon wrote a learned paper, and explained the whole most ingeniously.

I don't believe one word of his explanation, and can't better it; so

confine myself to the phenomena. Being now sane, the boundary wall of

his memory was shifted. He remembered his whole life up to his demanding

his cash back of Richard Hardie; and there his reawakened mind stopped

dead short. Being asked if he knew William Thompson, he said, “Yes,

perfectly. He was a foretopman on board the _Agra,_ and rather a smart

hand. The ship was aground and breaking up: he went out to sea on

a piano: but we cut the hawser as he drifted under, and he got safe

ashore.” David's recovered reason rejected with contempt as an idle

dream all that had happened while that reason was in defect The last

phenomena I have to record were bodily: one was noted by Mr. Georgie

White in these terms: “Billy's eyes used to be like a seal's: but, now

he is a great gentleman, they are like yours and mine.” The other was

more singular: with his recovered reason came his first grey hair, and

in one fortnight it was all as white as snow.

He remained a fortnight on board the _Vulture,_ beloved by high and

low. He walked the quarter-deck in the dress of a private gentleman, but

looking like an admiral. The sailors touched their hats to him with

a strange mixture of veneration and jocoseness. They called him among

themselves Commodore Billy. He was supplied with funds by Reginald, and

put on board a merchant ship bound for England. He landed, amid went

straight to Barkington. There he heard his family were in London. He

came back to London, and sought them. A friend told him of Green; he

went to him, and of course Green saw directly who he was. But able men

don't cut business short. He gravely accepted David's commission to find

him Mrs. Dodd. Finding him so confident, David asked him if he thought

he could find Richard Hardie or his clerk, Noah Skinner; both of whom

had levanted from Barkington. Green, who was on a hot scent as to

Skinner, demurely accepted both commissions; and appointed David to meet

him at a certain place at six. He came; he found Green's man, who took

him upstairs, and there was that excited group determining the ownership

of his receipt.

Now to David that receipt was a thing of yesterday. “It is mine,” said

he. They all turned to look at this man, with sober passionless voice,

and hair of snow. A keen cry from Julia's heart made every heart there

quiver, and in a moment she was clinging and sobbing on her father's

neck. Edward could only get his hand and press and kiss it. Instinct

told them Heaven had given them their father back, mind and all.

Ere the joy and the emotion had calmed themselves, Alfred Hardie slipped

out and ran like a deer to Pembroke Street.

Those who were so strangely reunited could not part for a long time,

even to go down the stairs one by one.

David was the first to recover his composure: indeed, great tranquillity

of spirit had ever since his cure been a remarkable characteristic of

this man's nature. His passing mania seemed to have burnt out all his

impetuosity, leaving him singularly sober, calm, and self-governed.

Mr. Compton took the money, and the will, and promised the Executrix,

Skinner should be decently interred and all his debts paid out of the

estate. He would look in at 66 by-and-by.

And now a happy party wended their way towards Pembroke Street.

But Alfred was beforehand with them: he went boldly up the stairs, and

actually surprised Mrs. Dodd and Sampson together.

At sight of him she rose, made him a low curtsey, and beat a retreat. He

whipped to the door, and set his back against it. “No,” said he saucily.

She drew up majestically, and the colour mounted in her pale face.

“What, sir, would you detain me by force?”

“And no mistake,” said the audacious boy. “How else can I detain you

when you hate me so?” She began to peep into his sparkling eyes to see

the reason of this strange conduct.

“C'way from the door, ye vagabin,” said Sampson.

“No, no, my friend,” said Mrs. Dodd, trembling, and still peering into

his sparkling eyes. “Mr. Alfred Hardie is a gentleman, at all events:

he would not take such a liberty with me, unless he had some excuse for

it.”

“You are wonderfully shrewd, mamma,” said Alfred admiringly. “The excuse

is, I don't hate you as you hate me; and I am very happy.”

“Why do you call me mamma to-day? Oh, doctor, he calls me mamma.”

“Th' audacious vagabin.”

“No, no, I cannot think he would call me that unless he had some good

news for us both?”

“What good news can he have, except that his trile is goin' well, and

you don't care for that.”

“Oh, how can you say so? I care for all that concerns him: he would not

come here to insult my misery with his happiness. He is noble, he is

generous, with all his faults. How dare you call me mamma, sir! Call

it me again, my dear child; because then I shall _know_ you are come to

save my heart from breaking.” And with this, the truth must be told,

the stately Mrs. Dodd did fawn upon Alfred with palms outstretched and

piteous eyes, and certain cajoling arts of her sex.

“Give me a kiss then, mamma,” said the impudent boy, “and I _will_ tell

you a little bit of good news.”

She bowed her stately head directly, and paid the required tribute with

servile humility and readiness.

“Well then,” said Alfred, and was just going to tell her all, but caught

sight of Sampson making the most expressive pantomime to him to be

cautious. “Well,” said he, “I have seen a sailor.”

“Ah!”

“And he is sure Mr. Dodd is alive.”

Mrs. Dodd lifted her hands to heaven, but could not speak. “In fact,”

said Alfred, hesitating (for he was a wretched hand at a fib), “he saw

him not a fortnight ago on board ship. But that is not all, mamma, the

sailor says he has his reason.”

Mrs. Dodd sank on her knees, and said no word to man, but many to the

Giver of all good. When she arose, she said to Alfred, “Bring this

sailor to me. I must speak with him directly.”

Alfred coloured. “I don't know where to find him just now.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Mrs. Dodd quietly: and this excited her suspicion;

and from that moment the cunning creature lay in wait for Master Alfred.

She plied him with questions, and he got more and more puzzled how to

sustain his story. At last, by way of bursting out of his own net, he

said, “But I am sorry to say his hair has turned white. But perhaps you

won't mind that.”

“And he hadn't a grey hair.”

“It is not grey, like the doctor's: it is as white as the driven snow.”

Mrs. Dodd sighed; then suddenly turning on Alfred, asked him, “Did the

sailor tell you that?”

He hesitated a moment and was lost.

“You have seen him,” she screamed; “he is in London: he is in the house.

I feel him near me:” and she went into something very like hysterics.

Alfred was alarmed, and whispered the truth. The doctor sent him off to

meet them, and recommended caution; her nerves were in such a state a

violent shock, even of happiness, might kill her.

Thus warned, Julia came into the room alone, and while Dr. Sampson

was inculcating self-restraint for her own sake, she listened with a

superior smile, and took quite a different line. “Mamma,” said she, “he

is in the town; but I dare not bring him here till you are composed: his

reason is restored; but his nerves are not so strong as they were. Now,

if you agitate yourself, you will agitate him, and will do him a serious

mischief.”

This crafty speech produced an incredible effect on Mrs. Dodd. It calmed

her directly: or rather her great love gave her strength to be calm.

“I will not be such a wretch,” she said. “See: I am composed, quite

composed. Bring me my darling, and you shall see how good I will be:

there now, Julia, see how calm I am, quite calm. What, have I borne so

much misery, with Heaven's help, and do you think I cannot bear this

great happiness for my dear darling's sake?”

On this they proposed she should retire to her room, and they would go

for David.

“Think over the meeting, dear, dear mamma,” said Julia, “and then you

will behave well for his sake, who was lost to us and is found.”

Husband and wife met alone in Mrs. Dodd's room. No eye, even of the

children, ventured to witness a scene so strange, so sacred. We may try

and imagine that meeting; but few of us can conceive it by the light of

our narrow experience. Yet one or two there may be--the world is wide,

and the adventures and emotions of our race are many.

One by one all were had up to that sacred room to talk to the happy

pair. They found David seated calmly at his wife's feet, her soft hand

laid on his white hair, lest he should leave her again: and they told

him all the sorrow behind them; and he, genial and kindly as ever, told

them all the happiness before them. He spoke like the master of the

house, the father of the family, the friend of them all.

But with all his goodness he was sternly resolved to have his L. 14,000

out of Richard Hardie. He had an interview with Mr. Compton that very

night, and the lawyer wrote a letter to Mr. Hardie, saying nothing about

the death of Skinner, but notifying that his client, Captain Dodd, had

recovered from Noah Skinner the receipt No. 17 for L. 14,010 12s. 6d,

and he was instructed to sue for it unless repaid immediately. He added

Captain Dodd was mercifully restored, and remembered distinctly every

particular of the transaction.

They all thought in their innocence that Hardie _v._ Hardie was now at

an end. Captain Dodd could prove Alfred's _soi-disant_ illusion to be

the simple truth. But Compton thought that this evidence had come too

late. “What, may we not get up and say here is papa, and it is all

true?” cried Julia indignant.

“No, Miss Dodd; our case is closed. And take my advice: don't subject

your father to the agitation of a trial. We can do without him.”

Well then, they would all go as spectators, and pray that justice might

prevail.

They did go: and all sat together to hear a matter puzzled over, which

had David come one day earlier he would have set at rest for ever.

Dick Absolom was put in to prove that Alfred had put two sovereigns on

the stumps for him to bowl if he could; and after him the defendant, Mr.

Thomas Hardie, a mild, benevolent, weak gentleman, was put into the box,

and swore the boy's father had come to him with story after story of the

plaintiff's madness, and the trouble it would get him into, and so he

had done for the best. His simplicity was manifest, and Saunders

worked it ably. When Colt got hold of him, and badgered him, he showed

something more than simplicity. He stuttered, he contradicted himself,

he perspired, he all but wept.

_Colt._--Are you sure you had no spite against him?

_Deft._--No.

_Colt._--You are not sure, eh?

This candid interpretation of his words knocked the defendant stupid. He

made no reply, but looked utterly flabbergasted.

_Colt._--Did he not provoke you? Did he not call you an idiot.

_Deft._--He might.

_Colt._ (satirically).--Of course he might. (Laughter.) But did he?

_Deft._ (plucking up a little spirit).--No. He called me SOFT TOMMY.

This revelation, and the singular appropriateness of the nickname, were

so highly relished by an intelligent audience, that it was a long time

before the trial could go on for roars. The plaintiff's ringing laugh

was heard among the rest.

The cross-examination proceeded in this style till the defendant began

to drivel at the mouth a little. At last, after a struggle, he said,

with a piteous whine, that he could not help it: he hated signing his

name; some mischief always came of it; but this time he had no option.

“No option?” said Colt. “What do you mean?”

And with one or two more turns of the screw, out came this astounding

revelation:

“Richard said if I didn't put Taff in one, _he_ would put _me_ in one.”

_The Judge._--In one what?

_Deft._ (weeping).--In one madhouse, my lord.

A peal followed this announcement, and Colt sat down grinning. Saunders

rose smiling. “I am much obliged to the learned counsel for making my

case,” said he: “I need not prolong the sufferings of the innocent. You

can go down, Mr. Hardie.”

_The Judge._--Have you any defence to this action?

“Certainly, my lord.”

“Do you call Richard Hardie?”

“No, my lord.”

“Then had you not better confine yourself to the question of damages?”

The sturdy Saunders would not take the hint; he replied upon the whole

case, and fought hard for a verdict. The line he took was bold; he

described Richard Hardie as a man who had acquired a complete power over

his weaker brother: and had not only persuaded him by statements, but

even compelled him by threats, to do what he believed would be the

salvation of his nephew. “Will you imitate the learned counsel's

cruelty? Will you strike a child?” In short, he made a powerful appeal

to their pity, while pretending to address their judgments.

Then Colt rose like a tower, and assuming the verdict as certain, asked

the jury for heavy damages. He contrasted powerfully the defendant's

paltry claim to pity with the anguish the plaintiff had undergone. He

drew the wedding party, the insult to the bride, the despair of the

kidnapped bridegroom; he lashed the whole gang of conspirators concerned

in the crime, regretted that they could only make one of all these

villains smart, but hinted that Richard and Thomas Hardie were in one

boat, and that heavy damages inflicted on Thomas would find the darker

culprit out. He rapped out Mr. Cowper's lines on liberty, and they were

new to the jury, though probably not to you; he warned the jury that all

our liberties depended on them. “In vain,” said he, “have we beheaded

one tyrant, and banished another, to secure those liberties, if men are

to be allowed to send away their own flesh and blood into the worst of

all prisons for life and not smart for it, in those lamentably few cases

in which the law finds them out and lays hold of them.” But it would

task my abilities to the utmost, and occupy more time than is left me,

to do anything like justice to the fluent fiery eloquence of Colt, Q.

C., when he got a great chance like this. _Tonat, fulgurat, et rapidis

eloquentiae fluctibus cuncia proruit et proturbat._ Bursts of applause,

that neither crier nor judge could suppress, bore witness to the deep

indignation Britons feel when their hard-earned liberties are tampered

with by power or fraud, in defiance of law; and, when he sat down, the

jury were ready to fly out at him with L. 5000 in hand.

Then rose the passionless voice of “justice according to law.” I wish I

could give the very words. The following is the effect as _I_ understood

it. Lawyers, forgive my deficiencies.

“This is an important, but not a difficult case. The plaintiff sues the

defendant under _the law of England_ for falsely imprisoning him in

a madhouse. The imprisonment is admitted, and the sufferings of the

plaintiff not disputed. The question is, whether he was insane at the

time of the act? Now, I must tell you, that in a case of this kind, it

lies upon the defendant to prove the plaintiff's insanity, rather than

on the plaintiff to prove his own sanity. Has the defendant overcome

this difficulty? Illusion is the best proof of insanity; and a serious

endeavour was certainly made to fasten an illusion on the plaintiff

about a sum of L. 14,000. But the proof was weak, and went partly on an

assumption that all error is hallucination; this is illusory, and would,

if acted on, set one half the kingdom imprisoning the other half; and

after all, they did not demonstrate that the plaintiff was _in error._

They advanced no _undeniable proof_ that Mr. Richard Hardie has not

embezzled this L. 14,000. I don't say it was proved on the other hand

that he did embezzle that sum. Richard Hardie sueing Alfred Hardie for

libel on this evidence might possibly obtain a verdict; for then the

burden of proof would lie on Alfred Hardie; but here it lies on those

who say he is insane. The fact appears to be that the plaintiff imbibed

a reasonable suspicion of his own father's integrity; it was a suspicion

founded on evidence, imperfect, indeed, but of a sound character as far

as it went. There had been a letter from Captain Dodd to his family,

announcing his return with L. 14,000 upon him, and, while as yet unaware

of this letter, the plaintiff heard David Dodd accuse Richard Hardie of

possessing improperly L. 14,000, the identical sum. At least, he swears

to this, and as Richard Hardie was not called to contradict him, you

are at liberty to suppose that Richard Hardie had some difficulty in

contradicting him on oath. Here, then, true or false, was a rational

suspicion, and every man has a right to a rational suspicion of his

neighbour, and even to utter it within due limits; and, if he overstep

those, the party slandered has his legal remedy; but if he omits his

legal remedy, and makes an attempt of doubtful legality not to confute,

but to stifle, the voice of reasonable suspicion, shrewd men will

suspect all the more. But then comes a distinct and respectable kind

of evidence for the defendant; he urges that the plaintiff was going to

sign away his property to his wife's relations. Now, this was proved,

and a draft of the deed put in and sworn to. This taken singly has

a very extraordinary look. Still, you must consider the plaintiff's

reasonable suspicion that money belonging to the Dodds had passed

irregularly to the Hardies, and then the wonder is diminished. Young and

noble minds have in every age done generous, self-denying, and delicate

acts. The older we get, the less likely we are to be incarcerated for a

crime of this character; but we are not to imprison youth and chivalry

merely because we have outgrown them. To go from particulars to

generals, the defendant, on whom the proof lies, has advanced hearsay

and conjecture, and not put their originators into the box. The

plaintiff, on whom the proof does not lie, has advanced abundant

evidence that he was sane at the time of his incarceration: this was

proved to demonstration by friends, strangers, and by himself.” Here the

judge analysed the testimony of several of the plaintiff's witnesses.

“As to the parties themselves, it is curious how they impersonated,

so to speak, their respective lines of argument. The representative of

evidence and sound reasoning, though accused of insanity, was precise,

frank, rational and dignified in the witness-box; and I think you must

have noticed his good temper. The party, who relied on hearsay and

conjecture, was as feeble as they are; he was almost imbecile, as you

observed; and, looking at both parties, it really seems monstrous that

the plaintiff should be the one confined as a lunatic, and the defendant

allowed to run wild and lock up his intellectual superiors. If he means

to lock them _all_ up, even you and I are hardly safe. (Laughter.) The

only serious question, I apprehend, is on what basis the damages ought

to be assessed. The plaintiffs counsel has made a powerful appeal to

your passions, and calls for vengeance. Now I must tell you, you have no

right to make yourselves ministers of vengeance, nor even to punish the

defendant, in a suit of the kind: still less ought you to strike

the defendant harder than you otherwise would--in the vague hope of

punishing indirectly the true mover of the defendant and the other

puppets. I must warn you against that suggestion of the learned

counsel's. If the plaintiff wants vengeance, the criminal law offers it.

He comes here, not for vengeance, but for compensation, and restoration

to that society which he is every way fitted to adorn. More than

this--and all our sympathies--it is not for us to give him. But then the

defendant's counsel went too far the other way. His client, he says,

is next door to an idiot, and so, forsooth, his purse must be spared

entirely. This is all very well if it could be done without ignoring

the plaintiff and his just claim to compensation. Why, if the defendant,

instead of being weak-minded, were an idiot or a lunatic, it would

protect him from punishment as a felon, but not from damages in a suit.

A sane man is not to be falsely imprisoned by a lunatic without full

compensation from the lunatic or his estate: _a fortiori,_ he is not

to be so imprisoned by a mere fool without just compensation. Supposing

your verdict, then, to be for the plaintiff, I think vindictive damages

would be unfair, on this feeble defendant, who has acted recklessly,

but under an error, and without malice, or bad faith. On the other hand,

nominal or even unsubstantial damages would be unjust to the plaintiff;

and perhaps leave in some minds a doubt that I think you do not

yourselves entertain, as to the plaintiff's perfect sanity during the

whole period of his life.”

As soon as his lordship had ended, the foreman of the jury said their

minds were quite made up long ago.

“Si-lence in the court.”

“We find for the plaintiff, with damages three thousand pounds.”

The verdict was received with some surprise by the judge, and all the

lawyers except Mr. Colt, and by the people with acclamation; in the

midst of which Mr. Colt announced that the plaintiff had just gained his

first class at Oxford. “I wish him joy,” said the judge.

CHAPTER LIV

THE verdict was a thunder-clap to Richard Hardie: he had promised Thomas

to bear him blameless. The Old Turks, into which he had bought at 72,

were down to 71, and that implied a loss of five thousand pounds. On

the top of all this came Mr. Compton's letter neatly copied by Colls:

Richard Hardie was doubly and trebly ruined.

Then in his despair and hate he determined to baffle them all, ay, and

sting the hearts of some of them once more.

He would give Peggy his last shilling; write a line to Alfred, another

to Julia, assuring them he had no money, and they had killed him. And

with that leave them both the solemn curse of a dying father, and then

kill himself.

Not to be interrupted in his plan, he temporised with Mr. Compton; wrote

that, if the Receipt was really signed by his agent, of course the loss

must fall on him; it was a large sum, but he would sell out and do his

best, in ten days from date. With this he went and bought a pistol, and

at several chemist's shops a little essential oil of almonds: his plan

was to take the poison, and, if it killed without pain, well and good;

but if it tortured him, then he would blow his brains out at once.

He soon arranged his worldly affairs, and next day gave Peggy his L.

500, and told her she had better keep it for fear he should be arrested.

He sent her on an errand to the other part of the town: then with

his poison and the pistol before him on the table, wrote a brief but

emphatic curse for his son and Julia; and a line to Peggy to thank her

for her fidelity to one so much older than herself, and to advise her to

take a tobacconist's shop with his money. When he had done all this, he

poured out the fragrant poison and tasted it.

Ere he could drink it, one of those quidnunes, who are always

interrupting a gentleman when he has important business on hand, came

running in with all manner of small intelligence. Mr. Hardie put down

the glass, and gave him short, sullen answers, in hopes he would then go

away and let him proceed to business. And at last his visitor did

rise and go. Mr. Hardie sat down with a sigh of relief to his fragrant

beverage.

Doesn't the door open, and this bore poke in his head: “Oh I forgot to

tell you; the Old Turks are going up today, like a shot.” And with this

he slammed the door again, and was off.

At this the cup began to tremble in the resolute wretch's hand. The Old

Turks going up! He poured the poison back into the phial, and put it and

the pistol and all the letters carefully into his pocket, and took a cab

to the City.

The report was true; there was an extraordinary movement in the Old

Turks. The Sultan was about to pay a portion of this loan, being at

six per cent.; this had transpired, and at four o'clock the Turks were

quoted at 73. Mr. Hardie returned a gainer of L. 5000 instead of a

loser. He locked up the means of death for the present.

And now an ordinary man would have sold out, and got clear of the fatal

trap: but this was not an ordinary man: he would not sell a share

that day. In the afternoon they rose to 74. He came home, unloaded his

pistol, and made himself some brandy-and-water, and with a grim smile,

flavoured it with a few drops of the poison--that was a delicious

tumbler. The Turks went up, up, up, to 82. Then he sold out, and cleared

L. 49,000, and all in about ten days.

With this revived the habits of his youth; no more cheating: nothing

could excuse that but the dread of poverty. He went to his appointment

with Mr. Compton; asked to see the Receipt; said “Yes; that was his

form, and Skinner's handwriting; he had never personally received one

farthing of the money; Skinner had clearly embezzled it: but that did

not matter; of course, Captain Dodd must not lose his money. Send your

bill of costs in Hardie _v._ Hardie to me, Mr. Compton,” said he, “they

shall not be taxed: you have lost enough by me already.”

There was an air of dignity and good faith about the man that half

imposed even on Compton. And when Mr. Hardie drew out the notes and

said, “I should be grateful if you would forgive me the interest; but

for a great piece of good fortune on the Stock Exchange, I could never

have paid the whole principal,” he said warmly, “the interest should

never be demanded through him.”

He called in Colls, delivered up the Receipt, and received the L.

14,010, 12s. 6d. from Mr. Hardie.

O immortal Cash! You, like your great inventor, have then a kind of

spirit as well as a body; and on this, not on your grosser part, depends

your personal identity. So long as that survives, your body may be

recalled to its lawful owner from Heaven knows where.

Mr. Compton rushed to Pembroke Street, and put this hard, hard Cash in

David Dodd's hands once more.

Love and Constancy had triumphed: and Julia and Alfred were to be

married and go down to Albion Villa to prepare it for the whole party:

tenants no more: Alfred had bought it. The Commissioners of Lunacy had

protected his L. 20,000 zealously from the first: and his trustees had

now paid the money over.

Alfred consulted by Mrs. Dodd, whose pet of pets he now was, as to the

guests to be asked to the wedding breakfast, suggested “None but the

tried friends of our adversity.”

“What an excellent idea!” said Mrs. Dodd naively.

Dr. Sampson being duly invited asked if he should bring his Emulsion.

This proposal puzzled all but Mrs. Dodd. She was found laughing heartily

in a corner without any sound of laughter. Being detected and pointed

out by Julia, she said, with a little crow, “He means his wife. Yes,

certainly, bring your Emulcent”--pretending he had used that more

elegant word--“and then they will all see how well you can behave.”

Accordingly he brought a lady, who was absurdly pretty to be the mother

of several grown young ladies and gentlemen, and two shades more quiet

and placid than Mrs. Dodd. She quietly had her chair placed by Dr.

Sampson's, and, whenever he got racy, she put a hand gently on his

shoulder, and by some mesmeric effect it moderated him as Neptune did

the waves in the AEneid. She was such a mistress of this mesmeric art,

that she carried on a perfect conversation with her other neighbour,

yet modulated her lion lord with a touch of that composing hand, in a

parenthetical manner, and even while looking another way.

This hand, soft as down, yet irresistible, suppressed the great art of

healing, vital chronometry, the wrongs of inventors, the collusions of

medicine, the Mad Ox, and all but drawing-room topics, at the very first

symptom, and only just allowed the doctor to be the life and soul of the

party.

Julia and Mrs. Dodd had a good cry at parting. Of course Alfred consoled

them: reminded them it was only for a week, and carried off his lovely

prize, who in the carriage soon dried her eyes upon his shoulder.

Then she applied to her new lord and master for information. “They _say_

that you and me are one, now,” said she interrogatively.

He told her triumphantly it was so.

“At that rate you are Julius and I am Elfrida,” said she.

“That is a bargain,” said he, and sealed it on the sweet lips that were

murmuring Heaven so near him.

In this sore-tried and now happy pair the ardour of possession lasted

long, and was succeeded by the sober but full felicity of conjugal love

and high esteem combined. They were so young and elastic, that past

sorrows seemed but to give one zest more to the great draught of

happiness they now drank day by day. They all lived together at Albion

Villa, thanks to Alfred. He was by nature combative, and his warlike

soul was roused at the current theory that you cannot be happy under the

same roof with your wife's mother. “That is cant,” said he to Mrs. Dodd;

“let us, you and I, trample on it hand in hand.”

“My child,” said poor Mrs. Dodd sorrowfully, “I am a poor hand at

trampling; and everybody says a mother-in-law in the house bores a young

gentleman sadly.”

“If a young gentleman can't live happy with you, mamma,” said he,

kissing her, “he is a little snob, that is all, and not fit to live at

all. _Delenda est Cantilena!_ That means 'Down with Cant!'”

They did live together: and behold eleven French plays, with their

thirty-three English adaptations, confuted to the end of time.

Creatures so high-bred as Mrs. Dodd never fidget one. There is a repose

about them; they are balm to all those they love, and blister to none.

Item, no stranger could tell by Mrs. Dodd's manner whether Edward or

Alfred was her own son.

Oh, you happy little villa! you were as like Paradise as any mortal

dwelling can be. A day came, however, when your walls could no longer

hold all the happy inmates. Julia presented Alfred with a lovely boy;

enter nurses, and the villa showed symptoms of bursting. Two months

more, and Alfred and his wife and boy overflowed into the next villa.

It was but twenty yards off; and there was a double reason for the

migration. As often happens after a long separation Heaven bestowed

on Captain and Mrs. Dodd another infant to play about their knees at

present, and help them grow younger instead of older: for tender parents

begin life again with their children.

The boys were nearly of a size, though the nephew was a month or two

older than his uncle, a relationship that was early impressed on their

young minds, and caused those who heard their prattle many a hearty

laugh.

“Mrs. Dodd,” said a lady, “I couldn't tell by your manner which is yours

and which is your daughter's.”

“Why they are both mine,” said Mrs. Dodd piteously, and opening her eyes

with gentle astonishment.

As years rolled on Dr. Sampson made many converts at home and abroad.

The foreign ones acknowledged their obligations. The leading London

physicians managed more skilfully; they came into his ideas, and bit

by bit reversed their whole practice, and, twenty years after, Sampson

began to strengthen the invalid at once, instead of first prostrating

him, and so causing either long sickness or sudden death. But, with all

this, they disowned their forerunner, and still called him a quack while

adopting his quackery. This dishonesty led them into difficulties.

To hide that their whole practice in medicine was reversed on _better

information,_ they went from shuffle to shuffle, till at last they

reached this climax of fatuity and egotism--THE TYPE OF DISEASE IS

CHANGED.

Natura mutatur, non nos mutamur.

O, mutable Nature and immutable doctors!

O, unstable Omniscience, and infallible Nescience!

The former may err; the latter never--in its own opinion.

At this rate, draining the weak of their life blood was the right thing

in Cervantes' day: and when he observed that it killed men like sheep,

and said so under the head of Sangrado, he was confounding his own

age with an age to come three hundred years later, in which coming age

depletion was _going_ to be wrong.

Moliere--in lashing the whole scholastic system of lancet, purge, and

blister as one of slaughter--committed the same error: mistook his

century for one to come.

And Sampson, thirty years ago, sang the same tune, and mistook his

inflammatory generation for the cool generation as yet unborn. In short,

it is the characteristic of a certain blunder called genius to see

things too far in advance. The surest way to avoid this is not to see

them at all; but go blindly by the cant of the hour. _Race moutonuiere

va!_

Sampson was indignant at finding that these gentry, after denouncing him

for years as a quack, were pilfering his system, yet still reviling him.

He went in a towering passion, and hashed them by tongue and pen: told

them they were his subtractors now as well as detractors, asked them

how it happened that in countries where there is no Sampson the type

of disease remains unchanged, depletion is the practice, and death the

result, as it was in every age?

No man, however stout, can help being deeply wounded when he sees his

ideas stolen, yet their author and publisher disowned. Many men's hearts

have been broken by this: but I doubt whether they were really great

men.

Don't tell me Lilliput ever really kills Brobdignag. Except, of course,

when Brobdignag takes medical advice of Lilliput.

Dr. Sampson had three shields against subtraction, detraction, and all

the wrongs inventors endure: to wit, a choleric temper, a keen sense of

humour, and a good wife. He storms and rages at his detracting pupils;

but ends with roars of laughter at their impudence. I am told he still

hopes to meet with justice some day, and to give justice a chance, he

goes to bed at ten, for, says he--

“Jinny us, jinny us,

Take care of your carcass,”

and explains that no genius ever lived to ninety without being

appreciated.

“If Chatterton and Keats had attended to this, they would have been all

right. If James Watt had died at fifty he would have been all wrong; for

at fifty he was a failure! so was the painter Etty, the English Tishin.”

And then he accumulates examples.

His last distich bearing on Hard Cash is worth recording. “Miss Julee,”

said he, “y' are goen to maerry int' a strange family--

Where th' ijjit puts the jinnyus

In-til a madhus,”

which, like most of the droll things this man said, was true: for Soft

Tommy and Alfred were the two intellectual extremes of the whole tribe

of Hardies.

Mrs. Archbold, disappointed both in love and revenge, posed her

understanding, and soothed her mind, with Frank Beverley and opium. This

soon made the former deep in love with her, and his intellect grew by

contact with hers. But one day news came from Australia that her husband

was dead. Now, perhaps I shall surprise the reader, if I tell him that

this Edith Archbold began her wedded life a good, confiding, loving,

faithful woman. Yet so it was: the unutterable blackguard she had

married, he it was who laboured to spoil her character, and succeeded at

last, and drove her, unwilling at first, to other men. The news of

his death was like a shower-bath; it roused her. She took counsel with

herself, and hope revived in her strong head and miserable heart. She

told Frank, and watched him like a hawk. He instantly fell on his knees,

and implored her to marry him directly. She gave him her hand and turned

away, and shed the most womanly tear that had blessed her for years. “I

am not mad, you know,” said poor Frank; “I am only a bit of a muff.” To

make a long story short, she exerted all her intelligence, and with her

help Frank took measures towards superseding his Commission of Lunacy.

Now, in such a case, the Lord Chancellor always examines the patient in

person. What was the consequence? Instead of the vicarious old Wolf,

who had been devouring him at third and fourth hand, Frank had two

interviews with the Chancellor himself: a learned, grave, upright

gentleman, who questioned him kindly and shrewdly and finding him to be

a young man of small intellectual grasp, but not the least idiotic or

mad, superseded his commission in defiance of his greedy kinsfolk, and

handed him his property. He married Edith Archbold, and she made him

as happy as the day was long. For the first year or two she treated

his adoration with good-natured contempt; but, as years rolled on, she

became more loving, and he more knowing! They are now a happy pair, and

all between her first honest love, and this her last, seems to her a

dream.

So you see a female rake can be ameliorated by a loving husband, as well

as a male rake by a loving wife.

It sounds absurd, and will offend my female readers and their

unchristian prejudices, but that black-browed jade is like to be one

of the best wives and mothers in England. But then, mind you, she had

always--Brains.

I do not exactly know why Horace puts together those two epithets,

“just” and “tenacious of purpose.” Perhaps he had observed they go

together. To be honest, I am not clear whether this is so on the grand

scale. But certainly the two features did meet remarkably in one of my

characters--Alfred Hardie. The day the bank broke, he had said he would

pay the creditors. He now set to work to do it by degrees. He got the

names and addresses, lived on half his income, and paid half away to

those creditors: he even asked Julia to try and find Maxley out, and do

something for him. “But don't let me see him,” said he, trembling,

“for I could not answer for myself.” Maxley was known to be cranky,

but harmless, and wandering about the country. Julia wrote to Mr. Green

about him:

Alfred's was an uphill game; but fortune favours the obstinate as well

as the bold. One day, about four years after his marriage with Julia,

being in London, he found a stately figure at the corner of a street,

holding out his hand for alms, too dignified to ask it except by that

mute and touching gesture.

It was his father.

Then, as truly noble natures must forgive the fallen, Alfred was

touched to the heart, and thought of the days of his childhood, before

temptation came. “Father,” said he, “have you come to this?”

“Yes, Alfred,” said Richard composedly: “I undertook too many

speculations, especially in land and houses; they seemed profitable at

first, too; but now I am entirely hampered: if you would but relieve

me of them, and give me a guinea a week to live on, I would forgive all

your disobedient conduct.”

Alfred bit his lip, had a wrestle with the old Adam; and said gently,

“Come home with me, sir.”

He took him to Barkington, bag and baggage; and his good Christian wife

received the old man with delight; she had prayed day and night for

this reconciliation. Finding his son so warm, and being himself as cool,

Richard Hardie entrapped Alfred into an agreement, to board and lodge

him, and pay him a guinea every Saturday at noon; in return for this

Alfred was to manage Richard's property, and pocket the profits, if any.

Alfred assented: the old man chuckled at his son's simplicity, and made

him sign a formal agreement to that effect.

This done he used so sit brooding and miserable nearly all the week till

guinea time came; and then brightened up a bit. One day Alfred sent for

an accountant to look after his father's papers, and see if matters were

really desperate.

The accountant was not long at work, and told Alfred the accounts

were perfectly clear, and kept in the most, admirable order. “The cash

balance is L. 60,000,” said he, “and many of the rents are due. It is an

agent you want, not an accountant.”

“What are you talking about? A balance of L. 60,000?” Alfred was

stupefied.

The accountant, however, soon convinced him by the figures it was so.

Alfred went with the good news to his father.

His father went into a passion. “That is one side of the account, ye

fool,” said he; “think of the rates, the taxes, the outgoings. You want

to go from your bargain, and turn me on the world; but I have got you in

black and white, tight, tight.”

Then Alfred saw the truth, and wondered at his past obtuseness.

His father was a monomaniac.

He consulted Sampson, and Sampson told him to increase the old man's

comforts on the sly, and pay him his guinea a week. “It's all you can do

for him.”

Then Alfred employed an agent, and received a large income from

his father's land and houses, and another from his consols. The old

gentleman had purchased westward of Hyde Park Square, and had bought

with excellent judgment till his mind gave way. Alfred never spent a

farthing of it on himself: but he took some for his father's creditors.

“All justice is good,” said he, “even wild justice.” Some of these

unhappy creditors he found in the workhouse; the Misses Lunley that

survived were there, alas! He paid them their four thousand pounds, and

restored them to society. The name of Hardie began to rise again from

the dust.

Now, while Richard Hardie sat brooding and miserable, expecting utter

ruin, and only brightening up on guinea day, Julia had a protege with

equally false views but more cheerful ones. It was an old man with a

silver beard, and a machine with which he stamped leather into round

pieces of silver, in his opinion. Nothing could have shaken that notion

out of his mind. Julia confirmed it. She let it be known that she would

always cash five pieces of round leather from Mr. Matthews' mint per

day, and ten on Friday, when working men are poorest.

She contrived this with diabolical, no, angelical cunning, to save the

old man from ridicule, and to do his soul much good. All souls were

dear to her. What was the consequence? He went about with his mint, and

relieved poor people, and gratified his mania at the same time. His

face began to beam with benevolence and innocent self-satisfaction. On

Richard Hardie's all was cordage: and deep gloom sat on his ever-knitted

brow.

Of these two men which was the rich man; he who had nothing, yet thought

he possessed enough for himself and his neighbours: or he who rolled in

wealth, but writhed under imaginary poverty?

One reflection more. Do not look to see Providence dash the cup of

prosperity from every dishonest hand; or you will often be disappointed.

Yet this, if you look closer, you shall often see: such a man holds

the glittering cup tight, and nectar to the brim; but into that cup a

shadowy hand squeezes some subtle ingredient, which turns that nectar to

wormwood.

Richard Hardie died, his end being hastened by fear of poverty coming

like an armed man, and his guinea a week going. Matthews met with an

accident, and, being impervious to pain, but subject to death, was laid

beside his poor mistress in St. Anne's churchyard. Julia buried him, and

had a headstone put to his grave; and, when this was done, she took her

husband to see it. On that stone was fresh carved the true name of the

deceased, James Maxley.

“I have done what you told me,” said Julia, her sweet voice trembling

a little. Even she did not quite know how her husband would take it, or

bear it.

“I _know it,_” said Alfred softly. “I saw who your Matthews was; but I

could not speak of him, even to you.” He looked at the grave in silence.

Julia's arms were round his neck in a moment, and her wet cheek

consoling his.

“You have done right, my good Christian wife. I wish I was like you. My

poor little Jenny!”

Richard Hardie's papers were found in perfect order; and among them an

old will leaving L. 14,000 to Edward Dodd.

On this being announced to Edward, he suggested that it was a fraud:

Alfred had been at him for a long time with offers of money, and failing

there, and being a fine impetuous fellow, had lost his temper and forged

a will, in his, Edward's, favour.

This scandalous defence broke down. The document was indisputable, and

the magic sum was forced down Master Edward's throat, nilly willy. Thus

rose the Hard Cash a second time from the grave.

All this enabled the tenacious Alfred to carry out a deeply-cherished

design. Hardie's late bank had been made into a shop; but it belonged to

Mrs. Dodd. He bought it of her, and set up the bank again, with

Edward as managing partner. This just suited Edward, who sadly wanted

employment. Hardie & Co. rose again, and soon wiped out the late

disgraceful episode, and looked on to the past centuries of honour and

good credit. No creditor of Richard Hardie was left unpaid. Alfred went

in for politics; stood for Barkington, was defeated by seventeen: took

it as a matter of course; told his friends he had never succeeded in

anything at first; nor been beaten in the end; stood again, and became

M. P. for Barkington, whence to dislodge him I pity any one who tries.

For a long time Mrs. Dodd was nervous, and used to wake with a start at

night, and put out her hand to make sure David was not lost again. But

this wore off.

For years the anniversary of that fatal day, when he was brought home

on the stretcher, came back to them all as a day of gloom. But that wore

off.

Sometimes the happiness of her family seemed incredible to her,

remembering what they had all gone through. At first, their troubles

were too terrible and recent to be discussed. But even that wore off,

and they could talk of it all; and things bitter at the time became

pleasant to remember.

One midsummer day they had all dined together rather early at Albion

Villa, and sat on the lawn, with Mrs. Dodd's boy and Julia's boy and

girl playing about these ladies' knees. Now after a little silence, Mrs.

Dodd, who had been thinking quietly of many things, spoke to them all,

and said: “If my children and I had not been bosom-friends, we never

should have survived that terrible time we have passed through, my

dears. Make friends of your children, my child.”

“Ah, that I will!” said Julia; and caught up the nearest brat and kissed

it impetuously: for Wifehood and Maternity had not un-Julia'd her.

“It wasn't only our being friends, mamma,” said Edward; “it was our

sticking together so.”

In looking back on the story now ended, I incline to Mrs. Dodd's

conclusion. Almost my first word was that she and her children were

bosom-friends; and my last is to congratulate them that it was so. Think

of their various trials and temptations, and imagine what would have

become of them if family love and unity had not abounded. Their little

house was built on the sure foundation of true family affection: and so

the winds of adversity descended, and the floods came, and burst upon

that house, but could not prevail against it; it was founded on a rock.