L I E. R_ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 LdZSp
 
 DIARY 
 
 A LATE PHYSICIAN.
 
 ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.
 
 PASSAGES 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN 
 
 SAMUEL WARREN, F.R.S. 
 
 " What is nearest us, touches us most. The passions rise higher at domestic 
 than at imperial tragedies."— Dr Johnson. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 FIFTH EDITION. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH 
 AND T. CADELL, LONDON. 
 MDCCCXXXVIIL
 
 PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PAUL'S WORK, EDINBURGH.
 
 8^3 
 
 THESE VOLUMES 
 
 ARE INSCRIBED TO 
 
 SIR HENRY HALFORD, BARONET, 
 
 F.R.S., G.C.H., 
 
 PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS, 
 
 PHYSICIAN IN ORDINARY TO THE QUEEN, 
 &c &c. &c. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The first chapter of these " Passages from the 
 Diary of a late Physician'' appeared in Black- 
 wood's Magazine in August 1830, and the last 
 in August 1837. The first separate publication of 
 them, in two volumes, took place in 1832; between 
 which period and the present, four very large im- 
 pressions of them have been exhausted ; and it is 
 a great satisfaction both to my publisher and my- 
 self, to find that this has been effected without 
 having, in any way, had recourse to the modern 
 system oi puffing ; that miserable source of the de- 
 gradation of literature. A fifth edition having been 
 called for, is accompanied by the Third Volume, 
 which contains all the chapters that have since made 
 their appearance in Blackwood's Magazine. 
 
 As it lately became necessary, in the course of 
 Chancery proceedings instituted by Mr Black- 
 wood against parties who had pirated considerable 
 portions of this work, that I should make oath of 
 the fact of my being the sole author of it ; and as
 
 Vm PREFACE. 
 
 it has been, both at home and abroad, long con- 
 fidently attributed to other people — I now repeat 
 the statement, that I am the sole author of every 
 portion of the work, and, in deference to the wishes 
 of my family, place my name, as such author, upon 
 the title-page.* It is not necessary to trouble the 
 reader with the reasons that^ induced me so long to 
 abstain from doing so. 
 
 To account for any appearance of familiarity 
 with medical details in this work, I may add, that 
 I was for six years actively engaged in the practical 
 study of physic — a profession, however, which I 
 quitted in the month of September, 1827. 
 
 It may, perhaps, be not uninteresting to the 
 reader — merely, however, as a matter of petty 
 literary detail — to be informed, that the first chap- 
 ter of this " Diary" — the Early Struggles — was 
 offered by me successively to the conductors of 
 three leading magazines in London, and rejected, 
 as " unsuitable for their pages," and " not likely to 
 interest the public." In despair I bethought my- 
 self of the Great Northern Magazine. I remember 
 taking my packet to Mr Cadell's, in the Strand, 
 with a sad suspicion that I should never see or 
 
 * la three foreign editions of the " Diary," the name of " Dr 
 Harrison" is placed upon the title-page ; in England several persons 
 have actually stated themselves to be the writers of this work ; others, 
 that they have contributed towards it. I need hardly say, that all 
 such statements are entirely untrue.
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 hear any thing more of it : but at the close of the 
 month I received a letter from Mr Blackwood, 
 informing me that he had inserted the chapter, 
 and begging me to make arrangements for imme- 
 diately proceeding regularly with the series. It 
 expressed his cordial approval of the first chapter, 
 and predicted that I was likely to produce a series 
 of papers well suited for his Magazine, and'calcu- 
 lated to interest the public. It would be great 
 affectation in me, and ingratitude towards the 
 public, were I to conceal my belief that his 
 expectations have been in some degree verified by 
 the event. Here I wish to pay a brief and sincere 
 tribute to the memory of my late friend, Mr Black- 
 wood. I shall ever cherish it with respect and 
 affection. I have this morning been referring to 
 nearly fifty letters which he wrote to me during 
 the publication of the first Fifteen Chapters of 
 the " Diary." The perusal of them has occasioned 
 me lively emotion. All of them evidence the re- 
 markable tact and energy with which he conducted 
 his celebrated Magazine. Harassing as were his 
 labours at the close of every month, he neverthe- 
 less invariably wrote to me a letter of considerable 
 length, in style terse, vigorous, and accurate — full 
 of interesting comments on literary matters in ge- 
 neral, and instructive suggestions concerning my 
 own papers in particular. He was a man of strong
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 intellect, of great practical sagacity, of unrivalled 
 energy and industry, of high and inflexible honour 
 in every transaction, great or small, that I ever 
 heard of his being concerned in. But for him, this 
 Work would certainly never have been in exist- 
 ence ; and should it be so fortunate as to live, I wish 
 it ever to be accompanied by the tribute I here 
 sincerely and spontaneously pay to the memory of 
 my departed friend, William Blackwood. 
 
 I hope I may be permitted to add a word or two 
 concerning the general nature of this Work, and my 
 design in writing it. I never desired to count my- 
 self among the myriad novelists of the present age. 
 Even were I able, I have no ambition to attempt 
 such a thing ; all I wished was to present some of 
 the results of my own personal observation of life 
 and character in their most striking exemplifica- 
 tion — to illustrate, as it were, the real practical 
 working of virtues and vices. With this view I 
 have ever, of set purpose, selected the most ordi- 
 nary incidents, the simplest combinations of cir- 
 cumstances ; never attempting to disturb or com- 
 plicate the developement of character and of feeling 
 with intricacy of plot, or novelty of incident. To 
 this plan I have steadily adhered throughout the 
 Work, and I hope it has gained the approbation of 
 sober and judicious readers — I trust I shall be 
 pardoned, and not treated as vain or egotistical, if
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 I venture to extract the following passages from 
 the " Preface by the Translator," prefixed to the 
 German edition of this Work, as they have greatly 
 gratified me, and also given that particular charac- 
 ter to my labours which I have always been so 
 anxious to vindicate for them : — 
 
 " This Work is such an unusual literary pro- 
 duction, that even on that account a translation 
 of it into German can by no means appear an un- 
 worthy undertaking. A further and better acquaint- 
 ance with the original has strengthened the trans- 
 lator in his purpose and has also convinced him of 
 the merits of these ' Passages.' Indeed, he is now 
 of opinion that this Work, though at first sight, 
 perhaps, appearing to belong to the class of amu- 
 sing literature, far distinguishes itself, by its intrin- 
 sic worth, from the usual run of fashionable literary 
 productions. It contains a series of psychological 
 sketches of human nature in various conditions, and 
 especially in the last moments of life. * * * They 
 bear on them the undoubted stamp of genuineness; 
 and the reflecting reader must be convinced, by the 
 many characteristic touches with which most of 
 them abound, that these narratives are at least 
 founded upon truth ; he will further feel persuaded 
 that fsLcts— facts witnessed by the author, are re- 
 lated — though, undoubtedly, here and there the 
 reality has been coloured and veiled by a fiction-
 
 XII PREFACE. 
 
 like dress. * * * Although those narratives are, 
 for the most part, of a peculiarly melancholy cast, 
 and although, perhaps, we might have wished that 
 the author had more spared the feelings of his 
 readers, and that many close dissections of human 
 misery had been omitted ; yet it must be owned 
 that even the most gloomy and heart-rending parts 
 of these sketches are rich in thrilling situations and 
 psychological perceptions — that a bright fountain 
 of advice and warning springs from them all. The 
 tendency of his work is throughout pure and moral ; 
 which must secure for him the most grateful ac- 
 knowledgments from such even of his readers 
 (amongst whom the translator is bound to place 
 himself) as cannot perfectly agree in the strict re- 
 ligious opinions of the author. * * * The transla- 
 tion has been made with the greatest accuracy ; 
 and, with the exception of a few polemical obsep- 
 vations, nothing is altered." 
 
 I certainly feel much gratified by the approba- 
 tion of my labours here expressed ; but am quite at 
 a loss to divine what can be the " religious opinions'' 
 from which such a translator would dissent, or the 
 '' polemical ohservations'' he has found it necessary to 
 suppress. Being a firm believer in Christianity — 
 a conscientious member of the Church of England 
 — I hope and believe that nothing will be found in 
 this book inconsistent with such an avowal.
 
 PREFACE. XUl 
 
 I do not intend to vindicate my selection of 
 characters, scenes, and incidents. Some of them 
 have been pretty freely remarked upon by the 
 press ; — all I can say, however, being that my aim 
 has been in every case for the best. One or two 
 exceedingly severe, perhaps I might add, wanton 
 and malignant attacks, have been made upon some 
 of them; but I heartily forgive those who have 
 done so, whoever they may be. In conclusion, I 
 know, alas ! that this work has many imperfections ; 
 but it has been too long in too many forms before 
 the world for me to attempt, even were I so dis- 
 posed, extensive alterations. Such as it is, I now 
 finally commit it, in this its complete and authentic 
 form, to the judgment of the public, very thank- 
 ful for their approbation, and deferential to their 
 censure. The duties of a laborious profession may 
 not admit of my making any further contributions 
 to literature, or I might, perhaps, attempt to prove 
 myself worthier of the favour I have experienced, 
 and cheerfully exclaim, 
 
 '* To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new !" 
 
 Samuel Warren. 
 
 Inner Temple, London, 31st Oct. 1837.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 NOTICE TO THE READER, .... 
 INTRODUCTION, ..... 
 CHAP. I. EARLY STRUGGLES, 
 
 II. CANCER, ..... 
 
 III. THE DENTIST AND THE COMEDIAN, 
 
 IV. A scholar's deathbed, 
 
 V. PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE, 
 VI. DUELLING, .... 
 
 VII. INTRIGUING AND MADNESS, 
 
 NOTE TO THE EDITOR OF BLACKWOOD*! 
 ZINE, .... 
 
 VIII. THE BROKEN HEART, 
 
 IX. CONSUMPTION, .... 
 X. THE SPECTRAL DOG, 
 
 A CORROBORATORY LETTER, 
 XI. THE FORGER, .... 
 
 XII. A MAN ABOUT TOWN, 
 
 NOTE TO THE EDITOR OF BLACKWOOD 
 VINDICATION OF THE ABOVE, 
 
 XIII. DEATH AT THE TOILET, 
 
 XIV. THE TURNED HEAD. 
 XV. THE WIFE, .... 
 
 NOTE, 
 XVI. GRAVE DOINGS, .... 
 
 PAGE 
 
 xvii 
 six 
 
 1 
 
 42 
 50 
 52 
 76 
 85 
 102 
 
 ib. 
 132 
 143 
 178 
 184 
 188 
 206 
 
 ib. 
 251 
 254 
 260 
 283 
 320 
 321
 
 NOTICE TO THE READER. 
 
 The Editor hopes the event will prove, that he was 
 not wrong in supposing the public would view with 
 favour the re-appearance of these " Passages" in 
 their present form. He was led to indulge such 
 hopes, by seeing the flattering terms in which this 
 Diary was mentioned, from time to time, by many 
 respectable journals in London and elsewhere, 
 during its successive appearance in Blackwood's 
 Magazine ; by the circumstance of its translation 
 into the French language at Paris ; and by its 
 republication separately in America, where the 
 sale has been so extensive that the work is now 
 stereotyped. 
 
 Several additional sketches were intended to have 
 been inserted ; but this was found impracticable, 
 without extending the work to a third volume. 
 
 VOL. I. ' h
 
 XVlll NOTICE TO THE READER. 
 
 Much new matter, however, will be found intro- 
 duced in the notes, and the whole has been very 
 carefully revised — although some errors have crept 
 in, after all, owing chiefly to the work's being 
 printed in Edinburgh, while the Editor resided in 
 London. 
 
 In conclusion, the Editor hopes these sketches 
 may not unfrequently have succeeded in reaching 
 the reader's heart, and pointing public attention to 
 those pregnant scenes of interest and instruction 
 which fall under the constant observation of the 
 medical profession. 
 
 London, February 3, 1832.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It is somewhat strange, that a class of men who can 
 command such interesting, extensive, and instructive 
 materials, as the experience of most members of the 
 medical profession teems with, should have hitherto 
 made so few contributions to the stock of polite and 
 popular literature. The Bar, the Church, the Army, 
 the Navy, and the Stage, have all of them spread the 
 volumes of their secret history before the prying gaze of 
 the public ; while that of the Medical Profession has 
 remained hitherto, with scarcely an exception, a sealed 
 book. And yet there are no members of society whose 
 pursuits lead them to listen more frequently to what has 
 been exquisitely termed. 
 
 The still, sad music of humanity. 
 What instances of noble, though unostentatious heroism 
 — of calm and patient fortitude, under the most intoler- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 able anguish that can wring and torture these poor 
 bodies of ours ; what appalling combinations of moral 
 and physical wretchedness, laying prostrate the proudest 
 energies of humanity ; what diversified manifestations 
 of character ; what singular and touching passages of 
 domestic history, must have come under the notice of 
 the intelligent practitioner of physic ! — And are none of 
 these calculated to furnish both instruction and enter- 
 tainment to the public ? Why are we to be for ever shut 
 out from these avenues to the most secret and profound 
 knowledge of human nature? Till the attempt was 
 made, in the publication of this Diary, who has sunk a 
 shaft into so rich a mine of incident and sentiment ? 
 
 Considerations such as these have led to the publica- 
 tion of this work, reprinted from the pages of Black- 
 wood's Magazine — a periodical which was the first to 
 present similar papers to the public. Whether the Writer 
 or Subject of them is dead or alive, can be a matter of very 
 little consequence, it is apprehended, to the reader ; and 
 no information, therefore, on that point, is requisite. It 
 can scarcely be necessary to say, that the various names 
 which have been pitched upon, in the papers, as those of 
 the writers of this Diary, are all of them totally erro- 
 neous, and that it has, in particular, no claim whatever 
 to the honourable names of " Dr Gooch, Dr Armstrong,
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXI 
 
 or Dr Baillie." It is respectfully suggested, that, if the 
 ensuing pages have no intrinsic claims to attention, the 
 deficiency cannot be supplied by the most glittering 
 appendages of name or title.* 
 
 In selecting from a copious store of sketches, in every 
 instance drawn from nature — warm and vivid with the 
 colouring of reality — all possible care has been taken to 
 avoid undue disclosures, as far as that end could be 
 obtained by the most scrupulous concealment of names, 
 dates, and places. I cannot close these introductory re- 
 marks better, than in the words of the American Editor's 
 Preface to the stereotyped edition :— 
 
 * I have not often known of a piece of easier assurance than that of 
 the French translator of these papers, who, not content with rendering 
 them into French, has so paraphrased and misrepresented many of 
 them, and especially the first, that I scarce knew them myself. He 
 calls " Early Struggles " Le Jeune JDocteur : and I am made to say 
 at the commencement— 
 
 " Un Docteur d'Edimhotirg (!) mort recemment, et dont je dois 
 taire le nom, bien que cette precaution necessaire puisse engager mes 
 lecteurs a le confondre avec ses personnages fictifs dont les romanciers 
 sontles creatures — ce Docteur, dont I'education avait ete faite aEdim- 
 bourg, ville tout studieuse, et dont le talent s'etait developpe a Londres, 
 a consigne, dans une serie de memoranda, qui se trouvent entre mes 
 mains, les observations morales, les incidens, les caract^res, les tableaux 
 domestiques, dont sa longue pratique lui a fourni les materiaux. Tout 
 est reel dans ces souvenirs : ils ont les inconveniens et les raerites que 
 cette realite entraine," &c. — Souvenir d'un Medecin, I. 
 
 The French reader is farther informed, that this paper appeared in 
 The Literary Gazette.
 
 XXU INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " These scenes, so well calculated to furnish both in- 
 struction and amusement, have been, hitherto, kept from 
 public observation, as carefully as the Eleusinian mys- 
 teries were kept from the eyes of the vulgar. Access is 
 occasionally given to the deathbed of some distinguished 
 character : Addison is seen instructing a profligate how 
 a Christian can meet death ; and Dr Young, in his Death' 
 bed of Altamont, has painted, in strong and lasting 
 colours, the closing scene of one whose career too nearly 
 resembled the profligate Warwick's. But those in the 
 humbler walks of life have been overlooked, as if men 
 could be taught only by great examples,"
 
 DIARY 
 
 A LATE PHYSICIAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 * * * Can any things be conceived more dreary 
 and disheartening-, than the prospect before a young 
 London physician, who, without friends or fortune, yet 
 with high aspirations after professional eminence, is 
 striving- to weave around him what is technically called 
 "a connexion?" Such was my case. After having 
 exhausted the slender finances allotted me from the 
 funds of a poor but somewhat ambitious family, in passing 
 through the usual routine of a college and medical 
 education, I found myself, about my twenty-sixth year, 
 in London — possessed of about £100 in cash, a few 
 books, a tolerable wardrobe, an inexhaustible fund of 
 animal spirits, and a wife — a lovely young creature, 
 whom I had been absurd enough, some weeks before, to 
 marry, merely because we loved each other. She was 
 the only daughter of a very worthy fellow-townsman of 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 mine, a widower ; whose fortunes, alas I had decayed 
 long before their possessor. Emily was the glory of his 
 age, and, need I add, the pride of my youth ; and after 
 having assiduously attended her father through his last 
 illness, the sole and rich return was his daughter's heart. 
 I must own, that, when we found ourselves fairly 
 housed in the mighty metropolis, with so poor an 
 exchequer, and the means of replenishing it so remote 
 and contingent, we were somewhat startled at the bold- 
 ness of the step we had taken. " Nothing venture, 
 nothing have," however, was my maxim ; and I felt 
 supported by that unaccountable conviction which clings 
 to all in such circumstances as mine, up to the very 
 pinching moment, but no longer, that there must be 
 thousands of ways of getting a livelihood, to which one 
 can turn at a moment's warning. And then the swelling 
 thought of being the architect of one's own fortune ! 
 As, however, daily drafts began to diminish my £100, 
 my spirits faltered a little. I discovered that I might 
 indeed, as well 
 
 Lie pack'd In mine own grave, 
 
 as continue in London without money, or the means of 
 getting it ; and after revolving endless schemes, the only 
 conceivable mode of doing so seemed calling in the 
 generous assistance of the Jews. My father had fortu- 
 nately eifected a policy on my life for £5000, at an early 
 period, on which some fourteen premiums had been 
 paid ; and this available security, added to the powerful 
 influence of a young nobleman to whom I had rendered 
 some service at college, enabled me to succeed in wring- 
 ing a loan, from old Amos L— — , of £3000, at the
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 3 
 
 trifling- interest of fifteen per cent, payable by way of 
 redeemable annuity. It was with fear and trembling 
 that I called myself master of this large sum, and with 
 the utmost diffidence that I could bring myself to exercise 
 what the lawyers would call acts of ownership on it. 
 As, however, there was no time to lose, I took a respect- 
 able house in C Street West * — furnished it neatly 
 
 and respectably — fortunately enough let the first floor 
 
 to a rich old East India bachelor — beheld " Dr " 
 
 glisten conspicuously on my door j — and then dropped 
 my little line into the great water of London, resolved to 
 abide the issue with patience. 
 
 Blessed with buoyant and sanguine spirits, I did not 
 lay it much to heart, that my only occupation during 
 the first six months, was — abroad, to practice the pardon- 
 able solecism of hurrying- haud passihus cequis through 
 the streets, as if in attendance on numerous patients ; 
 and at home, to ponder pleasantly over my books, and 
 enjoy the company of my cheerful and aifectionate wife. 
 But when I had numbered twelve months, almost with- 
 out feeling a pulse or receiving a fee, and was reminded 
 
 by old L , that the second half-yearly instalment of 
 
 £225 was due, I began to look forward with some ap- 
 prehension to the overcast future. Of the £3000, for 
 the use of which I was paying so cruel and exorbitant a 
 premium, little more than half remained — and this, not- 
 withstanding we had practised the most rigid economy 
 
 • " Oa sait que la partie Est de Londres est reservee aux gens de 
 commerce ; et que l*Ouest de la mcrae ville est habite par raristocratie." 
 — Note of the French Translator. 
 
 t " Cj3 plaques de cuivre, portant le nom du proprietaire, ou du 
 piiacjpal locataire, s.> tiouvent sur toutes les portes." — /^.
 
 4 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 in our household expenditure, and devoted as little to 
 dress as was compatible with maintaining a respectable 
 exterior. To my sorrow, I found myself unavoidably 
 contracting debts, which, with the interest due to old 
 
 L , I found it would be impossible to discharge. 
 
 If matters went on as they seemed to threaten, what was 
 to become of me in a year or two ? Putting every 
 thing- else out of the question, where was I to find funds 
 
 to meet old L 's annual demand of £450 ? Relying 
 
 on my prospects of professional success, I had bound 
 myself to return the £3000 within five years of the time 
 of borrowing it ; and now I thought I must have been 
 mad to do so. If my profession failed me, I had 
 nothing else to look to. I had no family resources — 
 for my father had died since I came to London, very 
 much embarrassed in his circumstances ; and my mother, 
 who was aged and infirm, had gone to reside with some 
 relatives, who were few and poor. My wife, as I have 
 stated, was in like plight. I do not think she had a 
 relative in England (for her father and all his family were 
 Germans), except 
 
 him, whose brightest joy 
 
 Was, that he called her — wife. 
 
 Lord , the nobleman before mentioned, who, I 
 
 am sure, would have rejoiced in assisting me, either by 
 pecuniary advances or professional introductions, had 
 been on the continent ever since I commenced practice. 
 Being of studious habits, and a very bashful and re- 
 served disposition while at Cambridge, I could number 
 but few college friends, none of whom I knew where 
 to find in London. Neither my wife nor I knew more 
 than five people, besides our Indian lodger ; for, to tell
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 5 
 
 the truth, we were, like many a fond and foolish couple 
 before us, all the world to one another, and cared little 
 for scraping- together promiscuous acquaintance. If we 
 had even been inclined to visiting-, our straitened circum- 
 stances would have forbid our incurring the expenses 
 attached to it. What then was to be done ? My wife 
 would say, " Poh, love, we shall contrive to get on as 
 well as our neighbours;" but the simple fact was, we 
 were not g-etting on like our neighbours, nor did I see any 
 prospect of our ever doing so. I began, therefore, to 
 pass sleepless nights, and days of despondency, casting 
 about in every direction for any employment consistent 
 with my profession, and redoubling my fruitless efforts 
 to obtain practice. 
 
 It is almost laughable to say, that our only receipts 
 were a few paltry guineas, sent, at long intervals, from 
 old Mr Asperne, the proprietor of the European Maga- 
 zine, as remuneration for a sort of monthly medical sum- 
 mary with which I furnished him, and a trifle or two from 
 Mr NichoUs of the Gentleman's Magazine, as an acknow- 
 ledgment for several sweet sonnets sent by my wife. 
 
 Knowing the success which often attended profes- 
 sional authorship, as tending to acquire for the writer 
 a reputation for skill on the subject of which he treated, 
 and introduce him to the notice of the higher mem- 
 bers of his own profession, I determined to turn my 
 attention that way. For several months I was up early 
 and late at a work on Diseases of the Lungs. I bestowed 
 incredible pains on it ; and my toil was sweetened by 
 my wife, who would sit by me, in the long summer 
 evenings, like an angel, consoling and encouraging me 
 with predictions of success. She lightened my labour
 
 6 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 by undertaking the transcription of the manuscript ; 
 and I thought that two or three hundred sheets of fair 
 and regular handwriting- were heavily purchased by the 
 impaired eyesight of the beloved amanuensis. When at 
 length it was completed, having been read and revised 
 twenty times, so that there was not a comma wanting, I 
 hurried, full of fluttering hopes and fears, to a well- 
 known medical bookseller, expecting he would at once 
 purchase the copyright. Fifty pounds I had fixed in 
 my own mind as the minimum of what I would accept ; 
 and I had already appropriated some little part of it 
 towards buying a handsome silk dress for my wife. Alas ! 
 even in this branch of my profession, my hopes were 
 doomed to meet with disappointment. The bookseller 
 received me with great civility ; listened to every word 
 I had to say ; seemed to take some interest in my new 
 views "of the disease treated of, which I explained to him, 
 and repeated — and ventured to assure him, that they 
 would certainly attract public attention. My heart 
 leaped for joy as I saw his business-like eye settled 
 upon me with an expression of attentive interest. After 
 having almost talked myself hoarse, and flushed myself 
 all over with excitement, he removed his spectacles, and 
 politely assured me of his approbation of the work ; but 
 that he had determined never to publish any more medi- 
 cal books on his own account. I have the most vivid 
 recollection of almost turning sick with chagrin. With 
 a faltering voice I asked him if that was his unalterable 
 determination ? He replied, it was ; for he had " lost 
 too much by speculations of that sort." I tied up the 
 manuscript, and withdrew. As soon as I left his shop, 
 I let fall a scorching tear of mingled sorrow and morti-
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 7 
 
 fication. I could almost have wept aloud. At that 
 moment, whom should I meet but my dear wife ! for we 
 had both been talking- all night long, and all breakfast 
 time, about the probable result of my interview with 
 the bookseller ; and her anxious affection would not 
 permit her to wait my return. She had been pacing- to 
 and fro on the other side of the street, and flew to me 
 on my leaving the shop. I could not speak to her ; I 
 felt almost choked. At last her continued expressions 
 of tenderness and sympathy soothed me into a more 
 equable frame of mind, and we returned to dinner. In 
 the afternoon, I offered it to another bookseller, who, 
 John Trot like, told me at once he " never did that sort 
 of thing-." I offered it subsequently to every medical 
 bookseller I could find — with like success. One fat 
 fellow snuffled out, " If he might make so bold," he 
 would advise me to leave off book-making, and stick to 
 my practice ; another assured me he had got two similar 
 works then in the press ; and the last I consulted, told 
 me I was too young, he thought, to have seen enough of 
 practice for writing " a book of that nature," as his words 
 were. " Publish it on your own account, love," said my 
 wife. That, however, was out of the question, whatever 
 might be the merits of the work — for I had no funds ; 
 and a kind-hearted bookseller, to whom I mentioned the 
 project, assured me that, if I went to press, my work 
 would fall from it still-born. When I returned home 
 from making this last attempt, I flung myself into a 
 chair by the fireside, opposite my wife, without speaking. 
 There was an anxious smile of sweet solicitude in her 
 face. My agitated and mortified air convinced her that 
 I was finally disappointed, and that six months' hard
 
 8 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 labour were thrown away. In a fit of uncontrollable 
 pique and passion, I flung^ the manuscript on the fire ; 
 but Emily suddenly snatched it from the flames, gazed 
 on me with a look such as none but a fond and devoted 
 wife could give — threw her arms round my neck, and 
 kissed me back to calmness, if not happiness. I laid the 
 manuscript in question on a shelf in my study ; and it 
 was my first and last attempt at medical book-making. 
 
 From what cause, or combination of causes, I know 
 not, but I seemed marked out for failure in my profes- 
 sion. Though my name shone on my door, and the 
 respectable neighbourhood could not but have noticed 
 the regularity and decorum of my habits and manners, 
 yet none ever thought of calling me in ! Had I been able 
 to exhibit a line of carriages at my door, or open my house 
 for the reception of company, or dash about town in an 
 elegant equipage, or be seen at the opera and theatres — 
 had I been able to do this, the case might have been 
 different. In candour I must acknowledge, that another 
 probable cause of my ill success was a somewhat insig- 
 nificant person, and unprepossessing countenance. I 
 could not wear such an eternal smirk of conceited com- 
 placency, or keep my head perpetually bowing, man- 
 darin-like, as many of my professional brothers. Still 
 there were thousands to whom these deficiencies proved 
 no serious obstacles. The great misfortune in my case 
 was, undoubtedly, the want of introductions. There 
 was a man of considerable rank and great wealth, who 
 was a sort of fiftieth cousin of mine, resided in one of 
 the fashionable squares not far from me, and on whom 
 I had called to claim kindred, and solicit his patronage ; 
 but after having sent up my name and address, I was
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 9 
 
 suffered to wait so long in an anteroom, that, what with 
 this and the noise of servants bustling past with inso- 
 lent familiarity, I quite forgot the relationship, and left 
 the house, wondering what had brought me there. I 
 never felt inclined to go near it again ; so there was an 
 end of all prospects of introduction from that quarter. 
 I was left, therefore, to rely exclusively on my own 
 efforts, and trust to chance for patients. It is true that, 
 in the time I have mentioned, I was twice called in at 
 an instant's warning ; but, in both cases, the objects of 
 my visits had expired before my arrival, probably before 
 a messenger could be despatched for me ; and the man- 
 ner in which my fees were proffered, convinced me that 
 I should be cursed for a mercenary wretch if I accepted 
 them. I was therefore induced, in each case, to decline 
 the guinea, though it would have purchased me a week's 
 happiness ! I was also, on several occasions, called in to 
 visit the inferior members of families in the neighbour- 
 hood — servants, housekeepers, porters, &c. ; and of all 
 the trying, the mortifying occurrences in the life of a 
 young physician, such occasions as these are the most 
 irritating. You go to the house — a large one probably — 
 and are instructed not to knock at the front door, but to 
 go down by the area to your patient ! 
 
 I think it was about this time that I was summoned 
 
 in haste to young Sir Charles F , who resided near 
 
 Mayfair. Delighted at the prospect of securing so dis- 
 tinguished a patient, I hurried to his house, resolved to 
 do my utmost to give satisfaction. When I entered the 
 room, I found the sprig of fashion enveloped in a crim- 
 son silk dressing-gown, sitting conceitedly on the sofa, 
 and sipping a cup of coffee ; from which he desisted a
 
 10 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 moment to examine me — positively — through his eye- 
 glass, and then directed me to inspect the swelled foot 
 of a favourite pointer ! Darting a look of anger at the 
 insulting coxcomb, I instantly vidthdrew without uttering 
 a word. Five years afterwards did that young man 
 make use of the most strenuous efforts to oust me from 
 the confidence of a family of distinction, to which he was 
 distantly related.* 
 
 A more gratifying incident occurred shortly after- 
 wards. I had the misfortune to be called, on a sudden 
 emergency, into consultation with the late celebrated 
 
 Dr . It was the first consultational visit that I 
 
 had ever paid ; and I was, of course, very anxious to 
 acquit myself creditably. Shall I ever forget the air 
 of insolent condescension with which he received me ; 
 or the remark he made in the presence of several indi- 
 viduals, professional as well as unprofessional? — " I 
 
 assure you, Dr , there is really some difference 
 
 between apoplexy and epilepsy, at least there was when 
 I was a young man I" He accompanied these words 
 with a look of supercilious commiseration, directed to 
 the lady whose husband was our patient ; and I need 
 
 * This anecdote calls to my mind one told me by the late Dr James 
 
 Hamilton. He was sent for once in great haste by Lady P , to 
 
 see — absolutely a little favourite monkey, which was almost suffocated 
 with its morning feed. When the doctor entered the room, he saw 
 only her ladyship, her young son (a lad of ten years old, who was 
 most absurdly dressed), and his patient. Looking at each of the 
 
 two latter, he said coolly to Lady P , " My lady, which is the 
 
 monkey?'' — [I am made to say in French, *' ' Madame,' dit-il, 
 * Messieurs vos file n'ont qu'a faire diete et a boire du the.' II s'en 
 alia aussitot." And farther, the name of Ahernethy is coolly substi- 
 tuted for that of Dr Hamilton !]
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. ]1 
 
 not add, that my future services were dispensed with! 
 My heart ached to think that such a fellow as this 
 should have it in his power to take, as it were, the 
 bread out of the mouth of an unpretending- and almost 
 spirit-broken professional brother; but I had no re- 
 medy. I am happy to have it in my power to say how 
 much the tone of consulting physicians is now (1820) 
 lowered towards their brethren who may happen to be 
 of a few years' less standing-, and, consequently, less 
 firmly fixed in the confidence of their patients. It was 
 by a few similar incidents to those above related, that 
 my spirit beg-an to be soured ; and had it not been for 
 the unvarying sweetness and cheerfulness of my incom- 
 parable wife, existence would not have been tolerable. 
 My professional eff"orts were paralysed ; failure attended 
 every attempt ; my ruin seemed sealed. My resources 
 were rapidly melting away — my expenditure, moderate 
 as it was, was counterbalanced by no incomings. A 
 prison and starvation scowled before me. 
 
 Despairing of finding any better source of emolu- 
 ment, I was induced to send an advertisement to one 
 of the daily papers, stating, that " a graduate of Cam- 
 bridge University, having a little spare time at his 
 disposal, was willing to give private instructions in the 
 classics, in the evenings, to gentlemen preparing for 
 college, or to others !" After about a week's interval, 
 I received one solitary communication. It was from a 
 young man holding some subordinate situation under 
 government, and residing at Pimlico. This person of- 
 fered me two guineas a-month, if I would attend him at 
 his own house, for two hours, on the evenings of Monday, 
 Wednesday, and Friday ! With these hard terms was I
 
 12 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 obliged to comply — yes, a g-entleman, and a member of 
 an English University, was driven so low as to attend, 
 for these terms, an ignorant underling, and endeavour to 
 instil a few drops of classic lore into the turbid and 
 shallow waters of his understanding. I had hardly 
 given him a month's attendance before he assured me, 
 with a flippant air, that, as he had now acquired *' a 
 practical knowledge of the classics," he would dispense 
 with my farther services I Dull dunce ! he could not, 
 in Latin, be brought to comprehend the difference be- 
 tween a neuter and an active verb ; while, as for Greek, 
 it was an absolute chokepear ; so he nibbled on to rifct] 
 — and then gave it up. Bitter but unavailing were my 
 regrets, as I returned from paying my last visit to this 
 promising scholar, that I had not entered the army, and 
 gone to America, or even betaken myself to some sub- 
 ordinate commercial situation. A thousand and a thou- 
 sand times did I curse the ambition which brought me 
 up to London, and the egregious vanity which led me 
 to rely so implicitly on my talents for success. Had I 
 but been content with the humbler sphere of a general 
 practitioner, I might have laid out my dearly-bought 
 £3000 with a reasonable prospect of soon repaying it, 
 and acquiring a respectable livelihood. But all these 
 sober thoughts, as is usual, came only time enough to 
 enhance the mortification of failure. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 About £300 was now the miserable remnant of the 
 money borrowed from the Jew ; and half a year's inter- 
 est (£225), together with my rent, was due in about 
 a fortnight's time. I was, besides, indebted to many 
 tradesmen— who were becoming every day more que-
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 13 
 
 rulous — for articles of food, clothing-, and furniture. My 
 poor Emily was in daily expectation of her accouche- 
 ment ; and my own health was sensibly sinking, under 
 the combined pressure of anxiety and excessive parsi- 
 mony. What was to be done ? Despair was clinging 
 to me, and shedding blight and mildew over all my 
 faculties. Every avenue was closed against me. I never 
 knew what it was to have more than one or two hours' 
 sleep at night, and that so heavy, so troubled, and 
 interrupted, that I awoke each morning- more dead than 
 alive. I lay tossing in bed, revolving all conceivable 
 schemes and fancies in my tortured brain, till at length, 
 from mere iteration, they began to assume a feasible 
 aspect ; alas ! however, they would none of them bear 
 the blush of daylight, but faded away as extravagant 
 and absurd. I would endeavour to set afloat a popular 
 Medical Journal — to give lectures on diseases of the 
 lungs — (a department with which I was familiar) — I 
 would advertise for a small medical partnership, as a 
 g-eneral practitioner — I would do a thousand things of 
 the sort ; but where was my capital to set out with ? I 
 had £300 in the world, and £450 yearly to pay to an 
 extortionating- old miser : that was the simple fact ; and it 
 almost drove me to despair to advert to it for one instant. 
 Wretched, however, as I was, and almost every instant 
 loathing my existence, the idea of suicide was never 
 entertained for a moment. If the fiend would occasion- 
 ally flit across the dreary chamber of my heart, a strong 
 and unceasing confidence in the goodness and power of 
 my Maker always repelled, the fearful visitant. Even 
 yet, rapidly as I seemed approaching the precipice of 
 ruin, I could not avoid cherishing a feeble hope that
 
 14 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 some unexpected avenue would open to better fortune ; 
 and the thought of it would, for a time, soothe my 
 troubled breast, and nerve it to bear up against the 
 inroads of my present misfortunes. 
 
 I recollect sitting- down one day in St James's Park, 
 on one of the benches, weary with wandering the whole 
 morning I knew not whither. I felt faint and ill, and 
 more than usually depressed in mind. I had that 
 morning paid one of my tradesmen's bills, amounting 
 to £10; and the fellow told my servant, that, as he had 
 so much trouble in getting his money, he did not want 
 the honour of my custom any longer. The thought that 
 my credit was failing in the neighbourhood was insup- 
 portable. Ruin and disgrace would then be accelerated ; 
 and being unable to meet my creditors, I should be 
 proclaimed little less than a swindler, and shaken like 
 a viper from the lap of society. Fearful as were such 
 thoughts, I had not enough of energy of feeling left to 
 suffer much agitation from them. I folded my arms 
 on my breast in sullen apathy, and wished only that, 
 whatever might be my fate, certainty might be substi- 
 tuted for suspense. 
 
 While indulging in thoughts like these, a glittering 
 troop of soldiers passed by me, preceded by their band, 
 playing a merry air. How the sounds jarred on the 
 broken strings of my heart ! And many a bright face, 
 dressed in smiles of gaiety and happiness, thronged past, 
 attracted by the music, little thinking of the wretched- 
 ness of him who was sitting by ! I could not prevent 
 the tears of anguish from gushing forth. I thought of 
 Emily — of her delicate and interesting, but, to me, 
 melancholy situation. 1 could not bear the thought of
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 15 
 
 returning- home, to encounter her affectionate looks — 
 her meek and gentle resignation to her bitter fortunes. 
 Whv had I married her, without first having considered 
 whether I could support her ? Passionately fond of me, 
 as I well knew she was, could she avoid frequently recur- 
 ring to the days of our courtship, when I reiteratedly 
 assured her of my certainty of professional success as 
 soon as I could get settled in London? Where now 
 were all the fair and flourishing scenes to which my 
 childish enthusiasm had tauoht me to look forward? 
 
 o 
 
 Would not the bitter contrast she was now experiencing, 
 and seemed doomed long yet to experience, alienate 
 from me a portion of her affections, and induce feelings 
 of anger and contempt ? Could I blame her for all 
 this? If the goodly superstructure of my fortunes 
 fell, was it not I that had loosened and destroyed the 
 foundation ? — Reflections like these were harassing and 
 scourging me, when an elderly gentleman, evidently 
 an invalid, tottered slowly to the bench where I was 
 sitting, and sat down beside me. He seemed a man of 
 wealth and consideration : for his servant, on whose 
 arm he had been leaning, and who now stood behind 
 the bench on which he was sitting, wore a very elegant 
 livery. He was almost shaken to pieces by an asthmatic 
 cough, and was, besides, suffering from another severe 
 disorder, which need not be more particularly named. 
 He looked at me once or twice, in a manner which 
 seemed to say, that he would not take it rudely if I 
 addressed him. I did so. " I am afraid, sir," I said, 
 *• you are in great pain from that cough?"—" Yes," 
 he gasped faintly; " and I don't know how to get rid 
 of it. I am an old man, you see, sir ; and methinks
 
 16 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 my summons to the grave might have been less loud 
 and painful." After a little pause, I ventured to ask 
 him how long he had been subject to the cough which 
 now harassed him ? He said, more or less, for the last 
 ten years ; but that, latterly, it had increased so much 
 upon him, that he could not derive any benefit from 
 medical advice. " I should think, sir, the more violent 
 symptoms of your disorder might be mitigated," said I, 
 and proceeded to question him minutely, but hesitatingly, 
 as to the origin and progress of the complaints which 
 now afflicted him. He answered all my questions with 
 civility; and, as I went on, seemed to be roused into 
 something like curiosity and interest. I need not say 
 more, than that -I discovered he had not been in the 
 hands of a skilful practitioner ; and that I assured him 
 very few and simple means would give him great relief 
 from at least the more violent symptoms. He, of 
 course, perceived I was in the medical profession ; 
 and, after some apparent hesitation, evidently as to 
 whether or not I should feel hurt, tendered me a guinea. 
 I refused it promptly and decidedly, and assured him 
 that he was quite welcome to the very trifling advice 
 I had rendered him. At that moment, a young man of 
 fashionable appearance walked up, and told him their 
 carriage was waiting at the corner of the stable-yard. 
 This last gentleman, who seemed to be either the son 
 or nephew of the old gentleman, eyed me, I thought, 
 with a certain superciliousness, which was not lessened 
 when the invalid told him I had given him some excel- 
 lent advice, for which he could not prevail on me to 
 receive a fee. " We are vastly obliged to you, sir ; but 
 are going home to the family physician," said the young
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 17 
 
 man, haughtily ; and, placing- the invalid's arm in his, 
 led him slowly away. He was addressed several times 
 by the servant as " Sir" something, Wilton or William, 
 I think ; but I could not distinctly catch it, so that it 
 was evidently a person of some rank I had been address- 
 ing. How many there are, thought I, that, with a more 
 plausible and insinuating address than mine is, would 
 have contrived to get into the confidence of this gentle- 
 man, and become his medical attendant ! How foolish 
 was I not to give him my card when he proffered me a 
 fee, and thus, in all probability, be sent for the next 
 morning to pay a regular professional visit ! and to what 
 lucrative introductions might not that have led ! A 
 thousand times I cursed my diffidence — my sensitiveness 
 as to professional etiquette — and my inability to seize the 
 advantages occasionally offered by a fortunate conjuncture 
 of circumstances. I was fitter, I thought, for La 
 Trappe than the bustling world of business. 1 deserved 
 my ill fortune ; and professional failure was the natural 
 consequence of the mauvaise horde which has injured 
 so many. As the day, however, was far advancing, I 
 left the seat, and turned my steps towards my cheerless 
 home. 
 
 As was generally the case, I found Emily busily 
 engaged in painting little fire-screens, and other orna- 
 mental toys, which, when completed, 1 was in the habit 
 of carrying to a kind of private bazaar in Oxford Street, 
 where I was not known, and where, with an aching 
 heart, I disposed of the delicate and beautiful produc- 
 tions of my poor wife, for a trifle hardly worth taking 
 home. Could any man, pretending to the slightest 
 feeling, contemplate his young wife, far advanced in 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 pregnancy, in a critical state of health, and requiring air, 
 exercise, and cheerful company, toiling, in the manner 
 I have related, from morning to night, and for a miserably 
 inadequate remuneration ? She submitted, however, 
 to our misfortunes, with infinitely more firmness and 
 equanimity than I could pretend to; and her uniform 
 cheerfulness of demeanour, together with the passionate 
 fervour of her fondness for me, contributed to fling a 
 few rays of trembling and evanescent lustre over the 
 gloomy prospects of the future. Still, however, the 
 dreadful question incessantly presented itself — What, 
 in Heaven's name, is to become of us ? I cannot say 
 that we were at this time in absolute, literal want; 
 though our parsimonious fare hardly deserved the name 
 of food, especially such as my wife's delicate situation 
 required. It was the hopelessness of all prospective 
 resources that kept us in perpetual thraldom. With 
 infinite effort we might contrive to hold on to a given 
 period — say, till the next half-yearly demand of old 
 
 L ; and then we must sink altogether, unless a 
 
 miracle intervened to save us. Had I been alone in the 
 world, I might have braved the worst, have turned my 
 hand to a thousand things, have accommodated myself 
 to almost any circumstances, and borne the extremest 
 privations with fortitude. But my darling — my meek, 
 smiling, gentle Emily ! — my heart bled for her. 
 
 Not to leave any stone unturned, seeing an adver- 
 . tisement addressed, ♦« To medical men," I applied for the 
 situation of assistant to a general practitioner, though 
 I had but little skill in the practical part of compound- 
 ing medicines. I applied personally to the advertiser, 
 a fat, red-faced, vulgar fellow, who had contrived to
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 19 
 
 gain a very large practice, by what means God only 
 knows. His terms were — and these named in the most 
 offensive contemptiiousness of manner — £80 a-year, board 
 and lodge out, and give all my time in the day to my 
 employer ! Absurd as was the idea of acceding to terms 
 like these, I thought I might still consider them. I 
 pressed hard for £100 a-year, and told him I was 
 married 
 
 " Married!" said he, with a loud laugh; " No, no, 
 sir, you are not the man for my money ; so I wish you 
 good morning." * 
 
 Thus was I baffled in every attempt to obtain a per- 
 manent source of support from my profession. It brought 
 me about £40 per annum. I gained, by occasional con- 
 iributions to magazines, an average sum annually of 
 about £23. My wife earned about that sum by her 
 pencil. And these were all the funds I had to meet the 
 enormous interest due half-yearly to old L , to dis- 
 charge my rent, and the various other expenses of house- 
 keeping, &c. Might I not well despair ? I did ; and 
 God's goodness only preserved me from the frightful 
 calamity which has suddenly terminated the earthly 
 miseries of thousands in similar circumstances. 
 
 And is it possible, I often thought, with all the tor- 
 menting credulousness of a man half stupified with his 
 misfortunes — is it possible, that, in the very heart of 
 this metropolis of splendour, wealth, and extravagance, 
 a gentleman and a scholar, who has laboured long in the 
 honourable toil of acquiring professional knowledge, can- 
 not contrive to scrape together even a competent sub- 
 
 * This worthy (a Mr C by name) lived at this time in the 
 
 region of St George's in the East.
 
 20 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 sistence ? and that, too, while ignorance and infamy are 
 wallowing^ in wealth — while charlatanry and quackery 
 of all kinds are bloated with success ! Full of such 
 thoughts as these, how often have I slunk stealthily 
 along the streets of London, on cold and dreary winter 
 evenings, almost fainting with long abstinence, yet 
 reluctant to return home and incur the expense of an 
 ordinary family dinner, while my wife's situation required 
 the most rigorous economy to enable us to meet, even in 
 a poor and small way, the exigencies of her approaching 
 accouchement ! How often — ay, hundreds of times — • 
 have I envied the coarse and filthy fare of the minor 
 eating-houses, and been content to interrupt a twelve 
 hours* fast with a bun or biscuit and a draught of 
 water or turbid table-beer, under the wretched pretence 
 of being in too great a hurry to go home to dinner I I 
 have often gazed with envy — once, I recollect, in parti- 
 cular — on dogs eating their huge daily slice of boiled 
 horse's flesh, and envied their contented and satiated 
 looks! With what anguish of heart have I seen car- 
 riages setting down company at the door of a house, 
 illuminated by the glare of a hundred tapers, where 
 were ladies dressed in the extreme of fashion, whose 
 cast-off clothes would have enabled me to acquire a 
 tolerably respectable livelihood ! O, ye sons and daughters 
 of luxury and extravagance I how many thousands of 
 needy and deserving families would rejoice to eat of 
 the crumbs which fall from your tables, and they may 
 not! 
 
 I have stood many a time at my parlour window, and 
 envied the kitchen fare of the servants of my wealthy 
 opposite neighbour ; while I protest I have been ashamed
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 21 
 
 to look our own servant in the face, as she, day after 
 day, served up for two what was little more than suffi- 
 cient for one : and yet, hitter mockery ! I was to sup- 
 port abroad the farce of a cheerful and respectable pro- 
 fessional exterior. 
 
 Two days after the occurrence at St James's Park, 
 above related, I was, as usual, reading* the columns of 
 advertisements in one of the daily papers, when my 
 eyes lit on the following : — 
 
 " The professional gentleman, who, a day or two ago, 
 had some conversation on the subject of asthma, with 
 an invalid^ on one of the benches of St James's Park, is 
 particularly requested to forward his name and address 
 to W. J., care of Messrs .'* 
 
 I almost let the paper fall from my hands with de- 
 lighted surprise. That I was the " professional gentle- 
 man" alluded to, was clear ; and on the slender founda- 
 tion of this advertisement, I had, in a few moments, 
 built a large and splendid superstructure of good fortune. 
 I had hardly calmness enough to call my wife, who 
 was engaged with some small household matters, for 
 the purpose of communicating the good news to her. 
 I need hardly say with what eagerness T complied with 
 the requisitions of the advertisement. Half an hour 
 beheld my name and address in an envelope, with the 
 
 superscription, " W.J." lying at Messrs 's, who were 
 
 stationers. After passing a most anxious and sleepless 
 night, agitated by all kinds of hopes and fears, my wife 
 and I were sitting at breakfast, when a livery servant 
 knocked at the door ; and, after enquiring whether " Dr 
 " was at home, left a letter. It was an envelope,
 
 22 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 containing the card of address of Sir William , No. 
 
 26, Street, accompanied with the following note : — 
 
 " Sir William 's compliments to Dr , and 
 
 will feel obliged by his looking in in the course of the 
 morning." 
 
 " Now, be calm, my dear ," said Emily, as she 
 
 saw my fluttering excitement of manner. But, alas ! 
 that was impossible. I was impatient for the hour of 
 twelve ; and precisely as the clock struck, I sallied forth 
 to visit my titled patient. All the way I went, I was 
 taxing my ingenuity for palliatives, remedies for asthma : 
 I would new-regulate his diet and plan of life — in short, 
 I would do wonders ! 
 
 Sir William, who was sitting gasping by the fireside, 
 received me with great courtesy ; and after motioning 
 his niece, a charming young woman, to retire, told me, 
 he had been so much interested by my remarks the other 
 day in the Park, that he felt inclined to follow my ad- 
 vice, and put himself under my care altogether. He 
 then entered on a history of his complaints. I found his 
 constitution was entirely broken up, and that in a very 
 little while it must fall to pieces. I told him, however, 
 that if he would adhere strictly to the regimen I pro- 
 posed, I could promise him great if not permanent 
 relief. He listened to what I said with the utmost inter- 
 est. " Do you think you could prolong my life. Doc- 
 tor, for two years ?" said he, with emotion. I told him, 
 I certainly could not pretend to promise him so much. 
 " My only reason for asking the question," he replied, 
 " is my beloved niece, that young lady, who has just 
 left us. If I cannot live for two years or eighteen months 
 longer, it will be a bitter thing for her !" — He sighed
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 23 
 
 deeply, and added abruptly — " But of that more here- 
 after. I hope to see you to-morrow, Doctor." He 
 insisted on my accepting live guineas, in return for 
 the two -visits he said he had received ; and I took my 
 departure. I felt altogether a new man, as I walked 
 home. My spirits were more light and buoyant than 
 they had been for many a long month ; for I could not 
 help thinking, that I had now a fair chance of introduc- 
 tion into respectable practice. My wife shared my joy ; 
 and we were as happy for the rest of that day, as if we 
 had already surmounted the heavy difficulties which 
 oppressed us. 
 
 I attended Sir William every day that week, and 
 received a fee of two guineas for each visit. On Sunday 
 
 I met the family physician. Sir , who had just been 
 
 released from attendance on one of the Royal Family. 
 He was a polite but haughty man ; and seemed inclined 
 to be much displeased with Sir William for calling me 
 in. When I entered. Sir William introduced me to him 
 
 as " Dr ." " Dr , of Square ? " enquired 
 
 the other physician, carelessly. I told him where I 
 lived. He aifected to be reflecting where the street 
 was ; it was the one next to that in which he himself 
 resided. There is nothing in the world so easy, as for 
 the eminent members of our profession to take the bread 
 out of the mouths of their younger brethren with the 
 
 best grace in the world. So Sir contrived in the 
 
 present case. He assured Sir William, that nothing was 
 calculated to do him so much good as change of air. 
 Of course, I could not but assent. The sooner, he said, 
 Sir William left town the better. Sir William asked 
 me if I concurred in that opinion ? — Certainly. He set
 
 24 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 off for Worthing two days after ; and I lost the best, 
 and almost the only patient I had then ever had ; for Sir 
 William died after three weeks' residence at Worthing-. 
 
 This circumstance occasioned me great depression 
 of spirits. Nothing that I touched seemed to prosper ; 
 and the transient glimpses I occasionally obtained of 
 good fortune, seemed given only to tantalize me, and 
 enhance the bitterness of the contrast. My store of 
 money was reduced at last from £3000 to £25 in cash; 
 my debts amounted to upwards of £100; and in six 
 
 months, another £225 would be due to old L ! 
 
 My wife, too, had been confined, and there was another 
 source of expense ; for both she and ray little daughter 
 were in a very feeble state of health. Still, sweetly 
 wishful to accommodate herself to one lowered in cir- 
 cumstances, she almost broke my heart one day with the 
 proposal of dismissing our servant, the whole of whose 
 labour my poor sweet Emily herself undertook to per- 
 form ! No, no — this was too much ; the tears of agony 
 gushed from my eyes, as I folded her delicate frame in 
 my arms, and assured her that Providence would never 
 permit so much virtue and gentleness to be degraded into 
 such humiliating servitude. I said this ; but my heart 
 heavily misgave me, that a more wretched prospect was 
 before her I 
 
 I have often sat by my small, solitary parlour fire, 
 and pondered over our misery and misfortunes, till 
 almost frenzied with the violence of my emotions. Where 
 was I to look for relief? What earthly remedy was 
 there ? O my God ! thou alone knowest what this poor 
 heart of mine suffered in such times as these, not on my 
 own account, but for those beloved beings whose ruin
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 25 
 
 was implicated in mine! What, however, was to be 
 
 done at the present crisis, seeing-, at Christmas, old L 
 
 would come upon me for his interest, and my other 
 creditors would insist on payment ? A dreary mist came 
 over my mind's eye whenever I attempted to look steadily 
 forward into futurity. 1 had written several times to 
 
 my kind and condescending- friend, Lord , who still 
 
 continued abroad ; but as I knew not to what part of 
 the continent to direct, and the servants of his family 
 pretended they knew not, I left my letters at his town 
 house, to be forwarded with his quarterly packag-es. I 
 suppose my letters must have been opened, and burned, 
 as little other than pestering, begging letters ; for I never 
 heard from him. 
 
 I have often heard from my father, that we had a sort 
 of fiftieth cousin in London, a baronet of great wealth, 
 who had married a distant relation of our family, on 
 account solely of her beauty ; but that he was one of the 
 most haughty and arrogant men breathing — had, in the 
 most insolent manner disavowed the relationship, and 
 treated my father, on one occasion, very contumeliously ; 
 a fate I had myself shared, as the reader may recollect, 
 not long ago.* Since then, however, the pressure of 
 accumulated misfortunes had a thousand times forced 
 upon me the idea of once more applying to this man, and 
 stating my circumstances. As one is easily induced to be- 
 lieve what one wishes to be true, I could not help thinking 
 that surely he must in some degree relent, if informed 
 of our utter misery : but my heart always failed me when 
 I took my pen in hand to write to him. I was at a loss 
 for terms in which to state our distress most feelingly, 
 * Page 9.
 
 26 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 and in a manner best calculated to arrest his attention. 
 I had, however, after infinite reluctance, addressed a 
 letter of this sort to his lady ; who, I am sorry to say, 
 
 shared all Sir 's hauteur ; and received an answer 
 
 from a fashionable watering-place, where her ladyship was 
 spending- the summer months. This is it : — 
 
 " Lady 's compliments to Dr , and having- 
 
 received his letter, and given it her best consideration, 
 
 is happy in being- able to request Dr 's acceptance 
 
 of the enclosed ; which, however, owing- to Sir 's 
 
 temporary embarrassment in pecuniary matters, she has 
 had some difficulty in sending. She is, therefore, under 
 
 the painful necessity of requesting Dr to abstain 
 
 from future applications of this sort. As to Dr 's 
 
 offer of his medical services to Lady 's family, when 
 
 in town. Lady must beg to decline them, as the 
 
 present physician has attended the family for years, 
 
 and neither Lady nor Sir see any reason for 
 
 changing. 
 
 « W , to Dr ." 
 
 The enclosure was £10, which I was on the point of 
 returning in a blank envelope, indignant at the cold and 
 unfeeling letter which accompanied it ; but the pale sunk 
 cheeks of my wife appealed against my pride, and I 
 retained it. To return. Recollecting the reception of 
 
 this application, as well as my former visit to Sir , 
 
 my heart froze at the very idea of repeating it. To what, 
 however, will not misfortune compel a man ! I deter- 
 mined, at length, to call upon Sir ; to insist upon 
 
 being shown to him. I set out for this purpose, without 
 telling my errand to my wife, who, as I have before stated, 
 was confined to her bed, and in a very feeble state of
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 27 
 
 health. It was a fine sunny morning, or rather noon ; 
 all that I passed seemed happy and contented ; their 
 spirits exhilarated by the genial weather, and sustained 
 by the successful prosecution of business. M^ heart, 
 however, was fluttering feebly beneath the pressure of 
 anticipated disappointment. I was going in the spirit 
 of a forlorn hope ; with a dogged determination to make 
 the attempt; to know that even this door was shut against 
 
 me. My knees trembled beneath me as I entered 
 
 Place, and saw elegant equipages standing at the doors 
 of most of the gloomy, but magnificent houses, which 
 seemed to frown off such insignificant and wretched 
 individuals as myself. How could I ever muster resolu- 
 tion enough, I thought, to ascend the steps, and knock 
 and ring in a sufficiently authoritative manner to be 
 attended to ? It is laughable to relate, but I could not 
 refrain from stepping back into a by-street, and getting 
 a small glass of some cordial spirit to give me a little 
 
 firmness. At length I ventured again into Place, 
 
 and found Sir 's house on the opposite side. There 
 
 was no one to be seen but some footmen in undress, 
 lolling indolently at the diningroom window, and making 
 their remarks on passers by. I dreaded these fellows as 
 much as their master ! It was no use, however, indulg- 
 ing in thoughts of that kind ; so I crossed over, and 
 lifting the huge knocker, made a tolerably decided appli- 
 cation of it, and pulled the bell with what I fancied was 
 a sudden and imperative jerk. The summons was 
 instantly answered by the corpulent porter, who, seeing 
 nothing but a plain pedestrian, kept hold of the door, 
 and leaning against the door-post, asked me familiarly 
 what were my commands.
 
 28 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 " Is Sir at home ?" 
 
 " Ye — es," said the fellow, in a supercilious tone. 
 
 " Can he be spoken to ?" 
 
 " I think he can't, for he wasn't home till six o'clock 
 this morning from the Duchess of 's." 
 
 " Can I wait for him ? and will you show him thi 
 card," said I, tendering it to him — " and say I have 
 particular business ?'* 
 
 " Couldn't look in again at four, could you?" he 
 enquired, in the same tone of cool assurance. 
 
 " No, sir," I replied, kindling with indignation ; 
 " my business is urgent — I shall wait now." 
 
 With a yawn he opened the door for me, and called 
 to a servant to show me into the antechamber, saying, 
 I must make up my mind to wait an hour or two, as 
 Sir — — was then only just getting up, and would be 
 an hour at least at his breakfast. He then left me, say- 
 ing he would send my card up to his master. My spirits 
 were somewhat ruffled and agitated with having forced 
 my way thus far through the frozen island of English 
 aristocracy, and I sat down determined to wait patient- 
 ly till I was summoned up to Sir . I could hear 
 
 several equipages dashing up to the door, and the 
 visiters they brought were always shown up imme- 
 diately. I rung the bell, and asked a servant why I was 
 
 suffered to wait so long, as Sir was clearly visible 
 
 now? 
 
 " Ton honour, I don't know, indeed," said the fellow, 
 coolly shutting the door. 
 
 " Boiling with indignation, I resumed my seat, then 
 walked to and fro, and presently sat down again. Soon 
 afterwards, I heard the French valet ordering the car-
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 29 
 
 riage to be in readiness in half an hour. I rung- again ; 
 the same servant answered. He walked into the room, 
 and standing- near me, asked, in a famihar tone, what I 
 
 wanted. " Show me up to Sir , for I shall wait no 
 
 longer," said I, sternly. 
 
 " Can't, sir, indeed," he replied, with a smirk on his 
 face. 
 
 " Has my card been shown to Sir ?" I enquired, 
 
 struggling to preserve my temper. 
 
 <' I'll ask the porter if he gave it to Sir . 's valet," 
 
 he replied, and shut the door. 
 
 About ten minutes afterwards a carriage drove up ; 
 there was a bustle on the stairs, and in the hall. I 
 
 heard a voice saying, " If Lord calls, tell him I 
 
 am gone to his house ;" in a few moments, the steps of 
 the carriage were let down — the carriage drove oiF — and 
 all was quiet. Once more I rung. 
 
 " Is Sir now at liberty ? " 
 
 " Oh ! he's gone out sir," said the same servant, who 
 had twice before answered my summons. The valet 
 then entered. I asked him, with lips quivering with 
 
 indignation, why I had not seen Sir ? I was given 
 
 to understand that my card had been shown the Baro- 
 net — that he said, " I've no time to attend to this 
 person," or words to that effect — and had left his house 
 without deigning to notice me ! Without uttering more 
 than " Show me the door, sir," to the servant, I took 
 my departure, determining to perish rather than make 
 a second application. To anticipate my narrative a 
 
 little, I may state, that, ten years afterwards, Sir , 
 
 who had become dreadfully addicted to gambling, lost all 
 his property, and died suddenly of an apopletic seizure,
 
 so EARLY STRUGGLES, 
 
 brought on by a paroxysm of fury I Thus did Providence 
 reward this selfish and unfeeling- man. 
 
 I walked about the town for several hours, endeavouring 
 to wear off that air of chagrin and sorrow which bad 
 been occasioned by my reception at Sir 's. Some- 
 thing must be done, and that immediately ; for absolute 
 starvation was now before us. I could think of but two 
 other quarters where I could apply for a little temporary 
 relief. I resolved to write a note to a very celebrated 
 and successful brother practitioner, stating my necessities 
 — acquainting him candidly with my whole circumstances, 
 and soliciting the favour of a temporary accommodation 
 of a few pounds — twenty was the sum 1 ventured to 
 name. I wrote the letter at a coffeehouse, and returned 
 home. I spent all that evening in attempting to picture 
 to myself the reception it would meet with. I tried to 
 put myself in the place of him I had written to, and fancy 
 the feelings with which I should receive a similar appli- 
 cation. I need not, however, tantalize the reader. After 
 nearly a fortnight's suspense, I received the following 
 reply to my letter. I shall give it verhatim^ after pre- 
 mising, that the writer of it was at that time making 
 about £10,000 or £12,000 a-year :— 
 
 " encloses a trifle {one guinea) to Dr ; 
 
 wishes it may be serviceable ; but must say, that when 
 young men attempt a station in life without competent 
 funds to meet it, they cannot wonder if they fail. 
 
 • " Square." 
 
 The other quarter was old Mr G — -., our Indian 
 lodger. Though an eccentric and reserved man, shun- 
 ning all company, except that of a favourite black 
 servant, I thought he might yet be liberal. As he was
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 31 
 
 something of a character, I must be allowed a word or 
 two about him, in passing. Though he occupied the 
 whole of the first floor of my house, I seldom saw him. 
 In truth, he was little else than a bronze fireside fixture 
 — all day long, summer and winter, protected from the 
 intrusion of draughts and visiters, which equally annoy- 
 ed him, by a huge folding-screen — swathed, mummy- 
 like, in flannel and furs — squalling incessant execrations 
 against the chilly English climate — and solacing himself, 
 alternately, with sleep, caudle, and curry. He would 
 sit for hours listening to a strange cluttering (I know 
 no word but this that can give anything like an idea of 
 it), and most melancholy noise, uttered by his black 
 grizzle-headed servant — which I was given to understand 
 was a species of Indian song — evincing his satisfaction 
 by a face curiously puckered together, and small beady 
 black eyes, glittering with the light of vertical suns : 
 thus, I say, he would sit till both dropt asleep. He was 
 very fond of this servant (whose name was Clinquabor, 
 or something of that sort), and yet would kick and strike 
 him with great violence on the slightest occasions. 
 
 Without being sordidly self-interested, I candidly 
 acknowledge, that on receiving him into our house, 
 and submitting to divers inconveniences from his strange 
 foreign fancies, I had calculated on his proving a lucra- 
 tive lodger. I was, however, very much mistaken. 
 He uniformly discouraged my visits, by evincing the 
 utmost restlessness, and even trepidation, whenever I 
 approached. He was more tolerant of my wife's visits ; 
 but even to her could not help intimating in pretty 
 plain terms, on more occasions than one, that he had no 
 idea of being " drugged to death by his landlord." On
 
 32 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 one occasion, however, his servant came stuttering with 
 agitation into my room, that " hib massa wis to see — a 
 — a Docta." I found him suffering from the heartburn ; 
 submitted to his asthmatic querulousness for nearly half 
 an hour ; prescribed the usual remedies ; and received in 
 return — a guinea ? — No, a curious, ugly, and perfectly 
 useless cane, with which (to enhance its value) he assured 
 me he had once kept a large snake at bay ! On another 
 occasion, in return for similar professional assistance, he 
 dismissed me without tendering me a fee, or any thing 
 instead of it ; but sent for my wife, in the course of the 
 afternoon, and presented her with a hideous little cracked 
 china teapot, the lid fastened with a dingy silver chain, 
 and the lip of the spout bearing evident marks of an 
 ancient compound fracture. He was singularly exact in 
 every thing he did : he paid his rent, for instance, at ten 
 o'clock in the morning every quarter day, as long as he 
 lived with me. 
 
 Such was the man whose assistance I had at last de- 
 termined to ask. With infinite hesitation and embarrass- 
 ment, I stated my circumstances. He fidgeted sadly, till 
 I concluded, almost inarticulate with agitation, by solicit- 
 ing the loan of £300 — ofi'ering, at the same time, to 
 deposit with him the lease of my house as a collateral 
 security for what he might advance me. 
 
 " My God!" he exclaimed, falling back in his chair, 
 and elevating his hands. 
 
 " Would you favour me with this sum, Mr G ?" 
 
 I enquired in a respectful tone. 
 
 " Do you take me. Doctor, for a money-lender?" 
 
 " No, indeed, sir ; but for an obliging friend as well 
 as lodger — if you will allow me the liberty."
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 33 
 
 " Ha I you think me a rich old hunks come from India, 
 to fling- his gold at every one he sees ?" 
 
 " May I be^ an answer, sir ? " said I, after a pause. 
 
 " I cannot lend it you, Doctor," he replied calmly, 
 and bowed me to the door. I rushed down stairs, 
 almost gnashing my teeth with fury. The Deity seemed 
 to have marked me with a curse. No one would listen 
 to me! 
 
 The next day my rent was due ; which, with Mr 
 
 G 's rent, and the savings of excruciating parsimony, 
 
 I contrived to meet. Then came old L ! Good 
 
 God ! what were my feelings when I saw him hobble 
 up to my door. I civilly assured him^ with a quaking- 
 heart and ashy cheeks, but with the calmness of despair, 
 that though it was not convenient to-day, he should have 
 it in the morning of the next day. His greedy, black, 
 Jewish eye seemed to dart into my very soul. He retired, 
 apparently satisfied, and I almost fell down and blessed 
 him on my knees for his forbearance. 
 
 It was on Wednesday, two days after Christmas, that 
 my dear Emily came down stairs after her confinement. 
 Though pale and languid, she looked very lovely, and 
 her fondness for me seemed redoubled. By way of 
 honouring the season, and welcoming my dear wife down 
 stairs, in spite of my fearful embarrassments, I expended 
 my last guinea in providing a tolerably comfortable 
 dinner, such as I had not sat down to for many a long 
 week. I was determined to cast care aside for one day 
 at least. The little table was set ; the small but savoury 
 roast beef was on ; and I was just drawing the cork of a 
 solitary bottle of port, when a heavy knock was heard at 
 
 VOL. I, c
 
 34 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 the street door. I almost fainted at the sound — I knew 
 not why. The servant answered the door, and two men 
 entered the very parlour, holding" a thin slip of parchment 
 in their hands. 
 
 " In God's name, who are you ? — what brings you 
 here?" I enquired, or rather gasped — while my wife sat 
 silent, trembling, and looking very faint. 
 
 " Are you the gentleman that is named here ?" 
 enquired one of the men, in a civil and even compas- 
 sionate tone — showing me a writ issued by old L— , 
 for the money I owed him ! My poor wife saw my 
 agitation, and the servant arrived just in time to preserve 
 her from falling, for she had fainted. I had her carried 
 to bed, and was permitted to wait by her bedside for a 
 few moments ; when, more dead than alive, I surrendered 
 myself into the hands of the officers. " Lord, sir," 
 said they as I walked between them, " this here is not, 
 by no manner of means, an uncommon thing, d'ye see 
 — thof it's rather hard, too, to leave one's dinner and 
 one's wife so sudden ! But you'll, no doubt, soon get 
 bailed — and then, you see, there's a little time for turning 
 in!" I answered not a syllable — for I felt suffocated. 
 Bail — where was I — a poor, unknown, starving physi- 
 cian — to apply for it ? Even if I could succeed in finding 
 it, would it not be unprincipled to take their security 
 when I had no conceivable means of meeting the fearful 
 claim ? What is the use of merely postponing the evil 
 day, in order to aggravate its horrors? I shall never 
 forget that half-hour, if I were to live a thousand years. 
 I felt as if I were stepping into my grave. My heart was 
 utterly withered within me. 
 
 A few hours beheld me the sullen and despairing
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 35 
 
 occupant of the back attic of a sponging-house* near 
 Leicester Square. The weather was bitterly inclement, 
 yet no fire was allowed one who had not a farthing to 
 pay for it — since I had slipped the only money I had 
 in the world — three shillings — into the pocket of my 
 insensible wife at parting. Had it not been for my poor 
 Emily and my child, I think I should have put an end 
 to my miserable existence ; for to prison I must go — 
 if there was no miracle to save me ; and what was to 
 become of Emily and her little one ? Jewels she had 
 none to pawn — my books had nearly all disappeared — 
 the scanty remnants of our furniture were not worth 
 selling. Great God ! I was nearly frantic when I thought 
 of all this. I sat up the whole night without fire or 
 candle (for the brutal wretch in whose custody I was, 
 suspected I had money with me, and would not part with 
 it) till nearly seven o'clock in the morning, when I 
 sank, in a state of stupor, on the bed, and fell asleep. 
 How long I continued so, I know not ; for I was roused 
 from a dreary dream by some one embracing me, and 
 repeatedly kissing my lips and forehead. It was my 
 poor Emily ! who, at the imminent risk of her life, 
 having found out where I was, had hurried to bring me 
 the news of release ; for she had succeeded in obtaining 
 the sum of L.300 from our lodger, which I had in vain 
 solicited. We returned home immediately. I hastened 
 up stairs to our lodger to express the most enthusiastic 
 
 ' " Une maison de depdt," says the French Translator; adding, 
 amusingly enough, in a note,—" (1.) Springing-house (!) est maison 
 ou Ton depose le debiteur, avant son installation definitive : leur etat 
 de la malproprete et les impots odieux que Ton y preleve sur les mal- 
 heureux que I'onyamene, sont, dit on, une des plaiea les plus honteuses 
 de la legislation, et de la penalite Anglaise."
 
 36 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 thanks. He listened without interruption, and then 
 coldly replied — " I would rather have your note of 
 hand, sir."* Almost choked with mortification at receiv- 
 ing- such an unfeeling rebuff, I gave him what he asked, 
 expecting nothing more than that he would presently 
 
 act the part of old L He did not, however, trouble 
 
 me. 
 
 The few pounds above what was due to our relent- 
 less creditor L , sufficed to meet some of our more 
 
 pressing exigencies ; but as they gradually disappeared, 
 my prospects became darker than ever. The agitation 
 and distress which recent occurrences had occasioned, 
 threw my wife into a low, nervous, hysterical state, 
 which added to my misfortunes; and her little infant 
 was sensibly pining away, as if in unconscious sympa- 
 thy with its wretched parents. Where now were we 
 to look for help ? We had a new creditor, to a serious 
 
 amount, in Mr G , our lodger ; whatever, therefore, 
 
 might be the extremity of our distress, applying to him 
 was out of the question ; nay, it would be well if he 
 proved a lenient creditor. The hateful annuity was again 
 becoming due. It pressed like an incubus upon us. The 
 
 form of old L flitted incessantly around us, as 
 
 though it were a fiend, goading us on to destruction. I 
 am sure I must often have raved frightfully in my sleep ; 
 for more than once I was woke by my wife clinging to 
 me, and exclaiming, in terrified accents, " Oh, hush, 
 hush don't, for Heaven's sake, say so !" 
 
 To add to my misery, she and the infant began to 
 
 * " La reconnaissance. — Selon la loi Anglalse, la reconnaissance 
 d'une dette, sans epoque assignee pour le paiement, est toujours valable 
 pour I'arrestatioa du signataire*" — Note of French Translator.
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 37 
 
 keep their bed ; and our lodger, whose constitution had 
 been long- ago broken up, began to fail rapidly. I was 
 in daily and most harassing attendance on him ; but, of 
 course, could not expect a fee, as I was already his debtor 
 to a large amount. I had three patients who paid me 
 regularly, but only one was a daily patient ; and I was 
 obliged to lay by, out of these small incomings, a cruel 
 
 portion to meet my rent and L 's annuity. Surely 
 
 my situation was now like that of the fabled scorpion, 
 surrounded with fiery destruction ! Every one in the 
 house, and my few acquaintances without, expressed 
 surprise and commiseration at my wretched appearance. 
 I was worn almost to a skeleton ; and when I looked 
 suddenly in the glass, my worn and hollow looks startled 
 me. My fears magnified the illness of my wife. The 
 whole world seemed melting away from me into gloom 
 and darkness. 
 
 My thoughts, I well recollect, seemed to be perpe- 
 tually occupied with the dreary image of a desolate 
 churchyard, wet and cold with the sleets and storms of 
 winter. Oh, that I, and my wife and child, I have some- 
 times madly thought, were sleeping peacefully in our 
 long home ! Why were we brought into the world ? — 
 why did my nature prompt me to seek my present 
 station in society ? — merely for the purpose of reducing 
 me to the dreadful condition of him of old, whose only 
 consolation from his friends was — Curse God, and die I 
 What had we done — what had our forefathers done — 
 that Providence should thus frown upon us, thwarting 
 every thing we attempted ? 
 
 Fortune, however, at last seemed tired of persecuting 
 me; and my affairs took a favourable turn when most
 
 38 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 they needed it, and when least I expected it. On what 
 small and insignificant things do our fates depend ! 
 Truly — 
 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. 
 
 About eight o'clock one evening in the month of March, 
 I was walking down the Haymarket, as usual, in a very 
 disconsolate mood, in search of some shop where I might 
 execute a small commission for my wife. The whole 
 neighbourhood in front of the Opera-house door exhi- 
 bited the usual scene of uproar, arising from clashing 
 carriages and quarrelsome coachmen. I was standing 
 at the box-door, watching, with sickening feelings, the 
 company descend from their carriages, when a cry was 
 heard from the very centre of the crowd of coaches — 
 *' Run for a doctor I" I rushed instantly to the spot, at 
 the peril of my life, announcing my profession. I soon 
 made my way up to the open door of a carriage, from 
 which issued the moanings of a female, evidently in 
 great agony. The accident was this : A young lady had 
 suddenly stretched her arm through the open window of 
 the carriage conveying her to the opera, for the purpose 
 of pointing out to one of her companions a brilliant illu- 
 mination of one of the opposite houses. At that instant 
 their coachman, dashing forward to gain the open space 
 opposite the box-door, shot, with great velocity and 
 within a hairbreadth distance, past a retiring carriage. 
 The consequence was inevitable : a sudden shriek an- 
 nounced the dislocation of the young lady's shoulder, 
 and the shocking laceration of the fore-arm and hand. 
 When I arrived at the carriage-door, the unfortunate 
 sufferer was lying motionless in the arms of an elderly
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 39 
 
 gentleman and a young- lady, both of them, as might be 
 
 expected, dreadfully agitated. It was the Earl of 
 
 and his two daughters. Having entered the carriage, I 
 placed my fair patient in such a position as would pre- 
 vent her suffering more than was necessary from the 
 motion of the carriage — despatched one of the servants 
 for Mr Cline, to meet us on our arrival, and then the 
 coachman was ordered to drive home as fast as possible. 
 I need not say more than that, by Mr Cline's skill, the 
 dislocation was quickly reduced, and the wounded hand 
 and arm duly dressed. I then prescribed what medicines 
 were necessary — received a check for ten guineas from 
 the Earl, accompanied with fervent thanks for my prompt 
 attentions, and was requested to call as early as possible 
 the next morning. 
 
 As soon as I had left his Lordship's door, I shot home- 
 ward like an arrow. My good fortune (truly it is an ill 
 wind that blows nobody any good) was almost too much 
 for me. I could scarce repress the violence of my emo- 
 tions, but felt a continual inclination to relieve myself, 
 by singing, shouting, or committing some other such 
 extravagance. I arrived at home in a very few minutes, 
 and rushed breathless up stairs, joy ghttering in my 
 eyes, to communicate — inarticulate with emotion — my 
 good fortune to my wife, and congratulate ourselves 
 that the door of professional success seemed at length 
 really opened to us. How tenderly she tried to calm 
 my excitement, and moderate my expectations, without, 
 at the same time, depressing my spirits ! 1 did certainly 
 feel somewhat damped, when I recollected the little 
 
 incident of my introduction to Sir William , and 
 
 its abrupt and unexpected termination. This^ however.
 
 40 EARLY STRUGGLES. 
 
 seemed a very diiferent affair ; and the event proved that 
 my expectations were not ill-founded. 
 
 I continued in constant attendance on my fair patient, 
 who was really a very lovely girl ; and, by my unremit- 
 ting and anxious attentions, so conciliated the favour of 
 the Earl and the rest of the family, that the Countess, 
 who had long been an invalid, was committed to my 
 care, jointly with that of the family physician, I need 
 hardly say, that my poor services were most nobly 
 remunerated ; and more than this — having succeeded in 
 securing the confidence of the family, it was not many 
 weeks before I had the honour of visiting one or two of 
 their connexions of high rank ; and I felt conscious that 
 I was laying the foundation of a fashionable and lucra- 
 tive practice. With joy unutterable, I contrived to be 
 
 ready for our half-yearly tormentor, old L ; and 
 
 somewhat surprised him, by asking, with an easy air — 
 oh, the luxury of that moment ! — when he wished for 
 a return of his principal. Of course, he was not desirous 
 of losing such interest as I was paying ! 
 
 I had seen too much of the bitterness of adversity, to 
 suffer the dawn of good fortune to elate me into too 
 great confidence. I now husbanded my resources with 
 rigorous economy — and had, in return, the inexpressible 
 satisfaction of being able to pay my way, and stand fair 
 with all my creditors. Oh, the rapture of being able 
 to pay every one his own I My beloved Emily appeared 
 in that society which she was born to ornament ; and 
 we numbered several families of high respectability 
 among our visiting friends. As is usual in such cases, 
 whenever accident threw me in the way of those who 
 formerly scowled upon me contemptuously, I was received
 
 EARLY STRUGGLES. 41 
 
 with an excess of civility. The very physician who sent 
 me the munificent donation of a guinea, I met in consulta- 
 tion, and made his cheeks tingle, by returning him the 
 loan he had advanced me I 
 
 In four years* time from the occurrence at the Hay- 
 market, I contrived to pay old L his £3000 (though 
 
 he did not live a month after signing the receipt), and 
 thus escaped — blessed be God ! — for ever from the fangs 
 of the money-lenders. A word or two, also, about our 
 Indian lodger. He died about eighteen months after the 
 accident I have been relating. His sole heir was a young 
 lieutenant in the navy ; and, very much to my surprise 
 
 and gratification, in a codicil to old Mr G 's will, I 
 
 was left a legacy of £2000, including the £300 he had 
 lent me, saying, it was some return for the many atten- 
 tions he had received from us since he had been our 
 lodger, and as a mark of his approbation of the honour- 
 able and virtuous principles by which, he said, he had 
 always perceived our conduct to be actuated. 
 
 Twelve years from this period, my income amounted 
 to between £3000 and £4000 a-year ; and as my family 
 was increasing, I thought my means warranted a more 
 extensive establishment. I therefore removed into a 
 large and elegant house, and set up my carriage. The 
 recollection of past times has taught me at least one 
 useful lesson — whether my life be long or short — to bear 
 success with moderation, and never to turn a deaf ear to 
 appHcations from the younger and less successful members 
 of my profession. 
 
 Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 
 Which, like a toad, ugly and venomous, 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.
 
 [ 42 ] 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CANCER. 
 
 One often hears of the great firmness of the female 
 sex, and their powers of enduring a degree of physical 
 pain, which would utterly break down the stubborn 
 strength of man. An interesting exemplification of this 
 remark will be found in the short narrative immediately 
 following. The event made a strong impression on my 
 mind at the time, and I thought it well worthy of an 
 entry in my Diary. 
 
 I had for several months been in constant attendance 
 
 on a Mrs St , a young married lady of considerable 
 
 family and fortune, who was the victim of that terrible 
 scourge of the female sex, a cancer. To great personal 
 attractions, she added uncommon sweetness of disposi- 
 tion ; and the fortitude with which she submitted to 
 the agonizing inroads of her malady, together with her 
 ardent expressions of gratitude for such temporary alle- 
 viations as her anxious medical attendants could supply, 
 contributed to inspire me with a very lively interest in 
 her fate. I can conscientiously say, that, during the
 
 CANCER. 48 
 
 whole period of my attendance, I never heard a word of 
 complaint fall from her, nor witnessed any indications 
 of impatience or irritability. I found her, one morning, 
 stretched on the crimson sofa in the drawingroom ; 
 and, though her pallid features and gently corrugated 
 eyebrows evidenced the intense agony she was suffer- 
 ing, on my enquiring what sort of a night she had 
 passed, she replied, in a calm but tremulous tone, " Oh, 
 Doctor, I have had a dreadful night! but I am glad 
 
 Captain St was not with me; for it would have 
 
 made him very wretched." At that moment, a fine 
 flaxen-haired little boy, her first and only child, came 
 running into the room, his blue laughing eyes glittering 
 with innocent merriment. I took him on my knee and 
 amused him with my watch, in order that he might not 
 disturb his mother. The poor sufferer, after gazing on 
 him with an air of intense fondness for some moments, 
 suddenly covered her eyes with her hand, (oh ! how 
 slender — how snowy — how almost transparent was that 
 hand !) and I presently saw the tears trickhng through 
 her fingers ; but she uttered not a word. There was 
 the mother ! The aggravated malignity of her disorder 
 rendered an operation at length inevitable. The emi- 
 nent surgeon, who, jointly with myself, was in regular 
 attendance on her, feelingly communicated the intelli- 
 gence, and asked whether she thought she had fortitude 
 enough to submit to an operation ? She assured him, 
 with a sweet smile of resignation, that she had for some 
 time been suspecting as much, and had made up her 
 mind to submit to it ; but on two conditions — that her 
 husband (who was then at sea) should not be informed 
 of it till it was over ; and that, during the operation,
 
 '44 CANCER. 
 
 she should not be in anywise bound or blindfolded. 
 Her calm and decisive manner convinced me that re- 
 monstrance would be useless. Sir ■ looked at me 
 with a doubtful air. She observed it, and said, " I see 
 
 what you are thinking. Sir ; but I hope to show 
 
 you that a woman has more courage than you seem will- 
 ing to give her credit for." In short, after the surgeon 
 had acquiesced in the latter condition — to which he had 
 especially demurred — a day was fixed for the operation 
 
 — subject, of course, to Mrs St 's state of health. 
 
 When the Wednesday arrived, it was with some agita- 
 tion that I entered Sir 's carriage, in company with 
 
 himself and his senior pupil, Mr . I could scarce 
 
 avoid a certain nervous tremor — unprofessional as it may 
 seem — when I saw the servant place the operating case 
 on the seat of the carriage. " Are you sure you have 
 
 every thing ready, Mr ■ ?" enquired Sir , with 
 
 a calm, business-like air, which somewhat irritated me. 
 On being assured of the affirmative, and after cautiously 
 casting his eye over the case of instruments,* to make 
 assurance doubly sure, we drove oiF. We arrived at Mrs 
 
 St 's, who resided a few miles from town, about two 
 
 o'clock in the afternoon, and were immediately ushered 
 into the room in which the operation was to be perform- 
 ed — a back parlour, the window of which looked into 
 a beautiful garden. I shall be pardoned, I hope, for 
 acknowledging, that the glimpse I caught of the pale 
 
 * I once saw the life of a patient lost, merely through the want of 
 
 such simple precaution as that of Sir , in the present instance. 
 
 An indispensable instrument was suddenly required in the midst of the 
 operation ; and, to the dismay of the operator and those around him, 
 there was none at hand !
 
 CANCER. 45 
 
 and disordered countenance of the servant, as he retired 
 after showing us into the room, somewhat disconcerted 
 me ; for, in addition to the deep interest I felt in the fate 
 of the lovely suflFerer, I had always an abhorrence for the 
 operative part of the profession, which many years of 
 practice did not suffice to remove. The necessary arrange- 
 ments being; at length completed — consisting of a hateful 
 array of instruments, cloths, sponge, warm water, &c. 
 
 &c. — a message was sent to Mrs St , to inform her 
 
 all was ready. 
 
 Sir was just making a jocular and not very well- 
 timed allusion to my agitated air, when the door was 
 
 opened, and Mrs St entered, followed by her two 
 
 attendants. Her step was firm, her air composed, and 
 her pale features irradiated with a smile — sad, however, 
 as the cold twilight of October. She was then about 
 twenty-six or seven years of age — and, under all the 
 disadvantageous circumstances in which she was placed, 
 looked at that moment a beautiful woman. Her hair 
 was light auburn, and hung back neglectedly over a fore- 
 head and neck white as marble. Her full blue eyes, which 
 usually beamed with a delicious pensive expression from 
 beneath 
 
 the soft languor of the drooping lid, 
 
 were now lighted with the glitter of a restlessness and 
 agitation, which the noblest degree of self-command 
 could not entirely conceal or repress. Her features 
 were regular — her nose and mouth exquisitely chiselled 
 — and her complexion fair, almost to transparency. In- 
 deed, an eminent medical writer has remarked that the 
 most beautiful women are generally the subjects of this
 
 46 CANCER. 
 
 terrible disease. A large Indian shawl was thrown over 
 her shoulders, and she wore a white muslin dressing- 
 gown. And was it this innocent and beautiful being 
 who was doomed to writhe beneath the torture and dis- 
 figurement of the operating knife? My heart ached. 
 A decanter of port wine and some glasses were placed 
 on a small table near the window; she beckoned me 
 towards it, and was going to speak. 
 
 " Allow me, my dear madam, to pour you a glass of 
 wine," said I — or rather faltered. 
 
 " If it would do me good. Doctor," she whispered. 
 She barely touched the glass with her lips, and then 
 handed one to me, saying, with assumed cheerfulness, 
 " Come, Doctor, I see you need it as much as I do, 
 after all. Yes, Doctor," she continued, with emphasis, 
 " you are very, very kind and feeling to me." When I 
 had set down the glass, she continued, " Dear Doctor, 
 do forgive a woman's weakness, and try if you can hold 
 this letter, which I received yesterday from Captain 
 
 , and in which he speaks very fondly, so that my 
 
 eyes may rest on his dear handwriting all the while I 
 am sitting here, without being noticed by any one else 
 — will you ?" 
 
 " Madam, you must really excuse me — it will agitate 
 you — I must beg" — 
 
 " You are mistaken," she replied, with firmness ; " it 
 
 will rather compose me. And if I should'' expire, 
 
 she was going to have said — but her tongue refused 
 utterance. She then put the letter into my hand — hers 
 was cold, icy cold, and clammy — but I did not perceive 
 it tremble.
 
 CANCER. 47 
 
 " In return, madam, you must give me leave to hold 
 your hand during the operation." 
 
 " What — you fear me. Doctor ?" she replied, with 
 a faint smile, but did not refuse my request. At this 
 
 moment, Sir approached us with a cheerful air, 
 
 saying, " Well, madam, is your tete-a-tete finished ? I 
 want to get this little matter over, and give you perma- 
 nent ease." I do not think there ever lived a profes- 
 sional man who could speak with such an assuring air 
 as Sir 1 
 
 " I am ready. Sir . Are the servants sent out ?" 
 
 she enquired from one of the women present. 
 
 " Yes, madam," she replied, in tears. 
 
 " And my little Harry ?" Mrs St asked, in a 
 
 fainter tone. She was answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " Then I am prepared," said she, and sat down in the 
 chair that was placed for her. One of the attendants 
 then removed the shawl from her shoulders, and Mrs 
 St herself, with perfect composure, assisted in dis- 
 placing as much of her dress as was necessary. She 
 
 then suffered Sir to place her on the corner side 
 
 of the chair, with her left arm thrown over the back of it, 
 and her face looking over her left shoulder. She gave 
 me her right hand ; and, with my left, I endeavoured 
 
 to hold Captain St 's letter, as she had desired. 
 
 She smiled sweetly, as if to assure me of her fortitude ; 
 and there was something so indescribably affecting in 
 the expression of her full blue eyes, that it almost broke 
 my heart. I shall never forget that smile as long as I 
 live ! Half closing her eyes, she fixed them on the 
 letter I held — and did not once remove them till all was 
 over. Nothing could console me at this trying moment,
 
 48 CANCER. 
 
 but a conviction of the consummate skill of Sir , 
 
 who now, with a calm eye and a steady hand, com- 
 menced the operation. At the instant of the first 
 incision, her whole frame quivered with a convulsive 
 shudder, and her cheeks became ashy pale. I prayed 
 inwardly that she might faint, so that the earlier stage 
 of the operation might be got over, while she was in a 
 state of insensibility. It was not the case, however — 
 her eyes continued riveted, in one long burning gaze of 
 fondness, on the beloved handwriting of her husband; 
 and she moved not a limb, nor uttered more than an 
 occasional sigh, during the whole of the protracted and 
 painful operation. When the last bandage had been 
 applied, she whispered almost inarticulately, " Is it all 
 over, Doctor?" 
 
 " Yes, madam," I replied, " and we are going to carry 
 you up to bed." 
 
 " No, no — I think I can walk — I will try," said she, 
 
 and endeavoured to rise ; but on Sir assuring her 
 
 that the motion might perhaps induce fatal conse- 
 quences, she desisted, and we carried her, sitting in the 
 chair, up to bed. The instant he had laid her down, 
 she swooned — and continued so long insensible, that Sir 
 
 held a looking-glass over her mouth and nostrils, 
 
 apprehensive that the vital energies had at last sunk 
 under the terrible struggle. She recovered, however; 
 and under the influence of an opiate draught, slept for 
 
 several hours. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Mrs St recovered, though very slowly ; and I at- 
 tended her assiduously — sometimes two or three times 
 a-day, till she could be removed to the sea-side. I shall
 
 CANCER. 49 
 
 not easily forget an observation she made at the last 
 visit I paid her. She was alluding, one morning, dis- 
 tantly and delicately, to the personal disfigurement she 
 had suiFered. I, of course, said all that was soothing. 
 
 " But, Doctor, my husband'^ said she, suddenly, 
 
 while a faint crimson mantled on her cheek — adding, 
 
 falteringly, after a pause, " I think St will love me 
 
 yet!" 
 
 VOL. J,
 
 [ 50 ] 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE DENTIST AND THE COMEDIAN. 
 
 Friday, — 18 — . A ludicrous contretems happened 
 to-day, which I wish I could describe as forcibly as 
 
 it struck me. Mr , the well-known comedian, 
 
 with whom I was on terms of intimacy, after having- 
 suffered so severely from the toothach as to be pre- 
 vented, for two evenings, from taking his part in the 
 
 play, sent, under my direction, for Monsieur , a 
 
 fashionable dentist, then but recently imported from 
 France. While I was sitting with my friend, endea- 
 vouring- to " screw his courage up to the sticking place," 
 Monsieur arrived, duly furnished with the *' tools of his 
 craft." The comedian sat down with a rueful visage, 
 and eyed the dentist's formidable preparations with a 
 piteous and disconcerted air. As soon as I had taken 
 my station behind, for the purpose of holding- the 
 patient's head, the gum was lanced without much ado ; 
 but as the doomed tooth was a very formidable broad- 
 rooted molar. Monsieur prepared for a vigorous effort. 
 He was just commencing the dreadful wrench, when he 
 suddenly relaxed his hold, retired a step or two from his
 
 THE DENTIST AND THE COMEDIAN. 51 
 
 patient, and burst into a loud fit of laughter! Up 
 started the astounded comedian, and, with clenched fists, 
 demanded furiously, " What the — he meant by such 
 conduct?" The little bewhiskered foreigner, however, 
 continued standing at a little distance, still so convulsed 
 with laughter as to disregard the menacing movements 
 of his patient ; and exclaiming, " Ah, mon Dieu ! — 
 ver good — ver good — bien I ha, ha ! — Be Gar, Mon- 
 sieur, you pull one such d queer, extraordinaire 
 
 comique face — be Gar, like one big fiddle ! " or words 
 to that effect. The dentist was right : Mr 's fea- 
 tures were odd enough at all times ; but, on the present 
 occasion, they suffered such excruciating contortions — 
 such a strange puckering together of the mouth and 
 cheeks, and upturning of the eyes, that it was ten thou- 
 sand times more laughable than any artificially distorted 
 features with which he used to set Drury Lane in a 
 roar ! — Oh, that a painter had been present ! — There 
 was, on one side, my friend, standing in a menacing 
 attitude, with both fists clenched, his left cheek swollen, 
 and looking as if the mastication of a large apple had 
 been suddenly suspended, and his whole features exhi- 
 biting a grotesque expression of mingled pain, indeci- 
 sion, and fury. Then there was the operator beginning 
 to look a little startled at the probable consequences 
 of his sally ; and, lastly, I stood a little aside, almost 
 sufi"ocated with suppressed laughter I At length, how- 
 ever, 's perception of the ridiculous prevailed ; and 
 
 after a very hearty laugh, and exclaiming, " I must have 
 looked odd, I suppose \" he once more resigned himself 
 into the hands of Monsieur, and the tooth was out in a 
 twinkling. 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 IILIKO'.S LIBRARY
 
 [ 52 ] 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A SCHOLAR'S DEATHBED. 
 
 [Much more of the following short, but melancholy, 
 narrative, might have been committed to press ; but as it 
 would have related chiefly to a mad devotion to ahhymy, 
 which some of Mr 's few posthumous papers abund- 
 antly evidence, it is omitted, lest the reader should consider 
 the details as romantic or improbable. All that is worth 
 recording is told ; and it is hoped, that some young men 
 of powerful, undisciplined, and ambitious minds, will find 
 their account in an attentive consideration of the fate of 
 a kindred spirit. Bene facity qui ex aliorum erroribus 
 sihi exemplum sumat.~\ 
 
 Thinking, one morning, that I had gone through the 
 whole of my usual levee of home patients, I was pre- 
 paring to go out, when the servant informed me there 
 was one yet to be spoken with, who, he thought, must 
 have been asleep in the corner of the room, else he could 
 not have failed to summon him in his turn. Directing 
 him to be shown in immediately, I retook my place at
 
 A scholar's deathbed. 53 
 
 my desk. The servant, in a few moments, ushered in 
 a young- man, who seemed to have scarce strength 
 enough, even with the assistance of a walking-stick, to 
 totter to a chair opposite me. I was much struck with 
 his appearance, which was that of one in reduced circum- 
 stances. His clothes, though perfectly clean and neat, 
 were faded and threadbare ; and his coat was buttoned up 
 to his chin, where it was joined by a black silk necker- 
 chief, in such a manner as to lead me to suspect the 
 absence of a shirt. He was rather below than above the 
 average height, and seemed wasted almost to a shadow. 
 There was an air of superior ease and politeness in his 
 demeanour ; and an expression about his countenance, 
 sickly and sallow though it was, so melancholy, mild, 
 and intelligent, that I could not help viewing him with 
 peculiar interest. 
 
 " I was afraid, my friend, I should have missed you," 
 said I, in a kind tone, " as I was on the point of going 
 out." — " I heard your carriage drive up to the door, 
 Doctor, and shall not detain you more than a few 
 moments : nay, I will call to-morrow, if that would be 
 more convenient," he replied faintly, suddenly pressing 
 his hand to his side, as though the effort of speaking 
 occasioned him pain. I assured him I had a quarter 
 of an hour at his service, and begged he would proceed 
 at once to state the nature of his complaint. He de- 
 tailed — what I had anticipated from his appearance — 
 all the symptoms of a very advanced stage of pulmonary 
 consumption. He expressed himself in very select and 
 forcible language ; and once or twice, when at a loss for 
 what he conceived an adequate expression in English, 
 chose such an appropriate Latin phrase, that the thought
 
 54 A scholar's deathbed. 
 
 perpetually suggested itself to me, while he was speak- 
 ing — " a starved scholar /" He had not the most dis- 
 tant allusion to poverty, but confined himself to the 
 leading symptoms of his indisposition. I determined, 
 however, (haud prceteritorum immemor !) to ascertain 
 his circumstances, with a view, if possible, of relieving 
 them. I asked if he ate animal food with relish — 
 enjoyed his dinner — whether his meals were regular. 
 He coloured, and hesitated a little, for I put the ques- 
 tion searchingly ; and replied, with some embarrassment, 
 that he did not, certainly, then eat regularly, nor enjoy 
 his food when he did. I soon found that he was in very 
 straitened circumstances ; that, in short, he was sinking 
 rapidly under the pressure of want and harassing anxiety, 
 which alone had accelerated, if not wholly induced, his 
 present illness ; and that all that he had to expect from 
 medical aid, was a little alleviation. I prescribed a few 
 simple medicines, and then asked him in what part of the 
 town he resided. 
 
 " I am afraid. Doctor," said he modestly, " I shall be 
 unable to afford your visiting me at my own lodgings. 
 I will occasionally call on you here, as a morning 
 patient" — and he proffered me half-a-guinea. The 
 conviction that it was probably the very last he had in 
 the world, and a keen recollection of similar scenes in 
 my own history, almost brought the tears into my eyes. 
 I refused the fee, of course ; and prevailed on him to let 
 me set him down, as I was driving close past his resi- 
 dence. He seemed overwhelmed with gratitude; and, 
 with a blush, hinted, that he was " not quite in carriage 
 costume." He lived in one of the small streets leading 
 from May -fair ; and after having made a note in my
 
 A scholar's deathbed. 55 
 
 tablets of his name and number, I set him down, pro- 
 mising- him an early call. 
 
 The clammy pressure of his wasted fingers, as I shook 
 his hand at parting, remained with me all that day. I 
 could not dismiss from my mind the mild and sorrowful 
 countenance of this young man, go where I would ; and 
 I was on the point of mentioning the incident to a most 
 excellent and generous nobleman, whom I was then 
 attending, and soliciting his assistance, but the thought 
 that it was premature, checked me. There might be 
 something unworthy in the young man ; he might pos- 
 sibly be an — impostor. These were hard thoughts — 
 chilling and unworthy suspicions — but I could not resist 
 them ; alas ! an eighteen years' intercourse with a deceit- 
 ful world has alone taught me how to entertain them ! 
 
 As my wife dined a little way out of town that even- 
 ing, I hastily swallowed a solitary meal, and set out in 
 quest of my morning patient. With some difficulty I 
 found the house ; it was the meanest, and in the meanest 
 street I had visited for months. I knocked at the door, 
 which was open, and surrounded by a babbling throng 
 of dirty children. A slatternly woman, with a child 
 
 in her arms, answered my summons. Mr , she 
 
 said, lived there, in the top floor ; but he was just gone 
 out for a few moments, she supposed, " to get a mouth- 
 ful of victuals, but I was welcome to go up and wait 
 for him, since," said the rude wretch, " there was not 
 much to make away with, howsoever!" One of her 
 children led me up the narrow, dirty staircase, and having 
 ushered me into the room, left me to my meditations. 
 A wretched hole it was in which I was sitting ! The 
 evening sun streamed in discoloured rays through the
 
 56 A scholar's deathbed. 
 
 unwashed panes^ here and there mended with brown 
 paper, and sufficed to show me that the only furniture 
 consisted of a miserable, curtainless bed (the disordered 
 clothes showing that the weary limbs of the wretched 
 occupant had but recently left it) — three old rush-bot- 
 tomed chairs — and a rickety deal table, on which were 
 scattered several pages of manuscript, a letter or two, 
 pens, ink, and a few books. There was no chest of 
 drawers — nor did I see any thing likely to serve as a 
 
 substitute. Poor Mr probably carried about with 
 
 him all he had in the world ! There was a small sheet 
 of writing paper pinned over the mantel-piece (if such 
 it deserved to be called), which I gazed at with a sigh : 
 it bore simply the outline of a coffin, with Mr 's ini- 
 tials, and " ohiit ■— 18 — ," evidently in his own hand- 
 writing. Curious to see the kind of books he preferred, 
 I took them up and examined them. There were, if I 
 recollect right, a small Amsterdam edition of Plautus — 
 a Horace — a much befingered copy of Aristophanes— 
 a neat pocket edition of iEschylus — a small copy of the 
 works of Lactantius — and two odd volumes of English 
 books. I had no intention of being impertinently inqui- 
 sitive, but my eye accidentally lit on the uppermost 
 manuscript, and seeing it to be in the Greek character, 
 I took it up, and found a few verses of Greek sapphics, 
 entitled, 'E;? rh niKrx nXivretiuv — evidently the recent 
 
 composition of Mr . He entered the room as I 
 
 was laying down the paper, and started at seeing a 
 stranger, for it seems the people of the house had not 
 taken the trouble to inform him I was waiting. On 
 discovering who it was, he bowed politely, and gave me 
 his hand; but the sudden agitation my presence had
 
 A scholar's deathbed. 57 
 
 occasioned, deprived him of utterance. I thought I could 
 almost hear the palpitation of his heart. I brought him 
 to a chair, and begged him to be calm. 
 
 " You are not worse, Mr , I hope, since I saw 
 
 you this morning ?" I enquired. He whispered almost 
 inarticulately, holding his hand to his left side, that he 
 was always worse in the evenings. I felt his pulse ; it 
 beat 130 ! I discovered that he had gone out for the 
 purpose of trying to get employment in a neighbouring 
 printing-office ! — but, having failed, had returned in a 
 state of deeper depression than usual. The perspiration 
 rolled from his brow almost faster than he could wipe it 
 away. I sat by him for nearly two minutes, holding his 
 hand, without uttering a word, for I was deeply affected. 
 At length I begged he would forgive my enquiring how 
 it was that a young man of talent and education, like 
 himself, could be reduced to a state of such utter desti- 
 tution ? While I was waiting for an answer, he suddenly 
 fell from his chair in a swoon. The exertion of walking, 
 the pressure of disappointment, and, I fear, the almost 
 unbroken fast of the day, added to the sudden shock 
 occasioned by encountering me in his room, had com- 
 pletely prostrated the small remains of his strength. 
 When he had a little revived, I succeeded in laying 
 him on the bed, and instantly summoned the womaij 
 of the house. After some time, she sauntered lazily to 
 the door, and asked me what I wanted. " Are you the 
 person that attends on this gentleman, my good woman ?" 
 I enquired. 
 
 " Marry ! come up, sir," she replied in a loud tone — 
 ** I've no manner of cause for attending on him, not I ; 
 he ought to attend on himself; and as for his being a
 
 68 A scholar's deathbed. 
 
 gentleman^'' she continued, with an insolent sneer, for 
 which I felt heartily inclined to throw her down stairs, 
 *' not a stiver of his money have I seen for this three 
 weeks for his rent, and". Seeing- the fluent virago 
 
 was warming-, and approaching close to my unfortunate 
 patient's bedside, I stopped her short by putting half-a- 
 guinea into her hand, and directing her to purchase a 
 bottle of port wine ; at the same time hinting, that if she 
 conducted herself properly, I would see her rent paid 
 myself. I then shut the door, and resumed my seat by 
 
 Mr , who was trembling violently all over with 
 
 agitation, and endeavoured to soothe him. The more I 
 said, however, and the kinder were my tones, the more 
 was he affected. At length he burst into a flood of 
 tears, and continued weeping for some time, like a child. 
 I saw it was hysterical, and that it was best to let his 
 feelings have their full course. His nervous excitement 
 at length gradually subsided, and he began to converse 
 with tolerable coolness. 
 
 " Doctor," he faltered, " your conduct is very — very 
 noble — it must be disinterested," pointing, with a bitter 
 air, to the wretched room in which we were sitting. 
 
 " I feel sure, Mr , that you have done nothing to 
 
 merit your present misfortunes," I replied, with a serious 
 and enquiring air. 
 
 " Yes — yes, I have ! — I have indulged in wild ambi- 
 tious hopes — lived in absurd dreams of future greatness 
 — been educated beyond my fortunes — and formed tastes, 
 and cherished feelings, incompatible with the station it 
 seems I was born to — beggary or daily labour I " was 
 his answer, with as much vehemence as his weakness 
 would allow.
 
 A scholar's deathbed. 59 
 
 " But, Mr , your friends — your relatives — they 
 
 cannot be apprized of your situation." 
 
 " Alas ! Doctor, friends I have none — unless you will 
 permit me to name the last and noblest — yourself; rela- 
 tives, several." 
 
 " And they, of course, do not know of your illness and 
 straitened circumstances?" 
 
 " They do. Doctor — and kindly assure me I have 
 brought it on myself. To do them justice, however, 
 they could not, I believe, efficiently help me, if they 
 would." 
 
 " Why, have you offended them, Mr ? Have 
 
 they cast you off?" 
 
 " Not avowedly — not in so many words. They have 
 simply refused to receive or answer any more of my 
 letters. Possibly I may have offended them, but am 
 content to meet them hereafter, and try the justice of 
 the case — there" said Mr , solemnly pointing up- 
 wards. — " Well I know, and so do you, Doctor, that 
 my days on earth are very few, and likely to be very 
 bitter also." It was in vain I pressed him to tell me who 
 his relatives were, and suffer me to solicit their personal 
 attendance on his last moments. " It is altogether use- 
 less. Doctor, to ask me farther," said he, raising himself 
 a little in bed — " my father and mother are both dead, 
 and no power on earth shall extract from me a syllable 
 farther. It is hard," he continued, bursting again into 
 tears, " if I must die amid their taunts and reproaches." 
 I felt quite at a loss what to say to all this. There was 
 something very singular, if not reprehensible, in his 
 manner of alluding to his relatives, which led me to fear
 
 60 A scholar's deathbed. 
 
 that he was by no means free from blame. Had I not 
 felt myself very delicately situate, and dreaded even the 
 possibility of hurting his morbidly irritable feelings, I 
 felt inclined to have asked him how he thought of 
 existing without their aid, especially in his forlorn and 
 helpless state ; having neither friends nor the means of 
 obtaining them. I thought, also, that, short as had been 
 my intimacy with him, I had discerned symptoms of a 
 certain obstinacy, and haughty imperiousness of temper, 
 which would sufficiently account, if not for occasioning, 
 at least for widening, any unhappy breach which might 
 have occurred in his family. But what was to be done ? 
 I could not let him starve ; as I had voluntarily stepped 
 in to his assistance, I determined to make his last moments 
 easy — at least as far as lay in my power. 
 
 A little to anticipate the course of my narrative, I 
 may here state what information concerning him was 
 elicited in the course of our various interviews. His 
 father and mother had left Ireland, their native place, 
 early, and gone to Jamaica, where they lived as slave 
 superintendents. They left their only son to the care 
 of the wife's brother-in-law, who put him to school, 
 where he much distinguished himself. On the faith of 
 it, he contrived to get to the college in Dublin, where 
 he staid two years : and then, in a confident reliance on 
 his own talents, and the sum of £50, which was sent 
 him from Jamaica, with intelligence of the death of both 
 his parents in impoverished circumstances, he had come 
 up to London, it seems, with no very definite end in 
 view. Here he continued for about two years ; but, in 
 addition to the failure of his health, all his efforts to
 
 A SCHOLAR S DEATHBED. 61 
 
 establish himself proved abortive. He contrived to glean 
 a scanty sura, Heaven knows how, which was gradually 
 lessening at a time when his impaired health rather 
 required that his resources should be augmented. He 
 had no friends in respectable life, whose influence or 
 wealth might have been serviceable; and, at the time 
 he called on me, he had not more in the world than 
 the solitary half-guinea he proffered to me as a fee. I 
 never learnt the names of any of his relatives ; but from 
 several things occasionally dropped in the heat of con- 
 versation, it was clear there must have been unhappy 
 differences. 
 
 To return, however. As the evening was far ad- 
 vancing, and I had one or two patients yet to visit, I 
 began to think of taking my departure. I enjoined 
 him strictly to keep his bed till I saw him again, to 
 preserve as calm and equable a frame of mind as pos- 
 sible, and to dismiss all anxiety for the future, as I 
 would gladly supply his present necessities, and send 
 him a civil and attentive nurse. He tried to thank me, 
 but his emotions choked his utterance. He grasped 
 my hand with convulsive energy. His eye spoke elo- 
 quently ; but, alas ! it shone with the fierce and unna- 
 tural lustre of consumption, as though, I have often 
 thought in such cases, the conscious soul was glowing 
 with the reflected light of its kindred element — eter- 
 nity. I knew it was impossible for him to survive 
 many days, from several unequivocal symptoms of what 
 is called, in common language, a galloping consumption. 
 I was as good as my word, and sent him a nurse (the 
 mother of one of my servants), who was charged to pay
 
 62 A scholar's deathbed. 
 
 him the utmost attention in her power. My wife also 
 sent him a Httle bed-furniture, linen, preserves, jellies, 
 and other small matters of that sort. I visited him 
 every evening-, and found him on each occasion verify- 
 ing- my apprehensions, for he was sinking rapidly. His 
 mental energies, however, seemed to increase inversely 
 with the decline of his physical powers. His conver- 
 sation was animated, various, and, at times, enchain- 
 ingly interesting. I have sometimes sat at his bedside 
 for several hours together, wondering how one so young 
 (he was not more than two or three and twenty) could 
 have acquired so much information. He spoke with 
 spirit and justness on the leading political topics of the 
 day ; and I particularly recollect his making- some very 
 noble reflections on the character and exploits of Bona- 
 parte, who was then blazing- in the zenith of his glory. 
 Still, however, the current of his thoughts and language 
 was frequently tinged with the enthusiasm and extrava- 
 gance of delirium. Of this he seemed himself con- 
 scious ; for he would sometimes suddenly stop, and 
 pressing his hand to his forehead, exclaim, " Doctor, 
 Doctor, I am failing here — here!" He acknowledged 
 that he had, from his childhood, given himself up to 
 the dominion of ambition ; and that his whole life had 
 been spent in the most extravagant and visionary expec- 
 tations. He would smile bitterly when he recounted 
 some of what he justly stigmatized as his insane pro- 
 jects. " The objects of my ambition," he said, " have 
 been vague and general ; I never knew exactly where, 
 or what, I would be. Had my powers, such as they 
 are, been concentrated on one point — had I formed a
 
 A scholar's deathbed. 63 
 
 more just and modest estimate of my abilities — I might 
 possibly have become something-. * * * 
 
 Besides, Doctor, I had no money — no solid substratum 
 to build upon ; there was the rotten point ! O Doc- 
 tor !" he continued, with a deep sigh, "if I could but 
 have seen these things three years ago, as I see them 
 now^ I might at this moment have been a sober and 
 respectable member of society ; but now I am dying a 
 hanger-on — a fool — a beggar ! " and he burst into tears. 
 " You, Doctor," he presently continued, " are accus- 
 tomed, I suppose, to listen to these deathbed repinings 
 — these soul-scourgings — these wailings over a badly spent 
 life ! Oh yes ; as I am nearing eternity I seem to look at 
 things — at my own mind and heart, especially — through 
 the medium of a strange, searching, unearthly light! 
 Oh ! how many, many things it makes distinct, which I 
 would fain have forgotten for ever ! Do you recollect 
 the terrible language of Scripture, Doctor, which com- 
 pares the human breast to a cage of unclean birds ? " 
 — I left him that evening deeply convinced of the com- 
 pulsory truths he had uttered ; I never thought so seriously 
 before. It is some Scotch divine who has said, that one 
 deathbed preaches a more startling sermon than a bench 
 
 of bishops. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Mr was an excellent and thorough Greek scholar, 
 
 perfectly well versed in the Greek dramatists, and pas- 
 sionately fond, in particular, of Sophocles. I recollect 
 his reciting, one evening, with great force and feeling, 
 the touching exclamation of the chorus, in the (Edipus 
 Tyrannus —
 
 64j a scholar's deathbed. 
 
 0) 71? uXi^iTXlf* &C. 
 
 167-172. 
 
 — which, he said, was never absent from his mind, sleep- 
 ing or waking. I once asked him, if he did not regret 
 having devoted his life almost exclusively to the study 
 of the classics. He replied, with enthusiasm, " No, 
 Doctor — no, no ! I should be an ingrate if I did. How 
 can I regret having lived in constant converse, through 
 their works, with the greatest and noblest men that ever 
 breathed ! I have lived in Elysium — have breathed the 
 celestial air of those hallowed plains, while engaged in 
 the study of the philosophy and poetry of Greece and 
 Rome. Yes, it is a consolation even for my bitter and 
 premature deathbed, to think that my mind will quit 
 this wretched, diseased, unworthy body, imbued with 
 the refinement — redolent of the eternal freshness and 
 beauty of the most exquisite poetry and philosophy the 
 world ever saw ! With my faculties quickened and 
 strengthened, I shall go confidently, and claim kindred 
 with the great ones of Eternity. They know I love 
 their works — have consumed all the oil of my life in 
 their study, and they will welcome their son — their dis- 
 ciple." Ill as he was, Mr uttered these sentiments 
 
 (as nearly as I can recollect, in the very words I have 
 
 * Ah, me ! I groan beneath the pressure of innumerable sorrows ; 
 truly my substance is languishing away, nor can I devise any means 
 of bettering my coadition, or discover any source of consolation.
 
 A scholar's deathbed. 65 
 
 given) with an energy, an enthusiasm, and an eloquence, 
 which I never saw surpassed. He faltered suddenly, 
 however, from this lofty pitch of excitement, and com- 
 plained bitterly that his devotion to ancient literature 
 had engendered a morbid sensibility, which had rendered 
 him totally unfit for the ordinary business of life, or in- 
 termixture with society. * * * 
 
 Often I found him sitting up in bed, and reading his 
 favourite play, the Prometheus Vinctus of iEschylus, 
 while his pale and wasted features glowed with delighted 
 enthusiasm. He told me, that, in his estimation, there 
 was an air of grandeur and romance about that play, such 
 as was not equalled by any of the productions of the 
 other Greek dramatists ; and that the opening dialogue 
 was peculiarly impressive and affecting. He had com- 
 mitted to memory nearly three-fourths of the whole play ! 
 I on one occasion asked him, how it came to pass, that 
 a person of his superior classical attainments had not 
 obtained some tolerably lucrative engagement as an usher 
 or tutor ? He answered, with rather a haughty air, that 
 he would rather have broken stones on the highway. 
 " To hear," said he, " the magnificent language of Greece, 
 the harmonious cadences of the Romans, mangled and 
 disfigured by stupid lads and duller ushers — oh ! it would 
 have been such a profanation as the sacred groves of old 
 suffered, when their solemn silence was disturbed by a 
 rude unhallowed throng of Bacchanalians. I should have 
 expired. Doctor !" I told him, I could not help lament- 
 ing such an absurd and morbid sensitiveness ; at which 
 he seemed exceedingly piqued. He possibly thought I 
 should rather have admired than reprobated the lofty 
 tone he assumed. I asked him if the stations, of which
 
 66 
 
 A SCHOLARS DEATHBED. 
 
 he spoke with such supercilious contempt, had not been 
 joyfully occupied by some of the greatest scholars that 
 had ever lived ? He replied simply, with a cold air, that 
 it was his misfortune, not his fault. He told me, how- 
 ever, that his classical acquirements had certainly been 
 capable of something- like a profitable employment ; for 
 that, about two months before he had called on me, he 
 had nearly come to terms with a bookseller, for publishing 
 a poetical version of the comedies of Aristophanes ; 
 that he had nearly completed one, the NEOEAAl, if I 
 recollect right, when the great difficulty of the task, and 
 the wretched remuneration offered, so dispirited him, 
 that he threw it aside in disgust.* His only means of 
 subsistence had been the sorry pay of an occasional reader 
 
 * Among Lis papers I found the following spirited and close version 
 of one of the choral odes in the Nuhes, commencing, 
 
 'Aj44(pi ^0/ uvTi C)a~/3' ava.^ 
 Ariysi, kc. 
 
 Thee, too, great Phoebus ! I invoke, 
 
 Thou Delian King, 
 Who dvvell'st on Cynthia's lofty rock ! 
 
 Thy passage hither wing, 
 Blest Goddess ! whom Ephesian splendours hold 
 In temples bright with gold, 
 
 'Mid Lydian maidens nobly worshipping ! 
 And thee, our native deity, 
 
 Pallas, our city's guardian, thou ! 
 Who wields the dreadful ^gis. Thee, 
 Thee, too, gay Bacchus, from Parnassian height, 
 
 Ruddy with festive torches' glow — 
 To crown the sacred choir, I thee invite ! 
 
 Those who are conversant with the original, will perceive that many 
 of the difficult Greek expressions are rendered into literal English.
 
 A SCHOLARS DEATHBED. 67 
 
 for the press, as well as a contributor to the columns of 
 a daily paper. He had parted with almost the whole 
 of his slender stock of books, his watch, and all his 
 clothes, except what he wore when he called on me. 
 " Did you never try any of the magazines ? " I enquired ; 
 *' for thev afford to young- men of talent a fair livelihood." 
 He said he had indeed strug-gled hard to gain a footing 
 in one of the popular periodicals, but that his commu- 
 nications were invariably returned *' with polite acknow- 
 ledgments." One of these notes I saw, and have now 
 in ray possession. It was thus : — 
 
 " Mr M- begs to return the enclosed < Re- 
 marks on English Versions of Euripides,' with many 
 
 thanks for the writer's polite offer of it to the E 
 
 M ; but fears that, though an able performance, 
 
 it is not exactly suited for the readers of the E 
 
 M 
 
 " To A. A." 
 
 A series of similar disappointments, and the conse- 
 quent poverty and embarrassment into which he sank, 
 had gradually undermined a constitution naturally feeble; 
 and he told me with much agitation, that had it not 
 been for the trifling, but timely assistance of myself and 
 family, he saw no means of escaping literal starvation I 
 Could I help sympathizing deeply with him ? Alas ! 
 his misfortunes were very nearly paralleled by ray own. 
 While listening to his melancholy details, I seemed 
 living over again the four first wretched years of my 
 professional career. 
 
 ****** 
 
 I must hasten, however, to the closing scene. I had 
 left word with the nurse, that when Mr appeared
 
 6S 
 
 A SCHOLAR S DEATHBED. 
 
 dying:, I should be instantly summoned. About five 
 o'clock, in the evening- of the 6th July, 1 8 — , I received 
 
 a message from Mr himself, saying- that he wished 
 
 to breathe his last in my presence, as the only friend he 
 had on earth. Unavoidable and pressing professional 
 engagements detained me until half-past six ; and it was 
 seven o'clock before I reached his bedside. 
 
 " Lord, Lord, Doctor, poor Mr is dying, sure ! " 
 
 exclaimed the woman of the house, as she opened the 
 door. " Mrs Jones says he has been picking and claw- 
 ing the bed-clothes awfully, so he must be dying!"* 
 On entering the room, I found he had dropt asleep. 
 The nurse told me he had been wandering a good deal 
 in his mind. I asked what he had talked about? 
 
 * This very prevalent but absurd notion is not confined to the 
 vulgar ; and as I have, in the course of my practice, met with hundreds 
 of respectable and intelligent people, who have held that a patient's 
 " picking and clawing the hed- clothes,'' is a symptom of death, and 
 who, consequently, view it with a kind of superstitious horror, I can- 
 not refrain from explaining the philosophy of it in the simple and 
 satisfactory words of Mr C. Bell : f 
 
 " It is very common," he says, " to see the patient picking the 
 bed-clothes, or catching at the empty air. This proceeds from an 
 appearance of motes or flies passing before the eyes, and is occasioned 
 by an affection of the retina, producing in it a sensation similar to 
 that produced by the impression of images ; and what is deficient in 
 sensation, the imagination supplies : for although the resemblance 
 betwixt those diseased affections of the retina, and the sensation con- 
 veyed to the brain may be very remote, yet, by that slight resemblance, 
 the idea usually associated with the sensation will be excited in the 
 mind." — BelTs Anatomy, vol. iii. pp. 57, 68. 
 
 The secret lies in a disordered circulation of the blood, forcing the 
 red globules into the minute vessels of the retina. 
 
 t Now Sir Charles BeU.
 
 A scholar's deathbed. 69 
 
 " Laming, Doctor," she replied, " and a proud young 
 lady." I sat down by his bedside. I saw the dews of 
 death were stealing rapidly over him. His eyes, which 
 were naturally very dark and piercing, were now far 
 sunk into their sockets ; his cheeks were hollow, and 
 his hair matted with perspiration over his damp and 
 pallid forehead. While I was gazing silently on the 
 melancholy spectacle, and reflecting what great but 
 undisciplined powers of mind were about soon to be 
 
 disunited from the body, Mr opened his eyes, 
 
 and, seeing me, said, in a low, but clear and steady tone 
 of voice — " Doctor — the last act of the tragedy." He 
 gave me his hand. It was all he could do to lift it 
 into mine. I could not speak — the tears were nearly 
 gushing forth. I felt as if 1 were gazing on my dying 
 son. 
 
 " I have been dreaming. Doctor, since you went," 
 said he, " and what do you think about ? I thought I 
 had squared the circle, and was to perish for ever for my 
 discovery." 
 
 " I hope, Mr ," I replied, in a serious tone, and 
 
 with something of displeasure in my manner — " I hope 
 that, at this awful moment, you have more suitable and 
 consolatory thoughts to occupy your .mind with than 
 those ?" He sighed. " The clergyman you were so 
 good as to send me," he said, after a pause, " was here 
 this afternoon. He is a good man, I dare say, but 
 weak, and has his head stuffed with the quibbles of the 
 schools. He wanted to discuss the question oi free-will 
 with a dying man, Doctor !" 
 
 " I hope he did not leave you without administering 
 the ordinances of religion ?" I enquired.
 
 70 A scholar's deathbed. 
 
 " He read me some of the church prayers, which were 
 exquisitely touching- and beautiful, and the fifteenth chap- 
 ter of Corinthians, which is very sublime. He could 
 not help giving- me a rehearsal of what he was shortly to 
 repeat over my grave I " exclaimed the dying man, with 
 a melancholy smile. I felt some irritation at the light 
 tone of his remarks, but concealed it. 
 
 " You received the sacrament, I hope, Mr — — ? " 
 He paused a few moments, and his brow was clouded. 
 " No, Doctor, to tell the truth, I declined it" 
 
 " Declined the sacrament ! " I exclaimed, with sur- 
 prise. 
 
 « Yes — but, dear Doctor, I beg — I entreat you not to 
 
 ask me about it any further," replied Mr , gloomily, 
 
 and lapsed into a fit of abstraction for some moments. 
 Unnoticed by him, I despatched the nurse for another 
 clergyman, an excellent and learned man, who was my 
 
 intimate friend. I was gazing earnestly on Mr , as 
 
 he lay with closed eyes ; and was surprised to see the tears 
 trickling from them. 
 
 « Mr , you have nothing-, I hope, on your mind, 
 
 to render your last moments unhappy ? " I asked in a 
 gentle tone. 
 
 «' No — nothing material," he replied, with a deep 
 sigh ; continuing with his eyes closed, <' I was only 
 thinking what a bitter thing it is to be struck down so 
 soon from among the bright throng of the living — to 
 leave this fair, this beautiful world, after so short and 
 sorrowful a sojourn. Oh, it is hard ! " He shortly opened 
 his eyes. His agitation had apparently passed away, 
 and delirium was hovering over and disarranging- his 
 thoughts.
 
 A scholar's deathbed. 71 
 
 " Doctor, Doctor, what a strange passage that is," 
 said he, suddenly, startling me with his altered voice, 
 and the dreamy thoughtful expression of his eyes, " in 
 the chorus of the Medea — 
 
 "Avco 'rora/ji.uiv U^mv X'^^ovcrt TTscyocl 
 
 Is not there something very mysterious and romantic 
 about these lines? I could never exactly understand 
 what was meant by them." Finding I continued silent 
 — for I did not wish to encourage his indulging in a 
 train of thought so foreign to his situation — he kept 
 murmuring at intervals, metrically, 
 
 in a most melancholy monotony. He then wandered 
 on from one topic of classical literature to another, 
 till he suddenly stopped short, and turning to me, said, 
 " Doctor, I am raving very absurdly ; I feel I am ; but 
 I cannot dismiss from my thoughts, even though I know 
 I am dying, the subjects about which my mind has been 
 occupied nearly all my life through. Oh !" changing 
 the subject abruptly — " tell me, Doctor, do those who 
 die of my disorder generally continue in the possession 
 of their intellects to the last ?" I told him I thought 
 they generally did. 
 
 " Then I shall burn brightly to the last! Thank God ! 
 — And yet," with a shudder, " it is shocking, too, to find 
 oneself gradually ceasing to exist. — Doctor, I shall 
 recover. — I am sure I should, if you were to bleed me," 
 said he. His intellects were wandering. 
 
 * Eurip. Med. 411-13.
 
 72 A scholar's deathbed. 
 
 The nurse now returned, and, to my vexation, unac- 
 companied by Dr , who had gone that morning- 
 
 into the country. I did not send for any one else. His 
 frame of mind was peculiar, and very unsatisfactory ; 
 but I thought it, on the whole, better not to disturb 
 or irritate him by alluding to a subject he evidently 
 disliked. I ordered candles to be brought, as it was 
 now nearly nine o'clock. *' Doctor," said the dying 
 young man, in a feeble tone, " I think you will find a 
 copy of Lactantius lying on my table. He has been 
 a great favourite with me. May I trouble you to read 
 me a passage — the eighth chapter of the seventh book 
 — on the immortality of the soul ? I should like to 
 die thoroughly convinced of that noble truth — if truth 
 it is — and I have often read that chapter with much 
 satisfaction." I went to the table, and found the book 
 — a pocket copy — the leaves of which were ready turned 
 down to the very page I wanted. I therefore read to him, 
 slowly and emphatically, the whole of the eighth and 
 ninth chapters, beginning, " Nam est igitur summum 
 honum immortalitas, ad quam capiendam, etformati a 
 principio, et nati sumtis." When I had got as far as 
 
 the allusion to the vacillating views of Cicero, Mr 
 
 repeated with me, sighing, the words, '< harum inquit 
 sententiarum^ qucB vera sit, Deus aliquis viderit" — As 
 an instance of the 
 
 Ruling passion, strong in death, 
 
 I may mention, though somewhat to my own discredit, 
 that he briskly corrected a false quantity which slipped 
 from me. " Allow me. Doctor — ' expetit,' not ' expetit' " 
 He made no other observation, when I had concluded
 
 A SCHOLAR S DEATHBED. 73 
 
 reading the chapter from Lactantius, than, " I certainly 
 wish I had early formed fixed principles on religious 
 subjects — but it is now too late." He then dropped 
 asleep, but presently began murmuring- very sorrow- 
 fully — " Emma, Emma ! haughty one ! Not one look ? 
 — I am dying — and you don't know it — nor care for 
 me ! * * How beautiful she looked stepping from the 
 carriage ! How magnificently dressed ! I think she saw 
 — why can't she love me ! She cannot love somebody 
 else. — No — madness — no !" In this strain he continued 
 soliloquizing for some minutes longer. It was the first 
 time I had ever heard any thing of the kind fall from 
 him. At length he asked, " I wonder if they ever 
 came to her hands ?" as if striving to recollect some- 
 thing. The nurse whispered that she had often heard 
 him talk in the night-time about this lady, and that he 
 would go on till he stopped in tears. I discovered, from 
 a scrap or two found among his papers, after his decease, 
 that the person he addressed as Emma, was a young 
 lady in the higher circles of society, of considerable 
 beauty, whom he first saw by accident, and fancied she 
 had a regard for him. He had, in turn, indulged in 
 the most extravagant and hopeless passion for her. He 
 suspected himself, that she was wholly unconscious of 
 being the object of his almost frenzied admiration. 
 When he was asking " if something came to her hands," 
 I have no doubt he alluded to some copy of verses he 
 had sent to her, of which the following fragments, written 
 in pencil, on a blank leaf of his Aristophanes, probably 
 formed a part. There is some merit in them, but more 
 extravagance.
 
 74 A scholar's deathbed. 
 
 I could go through the world with thee, 
 To spend with thee eternity ! 
 
 To see thy blue and passionate eye 
 Light on another scornfully, 
 But fix its melting glance on me, 
 And blend 
 
 Read the poor heart that throbs for thee, 
 Imprint all o'er with thy dear name — 
 Yet withering 'neath a lonely flame, 
 That warms thee not, yet me consumes ! 
 
 Ay, I would have thee all my own, 
 Thy love, thy life, mine, mine alone j 
 See nothing in the world but me, 
 Since nought / know, or love, but thee I 
 
 The eyes that on a thousand fall, 
 I would collect their glances all, 
 And fling their lustre on my soul, 
 Till it imbibed, absorb'd the whole. 
 
 These are followed by several more lines ; but the 
 above will suffice. This insane attachment was exactly 
 what I might have expected from one of his ardent and 
 enthusiastic temperament. To return, however, once 
 more. Towards eleven o'clock, he began to fail rapidly. 
 I had my fingers on his pulse, which beat very feebly, 
 almost imperceptibly. He opened his eyes slowly, and 
 gazed upwards with a vacant air. 
 
 " Why are you taking the candles away, nurse ? " he 
 enquired faintly. They had not been touched. His 
 cold fingers gently compressed my hand — they were 
 stiffening with death. " Don't, donH put the candles
 
 A scholar's deathbed. 75 
 
 out, Doctor," he commenced again, looking at me, with 
 an eye on which the thick mists and shadows of the grave 
 were settling fast — they were filmy and glazed. 
 
 " Don't blow them out — don't — don't ! " he again 
 exclaimed, almost inaudibly. 
 
 " No, we will not ! My dear Mr , both candles 
 
 are burning brightly beside you on the table," I re- 
 plied tremulously — for I saw the senses were forgetting 
 their functions — that life and consciousness were fast 
 retiring ! 
 
 " Well," he murmured almost inarticulately, *• I am 
 now quite in darkness ! Oh, there is something at my 
 heart — cold, cold ! Doctor, keep them off! * Why — 
 oh! death" — He ceased. He had spoken his last on 
 earth. The intervals of respiration became gradually 
 longer and longer ; and the precise moment when he 
 ceased to breathe at all could not be ascertained. Yes ; 
 
 it was all over. Poor Mr was dead. 1 shall never 
 
 forget him. 
 
 ^ I once before heard these strange words fall from the lips of a 
 dying patient — a lady. To me they suggest very unpleasant, I may 
 say fearful thoughts. What is to be kept off? 
 
 [This note has called forth an angry commentary from the able 
 editor of the Spectator newspaper, who heads the paragraph of which 
 I complain, with the words — *' Injudicions Sanction of Superstitious 
 Terrors." I feel satisfied that the writer, on a reconsideration of what 
 ke has there expressed, will be disposed to withdraw his censures. 
 True — a dying man may often utter " unintelligible gibberish : " but 
 if v?e find several dying persons, of dijffertnt characters and situations, 
 concur in uttering, in their last moments, the same words — is it so 
 unwarrantable for an observer to hazard an enquirrj concerning their 
 possible import ? There is a lecture of Sir Henry Halford, lately- 
 published, which contains some highly pertinent and interesting ob- 
 servations on the subject. I beg to refer the reader to it.]
 
 [ 76 ] 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE! 
 
 " Do, dear Doctor, be so good as to drop in at 
 
 Place, in the course of the morning-, by accident — for 
 
 I want you to see Mr . He has, I verily believe, 
 
 bid adieu to his senses, for he is conducting- himself 
 very strangely. To tell you the truth, he is resolved 
 on going down to the House this evening, for the 
 
 purpose of speaking on the Bill, and will, I fear, 
 
 act so absurdly, as to make himself the laughing-stock 
 of the whole country — at least I suspect as much, 
 from what I have heard of his preparations. Ask to 
 
 be shown up at once to Mr , when you arrive, and 
 
 gradually direct the conversation to politics — when you 
 will soon see what is the matter. But mind, Doctor, 
 not a word of this note ! Your visit will be quite 
 accidental, you know. — Believe me, my dear Doctor, 
 yours," &c., &c. Such was the note put into my hands 
 by a servant, as my carriage was driving off on my 
 
 first morning round. I knew Mrs , the fair writer 
 
 of it, very intimately — as, indeed, the familiar and
 
 PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE. 77 
 
 confidential strain of her note will suffice to show. She 
 was a very amiable and clever woman, and would not 
 have complained, I was sure, without reason. Wish- 
 ing, therefore, to oblige her, by a prompt attention to her 
 request, and in the full expectation, from what I knew of 
 the worthy Member's eccentricities, of encountering some 
 singular scene, I directed the horses' heads to be turned 
 
 towards Place. I reached the house about twelve 
 
 o'clock, and went up stairs at once to the drawingroora, 
 
 where I understood Mr had taken up quarters for 
 
 the day. The servant opened the door and announced 
 me. 
 
 " Oh ! show Dr in.'* I entered. The object 
 
 of my visit, I may just say, was the very heau ideal of 
 a County Member ; somewhat inclined to corpulency, 
 with a fine, fresh, rubicund, good-natured face, and that 
 bluiF old English frankness of manner, which flings you 
 back into the age of Sir Roger de Coverley. He was 
 dressed in a long, grey, woollen morning-gown ; and, 
 with his hands crammed into the hind pockets, was pacing 
 rapidly to and fro from one end of the spacious room to 
 the other. At one extremity was a table, on which lay 
 a sheet of foolscap, closely written, and crumpled as if 
 with constant handling, his gold repeater, and a half- 
 emptied decanter of sherry, with a wine-glass. A glance 
 at all these paraphernalia convinced me of the nature of 
 
 Mr 's occupation ; he was committing his speech to 
 
 memory ! 
 
 " How d'ye do, how d'ye do, Doctor ? " he exclaimed, 
 in a hearty but hurried tone ; " you must not keep me 
 long : busy — very busy indeed, Doctor." I had looked 
 in by accident, I told him, and did not intend to detain
 
 78 PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE. 
 
 him an instant. I remarked that I supposed he was busy 
 preparing- for the House. 
 
 " Ah, right, Doctor — right ! Ay, by ! and a 
 
 grand hit it will be, too ! — I shall peg it into them 
 to-night, Doctor ! I'll let them know what an English 
 County Member is ! I'll make the House too hot to 
 
 hold them ! " said Mr , walking to and fro, at an 
 
 accelerated pace. He was evidently boiling over with 
 excitement. 
 
 " You are going to speak to-night, then, on the great 
 question, I suppose?" said I, hardly able to re- 
 press a smile. 
 
 " Speak, Doctor ? I'll burst on them with such a 
 view-halloo as shall startle the whole pack ! I'll show 
 
 my Lord what kind of stuff I'm made of — I will, 
 
 by ! He was pleased to tell the House, the other 
 
 evening — curse his impudence ! — that the two Members 
 
 for shire were a mere couple of dumb-bells — he 
 
 did, by I But I'll show him whether or not /, for 
 
 one of them, am to be jeered and flamm'd with impunity ! 
 Ha ! Doctor, what d'ye think of this ?" said he, hurrying 
 to the table, and taking up the manuscript I have men- 
 tioned. He was going to read it to me, but suddenly stop- 
 ped short, and laid it down again on the table, exclaiming 
 — " Nay, I must know it off by this time — so listen ! 
 have at ye. Doctor!" 
 
 After a pompous hem ! hem ! he commenced, and 
 with infinite energy and boisterousness of manner, re- 
 cited the whole oration. It was certainly a wonderful 
 — a matchless performance — parcelled out with a rigid 
 adherence to the rules of ancient rhetoric. As he 
 proceeded, he recited such astounding absurdities —
 
 PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE. 79 
 
 such preposterous Bombastes-Furioso declamations — as, 
 had they been uttered in the House, would assuredly 
 have procured the triumphant speaker six or seven 
 rounds of convulsive laughter ! Had I not known well 
 the simplicity and sincerity — the perfect honhomie — of 
 
 Mr . , I should have supposed he was hoaxing me ; 
 
 but I assuredly suspected he was himself the hoaxed 
 party — the joking-- post of some witty wag", who had 
 determined to afford the House a night's sport at poor 
 
 Mr 's expense I Indeed, I never in my life listened 
 
 to such pitifully puerile — such almost idiotic gallimatia, 
 I felt certain it could never have been the composition 
 
 of fox-hunting Mr ! There was a hackneyed 
 
 quotation from Horace — from the Septuagint, (!) and 
 from Locke ; and then a scampering through the whole 
 flowery realms of rhetorical ornament — and a glancing 
 at every topic of foreign or domestic policy that could 
 conceivably attract the attention of the most erratic 
 fancy. In short, there surely never before was such a 
 speech composed since the world began ! And this was 
 
 the sort of thing that poor Mr actually intended 
 
 to deliver that memorable evening in the House of 
 Commons ! As for myself, I could not control my 
 risible faculties ; but accompanied the peroration with 
 
 a perfect shout of laughter ! Mr laid down the 
 
 paper (which he had twisted into a sort of scroll) in an 
 ecstasy, and joined me in full chorus, slapping me on the 
 
 shoulder, and exclaiming — " Ah ! d it ! Doctor, I 
 
 knew you would like it ! It's just the thing — isn't it ? 
 There will be no standing me at the next election for 
 
 shire, if I can only deliver all this in the House 
 
 to-night ! Old Turnpenny, that's going to start against
 
 80 PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE. 
 
 me, backed by the manufacturing interest, won't come 
 up — and you see if he does! — Curse it I I thought it 
 was in me, and would come out some of these days. 
 
 They shall have it all to-night — they shall, by ! 
 
 Only be on the look-out for the morning papers. Doc- 
 tor — that's all ! " and he set off, walking rapidly, with 
 long strides, from one end of the room to the other. I 
 began to be apprehensive that there was too much 
 
 ground for Mrs -'s suspicions, that he had literally 
 
 " taken leave of his senses." Recollecting, at length, 
 the object of my visit, which the amusing exhibition I 
 have been attempting to describe had almost driven 
 from my memory, I endeavoured to think, on the spur 
 of the moment, of some scheme for diverting him from 
 his purpose, and preventing the lamentable exposure he 
 was preparing for himself. I could think of nothing else 
 than attacking him on the sore point — one on which he 
 had been hipped for years, and not without reason — a 
 hereditary tendency to apoplexy. 
 
 " But, my dear sir," said I, " this excitement will 
 destroy you — you will bring on a fit of apoplexy, if you 
 go on for an hour longer in this way — you will indeed !" 
 He stood still, changed colour a little, and stammered, 
 
 " What ! eh, d it ! — apoplexy I — you don't say so. 
 
 Doctor? Hem! how is my pulse?" extending his 
 wrist. I felt it — looked at my watch, and shook my 
 head. 
 
 " Eh — what. Doctor I Newmarket, eh ? " said he, 
 with an alarmed air — meaning to ask me whether his 
 pulse was beating rapidly. 
 
 " It is indeed, Mr . It beats upwards of one 
 
 hundred and fifteen a minute," I replied, still keeping 
 
 2
 
 PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE. 81 
 
 my fing-ers at his wrist, and my eyes riveted on my 
 watch — for I dared not trust myself with looking in his 
 countenance. He started from me without uttering a 
 syllable ; hurried to the table, poured out a glass of wine, 
 and gulped it down instantly. I suppose he caught an 
 unfortunate smile or a smirk on my face, for he came up 
 to me, and in a coaxing- but disturbed manner, said, — 
 " Now, come, come, Doctor — Doctor, no humbug ! I 
 
 feel well enough all over ! D it, I will speak in 
 
 the House to-night, come what may, that's flat ! Why, 
 there'll be a general election in a few months, and it's 
 of consequence for me to do something — to make a 
 figure in the House. Besides, it is a great constitu- 
 tional" 
 
 " Well, well, Mr , undoubtedly you must please 
 
 yourself," said I, seriously ; " but if a fit should — you'll 
 remember I did my duty, and warned you how to avert 
 it ! " — " Hem, ahem ! " he ejaculated, with a somewhat 
 puzzled air. 1 thought I had succeeded in shaking his 
 purpose. I was, however, too sanguine in my expecta- 
 tions. " I must bid you good-morning, Doctor," said 
 he abruptly, " I must speak I I will try it to-night, at all 
 events ; — but I'll be calm — I will ! And if I should die 
 — but — devil take it — that's impossible, you know ! But 
 if I should — why, it will be a martyr's death ; I shall die 
 a patriot — ha, ha, ha ! Good morning. Doctor ! " He 
 led me to the door, laughing as he went, but not so hear- 
 tily or boisterously as formerly. I was hurrying down 
 
 stairs when Mr re-opened the drawingroom door, 
 
 and called out, " Doctor, Doctor, just be so good as to 
 look in on my good lady before you go. She's some- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE. 
 
 where about the house — in her boudoir, I dare say. She's 
 not quite well this morning — a lit of the vapours — hem ! 
 You understand me, Doctor?" putting his finger to the 
 side of his nose with a wise air. I could not help smiling 
 at the reciprocal anxiety for each other's health simulta- 
 neously manifested by this worthy couple. 
 
 *' Well, Doctor, am not I right ? " exclaimed Mrs 
 
 in a low tone, opening the diningroom door, and 
 
 beckoning me in. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, madam. My interview was little else 
 than a running commentary on your note to me." 
 
 " How did you jfind him engaged. Doctor? — Learn- 
 ing his speech, as he calls it — eh ? " enquired the lady, 
 with a chagrined air, which was heightened when I re- 
 counted what had passed up stairs. 
 
 " Oh, absurd ! monstrous ! Doctor, I am ready to 
 
 expire with vexation to see Mr acting so foolishly ! 
 
 — 'Tis all owing to that odious Dr , our village 
 
 rector, who is up in town now, and an immense crony of 
 
 Mr 's. I suspected there was something brewing 
 
 between them ; for they have been laying their wise heads 
 together for a week past. Did not he repeat the speech 
 to you. Doctor ? — the whole of it ? " 
 
 *' Yes, indeed, madam, he did," I replied, smiling at 
 the recollection. 
 
 " Ah — hideous rant it was, I dare say I — I'll tell you 
 a secret, Doctor. I know it was every word composed 
 
 by that abominable old addlehead, Dr , a doodle 
 
 that he is ! — (I wonder what brought him up from his 
 
 parish !) — And it is he that has inflamed Mr 's 
 
 fancy with making * a great hit' in the House, as they 
 call it. That precious piece of stuff which they call a
 
 PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE. 83 
 
 speech, poor Mr — — has been learning for this week 
 past ; and has several times woke me in the night with 
 
 ranting snatches of it." I begged Mrs not to take 
 
 it so seriously. 
 
 " Now, tell me candidly, Dr , did you ever hear 
 
 such horrible nonsense in your life ? It is all that coun- 
 try parson's trash, collected by bits out of his old stupid 
 sermons I I'm sure our name will run the gauntlet of 
 all the papers in England, for a fortnight to come ! " I 
 said, I was sorry to be compelled to acquiesce in the truth 
 of what she was saying. 
 
 " Really," she continued, pressing her hand to her 
 forehead, " I feel quite poorly myself, with agitation at 
 the thought of to-night's farce. Did you attempt to dis- 
 suade him ? You might have frightened him with a hint 
 or two about his tendency to apoplexy, you know." 
 
 " I did my utmost, madam, I assure you ; and cer- 
 tainly startled him not a little. But, alas ! he rallied, 
 and good-humouredly sent me from the room, telling 
 »me, that, if the effort of speaking killed him, he should 
 share the fate of Lord Chatham, or something of that 
 sort." 
 
 " Preposterous ! " exclaimed Mrs , almost shed- 
 ding tears with vexation. " But entre nous, Doctor, 
 could you not think of any thing — hem ! — something in 
 the medical way — to prevent his going to the House to- 
 night ? — A — a sleeping draught — eh, Doctor ? " 
 
 " Really, my dear madam," said I, seriously, ** I should 
 not feel justified in going so far as that." 
 
 " O, dear, dear Doctor, what possible harm can there 
 be in it ? Do consent to my wishes for once, and I shall 
 be eternally obliged to you. Do order a simple, sleeping
 
 84 PREPARING FOR THE HOUSE. 
 
 draught — strong enough to keep him in bed till five or 
 six o'clock in the morning — and I will myself slip it into 
 his wine at dinner." — In short, there was no resisting the 
 importunities and distress of so fine a woman as Mrs 
 ; so I ordered about five-and-thirty drops of lauda- 
 num, in a little syrup and water. But, alas ! this scheme 
 was frustrated by Mr 's, two hours afterwards, unex- 
 pectedly ordering the carriage (while Mrs was 
 
 herself gone to procure his quietus), and leaving word he 
 should dine with some Members that evening at Brookes'. 
 After all, however, a lucky accident accomplished Mrs 
 
 's wishes, though it deprived her husband of that 
 
 opportunity of seizing the laurels of parliamentary elo- 
 quence ; for the Ministry, finding the measure, against 
 
 which Mr had intended to level his oration, to be 
 
 extremely unpopular, and anticipating that they should 
 be dead beat, wisely postponed it sine die.
 
 [ 85 ] 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DUELLING. * 
 
 I HAD been invited by young Lord , the noble- 
 man mentioned in my first chapter, to spend the latter 
 part of my last college vacation with his Lordship at his 
 shooting-box f in shire. As his destined profes- 
 sion was the army, he had already a tolerably nume- 
 
 * The melancholy facts on which the ensuing narrative is founded, 
 I find entered in the Diary as far back as nearly twenty-five years ago ; 
 and I ana convinced, after some little enquiry, that there is no one now 
 living whose feelings could be shocked by its perusal. 
 
 f — " residences temporaires, nommees shooting boxes," says the 
 Frenct Translator, adding in a note " Loges-de- Chasse ; rendezvous 
 de chasse." I cannot resist transcribing part of the French text, in 
 which I am made to talk thus: — *' Shooting-boxes sont le rendezvous 
 ordinaire de gens de bon ton, que la vie monotone de leurs tourelles 
 gothiques, et la vie brillante de Londres, ont fatigues, pendant I'ete, et 
 pendant I'hiver. C'est la. que les gouts de la jeune noblesse Anglaise 
 se developpent avec le plus d'energie. Lord Byron, dans Newstead 
 Abbey, fut un exemple remarquable de ce genre d'existence pugilis- 
 tique, chasseresse, libertine, buveuse, assurement fort plus morale, op- 
 pos^e a, la delicatesse des mcEurs, mais vive, amusante, entrainante, 
 etourdinante, et ou la morgue aristocratique, se depouillant enfin de 
 ses privileges et de ses ridicules, rentre dans toute 1 independance sau- 
 vage, et ne se distingue de la roture que par I'extreme vehemence de« 
 exces qui I'entrainent."
 
 86 DUELLING. 
 
 rous retinue of military friends, several of whom were 
 
 engaged to join us on our arrival at ; so that we 
 
 anticipated a very gay and jovial season. Our expec- 
 tations were not disappointed. What with shooting, 
 fishing, and riding, abroad — billiards, songs, and high 
 feeding, at home, our days and nights glided as merrily 
 away as fun and frolic could make them. One of the 
 many schemes of amusement devised by our party, was 
 giving a sort of miHtary subscription-ball at the small 
 town of — , from which w^e were distant not more 
 
 than four or five miles. All my Lord 's party, of 
 
 course, were to be there, as well as several others of his 
 friends, scattered at a little distance from him in the 
 country. On the appointed day all went off admirably. 
 
 The little town of absolutely reeled beneath the 
 
 unusual excitement of music, dancing, and universal 
 feting. It was, in short, a sort of miniature carnival, 
 which the inhabitants, for several reasons, but more espe- 
 cially the melancholy one I am going to mention, have 
 not yet forgotten. It is not very wonderful, that all the 
 rustic beauty of the place was collected together. Many 
 a village belle was there, in truth, panting and flutter- 
 ing with delighted agitation at the unusual attentions 
 of their handsome and agreeable partners ; for there was 
 not a young military member of our party but merited 
 the epithets. As for myself, being cursed — as I once 
 before hinted — with a very insignificant person, and not 
 the most attractive or communicative manners ; being 
 utterly incapable of pouring that soft delicious nonsense 
 — that fascinating, searching small-talk, which has stolen 
 so often right through a lady's ear, into the very centre 
 of her heart ; being no adept, I say, at this, I contented
 
 DUELLING. 87 
 
 myself with dancing- a set or two with a young woman 
 whom nobody else seemed inclined to lead out ; and 
 continued, for the rest of the evening-, more a spectator 
 than a partaker of the gaieties of the scene. There was 
 one girl there — the daughter of a reputable retired 
 tradesman — of singular beauty, and known in the neigh- 
 bourhood by the name of " The Blue Bell of ."* 
 
 Of course she was the object of universal admiration, 
 and literally besieged the whole evening with applica- 
 tions for '* the honour of her hand." I do not exaggerate 
 when I say, that, in my opinion, this young woman was 
 perfectly beautiful. Her complexion was of dazzling 
 purity and transparence — her symmetrical features of 
 a placid bust -like character, which, however, would 
 perhaps have been considered insipid, had it not been 
 for a brilliant pair of large, languishing blue eyes, re- 
 sembling 
 
 blue water-lilies, when the breeze 
 
 Maketh the crystal waters round them tremble, 
 
 which it was almost madness to look upon. And then 
 her light auburn hair, which hung in loose and easy 
 curls on each cheek, like soft golden clouds flitting past 
 the moon ! Her figure was in keeping with her counte- 
 nance — slender, graceful, and delicate, with a most 
 exquisitely-turned foot and ankle. I have spent so 
 many words about her description, because I have never 
 since seen any woman that I thought equalled her ; and 
 because her beauty occasioned the wretched catastrophe 
 I am about to relate. 
 
 She riveted the attention of all our party, except my 
 
 * " Surnommee, la Violette de Hazledon!" — French Translator.
 
 88 DUELLING. 
 
 young host, Lord , who adhered all the evening to 
 
 a sweet creature he had selected on first entering the 
 room. I observed, however, one of our party — a dashing 
 young captain in the Guards, highly connected, and 
 of handsome and prepossessing person and manners, 
 and a gentleman, of nearly equal personal pretensions, 
 
 who had been invited from Hall, his father's seat 
 
 — to exceed every one present in their attentions to 
 
 sweet Mary ; and, as she occasionally smiled on 
 
 one or the other of the rivals, I saw the countenance of 
 either alternately clouded with displeasure. Captain 
 
 was soliciting her hand for the last set — a country 
 
 dance — when his rival (whom, for distinction's sake, I 
 shall call Trevor, though that, of course, is very far from 
 his real name), stepping up to her, seized her hand, and 
 
 said, in rather a quick and sharp tone, " Captain , 
 
 she has promised me the last set ; I beg, therefore, you 
 
 will resign her. I am right, Miss ? " he enquired 
 
 of the girl, who blushingly replied, " I think I did pro- 
 mise Mr Trevor — but I would dance with both, if I could. 
 Captain, you are not angry with me — are you ? " she 
 smiled, appealingly. 
 
 " Certainly not, madam," he replied with a peculiar 
 emphasis ; and, after directing an eye, which kindled 
 like a star, to his more successful rival, retired haughtily 
 a few paces, and soon afterwards left the room, A strong 
 conviction seized me, that even this small and trifling 
 incident would be attended with mischief between 
 those two fierce and undisciplined spirits; for I occa- 
 sionally saw Mr Trevor turn a moment from his beau- 
 tiful partner, and cast a stern enquiring glance round 
 the room, as if in search of Captain — . I saw he had
 
 DUELLING. 89 
 
 noticed the haughty frown with which the Captain had 
 retired. 
 
 Most of the gentlemen who had accompanied Lord 
 
 to this ball, were engaged to dine with him the 
 
 next Sunday evening. Mr Trevor and the Captain 
 (who, I think I mentioned, was staying- a few days with 
 his Lordship) would meet at this party ; and I deter- 
 mined to watch their demeanour. Captain was 
 
 at the window, when Mr Trevor, on horseback, attended 
 by his groom, alighted at the door ; and, on seeing- who 
 it was, walked away to another part of the room, with 
 an air of assumed indifference ; but I caught his quick 
 and restless glance involuntarily directed towards the 
 door through which Mr Trevor would enter. They 
 saluted each other with civility — rather coldly, I thought 
 — but there was nothing particularly marked in the 
 manner of either. About twenty sat down to dinner. 
 All promised to go off well — for the cooking was admi- 
 rable, the wines first-rate, and the conversation brisk 
 
 and various. Captain and Mr Trevor were seated 
 
 at some distance from each other — the former being my 
 next neighbour. The cloth was not removed till a few 
 minutes after eight, when the dessert, with a fresh and large 
 supply of wine, was introduced. The late ball, of course, 
 was a prominent topic of conversation ; and after a few 
 of the usual bachelor toasts had been drunk with noisy 
 enthusiasm, and we all felt the elevating influence of the 
 
 wine we had been drinking. Lord motioned silence, 
 
 and said — " Now, my dear fellows, I have a toast in my 
 eye that will delight you all — so, bumpers, gentlemen 
 — bumpers ! — up to the very brim and over — to make 
 sure your glasses are full — while I propose to you the
 
 90 DUELLING. 
 
 health of a beautiful — nay, by ! the most beautiful 
 
 girl we have any of us seen for this year. — Ha ! I see all 
 anticipate me — so, to be short, here is the health of 
 
 Mary , the Blue Bell of !" It was drunk with 
 
 acclamation, I thoug-ht I perceived Captain 's hand, 
 
 however, shake a little, as he lifted his glass to his 
 mouth. " Who is to return thanks for her?" — " The 
 chosen one, to be sure!" — "Who is he?" — "Legs — 
 rise — legs — whoever he is!" was shouted, asked, and 
 answered in a breath. " Oh I Trevor is the happy swain 
 — there's no doubt of that — he monopolized her all the 
 evening — / could not get her hand once," exclaimed one 
 near Mr Trevor. " Nor I" — " Nor I" — echoed several. 
 Mr Trevor looked with a delighted and triumphant air 
 round the room, and seemed about to rise, but there was 
 a cry — " No I — Trevor is not the man — / say Captain 
 is the favourite ! " — " Ay — ten to one on the Cap- 
 tain!" roared a young hero of Ascot. " Stuff — stuif 1" 
 muttered the Captain, hurriedly cutting an apple to frit- 
 ters, and now and then casting a fierce glance towards 
 Mr Trevor. There were many noisy maintainers of both 
 Trevor and the Captain. 
 
 " Come, come, gentlemen," said a young Cornish 
 Baronet, good-humouredly, seeing the two young men 
 appeared to view the affair very seriously, " the best way, 
 since I dare be sworn the girl herself does not know which 
 she likes best, will be to toss up who shall be given the 
 credit of her beau I " A loud laugh followed this droll pro- 
 posal ; in which all joined except Trevor and the Captain. 
 
 The latter had poured out some claret while Sir was 
 
 speaking, and sipped it with an air of assumed carelessness. 
 I observed, however, that he never removed his eye from
 
 DUELLING. 91 
 
 his glass ; and that his face was pale, as if from some strong 
 internal emotion. Mr Trevor's demeanour, however, also 
 indicated considerable embarrassment ; but he was older 
 than the Captain, and had much more command of 
 manner. I was amazed, for my own part, to see them 
 take up such an insignificant affair so seriously ; but 
 these things generally involve so much of the strong 
 passions of our youthful nature, especially our vanity 
 and jealousy, that, on second thoughts, my surprise 
 abated. 
 
 " I certainly fancied you were the favourite, Captain ; 
 for I saw her blush with satisfaction when you squeezed 
 
 her hand," I whispered. " You are right, ," he 
 
 answered, with a forced smile. " I don't think Trevor can 
 have any pretensions to her favour." The noisiness of 
 the party was now subsiding, and, nobody knew why, an 
 air of blank embarrassment seemed to pervade all present. 
 
 " Upon my honour, gentlemen, this is a vastly silly 
 affair altogether, and quite unworthy such a stir as it has 
 excited," said Mr Trevor ; " but as so much notice has 
 been taken of it, I cannot help saying, though it is 
 childishly absurd, perhaps, that I think the beautiful 
 
 * Blue Bell of ' is mine — mine alone ! I believe I 
 
 have good ground for saying I am the sole winner of 
 the prize, and have distanced my military competitor," 
 
 continued Mr Trevor, turning to Captain , with a 
 
 smiling air, which was very foreign to his real feelings, 
 " though his bright eyes — his debonair demeanour — 
 that fascinating ^e ne sais quoi of his" 
 
 '• Trevor ! don t be insolent I" exclaimed the Captain 
 sternly, reddening with passion. 
 
 " Insolent ! Captain ?" enquired Trevor with an
 
 92 DUELLING. 
 
 amazed air — *' What the deuce do you mean ? I'm sure 
 you don't want to quarrel with me — oh, it's impossible ! 
 
 If I have said what was offensive, by , I did not 
 
 mean it ; and, as we said at Rugby, indictum puta — and 
 there's an end of it. But as for my svveet little Blue 
 Bell, I know — am perfectly certain — ay, spite of the 
 Captain's dark looks — that I am the happy man. So, 
 gentlemen, de jure and de facto — for her I return you 
 thanks." He sat down. There was so much kindness 
 in his manner, and he had so handsomely disavowed 
 
 any intentions of hurting Captain 's feelings, that 
 
 I hoped the young Hotspur beside me was quieted. 
 Not so, however. 
 
 " Trevor," said he, in a hurried tone, " you are 
 
 mistaken — you are, by ! You don't know what 
 
 passed between Mary and myself that evening. 
 
 On my word and honour, she told me she wished she 
 could be off her engagement with you." 
 
 " Nonsense I nonsense ! She must have said it to 
 amuse you, Captain — she could have had no other 
 intention. The very next morning she told me" 
 
 The very next morning !" shouted Captain 
 
 " why, what the could you have wanted with Mary 
 
 ■ the next morning?" 
 
 " That is my affair. Captain — not yours. And since 
 you will have it out, I tell you for your consolation, 
 that Mary and I have met every day since !" said Mr 
 Trevor loudly — even vehemently. He was getting a little 
 flustered, as the phrase is, with wine, which he was 
 pouring down glass after glass, else, of course, he could 
 never have made such an absurd — such an unusual 
 disclosure.
 
 DUELLING. 93 
 
 " Trevor, I must say you act very meanly in telling 
 us — if it really is so," said the Captain, with an intensely 
 chagrined and mortified air ; " and if you intend to 
 ruin that sweet and innocent creature, I shall take leave 
 to say, that you are a — a — a — curse on it, it will out 
 — a villain !" continued the Captain, slowly and delibe- 
 rately. My heart flew up to my throat, where it fluttered 
 as though it would have choked me. There was an 
 instant and dead silence. 
 
 " A villain — did you say. Captain ? and accuse me 
 of meanness ?" enquired Mr Trevor, coolly, while the 
 colour suddenly faded from his darkening features ; and, 
 rising from his chair, he stepped forward, and stood 
 nearly opposite to the Captain, with his half-emptied 
 glass in his hand, which, however, was not observed by 
 him he addressed. " Yes, sir, I did say so," replied the 
 Captain firmly — " and what then ?" 
 
 " Then, of course, you will see the necessity of apolo- 
 gizing for it instantly," rejoined Mr Trevor. 
 
 " As I am not in the habit, Mr Trevor, of saying what 
 requires an apology, I have none to offer," said Captain 
 
 , drawing himself up in his chair, and eying Mr 
 
 Trevor with a steady look of haughty composure. 
 
 " Then, Captain, don't expect me to apologize for 
 this!" thundered Mr Trevor, at the same time hurling 
 his glass, wine and all, at the Captain's head. Part of 
 the wine fell on me, but the glass glanced at the ear of 
 
 Captain , and cut it slightly; for he had started 
 
 aside on seeing Mr Trevor's intention. A mist seemed 
 to cover my eyes, as I saw every one present rising from 
 his chair. The room was, of course, in an uproar. The 
 two who had quarrelled were the only calm persons pre-
 
 94 DUELLING. 
 
 sent. Mr Trevor remained standing* on the same spot 
 
 with his arms folded on his breast ; while Captain 
 
 calmly wiped off the stains of wine from his shirt-ruffles 
 
 and white waistcoat, walked up to Lord , who was 
 
 at but a yard or two's distance, and enquired, in a low 
 tone of voice, " Your lordship has pistols here, of 
 course ? We had better settle this little matter now, 
 
 and here. Captain V , you will kindly do what is 
 
 necessary for me ?" 
 
 " My dear fellow, be calm ! This is really a very 
 absurd quarrel — likely to be a dreadful business, though 1" 
 replied his Lordship, with great agitation. 
 
 " Come, shake hands, and be friends ! Come, don't 
 let a trumpery dinner brawl lead to bloodshed — and in 
 my house, too ! Make it up like men of sense" 
 
 " That, your Lordship of course knows as well as I 
 
 do, is impossible. Will you, Captain V , be good 
 
 enough to bring the pistols ? You will find them in 
 his Lordship's shooting gallery — we had better adjourn 
 there, by the way, eh ?" enquired the Captain, coolly — 
 He had seen many of these affairs / 
 
 " Then, bring them — bring them, by all means." 
 
 " In God's name, let this quarrel be settled on the 
 spot !" exclaimed , and , and . 
 
 " We all know they must fight — that's as clear as the 
 sun — so the sooner the better !" exclaimed the Honour- 
 able Mr , a hot-headed cousin of Lord — ■ — 's. 
 
 " Eternal curses on the silly slut !" groaned his 
 Lordship ; " here will be bloodshed for her I — My dear 
 Trevor!" said he hurrying to that gentleman, who, with 
 seven or eight people round him, was conversing on the 
 aifair with perfect composure ; " do, I implore — I beg —
 
 DUELLING. 95 
 
 I supplicate, that you would leave my house ! Oh ! don't 
 let it be said I ask people here to kill one another ! Why 
 
 may not this wretched business be made up ? — By , 
 
 it shall be," said he, vehemently ; and, putting his arm 
 into that of Mr Trevor, he endeavoured to draw him to- 
 wards the spot where Captain was standing. 
 
 " Your Lordship is very good, but it's useless," replied 
 Mr Trevor, struggling to disengage his arm from that 
 
 of Lord . " Your Lordship knows the business 
 
 must be settled, and the sooner the better. My friend 
 
 Sir has undertaken to do what is correct on the 
 
 occasion. Come," addressing the young Baronet, "^come 
 
 away, and join Captain V ." All this was uttered 
 
 with real nonchalance! Somebody present told him, that 
 the Captain was one of the best shots in England — 
 could hit a sixpence at ten yards' distance. " Can he, 
 
 by ?" said he with a smile, without evincing the 
 
 slightest symptoms of trepidation. " Why, then, I may 
 as well make my will, for I'm as blind as a mole ! — Ha ! 
 I have it." He walked out from among those who were 
 
 standing round him, and strode up to Captain , who 
 
 was conversing earnestly with one or two of his brother 
 officers. 
 
 " Captain ," said Mr Trevor, sternly, extending 
 
 his right hand, with his glove half drawn on. The Cap- 
 tain turned suddenly towards him with a furious scowl. 
 " I am told you are a dead shot — eh ?" 
 
 " Well, sir, and what of that?" enquired the Captain, 
 haughtily, and with some curiosity in his countenance. 
 
 " You know I am short-sighted — blind as a beetle 
 
 — and not very well versed in shooting matters" 
 
 Every one present started, and looked with surprise and
 
 96 
 
 DUELLING. 
 
 displeasure at the speaker ; and one muttered in my ear 
 
 — " Eh ? — d ! — Trevor showing- the white feather ? 
 
 I am astonished ! " 
 
 " Why, what can you mean by all this, sir ?" enquired 
 the Captain, with a contemptuous sneer. 
 
 " Oh I merely that we ought not to fight on unequal 
 terms. Do you think, my good sir, I will stand to be 
 shot at without having a chance of returning the favour ? 
 I have to say, therefore, merely, that since this quarrel 
 is of your own seeking — and your own infernal folly only 
 has brought it about — I shall insist on our fighting 
 breast to breast — muzzle to muzzle — and across a table. 
 Yes," he continued, elevating- his voice to nearly a 
 shout, " we will go down to hell together — if we go at 
 all — that is some consolation." 
 
 " Infamous ! " — " Monstrous I " was echoed from all 
 present. They would not, they said, hear of such a thing 
 — they would not stand to see such butchery ! Eight 
 or ten left the room abruptly, and did not return. Cap- 
 tain made no reply to Trevor's proposal, but was 
 
 conversing anxiously with his friends. 
 
 " Now^ sir, who is the coward ?" enquired Mr Trevor, 
 sarcastically. 
 
 " A few moments will show," replied the Captain, 
 stepping forward, with no sign of agitation, except a 
 countenance of an ashy hue ; " for I accede to your 
 terms — ruffianly — murderous as they are ; and may the 
 curse of a ruined house overwhelm you and your family 
 
 for ever !" faltered Captain , who saw, of course, 
 
 that certain death was before both. 
 
 " Are the pistols preparing?" enquired Mr Trevor, 
 
 without regarding the exclamation of Captain . He 
 
 1
 
 DUELLING. 97 
 
 was answered in the affirmative, that Captain V and 
 
 Sir were both absent on that errand. It was agreed 
 
 that the dreadful affair should take place in the shooting- 
 gallery, where their noise would be less likely to alarm the 
 servants. It is hardly necessary to repeat the exclama- 
 tions of " Murder! — downright, savage, deliberate mur- 
 der !" which burst from all around. Two gentlemen left 
 abruptly, saddled their horses, and galloped after peace- 
 officers ; while Lord , who was almost distracted, 
 
 hurried, accompanied by several gentlemen and myself, 
 to the shooting-gallery, leaving the Captain and a friend 
 in the diningroom, while Mr Trevor, with another, 
 betook themselves to the shrubbery walk. His Lordship 
 informed Captain V and the Baronet of the dread- 
 ful nature of the combat that had been determined on 
 since they had left the room. They both threw down 
 the pistols they were in the act of loading, and, horror- 
 struck, swore they would have no concern whatever in 
 such a barbarous and bloody transaction. A sudden 
 
 suggestion of Lord 's, however, was adopted. They 
 
 agreed, after much hesitation and doubt as to the success 
 of the project, to charge the pistols with powder only, 
 and put them into the hands of the Captain and Mr 
 Trevor, as though they were loaded with ball. Lord 
 
 was sanguine enough to suppose that, when they 
 
 had both stood fire, and indisputably proved their courage, 
 the affair might be settled amicably. As soon as the 
 necessary preparations were completed, and two dreary 
 lights were placed in the shooting-gallery, both the hos- 
 tile parties were summoned. As it was well known that 
 I was preparing for the medical profession, my services 
 were put into requisition for both. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 DUELLING. 
 
 " But have you any instruments or bandages ?" en- 
 quired some one. 
 
 " It is of little consequence — we are not likely to 
 want them, I think, if our pistols do their duty," said 
 Mr Trevor, with a smile that to me seemed ghastly. 
 
 But a servant was mounted on the fleetest horse in 
 
 Lord 's stable, and despatched for the surgeon, who 
 
 resided at not more than half a mile's distance, with a 
 note, requesting him to come furnished with the necessary 
 instruments for a gunshot wound. As the principals 
 were impatient, and the seconds, as well as the others 
 present, were in the secret of the blank charge in the 
 pistols, and anticipated nothing like bloodshed, the pistols 
 were placed in the hands of each, in dead silence, and 
 the two parties, with their respective friends, retired to a 
 little distance from each other. 
 
 " Are you prepared, Mr Trevor?" enquired one of 
 Captain 's party ; and, being answered in the affir- 
 mative, in a moment after, the two principals, pistol in 
 hand, approached one another. Though I was almost 
 bhnded with agitation, and was, in common with those 
 around, quaking for the success of our scheme, my eyes 
 were riveted on their every movement. There was 
 something fearfully impressive in their demeanour. 
 Though stepping to certain death, as they supposed, 
 there was not the slightest symptom of terror or agita- 
 tion visible — no swaggering — no aifectation of a calm- 
 ness they did not feel. The countenance of each was 
 deadly pale and damp ; but not a muscle trembled. 
 
 " Who is to give us the word?" asked the Captain, 
 in a whisper, which, though low, was heard all over the 
 room ; " for, in this sort of affair, if one fires a second
 
 DUELLING. 99 
 
 before the other, he is a murderer." At that moment 
 there was a noise heard ; it was the surgeon who had 
 arrived, and now entered breathless. " Step out, and 
 give the word at once," said Mr Trevor, impatiently. 
 Both the Captain and Mr Trevor returned and shook 
 hands, with a melancholy smile, with their friends, and 
 then retook their places. The gentleman who was to 
 give the signal then stepped towards them, and, closing 
 his eyes with his hands, said, in a tremulous tone, " Raise 
 your pistols !" — the muzzles were instantly touching one 
 another's breasts — " and, when I have counted three, 
 fire. One — two — three I " — They fired — both recoiled, 
 with the shock, several paces, and their friends rushed 
 forward. 
 
 " Why, what is the meaning of this !" exclaimed both 
 in a breath. " Who has dared to mock us in this way? 
 There were no balls in the pistols !" exclaimed Trevor, 
 
 fiercely. Lord and the seconds explained the 
 
 well-meant artifice, and received an indignant curse for 
 their pains. It was in vain we all implored them to be 
 reconciled, as each had done amply sufficient to vindi- 
 cate his honour. Trevor almost gnashed his teeth with 
 fury. There was something fiendish, I thought, in the 
 expression of his countenance. " It is easily remedied," 
 
 said Captain , as his eye caught several small 
 
 swords hanging up. He took down two, measured them, 
 and proffered one to his antagonist, who clutched it 
 eagerly — " There can be no deception here, however," 
 he gasped ; " and now" — each put himself into posture 
 — " stand off" there !" 
 
 We fell back, horror-struck at the relentless and 
 revengeful spirit with which they seemed animated. I
 
 100 DUELLING. 
 
 do not know which was the better swordsman ; I recol- 
 lect only seeing a rapid glancing of their weapons flashing 
 about like sparks of fire, and a hurrying about in all 
 directions, which lasted for several moments, when one 
 of them fell. It was the Captain ; for the strong and 
 skilful arm of Mr Trevor had thrust his sword nearly up 
 to the hilt in the side of his antagonist. His very heart 
 was cloven ! The unfortunate young man fell without 
 uttering a groan — his sword dropped from his grasp, he 
 pressed his right hand to his heart, and, with a quivering 
 motion of the lips, as though struggling to speak, ex- 
 pired ! " Oh ! my great God !" exclaimed Trevor, in a 
 broken and hollow tone, with a face so blanched and 
 horror-stricken, that it froze my very blood to look upon, 
 " what have I done ? Can all this be real !" He con- 
 tinued on his knees by the side of his fallen antagonist, 
 with his hands clasped convulsively, and his eyes glaring 
 upwards, for several moments. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 A haze of horror is spread over that black transac- 
 tion ; and if it is dissipated for an instant, when my 
 mind's eye suddenly looks back through the vista of 
 years, the scene seems only the gloomy representation 
 or picture of some occurrence which I cannot persuade 
 myself that I actually witnessed. To this hour, when I 
 advert to it, I am not free from fits of incredulousness. 
 The affair created a great ferment at the time. The 
 unhappy survivor (who, in this narrative, has passed 
 under the name of Trevor) instantly left England, and 
 died, about five years afterwards, in the south of France, 
 in truth, broken-hearted.— In a word, since that day, 
 I have never seen men entering into discussion, when
 
 DUELLING. 101 
 
 warmed with wine, and approaching, never so slowly, 
 towards the confines of personality, without reverting, 
 with a shudder, to the trifling — the utterly insignificant 
 — circumstances, which wine and the hot passions of 
 youth kindled into the fatal brawl which cost poor 
 
 Captain his life, and drove Mr abroad to 
 
 die a broken-hearted exile I
 
 C 102 ] 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 Note to the Editor of Blackwood.* — Sir Chris- 
 topher, — A letter, under the title of " Blackwood's 
 Magazine v. the Secrets of the Medical Professions^* 
 appeared in the Lancet of the 28th August last — " the 
 most influential and popular organ," it says, " the profes- 
 sion possesses" — a paragraph from which I heg to extract, 
 and call the attention of your numerous readers to it. 
 I do this in justice to myself; because, in the event of 
 my name, insignificant perhaps as it is, happening to he 
 disclosed, the said letter is calculated to work me much 
 prejudice with my professional brethren, and also with 
 the public in general ; for I need not tell you, Sir Chris- 
 topher, of the extensive and miscellaneous circulation of 
 the publication alluded to. After some complimentary 
 remarks, the writer proceeds : — 
 
 * As considerable currency has been given to the objections which 
 called forth this answer, I have retained it as a sort of standing de- 
 fence.
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 103 
 
 <' But I enter my protest, as a physician in some little 
 practice, against the custom of disclosing to the public 
 the sacred secrets tvhich are communicated to us in per- 
 fect confidence hy our patients, and ought to he preserved 
 inviolable. The Editor of Blackwood happily enough 
 says, ' what periodical has sunk a shaft into this rich 
 mine of incident and sentiment ?' True ; the reason has 
 been, and is yet, I hope, to be found in the honour oi our 
 profession, and the determination of its members to merit 
 the confidence of their patients, by continuing, in the 
 language of Junius, 'the sole depositary of their secrets, 
 which shall perish with them.' If the writer of the papers 
 in question, or the Editor of Blackwood, should see this 
 letter, they are implored to consider its purport ; and 
 thus prevent the public from view ing their medical atten- 
 dants with distrust, and withholding those confidential 
 disclosures which are essential to the due performance 
 of our professional duties. The very persons who would 
 read such a series of articles as the ' Passages from the 
 Diary of a Late Physician' promise to be, with intense 
 interest, would be the first to act on the principle I have 
 mentioned." 
 
 If I were not credibly assured, Sir Christopher, that 
 this letter is the production of a distinguished member 
 of the profession, I should have felt inclined to compress 
 my commentary on it into one emphatic little word — 
 humbug ! As it is, however, I beg to ask the writer, 
 who is so ready at starting the grave charge of a breach 
 of professional confidence, what I do more, in publish- 
 ing in your Magazine these papers of my late friend, 
 with the most scrupulous concealment of every thing
 
 104 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 which could possibly lead to undue disclosures, than is 
 constantly done in the pages of the Lancet itself, as well 
 as all the other professional journals, text-books, and 
 treatises, which almost invariably append real initials — 
 (I appeal to every medical man whether such is not the 
 fact) — and other indicia, to the most painful, and, in 
 many instances, revolting- and offensive details ? It may 
 possibly be answered — as it really has been — that, in the 
 latter case, the narratives meet only professional eyes* 
 What I«in the Lancet? in the Medical Gazette ? in Dr 
 Reeces Journal ? Are these works to be found in the 
 hands of professional men only ? — I have but one other 
 observation to make. Would the delicacy of patients 
 be less shocked at finding the peculiar features of their 
 physical maladies — a subject on which their feelings are 
 morbidly irritable — exposed to every member, high and 
 low, young and old, of our extensive profession — the 
 theme of lectures — the subject of constant allusion and 
 
 comment, from beneath the thin veil of Mrs J 
 
 M 1," &c. ; is this, I say, less likely to hurt their 
 
 feelings, than seeing (as is improbable in nine cases out 
 of ten of those who read these Passages) the morale^ 
 the sentime7it of their case extracted, dressed in the 
 shape of simple narrative, and challenging the sympathy 
 and admiration of the public ? Take, as an instance, 
 the first narrative, entitled " Cancer" which appeared in 
 
 your last Magazine. Could Mrs St , were she living, 
 
 be pained at reading it — or any surviving friend or rela- 
 tive, for her? And if any subsequent sketch should 
 disclose matter of reprobation, in the shape of weak, 
 criminal, or infamous conduct, surely the exposure is 
 merited ; such subjects should suffer in silence, and none
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 103 
 
 will be the wiser for it. I conceive, that several scenes 
 of this character, which I have trembled and blushed over 
 in my late friend's journal, are properly dealt with, if 
 made public property — a source of instruction and warn- 
 ing- to all. In a word, I cannot help thinking- that the 
 writer of the letter in question has wasted much fervent 
 zeal to little purpose, and conjured up a ghost for the 
 mere purpose of exorcism. This I have done for him ; 
 and I hope his fears will henceforth abate. 
 
 A moment farther, good Sir Christopher. As to one 
 or two individuals who have been singled out by the 
 various knowing papers of the day, as the writer or 
 subject of these chapters, you and I know well that the 
 proper party has never yet been glanced at, nor is likely 
 to be ; and for the future, no notice whatever will be 
 taken of their curious speculations. — Believe me ever, 
 reverend Sir Christopher, &c. 
 
 London, September 9, 1830. 
 
 When I have seen a beautiful and popular actress, I 
 have often thought, how many young play-goers these 
 women must intoxicate — how many even sensible,, and 
 otherwise sober heads, they must turn upside down I 
 Some years ago, a case came under my care, which 
 showed fully the justness of this reflection ; and I now 
 relate it, as I consider it pregnant both with interest and 
 instruction. It will show how the energ-ies of even a 
 powerful and well-informed mind may be prostrated by 
 the indulgence of unbridled passions. 
 
 Late one evening in November, 1 was summoned in
 
 106 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 haste to visit a gentleman who was staying- at one of the 
 hotels in Covent Garden, and informed in a note that he 
 had manifested symptoms of insanity. As there is no 
 
 time to be lost in such cases, I hurried to the Hotel, 
 
 which I reached about nine o'clock. The proprietor gave 
 me some preliminary information about the patient to 
 whom I was summoned, which, with what I subsequently 
 gleaned from the party himself and other quarters, I shall 
 present connectedly to the reader, before introducing him 
 to the sick man's chamber. 
 
 Mr Warningham — for that name may serve to indi" 
 cate him through this narrative — was a young man of 
 
 considerable fortune, some family, and a member of 
 
 College, Cambridge. His person and manners were 
 gentlemanly ; and his countenance, without possessing 
 any claims to the character of handsome, faithfully indi- 
 cated a powerful and cultivated mind. He had mingled 
 largely in college gaieties and dissipations, but knew 
 little or nothing of what is called " town life;" which 
 may, in a great measure, account for much of the sim- 
 plicity and extravagance of the conduct I am about to 
 relate. Having, from his youth upwards, been accustomed 
 to the instant gratification of almost every wish he could 
 form, the slightest obstacle in his way was sufficient to 
 irritate him almost to frenzy. His temperament was 
 very ardent — his imagination lively and active. In short, 
 he passed every where for what he really was — a very 
 clever man — extensively read in elegant literature, and 
 particularly intimate with the dramatic writers. About 
 a fortnight before the day on which I was summoned to 
 him, he had come up from College to visit a young lady 
 whom he was addressing j but finding her unexpectedly
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 107 
 
 gone to Paris, he resolved to continue in London the 
 whole time he had proposed to himself, and enjoy all the 
 amusements about town, particularly the theatres. The 
 
 evening- of the day on which he arrived at the 
 
 Hotel, beheld him at Drury Lane, witnessing a new, 
 and, as the event proved, a very popular tragedy. In the 
 
 afterpiece. Miss was a prominent performer ; and 
 
 her beauty of person — her " maddening eyes," as Mr 
 Warningham often called them — added to her fascinating 
 naivete of manner, and the interesting character she sus- 
 tained that evening — at once laid prostrate poor Mr War- 
 ningham among the throng of worshippers at the feet of 
 this " Diana of the Ephesians." 
 
 As he found she played again the next evening, be 
 took care to engage the stage-box ; and fancied he had 
 succeeded in attracting her attention. He thought her 
 lustrous eyes fell on him several times during the evening, 
 and that they were instantly withdrawn, with an air of 
 conscious confusion and embarrassment, from the intense 
 and passionate gaze which they encountered. This was 
 sufficient to fire the train of Mr Warningham's susceptible 
 feelings ; and his whole heart was in a blaze instantly. 
 
 Miss sang that evening one of her favourite songs 
 
 —an exquisitely pensive and beautiful air; and Mr 
 Warningham, almost frantic with excitement, applaud- 
 ed with such obstreperous vehemence, and continued 
 shouting ^^ encore — encore" — so long after the general 
 calls of the house had ceased, as to attract all eyes for an 
 
 instant to his box. Miss could not, of course, fail 
 
 to observe his conduct ; and presently herself looked up 
 with what he considered a gratified air. Quivering with 
 excitement and nervous irritability, Mr Warningham
 
 108 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS, 
 
 could scarcely sit out the rest of the piece ; and the 
 moment the curtain fell, he hurried round to the stage- 
 door, determined to wait and see her leave, for the pur- 
 pose, if possible, of speaking- to her. He presently saw 
 her approach the door, closely muffled, veiled, and bon- 
 neted, leaning- on the arm of a man of military appearance, 
 who handed her into a very g-ay chariot. He perceived 
 
 at once that it was the well-known Captain . Will 
 
 it be believed that this enthusiastic young- man actually 
 jumped up behind the carriage which contained the object 
 of his idolatrous homage, and did not alight till it drew 
 Up opposite a large house in the western suburbs ; and 
 that this absurd feat, moreover, was performed amid an 
 incessant shower of small searching rain ? 
 
 He was informed by the footman, whom he had bribed 
 
 with five shillings, that Miss 's own house was in 
 
 another part of the town, and that her stay at Captain 
 's was only for a day or two. He returned to his 
 hotel in a state of tumultuous excitement, which can be 
 better conceived than described. As may be supposed, 
 he slept little that night ; and the first thing he did in 
 the morning was to despatch his groom, with orders to 
 establish himself in some public-house which could 
 
 command a view of Miss 's residence, and return to 
 
 Covent Garden as soon as he had seen her or her maid 
 enter. It was not till seven o'clock that he brought 
 word to his master that no one had entered but Miss 
 
 's maid. The papers informed him that Miss 
 
 played again that evening ; and though he could not 
 but be aware of the sort of intimacy which -subsisted 
 
 between Miss and the Captain, his enthusiastic 
 
 passion only increased with increasing obstacles. Though
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 10^ 
 
 gerioiisly unwell with a determination of blood to the 
 head, induced by the perpetual excitement of his feelings, 
 and a severe cold caug^ht through exposure to the rain 
 on the preceding evening — he was dressing for the play, 
 when, to his infinite mortification, his friendly medical 
 attendant happening to step in, positively forbade his 
 leaving the room, and consigned him to bed and physic, 
 instead of the maddening scenes of the theatre. The 
 next morning he felt relieved from the more urgent 
 symptoms ; and his servant having brought him word 
 
 that he had at last watched Miss enter her house, 
 
 unaccompanied, except by her maid, Mr Warningham 
 despatched him with a copy of passionate verses, enclosed 
 in a blank envelope. He trusted that some adroit 
 allusions in. them might possibly give her a clew to the 
 discovery of the writer — especially if he could contrive to 
 be seen by her that evening in the same box he had 
 occupied formerly ; for to the play he was resolved to gOy 
 in defiance of the threats of his medical attendant. To 
 his vexation, he found the box in question pre-engaged 
 for a family party ; and — will it be credited — he actually 
 entertained the idea of discovering who they were, for 
 the purpose of prevailing on them to vacate in his favour ! 
 Finding that, however, of course, out of the question, he 
 was compelled to content himself with the corresponding 
 box opposite, where he was duly ensconced the moment 
 the doors were opened. 
 
 Miss appeared that evening in only one piece, 
 
 but, in the course of it, she had to sing some of her most 
 admired songs. The character she played, also, was a 
 favourite both with herself and the public. Her dress 
 was exquisitely tasteful and picturesque, and calculated
 
 110 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 to set off her figure to the utmost advantage. When, at 
 a particular crisis of the play, Mr Warningham, by the 
 softened lustre of the lowered foot-lights, beheld Miss 
 
 emerging from a romantic glen, with a cloak thrown 
 
 over her shoulders, her head covered with a velvet cap, 
 over which drooped, in snowy pendency, an ostrich 
 feather, while her hair strayed from beneath the cincture of 
 her cap in loose negligent curls, down her face and beau- 
 tiful cheeks ; when he saw the timid and alarmed air 
 which her part required her to assume, and the sweet and 
 sad expression of her eyes, while she stole about, as if 
 avoiding a pursuer ; when, at length, as the raised foot- 
 lights were restored to their former glare, she let fall the 
 cloak which had enveloped her, and, like a metamorphosed 
 chrysalis, burst in beauty on the applauding house, habited 
 in a costume which, without being positively indelicate, 
 was calculated to excite the most voluptuous thoughts ; 
 when, I say, poor Mr Warningham saw all this, he was 
 almost overpowered, and leaned back in his box, breath- 
 less with agitation. 
 
 A little before Miss quitted the stage for the last 
 
 time that evening, the order of the play required that she 
 should stand for some minutes oii that part of the stage 
 next to Mr Warningham's box. While she was standing 
 in a pensive attitude, with her face turned full towards 
 Mr Warningham, he whispered, in a quivering and under 
 
 tone, "Oh, beautiful, beautiful creature!" Miss 
 
 heard him, looked at him with a little surprise; her 
 features relaxed into a smile, and, with a gentle shake 
 of the head, as if hinting that he should not endeavour 
 to distract her attention, she moved away to proceed 
 with her part. Mr Warningham trembled violently ; he
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. Ill 
 
 fancied she encourag-ed his attentions, and — Heaven 
 knows how — had recognised in him the writer of the 
 verses she had received. When the play was over, he 
 hurried, as on a former occasion, to the stage-door, where 
 he mingled with the inquisitive little throng- usually to 
 be found there, and waited till she made her appearance, 
 enveloped, as before, in a large shawl, but followed only 
 by a maid-servant, carrying- a bandbox. They stepped 
 into a hackney-coach, and, though Mr Warningham had 
 gone there for the express purpose of speaking to her, 
 his knees knocked together, and he felt so sick with 
 agitation, that he did not even attempt to hand her into 
 the coach. He jumped into the one which drew up next, 
 and ordered the coachman to follow the preceding one 
 wherever it went. When it approached the street where 
 be knew she resided, he ordered it to stop, got out, and 
 hurried on foot towards the house, which he reached just 
 as she was alighting. He offered her his arm. She 
 looked at him with astonishment, and something like 
 apprehension. At length, she appeared to recognise in 
 him the person who had attracted her attention, by 
 whispering when at the theatre, and seemed, he thought, 
 a little discomposed. JShe declined his proffered assistance 
 — said her maid was with her — and was going to knock 
 at the door, when Mr Warningham stammered faintly, 
 " Dear madam, do allow me the honour of calling in the 
 morning, and enquiring how you are, after the great 
 exertions at the theatre this evening ! " She replied in a 
 cold and discouraging manner : could not conceive to 
 what she was indebted for the honour of his particular 
 attentions, and interest in her welfare, so suddenly felt 
 by an utter stranger — unusual — singular — improper —
 
 112 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 unpleasant, &c. She said, that, as for his calling in the 
 morning, if he felt so inclined, she, of course, could not 
 prevent him ; but if he expected to see her when he 
 called, he would find himself " perfectly mistaken." 
 The door that moment was opened, and closed upon her, 
 as she made him a cold bow, leaving- Mr Warningham, 
 what with chagrin and excessive passion for her, almost 
 distracted. He seriously assured me, that he walked to 
 and fro before her door till nearly six o'clock in the morn- 
 ing ; that he repeatedly ascended the steps, and endea- 
 voured, as nearly as he could recollect, to stand on the 
 very spot she had occupied while speaking to him, and 
 would remain gazing at what he fancied was the window 
 of her bed-room, for ten minutes together ; and all this 
 extravagance, to boot, was perpetrated amidst an inces- 
 sant fall of snow, and at a time — Heaven save the mark ! 
 
 — when he was an accepted suitor of Miss , the 
 
 young lady whom he had come to town for the express 
 purpose of marrying. I several times asked him how it 
 was that he could bring himself to consider such conduct 
 consistent with honour or delicacy, or feel a spark of real 
 attachment for the lady to whom he was engaged, if it 
 were not sufficient to steel his heart and close his eyes 
 against the charms of any other woman in the world ? 
 His only reply was, that he " really could not help it" — 
 
 he felt " rather the patient than agent." Miss 
 
 took his heart, he said, by storm, and forcibly ejected, for 
 a while, his love for any other woman breathing ! 
 
 To return, however : About half-past six, he jumped 
 into a hackney coach which happened to be passing 
 through the street, drove home to the hotel in Covent 
 Garaen, and threw himself on the bed, in a state of
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 113 
 
 utter exhaustion, both of mind and body. He slept on 
 heavily till twelve o'clock at noon, when he awoke 
 seriously indisposed. For the first few moments, he 
 
 could not dispossess himself of the idea that Miss 
 
 was standings by his bedside, in the dress she wore the 
 preceding- evening, and smiled encouragingly on him. 
 So strong was the delusion, that he actually addressed 
 several sentences to her ! About three o'clock, he drove 
 out, and called on one of his gay friends, who was per- 
 fectly aufaitdX matters of this sort, and resolved to make 
 him his confidant in the affair. Under the advice of this 
 Mentor, Mr Warningham purchased a very beautiful 
 
 emerald ring, which he sent off instantly to Miss , 
 
 with a polite note, saying it was some slight acknowledg- 
 ment of the delight with which he witnessed her exqui- 
 site acting, &c. &c. &c. This, his friend assured him, 
 must call forth an answer of some sort or other, which would 
 lead to another — and another — and another — and so on. 
 He was right. A twopenny post letter was put into Mr 
 Warningham's hands the next morning before he rose, 
 which was from Miss — — , elegantly written, and thanked 
 him for the "tasteful present" he had sent her, which 
 she should, with great pleasure, take an early opportunity 
 of gratifying him by wearing in public. 
 
 There never yet lived an actress, I verily believe, who 
 had fortitude enough to refuse a present of jewellery! 
 
 What was to be done next, he did not exactly 
 know ; but having succeeded at last in opening an 
 avenue of communication with her, and induced her so 
 easily to lie under an obligation to him, he felt con- 
 vinced that his way was now clear. He determined, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 therefore, to call and see her that very afternoon ; but 
 his medical friend, seeing the state of feverish excitement 
 in which he continued, absolutely interdicted him from 
 leaving- the house. The next day he felt considerably 
 better, but was not allowed to leave the house. He 
 could, therefore, find no other means of consoling him- 
 self, than writing a note to Miss , saying he had 
 
 " something important" to communicate to her, and beg- 
 ging to know when she would permit him to wait upon 
 her for that purpose. What does the reader imagine 
 this pretext of " something important" was ? To ask 
 her to sit for her portrait to a young artist I His strata- 
 gem succeeded ; for he received, in the course of the 
 
 next day, a polite invitation to breakfast with Miss 
 
 on the next Sunday morning; with a hint that he might 
 
 expect no other company, and that Miss was 
 
 " curious" to know what his particular business with 
 her was. Poor Mr Warningham ! How was he to 
 exist in the interval between this day and Sunday ? He 
 would fain have annihilated it ! 
 
 Sunday morning at last arrived; and about nine 
 o'clock he sallied from his hotel, the first time he had 
 left it for several days, and drove to the house. With 
 a fluttering heart he knocked at the door, and a maid- 
 servant ushered him into an elegant apartment, in which 
 breakfast was laid. An elderly lady, some female re- 
 lative of the actress, was reading a newspaper at the 
 
 breakfast table ; and Miss herself was seated at 
 
 the piano, practising one of those exquisite songs which 
 had been listened to with breathless rapture by thou- 
 sands. She wore an elegant morning dress ; and though 
 her infatuated visiter had come prepared to see her to
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 115 
 
 great disadvantage, divested of the dazzling complexion 
 she exhibited on the stage, her pale, and somewhat 
 sallow features, which wore a pensive and fatigued 
 expression, served to rivet the chains of his admiration 
 still stronger, with the feelings of sympathy. Her beau- 
 tiful eyes beamed on him with sweetness and affability ; 
 and there was an ease, a gentleness in her manners, 
 and a soft animating tone in her voice, which filled Mr 
 Warningham with emotions of indescribable tenderness. 
 A few moments beheld them seated at the breakfast 
 table ; and when Mr Warningham gazed at his fair 
 hostess, and reflected on his envied contiguity to one 
 whose beauty and talents were the theme of universal 
 admiration — listened to her lively and varied conversa- 
 tion, and perceived a faint crimson steal for an instant 
 over her countenance, when he reminded her of his ex- 
 clamation at the theatre — he felt a swelling excitement, 
 which would barely suffer him to preserve an exterior 
 calmness of demeanour. He felt, as he expressed it — 
 (for he has often recounted these scenes to me) — that 
 she was maddening him ! Of course, he exerted himself 
 in conversation to the utmost ; and his observations on 
 almost every topic of polite literature were met with 
 
 equal spirit and sprightliness by Miss . He found 
 
 her fully capable of appreciating the noblest passages 
 from Shakspeare and some of the older English drama- 
 tists, and that was sufficient to lay enthusiastic Mr 
 Warningham at the feet of any woman. He was reciting 
 a passionate passage from Romeo and Juliet, to which 
 
 Miss was listening with an apparent air of kindling 
 
 enthusiasm, when a phaeton dashed up to the door, and 
 an impetuous thundering of the knocker announced the
 
 116 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 arrival of some aristocratical visiter. The elderly lady, 
 who was sitting; with them, started, coloured, and 
 exclaimed — " Good God ! will you receive the man 
 this morning- ?" 
 
 '* Oh, it's only Lord ," exclaimed Miss , 
 
 with an air of indifference, after having- examined the 
 equipage through the window-blinds, *' and I won't see 
 the man — that's flat. He pesters me to death," she 
 continued, turning to Mr Warningham, with a pretty, 
 peevish air. It had its effect on him. What an enviable 
 fellow I am, to be received when Lords are refused ! 
 thought Mr Warningham. 
 
 " Not at home!" drawled Miss , coldly, as the 
 
 servant brought in Lord 's card. " You know one 
 
 can't see every body, Mr Warning-ham," she said, with a 
 smile. " Oh, Mr Warningham ! — lud, lud ! — don't go to 
 the window till the man's gone!" she exclaimed: and 
 her small white hand, with his emerald ring glistening 
 on her second finger, was hurriedly laid on his shoulder, 
 to prevent his going to the window. Mr Warningham 
 declared to me, he could that moment have settled his 
 whole fortune on her ! 
 
 After the breakfast things were removed, she sat 
 down, at his request, to the piano — a very magnificent 
 
 present from the Duke of , Mrs assured him 
 
 — and sang and played whatever he asked. She played 
 a certain well-known arch air, with the most bewitching 
 simplicity. Mr Warningham could only loolc his feelings. 
 As she concluded it, and was dashing off the symphony 
 
 in a careless but rapid and brilliant style, Mrs , 
 
 the lady once or twice before mentioned, left the room ; 
 and Mr Warningham, scarce knowing what he did,
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 117 
 
 suddenly sank on one knee, from the chair on which 
 
 he was sitting- by Miss , grasped her hand, and 
 
 uttered some exclamation of passionate fondness. Miss 
 
 turned to him a moment, with a surprised air, her 
 
 large, liquid, blue eyes almost entirely hid beneath her 
 half-closed lids, her features relaxed into a coquettish 
 smile, she disengaged her hand, and went on playing and 
 singing— 
 
 ** He sighs — ' Beauty! I adore thee. 
 See me fainting thus before thee ;' 
 But I say — 
 
 Fal, lal, lal, la ! Fal, lal, lal, la 1 
 
 Fal, lal," &c. 
 
 " Fascinating, angelic woman ! — glorious creature of 
 intellect and beauty, I cannot live but in your presence !" 
 gasped Mr Warningham. 
 
 " Oh, Lord I what an actor you would have made, 
 Mr Warningham — indeed you would ! Only think how 
 it would sound — ' Romeo, Mr Warningham /' — Lud, 
 lud ! — the man would almost persuade me that he was 
 in earnest !" replied Miss , with the most enchant- 
 ing air, and ceased playing. Mr Warningham continued 
 addressing her in the most extravagant manner ; indeed, 
 he afterwards told me, he felt " as though his wits were 
 slipping from him every instant." 
 
 " Why don't you go on the stage, Mr Warningham ?" 
 
 enquired Miss , with a more earnest and serious air 
 
 than she had hitherto manifested, and gazing at him 
 with an eye which expressed real admiration — for she 
 was touched by the winning, persuasive, and passionate 
 eloquence with which Mr Warningham expressed him- 
 self. She had hardly uttered the words, when a loud
 
 118 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 and long knock was heard at the street door. Miss — 
 suddenly started from the piano, turned pale, and 
 exclaimed, in a hurried and agitated tone — " Lord, 
 
 Lord, what's to be done ? — Captain ! — what ever 
 
 can have brought him up to town — oh ! my ." 
 
 " Good God ; madam, what can possibly alarm you 
 in this manner ?" exclaimed Mr Warningham, with a 
 surprised air. " What on earth can there be in this 
 
 Captain to startle you in this manner? What can 
 
 the man want here, if his presence is disagreeable to 
 you ? Pray, Madam, give him the same answer you 
 
 gave Lord !" — « Oh, Mr Warn— dear, dear ! the 
 
 door is opened — what tvill become of me if Captain 
 
 sees you here ? Ah ! I have it, you must — country 
 manager — provincial enga — " hurriedly muttered Miss 
 —— , as the room-door opened, and a gentleman of a 
 lofty and military bearing, dressed in a blue surtout and 
 white trowsers, with a slight walking-cane in his hand, 
 entered, and without observing Mr Warningham, who 
 at the moment happened to be standing rather behind 
 
 the door, hurried towards Miss , exclaiming, with a 
 
 gay and fond air, " Ha, my charming De Medici, how 
 d'ye do ? — Why, who have we here .?" he enquired, 
 suddenly breaking off, and turning with an astonished 
 air towards Mr Warningham. 
 
 <' What possible business can this person have here, 
 
 Miss ?" enquired the Captain with a cold and 
 
 angry air, letting fall her hand, which he had grasped 
 on entering, and eyeing Mr Warningham with a furious 
 
 scowl. Miss muttered something indistinctly about 
 
 business — a provincial engagement — and looked appeal- 
 ngly towards Mr Warningham, as if beseeching him to
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 119 
 
 take the cue, and assume the character of a country ma- 
 nager. Mr Warningham, however, was not experienced 
 enough in matters of this kind to take the hint. 
 
 " My good sir — I beg pardon, Captain'^ — said he, 
 buttoning his coat, and speaking in a voice almost 
 choked with fury — " What is the meaning of all this ? 
 What do you mean, sir, by this insolent bearing towards 
 me ?" 
 
 " Good God ! Do you know, sir, whom you are speak- 
 ing to ?" enquired the Captain, with an air of wonder. 
 
 " I care as little as I know, sir ; but this I know — I 
 shall give you to understand, that, whoever you are, I 
 won't be bullied by you." 
 
 " The devil 1" exclaimed the Captain, slowly, as if he 
 
 hardly comprehended what was passing. Miss , 
 
 pale as a statue, and trembling from head to foot, leaned 
 speechless against the corner of the piano, apparently 
 stupified by the scene that was passing. 
 
 " Oh, by ! this will never do," at length ex- 
 claimed the Captain, as he rushed up to Mr Warningham, 
 and struck him furiously over the shoulders with his 
 cane. He was going to seize Mr Warningham's collar 
 with his left hand, as if for the purpose of inflicting 
 further chastisement, when Mr Warningham, who was 
 a very muscular man, shook him off, and dashed his 
 
 right hand full into the face of the Captain. Miss 
 
 shrieked for assistance — while the Captain put himself 
 instantly into attitude, and, being a tirst-rate " miller," 
 as the phrase is, before Mr Warningham could prepare 
 himself for the encounter, let fall a sudden shower of 
 blows about Mr Warningham's head and breast, that 
 fell on him like the strokes of a sledge-hammer. He
 
 120 INTRIGUING A.ND MADNESS. 
 
 was, of course, instantly laid prostrate on the floor iti 
 a state of insensibility, and recollected nothing farther 
 
 till he found himself lying in his bed at the Hotel, 
 
 about the middle of the night, faint and weak with the 
 loss of blood, his head bandaged, and amid all the 
 desagremens and attendance of a sick man's chamber. 
 How or when he had been conveyed to the hotel he 
 knew not, till he was informed, some weeks afterwards, 
 
 that Captain , having learned his residence from 
 
 Miss — , had brought him in his carriage, in a state 
 
 of stupor. All the circumstances above related combined 
 to throw Mr Warningham into a fever, which increased 
 upon him ; the state of nervous excitement in which he 
 had lived for the last few days aggravated the other 
 symptoms — and delirium deepened into downright mad- 
 ness. The medical man, who has been several times 
 before mentioned, as a friendly attendant of Mr Warn- 
 ingham, finding that matters grew so serious, and being 
 unwilling any longer to bear the sole responsibility of 
 the case, advised Mr Warningham's friends, who had 
 been summoned from a distant county to his bedside, to 
 call me in : and this was the statu quo of affairs when I 
 paid my first visit. 
 
 On entering the room I found a keeper sitting on 
 each side of the bed on which lay Mr Warningham, 
 who was raving fearfully, gnashing his teeth, and impre- 
 cating the most frightful curses upon Captain . It 
 
 was with the utmost difficulty that the keepers could 
 hold him down, even though my unfortunate patient was 
 suffering under the restraint of a strait waistcoat. His 
 countenance, which, I think, I mentioned was naturally 
 very expressive, if not handsome, exhibited the most
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 121 
 
 ghastly contortions. His eyes glared into every corner 
 of the room, and seemed about to start from their 
 sockets. After standing for some moments a silent 
 spectator of this painful scene, endeavouring to watch 
 the current of his malady, and, at the same time, soothe 
 the affliction of his uncle, who was standing by my 
 side dreadfully agitated, I ventured to approach nearer, 
 observing him almost exhausted, and relapsing into 
 silence — undisturbed but by heavy and stentorian 
 breathing. He lay with his face buried in the pillow ; 
 and, on my putting my fingers to his temples, he sud- 
 denly turned his face towards me. " God bless me — 
 Mr Kean !" said he, in an altered tone — " this is really 
 a very unexpected honour!" He seemed embarrassed 
 at seeing me. I determined to humour his fancy — the 
 only rational method of dealing with such patients. I 
 may as well say, in passing, that some persons haVe 
 not unfrequently found a resemblance — faint and slight, 
 if any at all — between my features and those of the 
 celebrated tragedian, for whom I was on the present 
 occasion mistaken. 
 
 " Oh ! yours are terrible eyes, Mr Kean — very, very 
 terrible ! Where did you get them ? What fiend touched 
 them with such unnatural lustre ? They are not human 
 - — no, no ! What do you think I have often fancied they 
 resembled ?" 
 
 " Really, I can't pretend to say, sir,'* I replied, with 
 some curiosity. 
 
 " Why, one of the damned inmates of hell — glaring 
 through the fiery bars of his prison/' replied Mr War- 
 ninghara, with a shudder. '< Is not that a ghastly fancy ?" 
 he enquired.
 
 122 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 " 'Tis horrible enough, indeed," said I, determined to 
 humour him. 
 
 *' Ha, ha, ha! — Ha, ha, ha!" — roared the wretched 
 maniac, with a laug-h which made us all quake round his 
 bedside. " I can say better things than that — though 
 it is good ! It's nothing like the way in which I shall 
 talk to-morrow morning — ha, ha, ha ! — for I am going 
 down to hell, to learn some of the fiend's talk ; and when 
 I come back, I'll give you a lesson, Mr Kean, shall be 
 worth two thousand a-year to you — ha, ha, ha ! — What 
 d'ye say to that, Othello ? " He paused, and continued 
 mumbling something to himself, in a strangely different 
 tone of voice from that in which he had just addressed me. 
 
 " Mr Kean, Mr Kean," said he, suddenly, " you're 
 the very man I want ; 1 suppose they had told you I had 
 been asking for you, eh ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly, I heard" 
 
 " Yery good — 'twas civil of them ; but, now you are 
 here, just shade those basilisk eyes of yours, for they 
 Wight my soul within me." I did as he directed. " Now, 
 I'll tell you what I've been thinking — I've got a tragedy 
 ready, very nearly at least, and there's a magnificent cha- 
 racter for you in it — expressly written for you — a com- 
 pound of Richard, Shylock, and Sir Giles — your master- 
 piece — a sort of quartum quiddam — eh — you hear me, 
 Mr Kean?" 
 
 " Ay, and mark thee, too, Hal," I replied, thinking 
 a quotation from his favourite Shakspeare would soothe 
 and flatter his inflamed fancy. 
 
 " Ah — aptly quoted — happy, happy ! — By the way, 
 talking of that, I don't at all admire your personation of 
 Hamlet — I don't, Mr Kean, I dont, 'Tis utterly mis-
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 123 
 
 conceived — wrong from beginning to end ; — it is really. 
 You see what an independent, straightforward critic I 
 am — ha, ha, ha!" — accompanying the words with a 
 laugh, if not as loud, as fearful as his former ones. I 
 told him I bowed to his judgment. 
 
 ^' Good," he answered ; " genius should always be can- 
 did. Macready has a single whisper, when he enquires, 
 * Is it the King ?' which is worth all your fiendish mut- 
 terings and gaspings — ha, ha ! ' Does the galled jade 
 wince? Her withers are unwrung.' — Mr Kean, how 
 absurd you are, ill-mannered — pardon me for saying it — 
 for interrupting me," he said, after a pause; adding, with 
 a puzzled air, <' What was it I was talking about when 
 you interrupted me ? " 
 
 <' Do you mean the tragedy ?" (I had not opened 
 
 my lips to interrupt him). 
 
 " Ha — the tragedy. 
 
 The play, the play's the thing, 
 
 "Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King. 
 
 Ah — the tragedy was it I was mentioning ? Rem acu — 
 — acu tetigisti — that's Latin, Mr Kean I Did you ever 
 learn Latin and Greek, eh? " — I told him I had studied 
 them a little. 
 
 <• What can you mean by interrupting me thus un- 
 mannerly ? — Mr Kean, I won't stand it. Once more — 
 what was it I was talking about a few minutes ago?" 
 He had again let slip the thread of his thoughts. " A 
 digression this, Mr Kean ; I must be mad — indeed I 
 must ! " he continued, with a shudder and a look of sud- 
 den sanity, " 1 must be mad, and I can't help thinking 
 what a profound knowledge of human nature Shakspeare
 
 124 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 shows when he makes memory the test of sanity — a vast 
 depth of philosophy in it, eh ? D'ye recollect the pass- 
 age — eh, Kean?" I said I certainly could not call it to 
 mind. 
 
 " Then it's infamous I — a shame and disgrace to you. 
 It's quite true what people say of you — you are a mere 
 tragedy hack ! Why won't you try to get out of that 
 mill-horse round of your hackneyed characters ? Excuse 
 me; you know I'm a vast admirer of yours, but an 
 Iwnest one I— Curse me," after a sudden pause, adding, 
 with a bewildered and angry air, " lohat was it I was 
 going to say ? — I've lost it again ! — oh, a passage from 
 
 Shakspeare — memory — - test of Ah, now we have 
 
 him I 'Tis this : mark and remember it I — 'tis in King 
 Lear — 
 
 — ' — Bring me to tte test, 
 And I the matter will re-word^ which madness 
 Would gambol from. 
 
 Profoundly true — isn't it, Kean ? " — Of course, I acqui- 
 esced. 
 
 " Ah," he resumed, with a pleased smile, " nobody 
 now can write like that except myself — Go it, Harry — 
 ha, ha, ha ! — Who — oo — o ! " uttering the strangest kind 
 of revolting cry I ever heard. " Oh dear, dear me, 
 what was it I was saying ? The thought keeps slipping 
 from me like a lithe eel ; I can't hold it. Eels, by the 
 way, are nothing but a sort of water snake— 'tis brutal 
 to eat them ! What made me name eels, Mr Kean?" I 
 reminded him. " Ah, there must be a screw loose — 
 something wrong ^ere," shaking his head ; " it's all 
 upside down — ha ! what was it now ?" I once more re- 
 called it to his mind, for I saw he was fretting himSelf
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 125 
 
 with vexation at beings unable to take up the chain of 
 his thoughts. 
 
 " Ah ! — well now, once moreT— I said I'd a character 
 for you — good ; do it justice — or, by my life, I'll hiss 
 you like a huge boa coiled in the middle of the pit ! 
 There's a thought for you, by the way ! — Stay — I'm 
 losing the thought again — hold it — hold it" 
 
 '* The tragedy, sir" 
 
 " Ah, to be sure — I've another character for Miss 
 
 (naming the actress before mentioned) — magnificent 
 queen of beauty — nightingale of song — radiant — peer- 
 less — Ah, lady, look on me ! — look on me ! " and he sud- 
 denly burst into one of the most tiger-like howls I could 
 conceive capable of being uttered by a human being. It 
 must have been heard in the street and market without. 
 We w^ho were round him stood listening, chilled with 
 horror. When he had ceased, I said, in a soothing whis- 
 per, " Compose yourself, Mr Warningham — you'll see 
 her by and by." He looked me full in the face, and 
 uttered as shocking a yell as before. 
 
 " Avaunt ! Out on ye ! scoundrels ! — fiends ! " he 
 shouted, struggling with the men who were endeavour- 
 ing to hold him down. '' Are you come to murder me ? 
 Ha — a — a — a ! " and he fell back as though he was in 
 the act of being choked or throttled. 
 
 "Where — where is the fiend who struck me?" — he 
 groaned, in a fiercer under-tone ; " and in her presence, 
 too ; and she stood by looking on — cruel, beautiful, de- 
 ceitful woman ! Did she turn pale and tremble ? Will 
 not I have his blood — blood— blood ? " and he clutched 
 his fists with a savage and murderous force. " Ah ! 
 you around me say, does not blood cleanse the deepest,
 
 126 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 foulest stain — or hide it ? Pour it on, warm and reek- 
 ing- — a crimson flood — and never trust me if it does not 
 wash out insult for ever ! Ha, ha, ha I Oh, let me 
 loose ! let me loose ! Let me but cast my eyes on the 
 insolent ruffian — the brutal bully — let me but lay hands 
 on him I " and he drew in his breath, with a long-, fierce, 
 and deep respiration. " Will I not shake him out of his 
 military trappings and fooleries ? Ha, devils I unhand 
 me. I say, unhand me, and let me loose on this Cap- 
 tain 1 " 
 
 In this strain the unhappy young man continued 
 raving for about ten minutes longer, till he utterly 
 exhausted himself. The paroxysm was over for the pre- 
 sent. The keepers, aware of this (for, of course, they 
 were accustomed to such fearful scenes as these, and 
 preserved the most cool and matter-of-fact demeanour 
 conceivable), relaxed their hold. Mr Warningham lay 
 perfectly motionless, with his eyes closed, breathing slow 
 and heavily, while the perspiration burst from every pore. 
 His pulse and other symptoms showed me that a few 
 more similar paroxysms would destroy him ; and that, 
 consequently, the most active remedies must be had 
 recourse to immediately. I therefore directed what was 
 to be done — his head to be shaved — that he should be 
 bled copiously — kept perfectly cool and tranquil — and 
 prescribed such medicines as I conceived most calculated 
 to effect this object. On my way down stairs, I encoun- 
 tered Mr , the proprietor or landlord of the hotel, 
 
 who, with a very agitated air, told me, he must insist on 
 having Mr Warningham removed immediately from the 
 hotel ; for that his ravings disturbed and agitated every 
 body in the place, and had been loudly complained of.
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 127 
 
 Seeing the reasonableness of this, my patient was, with 
 my sanction, conveyed, that evening-, to airy and gen- 
 teel lodgings in one of the adjoining streets. The three 
 or four following visits I paid him, presented scenes little 
 varying from the one I have above been attempting to 
 describe. They gradually, however, abated in violence. 
 
 1 shall not be guilty of extravagance or exaggeration, 
 if I protest, that there was sometimes a vein of sublimity 
 in his ravings. He really said some of the very finest 
 things I ever heard. This need not occasion wonder, 
 if it be recollected, that " out of the fulness of the heart, 
 the mouth speaketh ;" and Mr Warningham's naturally 
 powerful mind was filled with accumulated stores, 
 acquired from almost every region of literature. His 
 fancy was deeply tinged with Germanism — with diable- 
 rie — and some of his ghostly images used to haunt and 
 'creep after me, like spirits, gibbering and chattering 
 the expressions with which the maniac had conjured 
 them into being. 
 
 To me, nothing is so aflfecting — so terrible — so humi- 
 liating, as to see a powerful intellect, like that of Mr 
 Warningham, the prey of insanity, exhibiting glimpses 
 of greatness and beauty, amid all the chaotic gloom and 
 havoc of madness ; reminding* one of the mighty frag- 
 ments of some dilapidated structure of Greece or Rome, 
 mouldering apart from one another, still displaying the 
 exquisite moulding and chiselling of the artist, and 
 enhancing the beholder's regret that so glorious a fabric 
 
 Two newspapers have charged the writer with borrowing this 
 image from Dr Hallam's Treatise on Insanity. If that author Aa» 
 a similar thought, the coincidence is purely accidental ; for I never saw 
 his book in my life.
 
 128 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 should have been destroyed by the ruthless hand of time. 
 Insanity, indeed, makes the most fearful inroads on an 
 intellect distinguished by its activity ; and the flame is 
 fed rapidly by the fuel afforded from an excitable and 
 vigorous fancy. A tremendous responsibility is incur- 
 red, in such cases, by the medical attendants. Long 
 experience has convinced me, that the only successful 
 way of dealing with such patients as Mr Warningham, 
 is, chiming in readily with their various fancies, without 
 seeming in the shghtest degree shocked or alarmed by 
 the most monstrous extravagances. The patient must 
 never be startled by any appearance of surprise or appre- 
 hension from those around him — never irritated by con- 
 tradiction, or indications of impatience. Should this be 
 done by some inexperienced attendant, the mischief may 
 prove irremediable by any subsequent treatment; the 
 flame will blaze out with a fury which will consume 
 instantly every vestige of intellectual structure, leaving 
 the body — the shell — the bare, blackened walls alone, 
 
 A scoflF, a jest, a bye- word through the world. 
 
 Let the patient have sea-room ; allow him to dash about 
 for a while in the tempest and whirlwind of his disor- 
 dered faculties ; while all that is necessary from those 
 around, is to watch the critical moment, and pour the 
 oil of soothing acquiescence on the foaming waters. 
 Depend upon it, the uproar will subside when the winds 
 of opposition cease. — To return, however, to Mr War- 
 ningham. The incubus which had brooded over his 
 intellects for more than a week, at length disappeared, 
 leaving its victim trembling on the very verge of the 
 grave. In truth, I do not recollect ever seeing a pa- 
 3
 
 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 129 
 
 tient whose energies, both physical and mental, were so 
 dreadfully shattered. He had lost almost all muscular 
 power. He could not raise his hand to his head, alter 
 his position in the bed, or even masticate his food. For 
 several days, it could barely be said that he existed. He 
 could utter nothing more than an almost inaudible 
 whisper, and seemed utterly unconscious of what was 
 passing around him. His sister, a young and very in- 
 teresting woman, had flown to his bedside immediately 
 the family were acquainted with his illness, and had 
 continued ever since in daily and nightly attendance on 
 him, till she herself seemed almost worn out. How I 
 loved her for her pallid, exhausted, anxious, yet affec- 
 tionate looks ! Had not this illness intervened, she would 
 have been before this time married to a rising young man 
 at the Bar ; yet her devoted sisterly sympathies attached 
 her to her brother's bedside without repining, and she 
 would never think of leaving him. Her feelings may be 
 conceived, when it is known that she was in a great mea^ 
 sure acquainted with the cause of her brother's sudden 
 illness ; and it was her painful duty to sit and listen to 
 many unconscious disclosures of the most afilicting 
 nature. This latter circumstance furnished the first 
 source of uneasiness to Mr Warningham, on recovering 
 the exercise of his rational faculties. He was exces- 
 sively agitated at the idea of his having alluded to and 
 described the dissipated and profligate scenes of his 
 college life ; and when he had once compelled me to 
 acknowledge, that his sister and other relations were 
 apprised of the events which led to his illness, he sank 
 into moody silence for some time, evidently scourging 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 INTRIGUING AND MADNESS. 
 
 himself with the heaviest self-reproaches, and presently 
 exclaimed — " Well, Doctor, thus, you see, has 
 
 Even-lianded justice 
 Compell'd the poison'd chalice to my lips, 
 
 and I have drunk the foul draught to the dregs. Yet, 
 though I would at this moment lay down half my for- 
 tune to blot from their memories what they must have 
 heard me utter, I shall submit in silence— I have richly 
 earned it ! — I now, however, bid farewell to debauchery 
 — profligacy — dissipation, for ever." — I interrupted him 
 by saying-, I was not aware, nor were his relatives, that 
 he had been publicly distinguished as a debauchee. 
 *' Why, Doctor," he replied, " possibly not — there may 
 be others who have exposed themselves more absurdly 
 than I have — who have drunk and raked more — but 
 mine has been the viler profligacy of the heart — the 
 dissipation of the feelings. But it shall cease I Gqd 
 knows I never thoroughly enjoyed it, though it has 
 occasioned me a delirious sort of excitement, which has 
 at length nearly destroyed me. 1 have clambered out of 
 the scorching- crater of Etna, scathed, but not consumed. 
 I will now descend into the tranquil vales of virtue, and 
 never, never leave them !" He wept — for he had not yet 
 recovered the tone or mastery of his feelings. These 
 salutary thoughts led to a permanent reformation ; his 
 illness, in short, had produced its effect. One other 
 thing- there was which yet occasioned him disquietude 
 and uncertainty ; he said he felt bound to seek the usual 
 
 " satisfaction" from Captain ! I and all around 
 
 him, to whom he hinted it, scouted the idea ; and he 
 himself relinquished it on hearing that Captain had
 
 INTRIGUING AND >fADNESS. 131 
 
 called often during- his illness, and left many cards, with 
 the most anxious inquiries after his health ; and, in a day 
 or two, had a private interview with Mr Warninghara, 
 when he apologized, in the most prompt and handsome 
 manner, for his violent conduct, and expressed the live- 
 liest regrets at the serious consequences with which it 
 had been attanded. 
 
 Mr Warningham, to conclude, recovered but slowly ; 
 and as soon as his weakness would admit of the journey, 
 
 removed to the family house in shire ; from thence 
 
 he went to the seaside, and staid there till the close of 
 the autumn, reading philosophy and some of the leading- 
 writers on morals. He was married in October, and set 
 off for the Continent in the spring. His constitution, 
 however, had received a shock from which it never reco- 
 vered ; and, two years after, Mr Warningham died of a 
 decline, at Genoa.
 
 [ 132 ] 
 
 CHAPTER Vlir. 
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 There was a large and g-ay party assembled one even- 
 ing, in the memorable month of June, 1815, at a house 
 in the remote western suburbs of London. Throngs 
 of handsome and well-dressed women — a large retinue 
 of the leading men about town — the dazzling light of 
 chandeliers blazing like three suns overhead — the 
 charms of music and dancing — together with that tone 
 of excitement then pervading society at large, owing to 
 our successful continental campaigns, which maddened 
 England with almost daily annunciations of victory — all 
 these circumstances, I say, combined to supply spirit 
 to every party. In fact, England was almost turned 
 
 upside down with universal feting ! Mrs , the lady 
 
 whose party I have just been mentioning, was in ecstasy 
 at the eclat with which the whole was going off, and 
 charmed with the buoyant animation with which all 
 seemed inclined to contribute their quota to the evening's 
 amusement. A young lady of some personal attractions, 
 most amiable manners, and great accomplishments — 
 particularly musical — had been repeatedly solicited to 
 sit down to the piano, for the purpose of favouring the
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 133 
 
 company with the sweet Scottish air, " The Banks of 
 Allan Water." For a long- time, however, she stead- 
 fastly resisted their importunities, on the plea of low 
 spirits. There was evidently an air of deep pensiveness, 
 if not melancholy, about her, which ought to have corro- 
 borated the truth of the plea she urged. She did not 
 seem to gather excitement with the rest ; and rather 
 endured, than shared, the gaieties of the evening. Of 
 course, the young folks around her of her own sex whis- 
 pered their suspicions that she was in love ; and, in point 
 of fact, it was well known by several present, that Miss 
 
 was engaged to a young officer who had earned 
 
 considerable distinction in the Peninsular campaign, and 
 to whom she was to be united on his return from the 
 Continent. It need not, therefore, be wondered at, that 
 a thought of the various casualties to which a soldier's 
 life is exposed — especially a bold and brave young sol- 
 dier, such as her intended had proved himself — and the 
 possibility, if not probability, that he might, alas ! never 
 
 Return to claim his blushing bride, 
 
 but be left behind among the glorious throng of the fallen, 
 sufficed to overcast her mind with gloomy anxieties and 
 apprehensions. It was, indeed, owing solely to the affec- 
 tionate importunities of her relatives, that she was pre- 
 vailed on to be seen in society at all. Had her own incli- 
 nations been consulted, she would have sought solitude, 
 where she might, with weeping and trembling, commend 
 her hopes to the hands of Him " who seeth in secret," and 
 <« in whose hands are the issues" of battle. As, however. 
 
 Miss 's rich contralto voice, and skilful powers of 
 
 accompaniment, were much talked of, the company would
 
 134 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 listen to no excuses or apologies ; so the poor girl was 
 absolutely hailed into sitting down to the piano, when she 
 ran over a few melancholy chords with an air of reluctance 
 and displacency. Her sympathies were soon excited by 
 the fine tones — the tumultuous melody — of the keys 
 she touched ; and she presently struck into the soft and 
 soothing symphony of " The Banks of Allan Water." 
 The breathless silence of the bystanders — for nearly all 
 the company had thronged around — was at length broken 
 by her voice, stealing " like faint blue gushing streams" 
 on the delighted ears of her auditors, as she commenced 
 singing that exquisite little ballad, with the most touch- 
 ing pathos and simplicity. She had just commenced the 
 verse, 
 
 For his bride, a soldier sougTit her, 
 And a winning tongue had he ! 
 
 when, to the surprise of every body around her, she sud- 
 denly ceased playing and singing, without removing her 
 hands from the instrument, and gazed steadfastly forward 
 with a vacant air, while the colour faded from her cheeks, 
 and left them pale as the lily. She continued thus for 
 some moments, to the alarm and astonishment of the 
 company — motionless, and apparently unconscious of 
 any one's presence. Her elder sister, much agitated, 
 stepped towards her, placed her hand on her shoulder, 
 endeavoured gently to rouse her, and said, hurriedly, 
 
 <' Anne, Anne ! what is the matter ? " Miss made 
 
 no answer ; but a few moments after, without moving 
 her eyes, suddenly burst into a piercing shriek ! Conster- 
 nation seized all present. 
 
 " Sister — sister! — Dear Anne, are you ill?" again
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 135 
 
 enquired her trembling sister, endeavouring- to rouse her, 
 
 but in vain. Miss did not seem either to see or 
 
 hear her. Her eyes still gazed fixedly forward, till they 
 seemed gradually to expand, as it were, with an expres- 
 sion of glassy horror. All present seemed utterly con- 
 founded, and afraid to interfere with her. Whispers 
 were heard, " She's ill — in a fit — run for some water ! 
 Good God ! — How strange I — What a piercing shriek !" 
 
 — &c. &c. At length Miss 's lips moved. She 
 
 began to mutter inaudibly ; but by and by those imme- 
 diately near her could distinguish the words, " There I — 
 there they are — with their lanterns. — Oh ! they are look- 
 ing out for the de — a — d ! — They turn over the heaps. 
 — Ah ! — now — no ; — that little hill of slain — see, see ! 
 — they are turning them over one by one — There ! — 
 THERE HE IS I — Oh ! horror ! horror ! horror ! — right 
 THROUGH THE HEART !" and, with a long shuddering 
 groan, she fell senseless into the arms of her horror-struck 
 sister. Of course all were in confusion and dismay — 
 not a face present, but was blanched with agitation and 
 affright on hearing the extraordinary words she uttered. 
 With due delicacy and propriety of feeling, all those 
 whose carriages had happened to have already arrived, 
 instantly took their departure, to prevent their presence 
 embarrassing or interfering with the family, who were 
 already sufficiently bewildered. The room was soon 
 thinned of all, except those who were immediately 
 engaged in rendering their services to the young lady ; 
 and a servant was instantly despatched with a horse, for 
 me. On my arrival, 1 found her in bed (still at the 
 house where the party was given, which was that of the 
 young lady's sister-in-law). She had fallen into a sue-
 
 136 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 cession of swoons ever since she had been carried up 
 from the drawingroom, and was perfectly senseless when 
 I entered the bedchamber where she lay. She had not 
 spoken a syllable since uttering the singular words just 
 related ; and her whole frame was cold and rigid — in 
 fact, she seemed to have received some strange shock, 
 which had altogether paralysed her. By the use, how- 
 ever, of strong stimulants, we succeeded in at length 
 restoring her to something like consciousness, but I 
 think it would have been better for her, judging from 
 the event, never to have woke again from forgetfulness. 
 She opened her eyes under the influence of the search- 
 ing stimulants we applied, and stared vacantly for an 
 instant on those standing round her bedside. Her 
 countenance, of an ashy hue, was damp with clammy 
 perspiration, and she lay perfectly motionless, except 
 when her frame undulated with long deep-drawn sighs. 
 
 " Oh, wretched, wretched, wretched girl !" she mur- 
 mured at length, " why have I lived till now? Why 
 did you not suffer me to expire ? He called me to join 
 him — I was going — and you will not let me — but I 
 MUST go — yes, yes I" 
 
 " Anne — dearest I — why do you talk so ? Charles is 
 not gone — he will return soon — he will indeed," sobbed 
 her sister. 
 
 " Oh, never, never ! You could not see what I saw, 
 Jane" — she shuddered — " Oh, it was frightful ! How 
 they tumbled about the heaps of the dead ! — ^how they 
 stripped — oh, horror, horror I" 
 
 " My dear Miss , you are dreaming — raving — 
 
 indeed you are," said I, holding her hand in mine. " Come, 
 come, you must not give way to such gloomy, such nerr
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 13? 
 
 vous fancies — you must not indeed. You are frightening 
 your friends to no purpose." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" she replied, looking me sudden- 
 ly full in the face. " I tell you it is true ! Ah me ! Charles 
 is dead ! — I know it — I saw him ! Shot right through t/ie 
 heart f They were stripping him, when" , and, heav- 
 ing three or four short convulsive sobs, she again swoon- 
 ed. Mrs , the lady of the house (the sister-in-law 
 
 of Miss , as I think 1 have mentioned), could endure 
 
 the distressing scene no longer, and was carried out of 
 the room, fainting, in the arms of her husband. With 
 
 great diflSculty, we succeeded in restoring Miss once 
 
 more to consciousness ; but the frequency and duration 
 of her relapses began seriously to alarm me. The spirit, 
 being brought so often to the brink, might at last sudden- 
 ly flit off into eternity, without any one's being aware of 
 it. I, of course, did all that my professional knowledge 
 and experience suggested ; and, after expressing my readi- 
 ness to remain all night in the house, in the event of any 
 
 sudden alteration in Miss for the worse, I took my 
 
 departure, promising to call very early in the morning. 
 
 Before leaving, Mr had acquainted me with all the 
 
 particulars above related ; and, as I rode home, I could 
 not help feeling the liveliest curiosity, mingled with the 
 most intense sympathy for the unfortunate sufferer, to 
 see whether the corroborating event would stamp the 
 present as one of those extraordinary occurrences, which 
 occasionally " come o'er us like a summer cloud," aston- 
 ishing and perplexing every one. 
 
 " The next morning, about nine o'clock, I was again at 
 
 Miss 's bedside. She was nearly in the same state 
 
 as that in which I had left her the preceding evening —
 
 138 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 only feebler, and almost continually stupified. She seem- 
 ed, as it were, stunned with some severe, but invisible 
 stroke. She said scarcely any thing", but often uttered 
 a low, moaning-, indistinct sound, and whispered, at 
 intervals, " Yes — shortly, Charles, shortly — to-morrow." 
 There was no rousing her by conversation ; she noticed 
 no one, and would answer no questions. I suggested the 
 propriety of calling- in additional medical assistance ; and, 
 in the evening, met two eminent brother physicians in 
 consultation at her bedside. We came to the conclusion, 
 that she was sinking- rapidly, and that, unless some mira- 
 cle intervened to restore her energies, she would con- 
 tinue with us but a very little longer. After my brother 
 physicians had left, I returned to the sick-chamber, and 
 
 sat by Miss 's bedside for more than an hour. My 
 
 feelings were much agitated at witnessing her singular 
 and affecting situation. There was such a sweet and 
 sorrowful expression about her pallid features, deepen- 
 ing, occasionally, into such hopelessness of heart-broken 
 anguish, as no one could contemplate without deep emo- 
 tion. There was, besides, something mysterious and 
 awing — something of what in Scotland is called second 
 sight — in the circumstances which had occasioned her 
 illness. 
 
 " Gone — gone !" she murmured, with closed eyes, 
 while I was sitting and gazing in silence on her, " gone 
 — and in glory ! I shall see the young conqueror — I 
 shall ! How he will love me ! Ah I I recollect," she 
 continued, after a long interval, " it was ' The Banks of 
 Allan Water' those cruel people made me sing — and my 
 heart breaking the while ! — What was the verse I was 
 singing when I saw" — she shuddered — " oh ! — this —
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 139 
 
 For his bride, a soldier sought her, 
 
 And a winning tongue had he — 
 On the Ijanks of Allan Water 
 
 None so gay as she ! 
 But the summer grief had brought her, 
 
 And the soldier — false was he — 
 
 Oh, no, no, never — Charles — my poor murdered Charles 
 — never !" she groaned ; and spoke no more that night. 
 She continued utterly deaf to all that was said in the way 
 of sympathy or remonstrance ; and, if her lips moved at 
 all, it was only to utter faintly some such words as " Oh, 
 let me — let me leave in peace I" During the two next 
 days she continued drooping rapidly. The only circum- 
 stance about her demeanour particularly noticed, was 
 that she once moved her hands for a moment over the 
 counterpane, as though she were playing the piano — a 
 sudden flush overspread her features — her eyes stared, 
 as though she was startled by the appearance of some 
 phantom or other, and she gasped, " There, there !" — 
 after which she relapsed into her former state of stupor. 
 Now, will it be credited, that, on the fourth morning 
 
 of Miss 's illness, a letter was received from Paris 
 
 by her family, with a black seal, and franked by the noble 
 
 Colonel of the regiment in which Charles had 
 
 served, communicating the melancholy intelligence, that 
 the young Captain had fallen towards the close of the 
 battle of Waterloo ; for, while in the act of charging at 
 the head of his corps, a French cavalry officer shot him 
 with his pistol right through the heart ! The whole family, 
 with all their acquaintance, were unutterably shocked at 
 the news, and almost petrified with amazement at the 
 strange corroboration of Miss 's prediction. How
 
 140 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 to communicate it to the poor suiFerer was now a serious 
 question ; or whether to communicate it at all at present. 
 The family, at last, considering that it would be unjusti- 
 fiable in them any longer to withhold the intelligence, 
 intrusted the painful duty to me. I therefore repaired 
 to her bedside alone, in the evening of the day on which 
 the letter had been received : that evening was the last 
 of her life ! I sat down in my usual place beside her, and 
 her pulse, countenance, breathing, cold extremities, toge- 
 ther with the fact that she had taken no nourishment 
 whatever since she had been laid on her bed, convinced 
 me that the poor girl's sufferings were soon to terminate. 
 I was at a loss, for a length of time, how to break the 
 oppressive silence. Observing, however, her fading eyes 
 fixed on me, I determined, as it were accidentally, to 
 attract them to the fatal letter which I then held in my 
 hand. After a while she observed it ; her eye sudden- 
 ly settled on the ample coroneted seal, and the sight 
 operated something like an electric shock. She seemed 
 struggling to speak, but in vain. I now wished to Hea- 
 ven I had never agreed to undertake the duty which had 
 been imposed upon me. I opened the letter, and, look- 
 ing steadfastly at her, said, in as soothing tones as my 
 agitation could command — " My dear girl — now, don't 
 be alarmed, or I shall not tell you what I was going to 
 tell you." — She trembled, and her sensibilities seemed 
 suddenly restored ; for her eye assumed an expression 
 of alarmed intelligence, and her lips moved about like 
 those of a person who feels them parched with agitation, 
 and endeavours to moisten them. " This letter has been 
 received to-day from Paris," I continued : " it is from
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 141 
 
 Colonel , and brings word that — that — that" — I felt 
 
 suddenly choked, and could not bring out the words. 
 
 " That my Charles is dead — I know it. Did I not 
 
 tell you so ?" said Miss , interrupting me, with as 
 
 clear and distinct a tone of voice as she ever had in her 
 life. I felt confounded. Had the unexpected operation 
 of the news I brought been able to dissolve the spell 
 which had withered her mental energies, and afford pro- 
 mise of her restoration to health. 
 
 Has the reader ever watched a candle, which is flicker- 
 ing and expiring in its socket, suddenly shoot up into an 
 instantaneous brilliance, and then be utterly extinguished ? 
 
 I soon saw it was thus with poor Miss . All the 
 
 expiring energies of her soul were suddenly collected to 
 receive this corroboration of her vision — if such it may be 
 called — and then she would, 
 
 Like a lily drooping, 
 Bow her head and die. 
 
 To return : She begged me, in a faltering voice, to read 
 her all the letter. She listened with closed eyes, and 
 made no remark when I had concluded. After a long 
 pause, I exclaimed — " God be praised, my dear Miss 
 
 , that you have been able to receive this dreadful 
 
 news so firmly ! " 
 
 " Doctor, tell me, have you no medicine that could 
 make me weep ? — Oh, give it me, give it me ! It would 
 relieve me, for I feel a mountain on my breast — it is 
 crushing me," she replied feebly, uttering the words at 
 long intervals. Pressing her hand in mine, I begged 
 her to be calm, and the oppression would soon disappear.
 
 142 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 " Oh — oh — oh, that I could weep, Doctor !" She 
 whispered something- else, but inaudibly. I put my ear 
 close to her mouth, and distinguished something- like the 
 words — " Jane ! — I am — call her — hush" — accompanied 
 with a faint, fluttering-, gurgling sound. Alas ! I too well 
 understood it ! With much trepidation I ordered the 
 nurse to summon the family into the room instantly. 
 Her sister Jane was the first that entered, her eyes swollen 
 with weeping, and seemingly half suffocated with the effort 
 to conceal her emotions. 
 
 " Oh, my darling, precious — my own sister Anne ! " 
 she sobbed, and knelt down at the bedside, flinging her 
 arms round her sister's neck, kissing the gentle sufferer's 
 cheeks and mouth. 
 
 " Anne I — love ! — darling ! — don't you know me ? " 
 She groaned, kissing her forehead repeatedly. Could I 
 help weeping ? All who had entered were standing around 
 the bed, sobbing, and in tears. I kept my fingers at the 
 wrist of the dying sufferer ; but could not feel whether or 
 not the pulse beat, which, however, I attributed to my 
 own agitation. 
 
 " Speak — speak — my darling Anne ! — speak to me ; I 
 am your poor sister Jane ! " sobbed the agonized girl, con- 
 tinuing fondly kissing her sister's cold lips and forehead. 
 She suddenly started — exclaimed, " O God ! shes dead /" 
 and sank instantly senseless on the floor. Alas ! alas I it 
 was too true : my sweet and broken-hearted patient was 
 no more !
 
 [ 143 ] 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 Consumption! — Terrible, insatiable tyrant! — who 
 can arrest thy progress, or number thy victims ? Why 
 dost thou attack almost exclusively the fairest and love- 
 liest of our species ? Why select blooming- and beauti- 
 ful youth, instead of hag-g-ard and exhausted ag-e ? Why 
 strike down those who are bounding blithely from the 
 starting'-post of life, rather than the decrepit beings tot- 
 tering towards its goal ? By what infernal subtilty hast 
 thou contrived hitherto to baffle the profoundest skill of 
 science, to frustrate utterly the uses of experience, and 
 disclose thyself only when thou hast irretrievably se- 
 cured thy victim, and thy fangs are crimsoned with its 
 blood? Destroying angel ! why art thou commissioned 
 thus to smite down the first-born of agonized humanity ? 
 What are the strange purposes of Providence, that thus 
 letteth thee loose upon the objects of its infinite good- 
 ness ! 
 
 Alas! how many aching hearts have been agitated 
 with these unanswerable questions, and how many my-
 
 144 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 riads are yet to be wrung and tortured by them ! — Let 
 me proceed to lay before the reader a short and simple 
 statement of one of the many cases of consumption, and 
 all its attendant broken-heartedness, with which a toler- 
 ably extensive practice has, alas ! crowded my memory. 
 The one immediately following has been selected, 
 because it seemed to me, though destitute of varied and 
 stirring incident, calculated, on many accounts, to 
 excite peculiar interest and sympathy. Possibly there 
 are a few who may consider the ensuing pages pervaded 
 by a tone of exaggeration. Indeed it is not so. My 
 heart has really ached under the task of recording the 
 bitter, premature fate of one of the most lovely and 
 accomplished young women I ever knew ; and the vivid 
 recollection of her sufferings, as well as those of her 
 anguished relatives, may have led me to adopt strong lan- 
 guage — but not strong enough adequately to express my 
 feelings. 
 
 Miss Herbert lost both her father and mother before 
 she had attained her tenth year ; and was solemnly com- 
 mitted by each to the care of her uncle, a Baronet, who 
 was unmarried, and, through disappointment in a first 
 attachment, seemed likely to continue so to the end of 
 his life. Two years after his brother's death, he was 
 appointed to an eminent official situation in India, as 
 the fortune attached to his baronetcy had suffered 
 severely from the extravagance of his predecessors. He 
 was for some time at a loss how to dispose of his little 
 niece. Should he take her with him to India, accom- 
 panied by a first-rate governess, and have her carefully 
 educated under his own eye, or leave her behind in 
 England, at one of the fashionable boarding-schools, and
 
 CONSUMPTION. 145 
 
 trust to the general surveillance of a distant female 
 relative ? He decided on the former course ; and accord- 
 ingly, very shortly after completing her twelfth year, this 
 little blooming exotic was transplanted to the scorching 
 soil, and destined "to waste its sweetness" on the sultry 
 air of India. 
 
 A more delicate and lovely little creature than was 
 Eliza Herbert, at this period, cannot be conceived. She 
 was the only bud from a parent stem of remarkable 
 beauty ; but, alas ! that stem was suddenly withered by 
 consumption. Her father, also, fell a victim to the fierce 
 typhus fever, only half a year after the death of his wife. 
 Little Eliza Herbert inherited, with her mother's beauty, 
 her constitutional delicacy. Her figure was so slight, 
 that it almost sug-sjested to the beholder the idea of trans- 
 parency ; and there was a softness and languor in her 
 azure eyes, beaming through their long silken lashes, 
 which told of something too refined for humanity. Her 
 disposition fully comported with her person and habits — 
 arch, mild, and intelligent, with a little dash of pensive- 
 ness. She loved the shade of retirement. If she occa- 
 sionally flitted for a moment into the world, its glare and 
 uproar seemed almost to stun her gentle spirit, and 
 fright it back into congenial privacy. She was, almost 
 from infancy, devotedly fond of reading ; and sought, 
 with peculiar avidity, books of sentiment. Her gifted 
 preceptress — one of the most amiable and refined of 
 women — soon won her entire confidence, and found little 
 difficulty in imparting to her apt pupil all the stores of 
 her own superior and extensive accomplishments. Not 
 a day passed over her head, that did not find Eliza Her- 
 bert riveted more firmly in the hearts of all who came 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 near her, from her doting uncle, down to the most dis- 
 tant domestic. Every luxury that wealth and power 
 could procure, was of course always at her command; 
 but her own innate propriety and just taste prompted her 
 to prefer simplicity in all things. Flattery of all kinds 
 she abhorred — and forsook the house of a rich old Eng^ 
 lish lady, who once told her to her face she was a beauti- 
 ful little angel I In short, a more lovely and amiable 
 being than Eliza Herbert, surely never adorned the ranks 
 of humanity. The only fear which incessantly haunted 
 
 those around her, and kept Sir in a feverish flutter 
 
 of apprehension every day of his life, was, that his niece 
 was, in his own words, " too good — too beautiful, for 
 this world ;" and that unseen messengers from above 
 were already flitting around her, ready to claim her sud- 
 denly for the skies. He has often described to me his 
 feelings on this subject. He seemed conscious that he 
 had no right to reckon on the continuance of her life ; he 
 felt, whenever he thought of her, an involuntary appre- 
 hension that she would, at no distant period, suddenly 
 fade from his sight ; he was afraid, he said, to let out the 
 whole of his heart's affections on her. Like the Oriental 
 merchant, who trembles while freighting " one bark 
 — one little fragile bark," with the dazzHng stores of his 
 immense all, and committing it to the capricious domi- 
 nion of wind and waves ; so Sir often declared, that 
 
 at the period I am alluding to, he experienced cruel mis- 
 givings, that if he embarked the whole of his soul's loves 
 on little Eliza Herbert, they were fated to be shipwrecked. 
 Yet he regarded her every day with feelings which soon 
 heightened into absolute idolatry ! 
 
 His fond anxieties soon suggested to him, that so
 
 CONSUMPTION. 147 
 
 delicate and fragile a being- as his niece, supposing for a 
 moment the existence of any real grounds of apprehen- 
 sion that her constitution bore a hereditary taint, could 
 not be thrown into a more direct path for her grave, than 
 in India ; that any latent tendency to consumption would 
 be quickened and developed with fatal rapidity in the burn- 
 ing atmosphere she was then breathing. His mind, once 
 thoroughly suffused with alarms of this sort, could not 
 ever afterwards be dispossessed of them ; and he accord- 
 ingly determined to relinquish his situation in India, the 
 instant he should have realized, from one quarter or ano- 
 ther, sufficient to enable him to return to England, and 
 support an establishment suitable to his station in society. 
 About five years had elapsed since his arrival in India, 
 during which he had contrived to save a large portion of 
 his very ample income, when news reached him that a 
 considerable fortune had fallen to him, through the death 
 of a remote relative. The intelligence made him, com- 
 paratively, a happy man. He instantly set on foot ar- 
 rangements for returning to England, and procuring the 
 immediate appointment of his successor. 
 
 Unknown to his niece, about a year after his arrival 
 
 in India, Sir had confidentially consulted the most 
 
 eminent physician on the spot. In obedience to the 
 
 injunctions of the Baronet, Dr C was in the habit 
 
 of dropping in frequently, as if accidentally, to dinner^ 
 for the purpose of marking Miss Herbert's demeanour, 
 and ascertaming whether there was, so to speak, the very 
 faintest adumbration of any consumptive tendency. But 
 no — his quick and practised eye detected no morbid 
 indications ; and he repeatedly gladdened the Baronet's 
 heart, by assuring him, that, for any present evidence to 
 the contrary, little Mies Herbert bade as fair for long and
 
 148 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 healthy life as any woman breathing-, especially if she 
 soon returned to the more salubrious climate of England. 
 
 Though Dr C had never spoken professionally 
 
 to her, Eliza Herbert was too quick and shrewd an 
 observer to continue unapprized of the object of his fre- 
 quent visits to her uncle's house. She had not failed 
 to notice his searching- glances ; and knew well that he 
 watched almost every mouthful of food she ate, and scru- 
 tinized all her movements. He had once also ventured 
 to feel her pulse, in a half-in-earnest half-in-joke manner, 
 and put one or two questions to the governess about 
 i^iss Herbert's general habits, which that good, easy, 
 communicative creature unfortunately told her inquisi- 
 tive little pupil ! 
 
 Now, there are few things more alarming and irrita- 
 ting to young people, even if consciously enjoying the 
 most robust health, than suddenly to find that they have 
 long been, and still are, the objects of anxious medical 
 surveillance. They begin naturally to suspect that there 
 must be very good reason for it — and especially in the 
 case of nervous, irritable temperaments ; their peace of 
 mind is thenceforward destroyed by torturing apprehen- 
 sions that they are the doomed victims of some insidious, 
 incurable malady. Of this I have known very many 
 illustrations. Sir , also, was aware of its ill conse- 
 quences, and endeavoured to avert even the shadow of 
 a suspicion from his niece's mind as to the real object of 
 
 Dr C 's visits, by formally introducing him, from the 
 
 first, as one of his own intimate friends. He therefore 
 flatter td himself that his niece was profoundly ignorant 
 of the existence of his anxieties concerning her health ; 
 and was not a little startled one morning by Miss 
 Herbert's abruptly entering his study, and, pale with
 
 CONSUMPTION. 149 
 
 ill-disguised anxiety, enquiring- if there was " any thing- 
 the matter with her ? " Was she unconsciously falling 
 into a decline ? she asked, almost in so many words. 
 Her uncle was so confounded by the suddenness of 
 the affair, that he lost his presence of mind, changed 
 colour a little, and, with a consciously embarrassed air, 
 assured her that it was " no such thing," quite a mis- 
 take — a " very ridiculous one" — a " childish whim," &c. 
 &c. &c. He was so very earnest and energetic in his 
 assurances that there was no earthly ground for appre- 
 hension, andj in short, concealed his alarm so clumsily, 
 that his poor niece, though she left him with a kiss and 
 a smile, and affected to be satisfied, retired to her own> 
 room, and, from that melancholy moment, resigned her- 
 self to her grave. Of this, she herself, three years 
 subsequently, in England, assured me. She never after- 
 wards recovered that gentle buoyancy and elasticity of 
 spirits which made her burst upon her few friends and 
 acquaintance like a little lively sunbeam of cheerfulness 
 and gaiety. She felt perpetually haunted by gloomy 
 though vague suspicions, that there was something 
 radically wrong in her constitution — that it was from 
 her birth sown with the seeds of death — and that no 
 earthly power could eradicate them. Though she resigned 
 herself to the dominion of such harassing thoughts as 
 these while alone, and even shed tears abundantly, she 
 succeeded in banishing to a great extent, her uncle's dis- 
 quietude, by assuming even greater gaiety of demeanour 
 than before. The Baronet took occasion to mention 
 
 the little incident above related to Dr C ; and was 
 
 excessively agitated to see the physician assume a very 
 serious air.
 
 150 eONSUMPTION. 
 
 " This may be attended with more mischief than yon 
 
 are aware of, Sir ," he replied. " I feel it my duty 
 
 to tell you how miserably unfortunate for her it is, that 
 Miss Herbert has at last detected your restless uneasi- 
 ness about her health, and the means you have taken 
 to watch her constitution. Henceforward she may ap- 
 pear satisfied — but mark me if she can ever forget it. 
 You will find her fall frequently into momentary fits of 
 absence and thoughtfulness. She will brood over it,'^ 
 continued Dr C . 
 
 " Why, good God I Doctor," replied the Baronet, 
 " what's the use of frightening one thus ? Do you think 
 my niece is the first girl who has known that her friends 
 are anxious about her health ? If she is really, as you 
 tell her, free from disease — why, in the name of common 
 sense, can ^\i2 fancy herself into a consumption ?" 
 
 '« No, no. Sir ; but incessant alarm may acce- 
 lerate the evil you dread, and predispose her to sink — 
 her energies to droop — under the blow, however lightly 
 it may at first fall, which has been so long impending. 
 
 And, besides, Sir , I did not say she was free from 
 
 disease, but only that I had not discerned any present 
 $ymptom& of disease." 
 
 " Oh, stuff, stuff. Doctor ! nonsense ! " muttered the 
 Baronet, rising and pacing the room with excessive agita- 
 tion. " Can't the girl be laughed out of her fears ?'* 
 
 It may be easily believed that Sir spent every 
 
 future moment of his stay in India in an agony of ap- 
 prehension. His fears exaggerated the slightest indica- 
 tion of his niece's temporary indisposition into a symp- 
 tom of consumption. Any thing like a cough from her 
 would seud him to a pillow of thorns ; and her occa.r«
 
 CONSUMPTION. 151 
 
 sional refusal of food at meal-times was received with 
 undisguised trepidation on the part of her uncle. If he 
 overtook her at a distance, walking out with her gover- 
 ness, he would follow unperceived, and strain his eyesight 
 with endeavouring to detect any thing like feebleness in 
 her gait. These incessant, and very natural anxieties 
 about the only being he loved in the world, enhanced by 
 his efforts to conceal them, sensibly impaired his own 
 health and spirits. He grew fretful and irritable in his 
 demeanour towards every member of his establishment, 
 and could not completely fix his thoughts for the transac- 
 tion of his important official business. 
 
 This may be thought an overstrained representation of 
 
 Sir 's state of mind respecting his niece ; but by 
 
 none except a young, thoughtless, or heartless reader. 
 Let the thousand — the million — heart-wrung parents^ 
 who have mourned, and are now mourning, over their 
 consumptive offspring — let them, I say, echo the truth of 
 the sentiments I am expressing. Let those whose bitter 
 fate it is to see 
 
 The bark, so richly freighted with their love, 
 gradually sinking, shipwrecked before their very eyes, — 
 let them say, whether the pen or tongue of man can fur- 
 nish adequate words to give expression to their anguished 
 feelings ! 
 
 Eighteen years of age — within a trifle — was Miss Her- 
 bert, when she again set foot on her native land, and the 
 eyes and heart of her idolizing uncle leaped for joy to see 
 her augmented health and loveliness, which he fondly 
 flattered himself might now be destined to 
 
 Grow with her growth, and strengthen with her strength.
 
 152 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 The voyage — though long and monotonous as usual — 
 with its fresh breezy balminess, had given an impetus to 
 her animal spirits ; and as her slight figure stepped down 
 the side of the gloomy colossal Indiaman which had 
 brought her across the seas, her blue eye was bright as 
 that of a seraph, her beauteous cheeks glowed with a soft 
 and rich crimson, and there was a lightness, ease, and 
 elasticity in her movements, as she tripped the short dis- 
 tance between the vessel and the carriage, which was in 
 waiting to convey them to town, that filled her doating 
 uncle with feelings of almost frenzied joy. 
 
 " God Almighty bless thee, my darling ! — Bless thee 
 — bless thee for ever, my pride ! my jewel ! — Long and 
 happy be thy life in merry England ! " sobbed the 
 Baronet, folding her almost convulsively in his arms, as 
 soon as they were seated in the carriage, and giving her 
 the first kiss of welcome to her native shores. The second 
 day after they were established at one of the hotels, while 
 Miss Herbert and her governess were riding the round 
 
 of fashionable shopping. Sir drove alone to the late 
 
 Dr Baillie. In a long interview (they were personal 
 friends), he communicated all his distressing apprehen- 
 sions about his niece's state of health, imploring him to 
 say whether he had any real cause of alarm whatever — 
 immediate or prospective — and what course and plan of 
 life he would recommend for the future. Dr Baillie, 
 after many and minute enquiries, contented himself with 
 saying that he saw no grounds for present apprehen- 
 sions. " It certainly did sometimes happen," he said, 
 '' that a delicate daughter of a consumptive parent 
 inherited her mother's tendencies to disease. — As for 
 her future life and habits, there was not the slightest
 
 CONSUMPTION. 153 
 
 occasion for medicine of any kind : she must live almost 
 entirely in the country, take plenty of fresh dry air and 
 exercise — especially eschew late hours and company ;" 
 and he hinted, finally, the advantages, and almost ne- 
 cessity, of an early matrimonial engagement. 
 
 It need hardly be said, that Sir resolved most 
 
 religiously to follow this advice to the letter. 
 
 " I'll come and dine with you in Dover Street, at 
 seven to-day," said Dr Baillie, '* and make my own 
 observations." 
 
 " Thank you. Doctor — but — but we dine out to-day," 
 muttered the Baronet, rather faintly, adding, inwardly, 
 " No, no ! — no more medical espionage — no, no !" 
 
 Sir purchased a very beautiful mansion, which 
 
 then happened to be for sale, situated within ten or 
 twelve miles of London ; and thither he removed, as 
 soon as ever the preliminary arrangements could be com- 
 pleted. 
 
 The shrine, and its divinity, were worthy of each 
 other. Hall was one of the most charming pic- 
 turesque residences in the county. It was a fine antique 
 semi-Gothic structure, almost obscured from sight in the 
 profound gloom of forest shade. The delicious velvet 
 greensward, spread immediately in front of the house, 
 seemed formed for the gentle footsteps of Miss Herbert. 
 When you went there, if you looked carefully about, you 
 might discover a little white tuft glistening on some part 
 or other of the " smooth soft-shaven lawn ;" it was her 
 pet lamb — sweet emblem of its owner's innocence I — 
 cropping the crisp and rich herbage. Little thing ! it 
 would scarcely submit to be fondled by any hand but 
 that of its indulgent mistress. She, also, might occa-
 
 154 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 gionally be seen there, wandering- thoughtfully along, 
 with a book in her hand — Tasso, probably, or Dante — 
 and her loose light hair straying from beneath a gipsy 
 bonnet, commingling in pleasant contrast with a saf- 
 fron-coloured riband. Her uncle would sit for an hour 
 together, at a corner of his study window, overlooking 
 the lawn, and never remove his eyes from the figure of 
 his fair niece. 
 
 Miss Herbert was soon talked of everywhere in the 
 neighbourhood, as the pride of the place — the star of the 
 county. She budded forth almost visibly ; and though 
 her exquisite form was developing daily, till her matured 
 womanly proportions seemed to have been cast in the 
 mould of the Venus de Medici, though on a scale of 
 more slenderness and delicacy, it was, nevertheless, out- 
 stripped by the precocious expanding of her intellect. 
 The sympathies of her soul were attuned to the deepest 
 and most refined sentiment. She was passionately fond 
 of poetry ; and never wandered without the sphere of 
 what was first-rate. Dante and Milton were her con- 
 stant companions, by day and night ; and it was a treat 
 to hear the mellifluous cadences of the former uttered by 
 the soft and rich voice of Miss Herbert. She could not 
 more satisfactorily evidence her profound appreciation 
 of the true spirit of poetry, than by her almost idola- 
 trous admiration of the kindred genius of Handel and 
 Mozart. She was scarcely ever known to play any 
 other music than theirs ; she would listen to none but 
 the *' mighty voices of those dim spirits." And then 
 she was the most amiable and charitable creature, that 
 sure ever trode the earth! How many colds — slight, 
 to be sure, and evanescent — had she caught, and how
 
 CONSUMPTION. 155 
 
 many rebukes from the alarmed fondness of her uncle 
 had she suffered in consequence, through her frequent 
 visits, in all weathers, to the cottag-es of the poor and 
 sick ! — " You are describing- an ideal being", and invest- 
 ing it with all the graces and virtues — one that never 
 really existed," perhaps exclaims one of my readers. 
 There are not a few now living-, who could answer for 
 the truth of my poor and faint description, with anguish 
 and regret. Frequently, on seeing such instances of pre- 
 cocious developement of the powers of both mind and 
 body, the curt and forcible expression of Quintilian has 
 occurred to my mind with painful force — " Quod obser- 
 vatum fere est, celerius occidere festinatam maturita' 
 tern"* aptly rendered by the English proverb, " Soon 
 ripe, soon rotten." 
 
 The latter part of Dr Baillie's advice was anxiously 
 
 kept in view by Sir ; and soon after Miss Herbert 
 
 had completed her twentieth year, he had the satisfac- 
 tion of seeing her encourage the attentions of a Captain 
 
 , the third son of a neighbouring nobleman. He 
 
 was a remarkably fine and handsome young man, of 
 a very superior spirit, and fully capable of appreciating 
 
 the value of her whose hand he sought. Sir was 
 
 delighted, almost to ecstasy, when he extracted from the 
 
 trembling, blushing girl, a confession that Captain 's 
 
 company was any thing but disagreeable to her. The 
 young military hero was, of course, soon recognised as 
 her suitor ; and a handsome couple, people said, they 
 would make. Miss Herbert's health seemed more robust, 
 and her spirits more buoyant, than ever. How, indeed, 
 could it be otherwise, when she was daily riding in an 
 
 * De Inst. Orat. Lib. iv. In proemio.
 
 156 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 open carriage, or on horseback, over a fine breezy, cham- 
 paign country, by the side of the gay, handsome, fascina- 
 ting Captain ? 
 
 The Baronet was sitting one morning in his study, 
 having the day before returned from a month's visit to 
 some friends in Ireland, and engaged with some important 
 
 letters from India, when Miss B , his niece's govern- 
 
 ness, sent a message, requesting to speak in private with 
 him. When she entered, her embarrassed, and somewhat 
 flurried manner, not a little surprised Sir . 
 
 "How is Eliza?— How is Eliza, Miss B ?" he 
 
 enquired hastily, laying aside his reading glasses. " Very 
 well," she replied — " very ;" and, after a little fencing about 
 the necessity of making allowance for the exaggeration 
 of alarm and anxiety, she proceeded to inform him, that 
 Miss Herbert had latterly passed restless nights — that 
 her sleep was not unfrequently broken by a cough — a 
 sort of faint churchyard cough, she said, it seemed — 
 which had not been noticed for some time, till it was 
 accompanied by other symptoms. — " Gracious God ! 
 madam, how was this not told me before ? — Why — why 
 did you not write to me in Ireland about it ?" enquired 
 
 Sir , with excessive trepidation. He could scarcely 
 
 pit in his chair, and grew very pale ; while Miss B , 
 
 herself equally agitated, went on to mention profuse 
 night-sweats — a disinclination for food — exhaustion from 
 the slightest exercise — a feverishness every evening — 
 and a faint hectic flush 
 
 " Oh, plague-spot I'" groaned the Baronet, almost 
 choked, letting fall his reading glasses. He tottered 
 towards the bell, and the valet was directed to order the 
 carriage for town immediately. " What — what possible 
 excuse can I devise for bringing Dr Baillie here ?" said
 
 CONSUMPTION. 157 
 
 he to the governess, as he was drawing- on his gloves. 
 " Well — well — I'll leave it to you — do what you can. 
 For God's sake, madam, prepare her to see him somehow 
 or another, for the Doctor and I shall certainly be here 
 together this evening. — Oh ! say I'm called up to town 
 on sudden business, and thought I might as well bring 
 him on with me, as he is visiting a patient in the neigh- 
 bourhood — Oh! any thing, madam — anything!" He 
 hardly knew what he was saying. 
 
 Dr Baillie, however, could not come, being himself 
 at Brighton, an invalid, and the Baronet was therefore 
 pleased, though with ill-disguised chagrin, to summon 
 me to supply his place. On my way down, he put me 
 in possession of most of the facts above narrated. He 
 implored me, in tenderness to his agitated feelings, to 
 summon all the tact I had ever acquired, and alarm the 
 object of my visit as little as possible. I was especially 
 to guard against appearing to know too much ; I was to 
 beat about the bush— to extract her symptoms gradually, 
 &c. I never saw the fondest, the most doating father 
 or mother more agitated about an only child, than was 
 
 Sir about his niece. He protested that he could 
 
 not survive her death — that she was the only prop and 
 pride of his declining years — and that he must fall if he 
 lost her ; and made use of many similar expressions. It 
 was in vain that I sought him not to allow himself to 
 be carried so much away by his fears. He must let me 
 see her, and have an opportunity of judging whether 
 there were any real cause of alarm, I said ; and he might 
 rely on my honour as a gentleman, that I would be frank 
 and candid with him, to the very utmost — I would tell 
 birn the worst. I reminded him of the possibility that
 
 158 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 the symptoms he mentioned might not really exist ; that 
 
 they might have been seen by Miss B through the 
 
 distorting and magnifying medium of apprehension ; and 
 that, even if they did really exist — why, that — that — 
 they were not always the precursors of consumption, I 
 stammered, against my own convictions. It is impos- 
 sible to describe the emotions excited in the Baronet, by 
 my simply uttering the word " consumption." He said 
 it stabbed him to the heart ! 
 
 On arriving at Hall, the Baronet and I instantly 
 
 repaired to the drawingroom, where Miss Herbert and 
 her governess were sitting at tea. The sad sunlight of 
 September shone through the Gothic window near which 
 they were sitting. Miss Herbert was dressed in white, 
 and looked really dazzlingly beautiful ; but the first 
 transient glance warned me that the worst might be 
 apprehended. I had that very morning been at the bed- 
 side of a dying young lady, a martyr to that very disease, 
 which commences by investing its victim with a tenfold 
 splendour of personal beauty, to be compensated for by 
 sudden and rapid decay ! Miss Herbert's eyes were 
 lustrous as diamonds ; and the complexion of her cheeks, 
 pure and fair as that of the lily, was surmounted with an 
 intense circumscribed crimson flush — alas, alas I the very 
 plague-spot of hectic — of consumption. She saluted me 
 silently, and her eyes glanced hurriedly from me to her 
 uncle, and from him again to me. His disordered air 
 defied disguise. 
 
 She was evidently apprised of my coming, as well as 
 of the occasion of my visit. Indeed, there was a visible 
 embarrassment about all four of us, which I felt I was 
 expected to dissipate, by introducing indifferent topics
 
 CONSUMPTION. 159 
 
 of conversation. This I attempted, but with little 
 success. Miss Herbert's tea was before her on a little 
 ebony stand, untouched ; and it was evidently a violent 
 effort only that enabled her to continue in the room. 
 
 She looked repeatedly at Miss B , as though she 
 
 wished to be gone. After about half an hour's time, I 
 alluded complimentarily to what I had heard of her 
 performance on the piano. She smiled coldly, and rather 
 contemptuously, as though she saw the part I was 
 playing. Nothing daunted, however, I begged her to 
 favour me with one of Haydn's sonatas ; and she went 
 immediately to the piano, and played what I asked — I 
 need hardly say, exquisitely. Her uncle then withdrew 
 for the alleged purpose of answering a letter, as had 
 been arranged between us; and I was left alone with 
 the two ladies. I need not fatigue the reader with a 
 minute description of all that passed. I introduced the 
 object of my visit as casually and as gently as I could, 
 and succeeded more easily than I had anticipated in 
 quieting her alarms. The answers she gave to my 
 questions amply corroborated the truth of the account 
 
 given by Miss B to the Baronet. Her feverish 
 
 accelerated pulse, also, told of the hot blighting breath- 
 ings of the destroying angel, who was already hovering 
 close around his victim ! I was compelled to smile with 
 an assumed air of gaiety and nonchalance, while listening 
 to the poor girl's unconscious disclosures of various little 
 matters, which amounted to infallible evidence that she 
 was already beyond the reach of medicine. I bade her 
 adieu, complimenting her on her charming looks, and 
 expressing my delight at finding so little occasion for my 
 professional services ! She looked at me with a half-
 
 160 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 incredulous, half-con tiding eye, and with much girlish 
 simplicity and frankness, put her hand into mine, thank- 
 ing me for dispersing her fears, and begging me to do the 
 same for her uncle. I afterwards learned, that as soon as 
 I left the room, she burst into a flood of tears, and sighed 
 and sobbed all the rest of the evening. 
 
 With Sir I felt it my duty to be candid. Why 
 
 should I conceal the worst from him, when I felt as 
 certain as I was of my own existence, that his beautiful 
 niece was already beginning to wither away from before 
 his eyes ? Convinced that " hope deferred maketh sick 
 the heart," I have always, in such cases, warned the 
 patient's friends, long beforehand, of the inevitable fate 
 awaiting the object of their anxious hopes and fears, in 
 order that resignation might gradually steal thoroughly 
 into their broken hearts. To return : I was conducted to 
 the Baronet's study, where he was standing with his hat 
 and gloves on, ready to accompany me as far as the high- 
 road, in order that I might await the arrival of a London 
 coach. I told him, in short, that I feared I had seen and 
 heard too much to allow a doubt that his niece's present 
 'symptoms were those of the commencing stage of pul- 
 monary consumption ; and that, though medicine and 
 change of climate might possibly avert the evil day for a 
 time, it was my melancholy duty to assure him, that no 
 earthly power could save her. 
 
 " Merciful God ! " he gasped, loosing his arm from 
 mine, and leaning against the park gate, at which we had 
 arrived. I implored him to be calm. He continued 
 speechless for some time, with his hands clasped. 
 
 '^ Oh, Doctor, Doctor !" he exclaimed, as if a gleam 
 of hope had suddenly flashed across his mind, "we've 
 
 1
 
 CONSUMPTION. 161 
 
 forgot to tell you a most material thing, which, perhaps, 
 will alter the whole case — oh ! how could we have forgot- 
 ten it?" he continued, growing heated with the thought ; 
 " my niece eats very heartily — nay, more heartily than 
 any of us, and seems to relish her food more." Alas ! I 
 was obliged, as I have hundreds of times before been 
 obliged, to dash the cup from his lips, by assuring him 
 that an almost ravenous appetite was as invariably a fore- 
 runner of consumption as the pilot-fish of the shark ! 
 
 " O great God ! what will become of me ? What shall 
 I do ? " he exclaimed, almost frantic, and wringing his 
 hands in despair. He had lost every vestige of self- 
 control. '^ Then my sweet angel must die ! Damning 
 thought ! Oh, let me die too ! I cannot — I will not — 
 survive her ! — Doctor, Doctor, you must give up your 
 London practice, and come and live in my house — you 
 must ! Oh come, come, and I'll fling my whole fortune 
 at your feet ! Only save her, and you and yours shall 
 roll in wealth, if I go back to India to procure it ! — Oh ! 
 whither — whither shall I go with my darling ? To Italy 
 — to France ? My God ! what shall I do when she is 
 gone — for ever ! " he exclaimed, like one distracted. I 
 entreated him to recollect himself, and endeavour to re- 
 gain his self-possession before returning to the presence 
 of his niece. He started. " Oh, mockery, Doctor, 
 mockery ! How can I ever look on the dear — the 
 doomed girl again ? She is no longer mine ; she is in 
 her grave — she is ! " 
 
 Remonstrance and expostulation, I saw, were utterly 
 useless, and worse, for they served only to irritate. The 
 coach shortly afterwards drew up; and, wringing my 
 hands, Sir extorted a promise that I would see his 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 162 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 niece the next day, and bring Dr Baillie with me, if he 
 should have returned to town. I was as good as my 
 word, except that Dr Baillie could not accompany me, 
 being still at Brighton. My second interview with Miss 
 Herbert was long and painfully interesting. We were 
 alone. She wept bitterly, and recounted the incident 
 mentioned above, which occurred in India, and occasioned 
 her first serious alarm. She felt convinced, she told me, 
 that her case was hopeless ; she saw, too, that her uncle 
 possessed a similar conviction ; and sobbed agonizingly 
 when she alluded to his altered looks. She had felt a 
 presentiment, she said, for some months past, which, how- 
 ever, she had never mentioned till then, that her days 
 were numbered, and attributed, too truly, her accelerated 
 illness to the noxious climate of India. She described her 
 sensations to be that of a constant void within, as if there 
 were a something wanting — an unnatural hollowness — a 
 dull, deep aching in the left side — a frequent inclination 
 to relieve herself by spitting, which, when she did, alas ! 
 alas I she observed, more than once, to be streaked with 
 blood. 
 
 " How long do you think I have to live, Doctor ? " 
 she enquired faintly. 
 
 " Oh, my dear girl, do not, for Heaven's sake, ask 
 such useless questions I — How can I possibly presume to 
 answer them, giving you credit for a spark of common 
 sense ?" She grew very pale, and drew her handkerchief 
 across her forehead. 
 
 " Is it likely that I shall have to endure much pain ? " 
 she asked, with increasing trepidation. I could reply 
 only, that I hoped not — that there was no ground for 
 immediate apprehension — and I faltered, that possibly a
 
 CONSUMPTION. 163 
 
 milder climate, and the skill of medicine, might yet carry 
 her through. The poor girl shook her head hopelessly, 
 and trembled violently from head to foot. 
 
 " Oh, poor uncle! — Poor, poor Ed !" she fal- 
 tered, and fell fainting into my arms ; for the latter allu- 
 sion to Captain had completely overcome her. 
 
 Holding- her senseless sylph-like figure in my arms, I 
 hurried to the bell, and was immediately joined by Sir 
 
 , the governess, and one or two female attendants. 
 
 I saw the Baronet was beginning to behave like a mad- 
 man, by the increasing boisterousness of his manner, and 
 the occasional glare of wildness that shot from his eye. 
 With the utmost difficulty I succeeded in forcing him 
 from the room, and keeping- him out till Miss Herbert 
 had recovered. 
 
 " Oh, Doctor, Doctor I " he muttered hoarsely, after 
 staggering- to a seat, " this is worse than death I I pray 
 God to take her and me too, and put an end to our 
 misery ! " 
 
 I expostulated with him rather sternly, and represent- 
 ed to him the absurdity and impiousness of his wish. 
 
 " ," he thundered, starting- from his chair, and 
 
 stamping furiously to and fro across the room, " What 
 do you mean by drivelling- in that way. Doctor ? Can 
 I see my darling dying — absolutely dying by inches — 
 before my very eyes, and yet be cool and unconcerned ? 
 I did not expect such conduct from you. Doctor." He 
 burst into tears. " Oh ! I'm going mad ! — I'm going mad !'* 
 he groaned, and sank again into his seat. From one or two 
 efforts he made to force down the emotions which were 
 swelling and dilating his whole frame, I seriously appre- 
 hended either that he would fall into a fit, or go raving
 
 164 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 mad. Happily, however, I was mistaken. His excite- 
 ment gradually subsided. He was a man of remarkably 
 strong- and ardent feelings, which he had never been 
 accustomed to control, even in the moments of their most 
 violent manifestations ; and on the present occasion, the 
 maddening thought that the object of his long, intense, 
 and idolizing love and pride was about to be lost to him 
 irretrievably — for ever — was sufficient to overturn his 
 shaken intellects. I prevailed upon him to continue where 
 he was, till I returned from his niece ; for I was summoned 
 to her chamber. I found her lying on the bed, only par- 
 tially ^ndressed. Her beautiful auburn hair hung dis- 
 ordered over her neck and shoulders, partially concealing 
 her lovely marble-hued features. Her left hand covered 
 her eyes, and her right clasped a little locket, suspended 
 round her neck by a plain black riband, containing a 
 little of Captain 's hair. Miss B , her gover- 
 ness, her maid, and the housekeeper, with tears and sobs, 
 were engaged in rendering various little services to their 
 unfortunate young mistress ; and my heart ached to think 
 of the little — the nothing — / could do for her. 
 
 Two days afterwards, Dr Baillie, another physician, 
 and myself, went down to see Miss Herbert ; for a note 
 from Miss B informed me that her ward had suf- 
 fered severely from the agitation experienced at the last 
 visit I had paid her, and was in a low nervous fever. 
 The consumptive symptoms, also, were beginning to 
 gleam through the haze of accidental indisposition with 
 fearful distinctness ! Dr Baillie simply assured the 
 Baronet that my predictions were but too likely to be 
 verified ; and that the only chance of averting the worst 
 form of consumption (a galloping one), would be an
 
 CONSUMPTION. 165 
 
 instant removal to Italy, that the fall of the year, and 
 the winter season, might be spent in a more genial and 
 fostering climate. We, at the same time, frankly assured 
 
 Sir , who listened with a sullen, despairing apathy 
 
 of manner, that the utmost he had to expect from a visit 
 to Italy, was the chance of a temporary suspension of the 
 fate which hovered over his niece. In a few weeks, 
 accordingly, they were all settled at Naples. 
 
 But what have I to say, all this time, the reader is 
 possibly asking, about the individual who was singled 
 out by fate for the first and heaviest stroke inflicted by 
 Miss Herbert's approaching dissolution ? Where was 
 
 the lover ? Where was Captain ? I have avoided 
 
 allusions to him hitherto, because his distress and agita- 
 tion transcended all my powers of description. He loved 
 Miss Herbert with all the passionate romantic fervour of 
 a first attachment ; and the reader must ask his own 
 heart, what were the feelings by which that of Captain 
 was lacerated. 
 
 I shall content myself with recording one little incident 
 
 which occurred before the family of Sir left for 
 
 Italy. I was retiring one night to rest, about twelve 
 o'clock, when the startling summons of the night-bell 
 brought me again down stairs, accompanied by a servant. 
 Thrice the bell rang with impatient violence before the 
 door could possibly be opened, and I heard the steps of 
 some vehicle let down hastily. 
 
 « Is Dr at home ? " enquired a groom, and being 
 
 answered in the affirmative, in a second or two a gentle- 
 man leaped from a chariot standing at the door, and 
 hurried into the room, whither I had retired to await 
 him. He was in a sort of half military travelling dress.
 
 166 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 His face was pale, his eye sunk, his hair disordered, and 
 
 his voice thick and hurried. It was Captain , who 
 
 had been absent on a shooting- excursion in Scotland, and 
 who had not received intelligence of the alarming symp- 
 toms disclosed by Miss Herbert, till within four days of 
 that which found him at my house, on the present occa- 
 sion, come to ascertain from me the reality of the melan- 
 choly apprehensions so suddenly entertained by Sir ■ 
 and the other members of both families. 
 
 "Gracious God! Is there no hope, Doctor!" he 
 enquired faintly, after swallowing a glass of wine, which, 
 seeing his exhaustion and agitation, I had sent for. I 
 endeavoured to evade giving a direct answer — attempted 
 to divert his thoughts towards the projected trip to the 
 Continent — dilated on the soothing, balmy climate she 
 would have to breathe — it had done wonders for others, 
 &c. — and, in a word, exhausted the stock of inefficient 
 subterfuges and palliatives to which all professional 
 men are, on such occasions, compelled to resort. Cap- 
 tain listened to me silently, while his eye was 
 
 fixed on me with a vacant, unobserving stare. His 
 utter wretchedness touched me to the soul; and yet, 
 what consolation had I to offer him ? After several 
 profound sighs, he exclaimed, in a flurried tone, " I see 
 how it is. Her fate is fixed — and so is mine I Would 
 to God — would to God, I had never seen or known 
 Miss Herbert ! — What will become of us I " He rose to 
 go. " Doctor, forgive me for troubling you so late, but 
 
 really I can rest nowhere ! I must go back to Hall," 
 
 I shook hands with him, and in a few moments the cha- 
 riot dashed ofi*. 
 
 Really I can scarcely conceive of a more dreadful state
 
 ^CONSUMPTION. 167 
 
 of mind than that of Captain , or of any one whose 
 
 " heart is in the right place," to use a homely but apt 
 expression, when placed in such wretched circumstances 
 as those above related. To see the death-warrant sealed 
 of her a man's soul doats on — who is the idolized ob- 
 ject of his holiest, fondest, and possibly first affections ! 
 Yes, to see her bright and beautiful form suddenly 
 ■snatched down into " utter darkness" by the cold relent- 
 less grasp of our common foe — " the desire of our eyes 
 taken away as with a stroke" — may well wither one. That 
 man's soul which would not be palsied — prostrated, by 
 such a stroke as this, is worthless, and worse — it is a 
 libel on his kind. He cannot love a woman as she should 
 and must be loved. But why am I so vehement in 
 expressing my feelings on the subject ? Because, in the 
 course of my professional intercourse, my souL has been 
 often sickened with listening to the expression of oppo- 
 site sentiments. The poor and pitiful philosophy — that 
 the word should ever have been so prostituted ! — which 
 is now sneaking in among us, fostered by foolish lads, 
 and men with hollow hearts and barren brains, for the 
 purpose of weeding out from the soul's garden its richest 
 and choicest flowers, sympathy and sentiment — this phi- 
 losophy may possibly prompt some reader to sneer over 
 the agonies I have been attempting to describe ; but, O 
 reader ! do you eschew it — trample on it whenever, wher- 
 ever you find it, for the reptile, though very little, is very 
 venomous. 
 
 Captain 's regiment was ordered to Ireland, and 
 
 as he found it impossible to accompany it, he sold out, 
 and presently followed the heart-broken Baronet and his 
 niece to Italy. The delicious climate sufficed to kindle
 
 168 CONSUMPTION, 
 
 and foster for a while that deceitful ignis fatuus — hope, 
 which always flits before in the gloomy horizon of con- 
 sumptive patients, and leads them and their friends on — 
 and on — and on — till it suddenly sinks quivering into 
 their grave I They staid at Naples till the month of July. 
 Miss Herbert was sinking, and that with fearfully accele- 
 rated rapidity. Sir 's health was much impaired 
 
 with incessant anxiety and watching ; and Captain 
 
 had been several times on the very borders of madness. 
 His love for the dear being who could never be his, in- 
 creased ten thousand fold when he found it hopeless ! — 
 Is it not always so ? 
 
 Aware that her days were numbered. Miss Herbert 
 anxiously importuned her uncle to return to England. 
 She wished, she said^ to breathe her last in her native isle 
 
 — among the green pastures and hills of shire, and 
 
 to be buried beside her father and mother. Sir 
 
 listened to the utterence of these sentiments with a break- 
 ing heart. He could see no reason for refusing a com- 
 pliance with her request ; and, accordingly, the latter end 
 
 of August beheld the unhappy family once more at 
 
 Hall. 
 
 I once saw a very beautiful lily, of rather more than 
 ordinary stateliness, whose stem had been snapped by 
 the storm over night ; and, on entering my garden in the 
 morning, there, alas ! alas ! lay the pride of all chaste 
 flowers, pallid and prostrate on the very bed where it 
 had a short while before bloomed so sweetly ! This little 
 circumstance was forcibly recalled to my recollection, on 
 seeing Miss Herbert for the first time after her return 
 from the Continent. It was in the spacious drawing- 
 room at Hall, where I had before seen her, in the
 
 CONSUMPTION. 169 
 
 evening ; and she was reclining on an ottoman, which 
 had been drawn towards the large fretted Gothic 
 window formerly mentioned. I stole towards it with 
 noiseless footsteps ; for the hushing, cautioning move- 
 ments of those present warned me that Miss Herbert 
 was asleep. I stood and gazed in silence for some 
 moments on the lovely unfortunate — almost afraid to 
 disturb her, even by breathing. She was wasted almost 
 to a shadow — attenuated to nearly ethereal delicacy and 
 transparency. She was dressed in a plain white muslin 
 gown, and lying on an Indian shawl, in which she had 
 been enveloped for the purpose of being brought down 
 from her bed-chamber. Her small foot and ancle were 
 concealed beneath white silk stockings and satin slippers 
 — through which it might be seen how they were shrunk 
 from the full dimensions of health. They seemed, indeed, 
 rather the exquisite chiselling of Canova, the represen- 
 tation of recumbent beauty, than flesh and blood, and 
 scarcely capable of sustaining even the slight pressure 
 of Miss Herbert's wasted frame. The arms and hands 
 were enveloped in long white gloves, which fitted very 
 loosely ; and her waist, encircled by a broad violet- 
 coloured riband, was rather that of a young girl of twelve 
 or thirteen, than a full-grown woman. But it was her 
 countenance — her symmetrical features, sunk, faded, 
 and damp with death-dews, and her auburn hair falling 
 in rich matted careless clusters down each side of her 
 alabaster temples and neck ; it was all this which 
 suggested the bitterest thoughts of blighted beauty, 
 almost breaking the heart of the beholder. Perfectly 
 motionless and statue-like lay that fair creature, breath- 
 ing so imperceptibly, that a rose-leaf might have slept on
 
 170 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 her lips unfluttered ! On an easy-chair, drawn towards 
 
 the head of the ottoman, sat her uncle. Sir , holding 
 
 a white hankerchief in his hand, with which he, from 
 time to time, wiped off the dews which started out inces- 
 santly on his niece's pallid forehead. It was affecting to 
 see his hair changed to a dull iron-grey hue ; whereas, 
 before he had left for the Continent, it was jet black. His 
 sallow and worn features bore the traces of recent tears. 
 
 And where now is the lover ? Where is Captain ? 
 
 again enquires the reader. He was then at Milan, raving 
 beneath the tortures and delirium of a brain fever, which 
 
 flung him on his sick-bed only the day before Sir 's 
 
 family set out for England. Miss Herbert had not been 
 told of the circumstance till she arrived at home ; and 
 those who communicated the intelligence will never un- 
 dertake such a duty again ! 
 
 After some time, in which we around had maintained 
 perfect silence. Miss Herbert gently opened her eyes ; 
 and seeing me sitting opposite her uncle, by her side, 
 gave me her hand, and, with a faint smile, whispered 
 some words of welcome which I could not distinguish. 
 
 " Am I much altered, Doctor, since you saw me 
 last ?" she presently enquired, in a more audible tone. 
 I said I regretted to see her so feeble and emaciated. 
 
 " And does not my poor uncle also look very ill ?" 
 enquired the poor girl, eyeing him with a look of sor- 
 rowful fondness. She feebly extended her arms, as if 
 for the purpose of putting them round his neck, and he 
 seized and kissed them with such fervour, that she burst 
 into tears. " Your kindness is killing me — oh! don't, 
 don't ! " she murmured. He was so overpowered with 
 his emotions, that he abruptly rose and left the room.
 
 CONSUMPTION. 171 
 
 I then made many minute enquiries about the state of 
 her health. I could hardly detect any pulsation at the 
 wrist, though the blue veins, and almost the arteries, I 
 fancied, might be seen meandering beneath the trans- 
 parent skin. 
 
 ****** 
 My feelings will not allow me, nor would my space, 
 to describe every interview I had with her. She sank 
 very rapidly. She exhibited all those sudden deceitful 
 rallyings, which invariably agonize consumptive patients 
 and their friends with fruitless hopes of recovery. Oh, 
 how they are clung to I how hard to persuade their fond 
 hearts to relinquish them! with what despairing obsti- 
 nacy will they persist in " hoping against hope 1" I 
 recollect one evening, in particular, that her shattered 
 energies were so unaccountably revived and collected, 
 her eye grew so full and bright, her cheeks were suffused 
 with so rich a vermilion, her voice soft and sweet as ever, 
 and her spirits so exhilarated, that even I was staggered 
 
 for a moment ; and poor Sir got so excited, that 
 
 he said to me, in a sort of ecstasy, as he accompanied me 
 to my carriage, " Ah, Doctor, a pkcenix ! — Doctor, a 
 phcenix ! She's rising from her ashes — ah ! ha I She'll 
 cheat you for once — darling !" and he raised his hand- 
 kerchief to his eyes, for they were overflowing. 
 
 ^ ^ 7^ ^ y^ 7^ 
 
 " Doctor, you're fond of music, I believe ; you won't 
 have any objection to listen to a little now, will you ? — 
 I'm exactly in the mood for it, and it's almost the only 
 
 enjoyment I have left, and Miss B plays enchant- 
 
 ingly. Go, love, please, and play a mass from Mozart 
 — the one we listened to last night," said Miss Herbert,
 
 172 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 on one occasion, about a week after the interview last 
 mentioned. Miss B , who was in tears, imme- 
 diately rose, and took her seat at the piano. She played 
 exquisitely. I held one of my sweet patient's hands in 
 mine, as she lay on the sofa, with her face turned towards 
 the window, through which the retiring sunlight was 
 streaming in tender radiance on her wasted features, 
 after tinting richly the amber-hued groves which were 
 visible through the window. I need not attempt to 
 
 characterise the melting music which Miss B was 
 
 pouring from the piano. I have often thought that there 
 is a sort of spiritual character about some of the masses of 
 Mozart, which draws out the greatest sympathies of one's 
 nature, striking the deepest and most hidden chords of 
 the human heart. On the present occasion, the peculiar 
 circumstances in which T was placed — the time, the 
 place, the dying angel whose hand was clasped in mine 
 — disposed me to a more intense appreciation of Mozarfs 
 music than I had ever known before. The soft, sooth- 
 ipg, solemn, swelling cadences undulated one after 
 another into my full heart, till they forced the tears to 
 gush from my eyes. I was utterly overcome. Oh, that 
 languishing, heart-breaking music I can never forget I 
 The form of EHza Herbert flits before me to this day 
 when I hear it spoken of. I will not listen to any one 
 play it now — though I have often wept since on hearing 
 
 it from Miss B , to whom Miss Herbert bequeathed 
 
 her piano. But, to return : My tears flowed fast ; and 
 I perceived also the crystal drops oozing through the 
 closed eyelids of Miss Herbert. " Heart-breaking music, 
 is it not. Doctor ?" she murmured. I could make her 
 no reply. I felt at that moment as if I could have
 
 CONSUMPTION. 173 
 
 l^id down my life for her. After a long pause, Miss 
 
 B continuing all the while playing, Miss Herbert 
 
 sobbed — " Oh, how I should like to be buried while the 
 organ is playing this music I And he — he was fond of 
 it, too I" she continued, with a long shuddering sigh. It 
 was echoed, to my surprise, but in a profounder tone, 
 from that quarter of the room where the grand piano 
 
 was placed. It could not have been from Miss B , 
 
 I felt sure ; and, looking towards her, I beheld the dim 
 
 outline of Sir 's figure leaning against the piano, 
 
 with his face buried in his white handkerchief. He had 
 stolen into the room unperceived ; for he had left it half 
 an hour before, in a fit of sudden agitation ; and, after 
 continuing about five minutes, was compelled, by his feel- 
 ings, again to retire. His sigh, and the noise he made 
 in withdrawing, had been heard by Miss Herbert. 
 
 " Doctor — Doctor!" she stammered faintly, turning 
 as white as ashes, " who — who is that ? — what was it ? 
 — Oh dear! it can never be — no — no — it cannot" — and 
 she suddenly fainted. She continued so long insensible, 
 that I began to fear it was all over. Gradually, how- 
 ever, she recovered, and was carried up to bed, which 
 she did not leave again for a week. 
 
 I mentioned, I think, in a former part of this narra- 
 tive. Miss Herbert's partiahty for poetry, and that her 
 readings were confined to that which was of the highest 
 order. Among the MSS. found in her desk, poor girl, 
 after her decease, were many extracts from the poets, 
 copied in a beautiful hand, and evincing true taste in 
 their selection. She was particularly partial to " Thom- 
 son's Seasons," especially " Winter," from which she 
 1
 
 174 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 transcribed largely. There are also a few unpretending 
 sonnets and stanzas of her own ; which, if not of first- 
 rate excellence, breathe, nevertheless, the sweetest sen- 
 timents of virtue, simplicity, and delicacy. If I had been 
 permitted, I should have liked to lay before the reader 
 a little " Sonnet to a Dead Robin," and " To a Moss 
 Rose." I have also often heard her, while sitting- by her 
 bedside, utter very beautiful thoughts, suggested by the 
 bitterness of her own premature fate. All — all are trea- 
 sured in my heart! 
 
 I have not attempted to describe her feelings with 
 
 reference to Captain , simply because I cannot do 
 
 them justice, without, perhaps, incurring the reader's 
 suspicions that I am slipping into the character of the 
 
 novelist. She did not know that Captain continued 
 
 yet at death's door at Milan, for we felt bound to spare 
 her feelings. We fabricated a story that he had been 
 summoned into Egypt, to enquire after the fate of a bro- 
 ther who had travelled thither, and whose fate, we said, 
 was doubtful. Poor girl I she believed us at last — and 
 seemed rather inclined to accuse him of unkindness for 
 allowing any thing to withdraw him from her side. She 
 never, however, said any thing directly of this kind. It 
 
 is hardly necessary to say, that Captain never knew 
 
 of the fiction. I have never, to this day, entirely for- 
 given myself for the part I took in it. 
 
 I found her one morning, within a few days of her 
 death, wretchedly exhausted both in mind and body. 
 She had passed, as usual, a restless night, unsoothed even 
 by the laudanum, which had been administered to her 
 in much larger quantities than her medical attendants 
 had authorized. It had stupified, without, at the same
 
 CONSUMPTION. 175 
 
 time, composing and calming her. Poor — poor girl I 
 almost the last remains of her beauty had disappeared. 
 There was a fearful hoUowness in her once lovely and 
 blooming cheeks ; and her eyes — those bright orbs 
 which had a short while ago dazzled and delighted all 
 they shone upon — were now sunk, quenched, and sur- 
 rounded by dark haloes ! She lay with her head buried 
 deep in the pillow, and her hair folded back, matted 
 with perspiration. Her hands — but I cannot attempt 
 to describe her appearance any farther. 
 
 Sir sat by her bedside, as he had sat all through 
 
 her illness, and was utterly worn out. I occupied the 
 
 chair allotted to Miss B , who had just retired to 
 
 bed, having been up all night. After a long silence, 
 Miss Herbert asked very faintly for some tea, which 
 was presently brought her, and dropped into her mouth 
 by spoonfuls. Soon after, she revived a little, and spoke 
 to me, but in so low a whisper, that I had great difficulty 
 in distinguishing her words. The exertion of utterance, 
 also, was attended with so much evident pain, that I 
 would rather she had continued silent. 
 
 " Laudanum — laudanum — laudanum, Doctor I They 
 don't give me enough of laudanum !" she muttered. 
 We made her no reply. Presently she began murmur- 
 ing at intervals somewhat in this strain : — " Ah — among 
 the Pyramids — looking at them — sketching — ascending 
 them, perhaps — oh ! what if they should fall and crush 
 him ? Has he found his brother ? On his way — home 
 — sea — ships — ship." Still we did not interrupt her, for 
 her manner indicated only a dim dreary sort of half- 
 consciousness. About an hour afterwards (why did I 
 linger there, it may be asked, when I could do nothing
 
 176 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 for her, and could ill spare the time? I know not — I 
 could not leave her) she again commenced in a low 
 moaning, wandering tone — " Uncle! What do you 
 think? Chatterton — poor melancholy Chatterton, sat 
 
 by my side all night long, in that chair where Dr is 
 
 sitting. He died of a broken heart — or of my disease, 
 didn't he ? Wan — wan — sad — cold — ghostly — but so 
 like a poet ! Oh, how he talked ! no one earthly like 
 him I His voice was like the mysterious music of an 
 
 Eolian harp — so solemn — soft — stealing ! * * He 
 
 put his icy fingers over my heart, and said it must soon 
 be as cold ! But he told me not to be afraid, nor weep, 
 because I was dying so young — so early. He said I 
 was a young rose-tree, and would have the longer to 
 bloom and blossom when he came for me." She smiled 
 faintly and sadly. " Oh, dear, dear ! — I wish I had him 
 here again I But he looks very cold and ghostly — never 
 moves — nothing rustles — I never hear him come, or go — 
 but I look, and there he is ! And I'm not at all frightened, 
 for he seems gentle ; but I think he can't be happy — 
 
 happy — never smiles, never ! * * Dying people see 
 
 and hear more than others !" 
 
 This, I say, is the substance of what she uttered. All 
 she said was pervaded by a sad romance, which showed 
 that her soul was deeply imbued with poetry. 
 
 " Toll !— toll!— toll !— How solemn !— White plumes! 
 — white scarfs ! — Hush ! — ' Earth to earth! — Oh, dread- 
 ful ! It is crumbling on my heart ! They all go — they 
 leave me all — poor, poor Eliza ! — they leave me all alone 
 in the cold church. Hell often walk in the church by 
 himself — his tears will fall on the pavement — ^but I shall 
 not hear him — nor see him ! He will ne — ver see me ! 
 Will the organ play, I wonder ? It may wake me from
 
 CONSUMPTION. 177 
 
 sleep for a while I " I listened to all this, and was fit for 
 nothing the rest of the day. Again — again I saw her, 
 to let fall tears over the withered petals, the blighted 
 blossoms of early beauty ! It wrung my heart to see 
 her little more than a breathing corpse. Oh! the gloom 
 
 — anguish — desolation — diffused through Hall I It 
 
 could he felt ; it oppressed you, on entering ! 
 
 * * * On Saturday morning (the — day of Novem- 
 ber, 18 — ), I drove down early, having the preceding 
 evening promised to be there as soon as possible the next 
 day. It was a scowling November morning, and my 
 heart sank within me as my chariot rattled rapidly along 
 
 the hard highway towards Hall. But I was too 
 
 LATE. The curtain had fallen, and hid poor Eliza Her- 
 bert from this world, for ever I She had expired about 
 half an hour before my arrival. 
 
 * * * . * • 
 
 As I was returning to town, after attending the fune- 
 ral of Miss Herbert, full of bitter and sorrowful thoughts, 
 I met a travelling carriage-and-four thundering down the 
 road. It contained poor Captain , his valet, and a 
 
 young Italian medical attendant — all just returned from 
 the Continent. He looked white and wasted. The crape 
 on my hat — my gloves — weepers — mourning suit, told 
 all instantly. I was in a moment at his side — for he had 
 swooned. 
 
 As for the disconsolate Baronet, little remains to be 
 
 said. He disposed of Hall ; and, sick of England 
 
 — ill and irritable — he attempted to regain his Indian 
 appointment, but unsuccessfully ; so he betook himself 
 
 to a solitary house belonging to the family in shire ; 
 
 and, in the touching language of one of old, " Went on 
 mourning to the end of his days." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 [ 178 ] 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE SPECTRAL DOG. 
 
 AN ILLUSION. 
 
 The age of ghosts and hobgoblins is gone by, says 
 worthy Dr Hibbert ; and so, after him, says almost every- 
 body now-a-days. These mysterious visitants are hence- 
 forth to be resolved into mere optical delusions, acting 
 on an excitable fancy — an irritable nervous temperament ; 
 and the report of a real honajide ghost, or apparition, is 
 utterly scouted. Possibly this may not be going too far, 
 even though it le in the teeth of some of the most stub- 
 born facts that are on record. One, or possibly two, of 
 this character, I may perhaps present to the reader on a 
 future occasion ; but at present I shall content myself 
 with relating a very curious and interesting case of ac- 
 knowledged optical delusion ; and I have no doubt that 
 many of my medical readers can parallel it with similar 
 occurrences within the sphere of their own observation. 
 
 Mr D was a clergyman of the Church of Eng- 
 land, educated at Oxford— a scholar, " a ripe and good
 
 THE SPECTRAL DOG. 179 
 
 one" — a man of remarkably acute and powerful under- 
 standing ; but, according- to his own account, destitute of 
 even an atom of imagination. He was also an exemplary 
 minister; preached twice, willingly, every Sunday, and 
 performed all the other duties of his office with zealous 
 fidelity, and to the full satisfaction of his parishioners. 
 If any man is less likely to be terrified with ghosts, or 
 has less reason to be so, than another, surely it was such 
 
 a character as Mr D . 
 
 He had been officiating one Sunday evening for an 
 invalid friend, at the latter's church, a few miles distant 
 from London, and was walking homewards, enjoying the 
 tranquillity of the night, and enlivened by the cheerful 
 beams of the full moon ; when, at about three miles' 
 distance from town, he suddenly heard, or fancied he heard, 
 immediately behind him, the sound of gasping and pant- 
 ing, as of a dog following at his heels, breathless with 
 running. He looked round on both sides, but seeing no 
 dog, thought he must have been deceived, and resumed 
 his walk and meditations. The sound was presently re- 
 peated. Again he looked round, but with no better 
 success than before. After a little pause, thinking there 
 was something rather odd about it, it suddenly struck 
 him, that what he had heard was nothing more than the 
 noise of his own hard breathing, occasioned by the insen- 
 sibly accelerated pace at which he was walking, intent 
 upon some subject which then particularly occupied his 
 thoughts. He had not walked more than ten paces far- 
 ther, when he again heard precisely similar sounds, but 
 with a running accompaniment — if I may be allowed a 
 pun — of the pit-pit-pattering of a dog's feet, following 
 close behind his left side.
 
 180 THE SPECTRAL DOG. 
 
 " God bless me ! " exclaimed Mr D aloud, stop- 
 ping- for the third time, and looking around in all 
 directions, far and near ; " why really, that's very odd — 
 very! — Surely I could not have been mistaken again?" 
 He continued standing still, wiped his forehead, replaced 
 his hat on his head, and, with a little trepidation, 
 resumed his walk, striking his stout black walking-stick 
 on the ground with a certain energy and resoluteness, 
 which sufficed in re-assuring his own flurried spirits. 
 
 The next thirty or forty paces of his walk, Mr D 
 
 passed over erectis auribus, and hearing nothing similar 
 to the sounds which had thrice attracted his attention, 
 was relapsing into his meditative mood, when, in a few 
 moments, the noise was repeated, apparently from his 
 right hand side ; and he gave something like a start 
 from the path-side into the road, on feeling the calf of his 
 leg brushed past — as he described it — by the shaggy coat 
 of his invisible attendant. He looked suddenly down, 
 and, to his very great alarm and astonishment, beheld the 
 dim outline of a large Newfoundland dog, of a blue 
 colour ! He moved from the spot where he was standing 
 — the phantom followed him — he rubbed his eyes with 
 his hands, shook his head, and again looked ; but there 
 it still was, large as a young calf (to which he himself 
 compared it), and had assumed a more distinct and 
 definite form. The colour, however, continued the 
 same — faint blue. He observed, too, its eyes — like dim- 
 decaying fire-coals, as it looked composedly up in his 
 face. He poked about his walking-stick, and moved it 
 repeatedly through and through the form of the phan- 
 tom ; but there it continued — indivisible — impalpable 
 — in short, as much a dog as ever, and yet the stick
 
 THE SPECTRAL DOG. 181 
 
 traversing its form in every direction, from the tail to the 
 tip of the nose ! Mr D — hurried on a few steps, and 
 ag^ain looked — there was the dog ! — Now, it is fit the 
 reader should be informed that Mr D was a re- 
 markably temperate man, and had, that evening-, con- 
 tented himself with a solitary glass of port by the bedside 
 of his sick brother ; so that there was no room for sup- 
 posing his perceptions to have been disturbed with liquor. 
 '' What can it be ?" thought he, while his heart knocked 
 rather harder than usual against the bars of its prison — 
 " Oh I it must bean optical delusion — oh, 'tis clearly so ! 
 nothing in the world else ! that's all. How odd !" and 
 he smiled, he thought, very unconcernedly ; but another 
 glimpse of the phantom standing by him in blue dis- 
 tinctness instantly darkened his features with the hue of 
 apprehension. If it really was an optical delusion, it was 
 the most fixed and pertinacious one he ever heard of ! 
 The best part of valour is discretion, says Shakspeare — 
 and in all things ; so, observing a coach passing by at that 
 
 moment, to put an end to the matter, Mr D , with 
 
 a little trepidation in his tone, ordered it to stop ; there 
 
 was just room for one inside ; and in stepped Mr D , 
 
 chuckling at the cunning fashion after which he had suc- 
 ceeded in jockeying his strange attendant. Not feeling 
 inclined to talk with the fat woman who sat next him, 
 squeezing him most unmercifully against the side of the 
 coach, nor with the elderly grazier-looking man front- 
 ing him, whose large dirty top-boots seriously incom- 
 moded him, he shut his eyes, that he might pursue his 
 thoughts undisturbed. After about five minutes* riding, 
 he suddenly opened his eyes — and the first thing that 
 met them was the figure of the blue dog, lying stretched,
 
 182 THE SPECTRAL DOG. 
 
 in some unaccountable manner, at his feet, half under 
 the seat ! 
 
 " I — I — hope THE DOG does not annoy you, sir?" 
 enquired Mr D , a little flustered, of the man oppo- 
 site, hoping to discern whether the dog chose to be visible 
 to any one else. 
 
 " Sir!" exclaimed the person he addressed, starting- 
 from a kind of doze, and staring about in the bottom of 
 the coach. 
 
 " Lord, sir !" echoed the woman beside him. 
 
 " A DOG, sir, did you say ?" inquired all in a breath. 
 
 " Oh — nothing — nothing, I assure you. 'Tis a little 
 
 mistake," replied Mr D , with a faint smile ; " I — 
 
 I thought — in short, I find I've been dreaming ; and I'm 
 sure I beg pardon for disturbing you." Every one in 
 the coach laughed, except Mr D , whose eyes con- 
 tinued rivetted on the dim blue outline of the dog, lying 
 motionless at his feet. He was now certain that he was 
 suffering from an optical illusion of some sort or other, 
 and endeavoured to prevent his thoughts from running 
 into an alarmed channel, by striving to engage his facul- 
 ties with the philosophy of the thing. He could make 
 nothing out, however ; and the Q.E.D. of his thinkings 
 startled him not a little, when it came in the shape of 
 the large blue dog, leaping at his heels out of the coach, 
 when he alighted. Arrived at home, he lost sight of the 
 phantom during the time of supper and the family devo- 
 tions. As soon as he had extinguished his bed-room 
 candle, and got into bed, he was nearly leaping out 
 again, on feeling a sensation as if a large dog had jumped 
 on that part of the bed where his feet lay. He felt its 
 pressure I He said he was inclined to rise, and make
 
 THE SPECTRAL DOG. 183 
 
 it a subject of special prayer to the Deity I Mrs D 
 
 asked him what was the matter with him ? for he became 
 very cold, and shivered a little. He easily quieted her 
 with saying he felt a little chilled ; and, as soon as she 
 was fairly asleep, he got quietly out of bed, and walked 
 up and down the room. Wherever he moved, he beheld, 
 by the moonlight through the window, the dim dusky 
 outline of the dog, following wherever he went I Mr 
 
 D opened the windows, he did not exactly know 
 
 why, and mounted the dressing-table for that purpose. 
 On looking down before he leaped on the floor, there 
 was the dog waiting for him, squatting composedly on 
 his haunches ! There was no standing this any longer, 
 
 thought Mr D , delusion or no delusion ; so he ran 
 
 to the bed — plunged beneath the clothes, and, thorough- 
 ly frightened, dropt at length asleep, his head under 
 cover all night ! On waking in the morning, he thought 
 it must have been all a dream about the dog, for it had 
 totally disappeared with the daylight. When an hour's 
 glancing in all directions had convinced him that the 
 phantom was really no longer visible, he told the whole 
 
 to Mrs D , and made very merry with her fears — ■ 
 
 for she would have it, that it was " something super- 
 natural," and, good lady ! " Mr D might depend 
 
 upon it, the thing had its errand ! " Four times subse- 
 quent to this did Mr D see the spectral visitant — 
 
 nowise altered either in its manner, form, or colour. It 
 was always late in the evenings when he observed it, 
 and generally when he was alone. — He was a man 
 extensively acquainted with physiology ; but felt utterly 
 at a loss to what derangement of what part of the ani- 
 mal economy to refer it. So, indeed, was I — for he
 
 184 THE SPECTRAL DOG. 
 
 came to consult me about it. He was with me once 
 during the presence of the phantom. I examined his eyes 
 with a candle, to see whether the interrupted motions of 
 the irides indicated any sudden alteration of the functions 
 of the optic nerve ; but the pupils contracted and dilated 
 with perfect regularity. One thing, however, was certain 
 —his stomach had been latterly a little out of order ; and 
 every body knows the intimate connexion between its 
 functions and the nervous system. But why he should 
 see spectra — why they should assume and retain the 
 figure of a dog, and of such an uncanine colour too — and 
 why it should so pertinaciously attach itself to him, and 
 be seen precisely the same at the various intervals after 
 which it made its appearance — and why he should hear, 
 or imagine he heard it utter sounds — all these questions 
 I am as unable to answer as Mr D was, or as, pos- 
 sibly, the reader will be. He may account for it in what- 
 ever way his ingenuity may enable him. I have seen and 
 known other cases of spectra, not unlike the one above 
 related ; and great alarm and horror have they excited in 
 the breasts of persons blessed with less firmness and good 
 sense than Mr D displayed. 
 
 A perusal of the foregoing narrative occasioned its cor- 
 roboration, by the following account of a similar spectrum, 
 seen by one of my scientific friends. As the reader will 
 doubtless consider it interesting, I here subjoin the letter 
 from my friend. 
 
 Blackheath, December, 1830. 
 
 My dear Sir, — Though the " Spectral Dog" is some- 
 what laughable, in quality of tailpiece to the melancholy
 
 THE SPECTRAL DOG. 185 
 
 — the truly sorrowful narrative immediately preceding- 
 it, I have read it with nearly equal interest, because it 
 forcibly reminds me of a similar incident in my own life. 
 
 In my early days, I was, as you have often heard me 
 say, an infatuated searcher after the philosopher's stone ! 
 I then resided near Bristol ; and had a back parlour fit- 
 ted up according to my fancy, in a very gloomy style. 
 I soon filled it with the apparatus of my craft — crucibles, 
 furnace, retorts, &c. &c. &c. without end, I never al- 
 lowed the light of day to dissipate the mysterious gloom 
 which pervaded my laboratory ; but had an old Roman 
 lamp, suspended from the ceiling, kept continually burn- 
 ing, night and day. I had three different locks on the 
 door ; and took such precautions as enabled me to satis- 
 fy myself that no one ever entered the room for nearly 
 three years, except a singular and enthusiastic old man, 
 who first inspired me with my madness, as I may well 
 call it. — You know too well, my dear sir, how much of 
 my little fortune was frittered away in running after that 
 ridiculous Will o' the Wisp. But to my tale. 
 
 One Sunday evening, after dining hastily at five 
 o'clock, 1 took my candle in my hand, and hurried back 
 to my laboratory, which I had quitted only half an hour 
 before for dinner. On unlocking the door, and enter- 
 ing, to my equal alarm and astonishment, I distinctly saw 
 the figure of a little old stooping woman, in a red cloak, 
 and with a very pale face. She stood near the fire-place, 
 and leaned with both hands on a walking-stick. I was 
 nearly letting fall the candlestick I held. However, I 
 contrived to set it down pretty steadily on the table, 
 which stood between my mysterious guest and me, and 
 spoke to her. 1 received no answer. The figure did not
 
 186 THE SPECTRAL DOG. 
 
 move — nay, it did not even look at me. I stamped with 
 my foot — I knocked my knuckles on the table — I shook 
 it with both my hands — I called out to the old woman, 
 — ^but in vain I A bottle of spirits — brandy, if I recollect 
 right — and a wine-glass, stood on a shelf of the cup- 
 board, which was close at my elbow. I poured out a 
 glassful, and drank it. Still the figure continued there, 
 standing before me as distinct, as motionless as ever. I 
 began to suspect it was merely an ocular spectrum. I 
 rubbed my eyes, I pushed them inward with my fingers, 
 till corruscations of light seemed to flash from them. But 
 when I directed them again towards the spot where the 
 apparition had stood, there it still was I I walked up to 
 her somewhat falteringly. She stood exactly in the way 
 of my arm-chair, as though she were on the point of sit- 
 ting down upon it. I actually walked clean through 
 the figure, and sat down. After a few moments, I opened 
 my eyes, which I had closed on sitting down, and be- 
 hold, the figure stood fronting me, about six feet oflf I I 
 rose — it moved farther off; I lifted up my right arm in 
 a threatening manner — so did the figure; I raised my 
 other arm — so did the old woman ; I moved towards her 
 — she retreated, all the while never once looking at me. 
 She got towards the spot where I had formerly stood ; 
 and so the table was once more between us. I got more 
 agitated than ever ; but, when the figure began to 
 approach me in a direct line, walking apparently right 
 through the table, even as the Israelites through the Red 
 Sea, I quite lost my presence of mind. A giddiness, or 
 sickness, came over me, and, sinking into my seat, I 
 fainted. When I recovered, the spectre had disappeared. 
 I have never since seen it, nor any thing similar. — Such
 
 THE SPECTRAL DOG. 187 
 
 spectra are by no means rare among studious men, if of 
 an irritable, nervous temperament, and an imaginative 
 turn. I know a learned Baronet, who has his study some- 
 times crowded with them ; and he never feels so much at 
 home, as when surrounded by these airy spirits ! 
 
 You may make any use you like of this letter. — I am, 
 my dear Sir, ever faithfully yours, 
 
 W. G.
 
 [ 188 ] 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE FORGER. 
 
 A GROOM, in plain livery, left a card at my house, one 
 afternoon during- my absence, on which was the name, 
 " Mr Gloucester, No. — , Regent Street;" and, in 
 pencil, the words, " Will thank Dr to call this even- 
 ing." As my red book was lying* on the table at the time, 
 I looked in it, from mere casual curiosity, to see whether 
 the name of "Gloucester" appeared there — but it did not. 
 I concluded, therefore, that my new patient must be a 
 recent comer. About six o'clock that evening, I drove to 
 Regent Street, sent in my card, and was presently usher- 
 ed by the man-servant into a spacious apartment, some- 
 what showily furnished. The mild retiring- sunlight of 
 a July evening was diffused over the room ; and ample 
 crimson window-curtains, half drawn, mitigated the glare 
 of the gilded picture-frames which hung in great num- 
 bers round the walls. There was a large round table in 
 the middle of the room, covered with papers, magazines, 
 books, cards, &c. ; and, in a word, the whole aspect of 
 things indicated the residence of a person of some fashion 
 and fortune. On a side-table lay several pairs of box-
 
 THE FORGER, 189 
 
 ing-gloves, foils, &c. The object of my visit, Mr Glou- 
 cester, was seated on an elegant ottoman, in a pensive 
 posture, with his head leaning- on his hand, which rested 
 on the table. He was engaged with the newspaper when 
 I was announced. He rose, as I entered, politely — I 
 should rather say obsequiously — handed me to a chair, 
 and then resumed his seat on the ottoman. His coun- 
 tenance was rather pleasing, fresh-coloured, with regu- 
 lar features, and very light auburn hair, which was 
 adjusted with a sort of careless fashionable negligence. 
 I may perhaps be laughed at by some for noticing such 
 an apparently insignificant circumstance ; but the obser- 
 vant humour of my profession must sufficiently account 
 for my detecting the fact, that his hands were not those 
 of a horn and bred gentleman — of one who, as the phrase 
 is, " has never done anything^' in his life; but they 
 were coarse, large, and clumsy looking. As for his de- 
 meanour also, there was a constrained and over-anxious 
 display of politeness — an assumption of fashionable ease 
 and indiiFerence, that sat ill on him, like a court dress 
 fastened on a vulgar fellow. He spoke with a would- 
 be jaunty, free-and-easy, small-swagger sort of air, and 
 changed at times the tones of his voice to an offensive 
 cringing softness, which, I daresay, he took to be vastly 
 insinuating. All these little circumstances, put together, 
 prepossessed me with a sudden feeling of dislike to the 
 man. These sort of people are a great nuisance to one, 
 since there is no knowing exactly how to treat them. 
 After some hurried expressions of civility, Mr Glouces- 
 ter informed me that he had sent for me on account of 
 a deep depression of spirits, to which he was latterly 
 subject. He proceeded to detail many of the symptoms
 
 190 THE FORGER. 
 
 of a disordered nervous system. He was tormented with 
 vag-ue apprehensions of impending calamity ; could not 
 divest himself of an unaccountable trepidation of man- 
 ner, which, by attracting observation, seriously discon- 
 certed him on many occasions ; felt incessantly tempted 
 to the commission of suicide ; loathed society ; disrelish- 
 ed his former scenes of amusement ; had lost his appe- 
 tite ; passed restless nights ; and was disturbed with 
 appalling dreams. His pulse, tongue, countenance, &c. 
 corroborated the above statement of his symptoms. I 
 asked him whether any thing unpleasant had occurred 
 in his family? — Nothing of the kind. Disappointment in 
 an affaire du coeur 9 — Oh, no. Unsuccessful at play ? 
 — By no means — he did not play. Well — had he any 
 source of secret annoyance which could account for his 
 present depression ? He coloured, seemed embarrassed, 
 and apparently hesitating whether or not he should com- 
 municate to me what weighed on his spirits. He, how- 
 ever, seemed determined to keep me in ignorance ; and 
 with some alteration of manner, said suddenly, that it 
 was only a constitutional nervousness — his family were 
 all so ; and he wished to know whether it was in the 
 power of medicine to relieve him. I replied, that I would 
 certainly do all that lay in my power, but that he must 
 not expect any sudden and miraculous effect from the 
 medicines I might prescribe ; that I saw clearly he had 
 something- on his mind which oppressed his spirits ; that 
 he ought to go into cheerful society — he sighed ; seek 
 change of air — that, he said, was_, under circumstances, 
 impossible. I rose to go. He gave me two guineas, 
 and begged me to call the next evening. I left, not 
 knowing what to make of him. To tell the plain truth,
 
 THE FORGER. 191 
 
 I began to suspect that he was neither more nor less than 
 a systematic London sharper — a gamester — a hanger- 
 on about town — and that he had sent for me in conse- 
 quence of some of those sudden alternations of fortune to 
 which the lives of such men are subject. I was by no 
 means anxious for a prolonged attendance on him. 
 
 About the same time next evening I paid him a second 
 visit. He was stretched on the ottoman, enveloped in a 
 gaudy dressing-gown, with his arms folded on his breast, 
 and his right foot hanging over the side of the ottoman, 
 and dangling about, as if in search of a stray slipper. I 
 did not like this elaborately careless and conceited pos- 
 ture. A decanter or two, with some wine-glasses, stood 
 on the table. He did not rise on my entering, but, with 
 a languid air, begged me to be seated in a chair opposite 
 to him. " Good evening. Doctor — good evening," said 
 he, in a low and hurried tone ; " I'm glad you are come ; 
 for if you had not, I'm sure I don't know what I should 
 have done. I'm deucedly low to-night." 
 
 " Have you taken the medicines I prescribed, Mr 
 Gloucester?" I enquired, feeling his pulse, which flut- 
 tered irregularly, indicating a high degree of nervous 
 excitement. He had taken most of the physic I had 
 ordered, he said, but without perceiving any effect from 
 it. " In fact, Doctor," he continued, starting from his 
 recumbent position to his feet, and walking rapidly three 
 or four paces to and fro — " d— n me if I know what's 
 come to me. I feel as if I could cut my throat." I insi- 
 nuated some questions, for the purpose of ascertaming 
 whether there was any hereditary tendency to insanity 
 in his family ; but it would not do. " He saw," he said, 
 « what I was driving aty' but I was " on a wrong scent."
 
 192 THE FORGER. 
 
 " Come, come, Doctor ! after all there's nothing like 
 
 wine for low spirits, is there ? D e, Doctor, drink, 
 
 drink. Only taste that claret ;" and, after pouring out 
 a glass for me, which ran over the brim on the table — 
 his hand was so unsteady — he instantly gulped down two 
 glasses himself. There was a vulgar offensive familiarity 
 in his manner, from which I felt inclined to stand oiF; 
 but I thought it better to conceal my feelings. I was 
 removing my glove from my right hand, and putting my 
 hat and stick on the table, when, seeing a thin slip of 
 paper lying on the spot where I intended to place them 
 — apparently a bill or promissory-note — I was going to 
 hand it over to Mr Gloucester ; but, to my astonishment, 
 he suddenly sprang towards me, snatched from me the 
 paper, with an air of ill-disguised alarm, and crumpled 
 it up into his pocket, saying hurriedly — " Ha, ha. Doc- 
 tor ! — this same little bit of paper — didn't see the wame, 
 eh ? 'Tis the bill of an extravagant young friend of mine, 
 whom I've just come down a cool hundred or two for ; 
 and it wouldn't be the handsome thing to let his name 
 appear — ha — you understand?" He stammered con- 
 fusedly, directing to me as anxious, sudden, and pene- 
 trating a glance as I ever encountered. I felt excessively 
 uneasy, and inclined to take my departure instantly. My 
 suspicions were now confirmed — I was sitting familiarly 
 with a swindler — a gambler — and the bill he was so 
 anxious to conceal was evidently wrung from one of his 
 ruined dupes. My demeanour was instantly frozen 
 over with the most distant and frigid civility. I begged 
 him to be reseated, and allow me to put a very few more 
 questions to him, as I was in great haste. I was thus 
 engaged, when a heavy knock was heard at the outer 
 
 2
 
 THE FORGER. 193 
 
 door. Though there was nothing particular in it, Mr 
 Gloucester started and turned pale. In a few moments 
 I heard the sound of altercation — the door of the room 
 in which we sat was presently opened, and two men 
 entered. Recollecting suddenly a similar scene in my 
 own early history, I felt faint. There was no mistaking 
 the character or errand of the two fellows, who now 
 walked up to where we were sitting ; they were two 
 sullen Newgate myrmidons, and — gracious God I — had 
 a warrant to arrest Mr Gloucester for forgery ! I rose 
 from my chair, and staggered a few paces, I knew not 
 whither. I could scarcely preserve myself from falling 
 on the floor. Mr Gloucester, as soon as he caught sight 
 of the officers, fell back on the ottoman — suddenly pressed 
 his hand to his heart — turned pale as death, and gasped, 
 breathless with horror. 
 
 " Gentlemen — what — what do you want here ?" 
 
 " Isn't your name E T ?" asked the elder 
 
 of the two, coolly and unconcernedly. 
 
 " N — o — my name is Glou — ces — ter," stammered the 
 wretched young man, almost inaudibly. 
 
 " Gloucester J eh ? — oh, ho ! — none of that there sort 
 of blarney I Come, my kiddy — caged at last, eh ? We've 
 been long arter you, and now you must be off with us 
 directly. Here's your passport," said one of the officers, 
 pointing to the warrant. The young man uttered a deep 
 groan, and sunk senseless on the sofa. One of the 
 officers, I cannot conceive how, was acquainted with my 
 person ; and, taking off his hat, said, in a respectful tone 
 — " Doctor, you'll bring him to his wits again, an't please 
 you — we must have him off directly !" Though myself 
 but a trifle removed from the state in which he lay 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 THE FORGER. 
 
 stretched before me, I did what I could to restore him, 
 and succeeded at length. I unbuttoned his shirt-collar, 
 dashed in his face some water brought by his man-servant, 
 who now stood looking on, shivering with affright — and 
 endeavoured to calm his agitation by such soothing ex- 
 pressions as I could command. 
 
 " Oh, Doctor, Doctor ! what a horrid dream it was ! 
 — Are they gone ? — are they ?" he enquired, without 
 opening his eyes, and clasping my hand in his, which 
 was cold as that of a corpse. 
 
 " Come, come — none of these here tantrums — you 
 must off^ii once — that's the long and short of it," said 
 an officer, approaching, and taking from his coat-pocket 
 a pair of handcuffs, at sight of which, and of a large 
 horse-pistol projecting from his breast-pocket, my very 
 soul sickened. 
 
 " Oh, Doctor, Doctor ! — save me ! save me !" groaned 
 their prisoner, clasping my hands with convulsive energy. 
 
 " Come — curse your cowardly snivelling ! — Why can't 
 you behave like a man, now, eh ? — Come ! — off with this 
 peacock's covering of yours — it was never made for the 
 like of you, I'm sure — and put on a plain coat, and off 
 to cage like a sensible bird," said one of the two, pro- 
 ceeding to remove the dressing-gown very roughly. 
 
 " Oh I my God — oh ! my God — have mercy on me ! 
 — Oh, strike me dead at once ! " nearly shrieked their 
 prisoner, falling on his knees on the floor, and glaring 
 towards the ceiling with an almost maniac eye. 
 
 " I hope you'll not treat your prisoner with unneces- 
 sary severity," said I, seeing them disposed to be very 
 unceremonious. 
 
 " No — not by no manner of means, if as how he
 
 THE FORGER. 195 
 
 behaves himself," replied one of the men, respectfully. 
 Mr Gloucester's dressing-gown was quickly removed, and 
 his body-coat — himself perfectly passive the while — 
 drawn on by his bewildered servant, assisted by one of 
 the officers. It was nearly a new coat, cut in the very 
 extreme of the latest fashion, and contrasted strangely 
 with the disordered and affrighted air of its wearer. His 
 servant placed his hat on his head, and endeavoured to 
 draw on his gloves — showy sky-coloured kid. He was 
 standing with a stupiiied air, gazing vacantly at the offi- 
 cers, when he started suddenly to the window, manifestly 
 with the intention of leaping out, 
 
 " Ha, ha ! that's your game, my lad, is it ?" coolly ex- 
 claimed one of the officers, as he snatched him back again 
 with a vice-like grasp of the collar. " Now, since that's 
 the sport you're for, why, you must be content to wear 
 these little bracelets for the rest of your journey. It's 
 your own seeking, my lad ; for I didn't mean to have 
 used them, if as how you'd only behaved peaceably ; " 
 and in an instant the young man's hands were locked 
 together in the handcuffs. It was sickening to see the 
 frantic efforts — as if he would have severed his hands 
 from the wrists — he made to burst the handcuffs. 
 
 " Take me — to Helly if you choose I" he gasped, in a 
 hoarse, hollow tone, sinking into a chair, utterly exhaust- 
 ed, while one of the officers was busily engaged rumma- 
 ging the drawers, desks, &c. in search of papers. When 
 he had concluded his search, filled his pockets, and but- 
 toned his coat, the two approached, and told him to rise 
 and accompany them. 
 
 " Now, covey! are you for a rough or a quiet passage, 
 eh?" said one of them, seizing him not very gently hy
 
 196 THE FORGER. 
 
 the collar. He received no answer. The wretched pri- 
 soner was more dead than alive. 
 
 " I hope you have a hackney-coach in waiting, and 
 don't intend to drag the young man through the streets 
 on foot ?" I enquired. 
 
 " Why, true, true, Doctor — it might be as well for us 
 all ; but who's to stump up for it ? " * replied one of the 
 officers. I gave him five shillings, and the servant was 
 instantly despatched for a hackney-coach. While they 
 were waiting its arrival, conceiving I could not be of any 
 use to Mr Gloucester, and not choosing to be seen leav- 
 ing the house with two police-officers and a handcuffed 
 prisoner, I took my departure, and drove home in such 
 a state of agitation as I have never experienced before 
 or since. The papers of the next morning explained all. 
 The young man " living in Regent Street, in first-rate 
 style," who had summoned me to visit him, had commit- 
 ted a series of forgeries, for the last eighteen months, to 
 a great amount, and with so much secrecy and dexterity, 
 as to have, till then, escaped detection ; and had, for the 
 last few months, been enjoying the produce of his skilful 
 villany in the style I witnessed, passing himself off, in 
 the circles where he associated, under the assumed name 
 of Gloucester. The immediate cause of his arrest was 
 forging the acceptance of an eminent mercantile house, 
 to a bill of exchange for £45. Poor fellow I it was short 
 work with him afterwards. He was arraigned at the next 
 September sessions of the Old Bailey — the case clearly 
 proved against him — he off"ered no defence — was found 
 
 * " ' Qui, c'est tresbien,' repondit lerecors ; * mais qui houchera le 
 trou 9 ' " says the French' Translator ; and adds in a note — *' Ang. to 
 stump up — Terme d'Argot ? " (The forger is called Edward Werney !)
 
 THE FORGER. 197 
 
 guilty, and sentenced to death. Shortly after this, while 
 reading the papers one Saturday morning, at breakfast, 
 my eye lit on the usual gloomy annunciation of the 
 Recorder's visit to Windsor, and report to the King in 
 Council of the prisoners found guilty at the last Old 
 Bailey Sessions — " all of whom," the paragragh con- 
 cluded, " his Majesty was graciously pleased to respite 
 
 during his royal pleasure, except E T , on 
 
 whom the law is left to take its course, next Tuesday 
 morning." 
 
 Transient and any thing but agreeable as had been 
 my intimacy with this miserable young man, I could 
 not read this intelligence with indifference. He whom I 
 had so very lately seen surrounded with the life-bought 
 luxuries of a man of wealth and fashion, was now shiver- 
 ing the few remaining hours of his life in the condemned 
 cells of Newgate ! The next day (Sunday) I entertained 
 a party of friends at my house to dinner ; to which I 
 was just sitting down when one of the servants put a 
 note into my hand, of which the following is a copy : — 
 
 *' The Chaplain of Newgate has been earnestly re- 
 quested by E T (the young man sentenced to 
 
 suflFer for forgery next Tuesday morning), to present his 
 
 humble respects to Dr , and solicit the favour of a 
 
 visit from him in the course of to-morrow (Monday). 
 
 The unhappy convict, Mr believes, has something 
 
 on his mind, which he is anxious to communicate to 
 
 Dr 
 
 " Newgate, Sept. 28, 18 — " 
 
 I felt it impossible, after perusing this note, to enjoy 
 the company I had invited. What on earth could the 
 culprit have to say to me ? — what unreasonable request
 
 198 THE FORGER. 
 
 might he put me to the pain of refusing ? — ought I to see 
 him at all? — were questions which I incessantly pro- 
 posed to myself during the evening, but felt unable to 
 answer, I resolved, however, at last, to afford him the 
 desired interview, and be at the cell of Newgate in the 
 course of the next evening, unless my professional en- 
 gagements prevented me. About six o'clock, therefore, 
 on Monday, after fortifying myself with a few extra 
 glasses of wine — for why should I hesitate to acknow- 
 ledge that I apprehended much distress and agitation 
 from witnessing so unusual a scene ? — I drove to the Old 
 Bailey, drew up opposite the Governor's house, and was 
 received by him very politely. He despatched a turnkey 
 to lead me to the cell where my late patient, the soi-disant 
 Mr Gloucester, was immured in chilling expectancy of 
 his fate. 
 
 Surely Horror has appropriated these gloomy regions 
 for her peculiar dwelling-place ! Who that has passed 
 through them once, can ever forget the long, narrow, 
 lamp-lit passages — the sepulchral silence, save where the 
 ear is startled with the clangour of iron doors closing 
 harshly before and behind — the dimly seen spectral 
 figure of the prison patrol gliding along with loaded 
 blunderbuss — and the chilling consciousness of being 
 surrounded by so many fiends in human shape — inhaling 
 the foul atmosphere of all the concentrated misery and 
 guilt of the metropolis ! My heart leaped within me to 
 listen even to my own echoing footfalls; and I felt 
 several times inclined to return without fulfilling the pur- 
 pose of my visit. My vacillation, however, was abruptly 
 put an end to by my guide exclaiming, " Here we are, sir." 
 While he was unbarring the cell door, 1 begged him to
 
 THE FORGER. 199 
 
 continue at the outside durin";- the few moments of m 
 
 interview with the convict. 
 
 " Holloa! young man! — Within there! — Here's Dr 
 
 come to see you !" said the turnkey, hoarsely, as he 
 
 ushered me in. The cell was small and gloomy ; and a 
 little lamp, lying on the table, barely sufficed to show 
 me the person of the culprit, and an elderly, respect- 
 able looking man, muffled in drab great-coat, and sit- 
 ting gazing in stupified silence on the prisoner. Great 
 God, it was his Father ! He did not seem conscious 
 of my entrance ; but his son rose, and feebly asked me 
 how I was, muttered a few words of thanks, sank again 
 — apparently overpowered by his feelings — into his seat, 
 and fixed his eyes on a page of the Bible, which was 
 lying open before him. A long silence ensued ; for none 
 of us seemed either able or inclined to talk. I contem- 
 plated the two with feelings of lively interest. How 
 altered was the young culprit before me, from the gay 
 <' Mr Gloucester," whom I had visited in Regent Street ! 
 His face had now a ghastly, cadaverous hue ; his hair 
 was matted with perspiration over his sallow forehead ; 
 his eyes were sunk and bloodshot, and seemed incapable 
 of distinguishing the print to which they were directed. 
 He was dressed in a plain suit of mourning, and wore a 
 simple black stock round his neck. How I shuddered, 
 when I thought on the rude hands which were soon to 
 unloose it ! Beside him, on the table, lay a white pocket- 
 handkerchief, completely saturated, either with tears, or 
 wiping the perspiration from his forehead, and a glass of 
 water, with which he occasionally moistened his parched 
 lips. I knew not whether he was more to be pitied than 
 his wretched, heart-broken father. The latter seemed a
 
 200 THE FORGER. 
 
 worthy, respectable person (he was an industrious trades- 
 man in the country), with a few thin grey hairs scattered 
 over his otherwise bald head, and sat with his hands 
 closed together, resting on his knees, gazing on his 
 doomed son with a lack-lustre eye, which, together with 
 his anguish-worn features, told eloquently of his suffer- 
 ings I 
 
 " Well, Doctor !" exclaimed the young man, at length, 
 closing the Bible, " I have now read that blessed chap- 
 ter to the end ; and, I thank God, I think I feel it. — 
 But now, let me thank you, Doctor, for your good and 
 kind attention to my request. I have something parti- 
 cular to say to you, but it must be in private,'' he con- 
 tinued, looking significantly at his father, as though he 
 wished him to take the hint, and withdraw for a few 
 moments. Alas I the heart-broken parent understood 
 him not, but continued with his eyes riveted, vacantly, 
 as before. 
 
 " We must be left alone for a moment," said the young 
 man, rising and stepping to the door. He knocked, and 
 when it was opened, whispered the turnkey to remove 
 his father gently, and let him wait outside for an instant 
 or two. The man entered for that purpose, and the pri- 
 soner took hold tenderly of his father's hand, and said, 
 " Dear — dear father ! you must leave me for a moment, 
 while I speak in private to this gentleman ;" at the same 
 time endeavouring to raise him from the chair. 
 
 « Oh ! yes — ^yes — What ? — Of course," stammered the 
 old man, with a bewildered air, rising ; and then, as it 
 were with a sudden gush of full returning consciousness, 
 flung his arms round his son, folded him convulsively to 
 his breast, and groaned — " Oh, my son, my poor son !"
 
 THE FORGER. 201 
 
 Even the iron visag-e of the turnkey seemed darkened 
 with a transient emotion, at this heart-breaking- scene. 
 The next moment we were left alone ; but it was some 
 time before the culprit recovered from the agitation occa- 
 sioned by the sudden ebullition of his father's feelings. 
 
 " Doctor," he gasped at length, " we've but a few — 
 very few moments, and I have much to say, God 
 Almighty bless you," squeezing my hands convulsively, 
 " for this kindness to a guilty unworthy wretch like me; 
 and the business I wanted to see you about is sad, but 
 short. I have heard so much of your goodness, Doctor, 
 that I'm sure you won't deny me the only favour I shall 
 ask." 
 
 " Whatever is reasonable and proper, if it lie in my 
 way, I shall certainly" — said I, anxiously waiting to see 
 the nature of the communication he seemed to have to 
 make to me. 
 
 " Thank you. Doctor ; thank you. It is only this — 
 in a word — guilty wretch that I am ! — I have" — he trem- 
 bled violently — " seduced a lovely, but poor girl !• — God 
 forgive me! — And — and — she is now — nearly on the 
 verge of her confinement!'' He suddenly covered his 
 face with his handkerchief, and sobbed bitterly for some 
 moments. Presently he resumed — " Alas I she knows 
 me not by my real name ; so that, when she reads the 
 account of — of — ray execution in the papers of Wednes- 
 day — she won't know it is her Edward ! Nor does she 
 know me by the name I bore in Regent Street. She is 
 not at all acquainted with my frightful situation; but she 
 must be, when all is over ! Now, dear, kind, good Doc- 
 tor," he continued, shaking from head to foot, and grasp- 
 ing my hand, " do, for the love of God, and the peace
 
 202 THE FORGER. 
 
 of ray dying- moments, promise me that you will see her 
 
 (she lives at ) ; visit her in her confinement, and 
 
 gradually break the news of my death to her ; and say 
 my last prayers will be for her, and that my Maker may 
 forgive me for her ruin. You will find in this little bag 
 a sum of £30, — the last I have on earth. I beg you will 
 take five guineas for your own fee, and give the rest to 
 my precious — my ruined Mary ! " He fell down on his 
 knees, and folded his arms round mine, in a supplicat- 
 ing attitude. My tears fell on him, as he looked up at 
 me. " Oh, God be thanked for these blessed tears ! — 
 they assure me you will do what I ask — may I believe 
 you will ?" 
 
 " Yes — yes — yes, young man," I replied, with a qui- 
 vering lip ; " it is a painful task ; but I will do it — give 
 her the money, and add ten pounds to the thirty, should 
 it be necessary." — " Oh, Doctor, depend on it, God will 
 bless you and yours for ever, for this noble conduct ! — 
 And now, I have one thing more to ask — yes — one thing" 
 — he seemed choked — " Doctor, your skill will enable 
 you to inform me — I wished to know — is — the death I 
 must die to-morrow" — he put his hand to his neck, and, 
 shaking like an aspen leaf, sank down again into the chair 
 from which he had risen — " is hanging — a painful — a 
 
 tedious" He could utter no more, nor could I 
 
 answer him. 
 
 " Do not," I replied, after a pause, " do not put me 
 to the torture of listening to questions like these. Pray 
 to your merciful God ; and, rely on it, no one ever prayed 
 sincerely in vain. The thief on the cross" — I faltered; 
 then feeling, that if I continued in the cell a moment 
 longer, I should faint, I rose, and shook the young man's
 
 THE FORGER. 203 
 
 cold hands ; he could not speak, but sobbed and gasped 
 convulsively — and in a few moments I was driving- home. 
 As soon as I was seated in my carriage, I could restrain 
 my feelings no longer, but burst into a flood of tears. 
 I prayed to God I might never be called to pass through 
 such a bitter and afflicting scene again, to the latest hour 
 I breathed ! I ought to have visited several patients that 
 evening ; but, finding myself utterly unfit, I sent apolo- 
 gies and went home. My sleep in the night was troubled; 
 the distorted image of the convict I had been visiting 
 flitted in horrible shapes round my bed all night long. 
 An irresistible and most morbid restlessness and curiosity 
 took possession of me, to witness the end of this young 
 man. The first time the idea presented itself, it sicken- 
 ed me ; I revolted from it. How my feelings changed, 
 I know not ; but I rose at seven o'clock, and, without 
 hinting it to any one, put on a great-coat, slouched my 
 hat over my eyes, and directed my hurried steps towards 
 the Old Bailey. I got into one of the houses imme- 
 diately opposite the gloomy gallows, and took my station, 
 with several other visiters, at the window. They were 
 conversing on the subject of the execution, and unani- 
 mously execrated the sanguinary severity of the laws 
 which could deprive a young man, such as they said 
 
 E T was, of his life, for an ofl"ence of merely 
 
 civil criminality. Of course, I did not speak. It was 
 a wretched morning; a drizzling shower fell incessantly. 
 The crowd was not great, but conducted themselves 
 most indecorously. Even the female portion — by far 
 the greater — occasionally vociferated joyously and bois- 
 terously, as they recognised their acquaintance among the 
 crowd. At length, St Sepulchre's bell tolled the hour
 
 204j the forger. 
 
 of eight — g-loomy herald of many a sinner's entrance into 
 eternity ; and as the last chimes died away on the ear, 
 and were succeeded by the muffled tolling of the prison- 
 bell, which I could hear with agonizing- distinctness, I 
 caught a glimpse of the glistening gold-tipped wands of 
 the two under-sheriffs, as they took their station under 
 the shed at the foot of the gallows. In a few moments, 
 the Ordinary, and another grey-haired gentleman, made 
 their appearance ; and between them was the unfortunate 
 criminal. He ascended the steps with considerable firm- 
 ness. His arms were pinioned before and behind ; and, 
 when he stood on the gallows, I could hear the exclama- 
 tions of the crowd — *' Lord, Lord ! what a fine young 
 man ! Poor fellow !" He was dressed in a suit of 
 respectable mourning, and wore black kid gloves. His 
 light hair had evidently been adjusted with some care, 
 and fell in loose curls over each side of his temples. His 
 countenance was much as I saw it on the preceding even- 
 ing — fearfully pale ; and his demeanour was much more 
 composed than I had expected, from what I had witnessed 
 of his agitation in the condemned cell. He bowed twice 
 very low, and rather formally, to the crowd around — 
 gave a sudden and ghastly glance at the beam over his 
 head, from which the rope was suspended, and then 
 suffered the executioner to place him on the precise spot 
 which he was to occupy, and prepare him for death. I 
 was shocked at the air of sullen, brutal indifference, with 
 which the hangman loosed and removed his neckerchief, 
 which was white, and tied with neatness and precision — 
 dropped the accursed noose over his head, and adjusted 
 it round the bare — the creeping neck — and could stand 
 it no longer. I staggered from my place at the window
 
 THE FORGER. 205 
 
 to a distant part of the room, dropped into a chair, shut 
 my eyes, closed my tingling ears with my fingers, and, 
 with a hurried aspiration for God's mercy towards the 
 wretched young criminal, who, within a very few yards of 
 me, was perhaps that instant surrendering his life into the 
 hands which gave it, continued motionless for some mi- 
 nutes, till the noise made by the persons at the window, 
 in leaving, convinced me all was over. I rose and fol- 
 lowed them down stairs ; worked my way through the 
 crowd, without daring to elevate my eyes, lest they should 
 encounter the suspended corpse ; threw myself into a 
 coach, and hurried home. I did not recover the agitation 
 produced by this scene for several days. — This was the 
 end of a Forger ! 
 
 In conclusion, I may just inform the reader, that I 
 faithfully executed the commission with which he had en- 
 trusted me, and a bitter, heart-rending business it was !
 
 [ 206 ] 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 [ The London Medical Gazette having, in somewhat 
 uncourtly terms, preferred an accusation of plagiarism 
 against the original writer of this Diary — with reference 
 to the citation (in the case " Intriguing and Madness") 
 of the passage from Shakspeare, affirming memory to be 
 the test of madness, (" Bring me to the test," &c.) — 
 asserting, in downright terms, that the illustration in 
 question was " borrowed without scruple or acknowledg- 
 ment, from Sir Henry Halford" — and was " truly a little 
 too barefaced ;" — the Editor of these Passages simply 
 assures the reader, that, from circumstances, this is 'im- 
 possible ; and the reader would know it to be so, could 
 these circumstances be communicated consistently with 
 the Editor's present purposes. And farther, the Editor 
 immediately wrote to Sir Henry Halford, disproving the 
 truth of the assertion in the Medical Gazette^ and has 
 received a note from Sir Henry, stating his " perfect 
 satisfaction" with the explanation given. The other 
 allegations contained in the article in question are not 
 such as to require an answer. 
 London, November 12, 1830.]
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 207 
 
 I HATE humbug, and would eschew that cant and 
 fanaticism which are at present tainting extensive por- 
 tions of society, as sincerely as I venerate and wish to 
 cultivate a spirit of sober, manly, and rational piety. It 
 is not, therefore, to pander to the morbid tastes of over- 
 weening- saintliness, to encourage its arrogant assump- 
 tions, sanction its hateful, selfish exclusiveness, or advo- 
 cate that spirit of sour, diseased, puritanical seclusion 
 from the innocent gaieties and enjoyments of life, which 
 has more deeply injured the interests of religion than 
 any of its professed enemies ; it is not, I repeat, with 
 any such unworthy objects as these that this melancholy 
 narrative is placed on record. But it is to show, if it 
 ever meet their eyes, your " men about town," as the 
 elite of the rakish fools and flutterers of the day are 
 significantly termed, that some portions of the page of 
 profligacy are black — black with horror, and steeped in 
 the tears — the blood, of anguish and remorse, wrung 
 from ruined thousands ! — That often the " iron is enter- 
 ing the very soul" of those who present to the world's 
 eye an exterior of glaring gaiety and recklessness — that 
 gilded guilt must, one day, be stripped of its tinselry, and 
 flung into the haze and gloom of outer darkness : these 
 are the only objects for which this black passage is laid 
 before the reader ; in which I have undertaken to describe 
 pains and agonies, which these eyes witnessed, and that 
 with all the true frightfulness of reality. It has, indeed, 
 cost me feelings of little less than torture to retrace the 
 leading features of the scenes with which the narrative 
 concludes.
 
 208 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 " Hit him — pitch it into him ! Go it, boys — go it ! 
 Right into your man, each of you, like good 'uns! — 
 Top sawyers, these I — Hurra ! Tap his claret cask — draw 
 his cork ! — Go it — go it — beat him, big one ! — lick him, 
 little one ! Hurra ! — Slash, smash — fib away — right and 
 left ! — Hollo ! — Clear the way there I — Ring ! ring !" 
 
 These, and many similar exclamations, may serve to 
 bring before the reader one of those ordinary scenes in 
 London — a street row ; arising, too, out of circumstances 
 of equally frequent recurrence. A gentleman (!) prowl- 
 ing about Piccadilly, towards nightfall, in the month of 
 November, in quest of adventures of a certain descrip- 
 tion, had been offering some impertinence to a female of 
 respectable appearance, whom he had been following for 
 some minutes. He was in the act of putting his arm 
 round her waist, or taking some similar liberty, when he 
 was suddenly seized by the collar from behind, and jerked 
 oiF the pavement so violently, that he fell nearly at full 
 length in the gutter. This feat was performed by the 
 woman's husband, who had that moment rejoined her, 
 having quitted her only a very short time before, to leave 
 a message at one of the coach- offices, while she walked 
 on, being in haste. No man of ordinary spirit could 
 endure such rough handling tamely. The instant, there- 
 fore, that the prostrate man had recovered his footing, he 
 sprung towards his assailant, and struck him furiously 
 over the face with his umbrella. For a moment the man 
 seemed disinclined to return the blow, owing to the pas- 
 sionate dissuasions of his wife ; but it was useless — his 
 English blood began to boil under the idea of submitting 
 to a blow, and hurriedly exclaiming, " Wait a moment, 
 sir," — he pushed his wife into the shop adjoining, telling 
 
 2
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 209 
 
 her to stay till be returned. A small crowd stood round. 
 
 " Now, by , sir, we sball see wbicb is tbe better 
 
 man !" said he, again making- his appearance, and putting- 
 himself in a boxing- attitude. There was much disparity 
 between the destined combatants, in point both of skill 
 and size. The man last named was short in stature, but 
 of a square iron build ; and it needed only a glance at 
 his posture to see he was a scientific, perhaps a thorough- 
 bred, bruiser. His antagonist, on the contrary, was a 
 tall, handsome, well-proportioned, gentlemanly man, ap- 
 parently not more than twenty-eight or thirty years old. 
 Giving his umbrella into the hands of a bystander, and 
 hurriedly drawing off his gloves, he addressed himself to 
 the encounter with an unguarded impetuosity, which left 
 him wholly at the mercy of his cool and practised oppo- 
 nent. 
 
 The latter seemed evidently inclined to play a while 
 with his man, and contented himself with stopping seve- 
 ral heavily dealt blows, with so much quickness and pre- 
 cision, that every one saw " the big one had caught a 
 Tartar" m the man he had provoked. Watching his 
 opportunity, like a tiger crouching noiselessly in prepara- 
 tion for the fatal spring, the short man delivered such a 
 slaughtering left-handed hit full in the face of his tall 
 adversary, accompanied by a tremendous " doubling-up" 
 body-blow, as in an instant brought him senseless to the 
 ground. He who now lay stunned and blood-smeared on 
 the pavement, surrounded by a rabble, jeering the fallen 
 *' swell," and exulting at seeing the punishment he hai 
 received for his impertinence, was, as the conqueror 
 pithily told them, standing over his prostrate foe, the 
 Honourable St John Henry Effingstone, presumptive 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 210 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 heir to a marquisate ; and the victor, who walked coolly 
 
 away as if nothing had happened, was Tom , the 
 
 prizefig-hter. 
 
 Such was the occasion of my first introduction to Mr 
 Effingstone ; for I was driving by at the time this occur- 
 rence took place — and my coachman, seeing the crowd, 
 slackened the pace of his horses, and I desired him to 
 stop. Hearing some voices cry, " Take him to a doctor," 
 I let myself out, announced my profession, and, seeing a 
 man of very gentlemanly and superior appearance covered 
 with blood, an i propped against the knee of one of the 
 people round, I had him brought into my carriage, saying 
 I would drive him to his residence close by, which his 
 card showed me was in Street. Though much dis- 
 figured, and in great pain, he had not received any injury 
 likely to be attended with danger. He soon recovered ; 
 but an infinitely greater annoyance remained after all the 
 other symptoms had disappeared — his left eye was sent 
 into deep mourning, which threatened to last for some 
 weeks ; and could any thing be more vexatious to a gay 
 man about town ? for such was Mr Effingstone — but no 
 ordinary one. 
 
 He did not belong to that crowded class of essenced 
 fops, of silly coxcombs, hung in gold chains, and be- 
 spangled with a profusion of rings, brooches, pins, and 
 quizzing-glasses, who are to be seen, in fine weather, 
 glistening about town, like fire-flies in India. He was 
 no walking advertisement of the superior articles of his 
 tailor, mercer, and jeweller. No — Mr Effingstone was 
 really a man about town, and yet no puppy. He was 
 worse — an abandoned profligate, a systematic debauchee, 
 an irreclaimable reprobate. He stood pre-eminent amidst
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 211 
 
 the throng of men of fashion — a glaring- tower of guilt, 
 such as Milton represents Satan, 
 
 In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
 
 among his gloomy battalions of fallen spirits. He had 
 nothing in common with the set of men I have been 
 alluding to, but that he chose to drink deeper from the 
 same foul and maddening cup of dissipation. Their 
 minor fooleries and " naughtiness," as he termed them, 
 he despised. Had he not neglected a legitimate exer- 
 cise of his transcendent talents, he might have become, 
 with little effort, one of the first men of his age. As 
 for knowledge, his powers of acquisition seemed un- 
 bounded. Whatever he read he made his own ; good or 
 bad, he never forgot it. He was equally intimate with 
 ancient and modern scholarship. His knowledge of the 
 varieties and distinctions between the ancient sects of 
 philosophers was more minutely accurate, and more suc- 
 cessfully brought to bear upon the modern, than I am 
 aware of having ever known in another. Few, very few, 
 that 1 have been acquainted with, could make a more 
 imposing and effective display of the " dazzling fence of 
 logic." Fallacies, though never so subtle, so exquisitely 
 vraisemblant — so " twin-formed to truth" — and calcula- 
 ted to evade the very ghost of Aristotle himself, melted 
 away instantaneously before the first glance of his eye. 
 His powers were acknowledged and feared by all who 
 knew him — as many a discomfited sciolist now living 
 can bear testimony. His acuteness of perception was 
 not less remarkable. He anticipated all you meant to 
 convey, before you had uttered more than a word or two. 
 It was useless to kick or wince under such treatment —
 
 212 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 to iind your own words thrust back again down your 
 own throat as useless, than which few things are more 
 provoking- to men with the slightest spice of petulance. 
 A conviction of his overwhelming power kept you pas- 
 sive beneath his grasp. He had, as it were, extracted and 
 devoured the kernel, while you were attempting to de- 
 cide on the best method of breaking the shell. His wit 
 was radiant, and, fed by a fancy both lively and powerful, 
 it flashed and sparkled on all sides of you, like lightning. 
 He had a strong bent towards sarcasm, and that of the 
 bitterest and fiercest kind. If you chanced unexpectedly 
 to become its subject, you sneaked away consciously 
 seared to your very centre. If, however, you really 
 wished to acquire information from him, no one was 
 readier to open the storehouses of his learning. You had 
 but to start a topic requiring elucidation of any kind, and 
 presently you saw, grouped around it, numerous, appro- 
 priate, and beautiful illustrations, from almost every 
 region of knowledge. But then you could scarcely fail 
 to observe the spirit of pride and ostentation which per- 
 vaded the whole. If he failed any where — and who living 
 is equally excellent in all things ? — it was in physics. 
 Yes, here he was foiled. He lacked the patience, perse- 
 verance, and almost exclusive attention, which the cold 
 and haughty goddess presiding over them invariably 
 exacts from her suitors. Still, however, he had that 
 showy general intimacy with its outlines, and some of 
 its leading features, which earned him greater applause 
 than was doled out reluctantly and suspiciously to the 
 profoundest masters of science. 
 
 Yet Mr Effingstone, though such as I have described 
 hira, gained no distinctions at Oxford ; and why ? be-
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 213 
 
 cause he knew that all acknowledged his intellectual su- 
 premacy : that he had but to extend his foot, and stand 
 on the proudest pedestal of academical eminence. This 
 satisfied him. And another reason for his conduct once 
 slipped out in the course of my intimacy with him : His 
 overweening, I may say almost unparalleled pride, could 
 not brook the idea of the remotest chance oi failure ! 
 The same thing accounted for another manifestation of 
 his peculiar character : No one could conceive how, when, 
 or where, he came by his wonderful knowledge. He never 
 seemed to be doing any thing ; no one ever saw him read- 
 ing or writing, and yet he came into society aufait at 
 almost every thing ! All this was attributable to his pride, 
 or, I should say, more correctly, his vanity. " Results, not 
 processes, are for the public eye," he was fond of saying. 
 In plain English, he would shine before men, but would 
 not that they should know the pains and expense with 
 which his lamp was fed. And this highly gifted indi- 
 vidual it was who chose to track the waters of dissipation, 
 to career among the sunk rocks, shoals, and quick- 
 sands, even till he sank and perished in them I By some 
 strange omission in his moral conformation, his soul 
 seemed utterly destitute of any sympathies for virtue; 
 and whenever I looked at him, it was with feelings of 
 concern, alarm, and wonder, akin to those with which 
 one might contemplate the frightful creature brought 
 into being by Frankenstein. Mr Effingstone seemed 
 either wholly incapable of appreciating moral excellence, 
 or wilfully contemptuous of it. While reflecting care- 
 fully on his 'I'^KurvyK^KTicc, which several years' intimacy 
 gave me many opportunities of doing, and endeavouring 
 to account for his fixed inclination towards vice, and
 
 214 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 that in its most revolting form, and most frantic excesses, 
 at a time when he was consciously possessed of such capa- 
 bilities of excellence of every description — it has struck 
 me that a Httle incident, which came to my knowledge 
 casually, afforded a clue to the whole — a key to his cha- 
 racter. He one day chanced to overhear a distinguished 
 friend of his father's lamenting that a man " of Mr St 
 John's vast powers" could prostitute them in the manner 
 he did ; and the reply made by his father was, with a 
 sigh, that " St John was a splendid sinner, and he knew 
 it." From that hour, the key-stone was fixed in the arch 
 of his unalterable, irreclaimable depravity. He felt a 
 Satanic satisfaction in the consciousness of being an object 
 of regret and wonder among those who most enthusiasti- 
 cally acknowledged his intellectual supremacy. How in- 
 finitely less stimulating to his morbid sensibilities would 
 be the placid approvals of virtue — a commonplace ac- 
 quiescence in the ordinary notions of virtue and religion ! 
 He wished rather to stand out from the multitude — to 
 be severed from the herd. " Better to reign in hell than 
 serve in heaven," he thought ; and he was not long in 
 sinking many fathoms lower into the abyss of atheism. 
 In fact, he never pretended to the possession of religious 
 principle; he had acquiesced in the reputed truths of 
 Christianity like his neighbours ; or, at least, kept doubts 
 to himself, till he fancied his reputation required him to 
 join the crew of fools, who' blazon their unbelief. This 
 was " damned fine." 
 
 Conceive, now, such a man as I have truly, but per- 
 haps imperfectly, described Mr Effingstone — in the pos- 
 session of £3000 a-year — perfectly his own master — 
 with a fine person and most fascinating manners — capable
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 215 
 
 of acquiring with ease every fashionable accomplish- 
 ment — the idol, the dictator of all he met — and with a 
 dazzling- circle of friends and relatives ; — conceive, for 
 a moment, such a man as this let loose upon town ! Will 
 it occasion wonder, if the reader is told how soon noc- 
 turnal studies, and the ambition of retaining his intellec- 
 tual character which prompted them, were supplanted by 
 a blind, absorbing, reckless devotion — for he was inca- 
 pable of any thing but in extremes — to the gaming-table, 
 the turf, the cockpit, the ring, the theatres, and daily 
 and nightly attendance on those haunts of detestable de- 
 bauchery, which I cannot foul my pen with naming ? — 
 that a two or three years' intimacy with such scenes as 
 these, had conduced, in the first instance, to shed a haze 
 of indistinctness over the multifarious acquirements of 
 his earlier and better days, and finally to blot out large 
 portions with blank oblivion ? — that his soul's sun shone 
 in dim discoloured rays through the fogs — the vault- 
 vapours of profligacy ? — that prolonged desuetude was 
 gradually, though unheededly, benumbing and palsying 
 his intellectual faculties ? — that a constant " feeding on 
 garbage" had vitiated and depraved his whole system, 
 both physical and mental ? — and that, to conclude, there 
 was a lamentable, and almost incredible contrast between 
 the glorious being, Mr Effingstone, at twenty-one, and 
 that poor faded creature, that prematurely superannuated 
 debauchee, Mr Effingstone, at twenty-seven ? 
 
 I feel persuaded I shall not be accused of travelling 
 out of the legitimate sphere of these "Passages" — of 
 forsaking the track of professional detail — in having thus 
 attempted to give the reader some faint idea of the intel- 
 lectual character of one of the most extraordinary young
 
 216 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 men that have ever flashed, meteor-like, across the sphere 
 of my own observation. Not that, in the ensuing^ pages, 
 it will be in my power to exhibit him such as he has been 
 described, doing- and uttering things worthy of his great 
 powers. Alas I alas ! he was " fallen, fallen, fallen" from 
 that altitude long before it became my province to know 
 him professionally. His decline and fall are alone what 
 remain for me to describe. I am painting from the life, 
 and those are living who know it — that I am describing 
 the character and career of him who once lived, but who 
 deliberately immolated himself before the shrine of de- 
 bauchery — and they can, with a quaking heart, attest the 
 truth of the few bitter and black passages of his remaining 
 history, which here follow. 
 
 The reader is acquainted with the circumstances 
 attending my first professional acquaintance with Mr 
 Effingstone. Those of the second are in perfect keeping. 
 He had been prosecuting an enterprise of seduction, the 
 interest of which was, in his eyes, enhanced a thousand- 
 fold, on discovering that the object of his illicit attentions 
 was married. She was, I understood, a very handsome, 
 fashionable woman ; and she fell — for Mr Effingstone 
 was irresistible I He was attending one of their assig- 
 nations one night, which she was unexpectedly unable 
 to keep ; and he waited so long at the place of meeting, 
 but slightly clad, in the cold and inclement weather, 
 that when he returned home at an early hour in the morn- 
 ing, intensely chagrined, he began to feel ill. He could 
 not rise to breakfast. He grew rapidly worse ; and when 
 I was summoned to his bedside, he exhibited all the symp- 
 toms of a very severe inflammation of the lungs. One or 
 two concurrent causes of excitement and chagrin aggra-
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 217 
 
 vated his illness. He had been very unfortunate in bet- 
 ting on the Derby ; and was threatened with an arrest from 
 his tailor, to whom he owed some hundreds of pounds, 
 which he could not possibly pay. Again — a wealthy 
 remote member of the family, his godfather, having heard 
 of his profligacy, altered his will, and left every farthing 
 he had in the world, amounting to upwards of fifty or 
 sixty thousand pounds, to a charitable institution, the 
 whole of w hich had been originally destined to Mr Effing- 
 stone. The only notice taken of him in the old gentle- 
 man's will was, " To St John Henry Effingstone, my 
 unworthy godson, I bequeath the sum of five pounds 
 sterling, to purchase a Bible and Prayer-book, believing 
 the time may yet come when he will require them." — 
 These circumstances, I say, added to one or two other 
 irritating concomitants, such as will sometimes succeed in 
 stinging even your men about town into something like 
 reflection, brief, bitter, and futile though it be, contributed 
 to accelerate the inroads of his dangerous disorder. We 
 were compelled to adopt such powerful antiphlogistic 
 treatment as reduced him to within an inch of his life. 
 Previous to, and in the course of, this illness, he exhibited 
 one or two characteristic traits. 
 
 " Doctor — is delirium usually an attendant on this 
 disorder ?" he enquired one morning. I told him it was 
 — very frequently. 
 
 " Ah ! then, I'd better become uy'hMTrtK;, with one of 
 old, and bite out my tongue ; for, God knows ! my life 
 won't bear ripping up ! I shall say what will horrify you 
 all! Delirium blackens a poor fellow sadly among his 
 friends, doesn't it ? Babbling: devil— what can silence
 
 218 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 it ? If you should hear me beg-inning to let out, suffocate 
 rae — do, Doctor." 
 
 " Any chance of my g^iving- the great cut this time, 
 Doctor, eh ?" he enquired the same evening-, with great 
 apparent nonchalance. Seeing my puzzled air — for I did 
 not exactly comprehend the expression, " great cut" — 
 he asked quickly, " Doctor, shall I die, d'ye think ?" I 
 told him I certainly apprehended great danger, for his 
 symptoms began to look very serious. " Then the ship 
 must be cleared for action. What is the best way of 
 ensuring recovery, provided it is to be?" I told him 
 that, among other things, he must be kept very quiet — 
 must not have his mind excited by visiters. 
 
 " Nurse, ring the bell for George," said he, suddenly 
 interrupting me. The valet, in a few moments, answered 
 the summons. " George, d'ye value your neck, eh ?" 
 The man bowed. " Then, harkee, see you don't let in a 
 living soul to see me, except the medical people. Friends, 
 relatives, mother, brothers, sisters — harkee, sirrah ! shut 
 them all out — And, duns — mind — duns especially. If 
 
 should come, and get inside the door, kick him out 
 
 again ; and if comes, and , and , tell them, 
 
 that if they don't mind what they are about, I'll die, if 
 it's only to cheat them." The man bowed and retired. 
 " And — and — Doctor, what else ?" 
 
 " If you should appear approaching your end, Mr 
 Effingstone, you would allow us, perhaps, to call in a 
 clergyman to assist you in your devo" 
 
 " What — eh — a parson ? Oh, it ! no, no — out of 
 
 the question — nan ad rem, I assure you," he replied has- 
 tily. " D'ye think I can't roll down to hell fast enough.
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 219 
 
 without having- my wheels oiled by their hypocritical 
 humbug ? Don't name it again, Doctor, on any account, 
 1 beg." 
 
 * * * He grew rapidly worse, but ultimately 
 recovered. His injunctions were obeyed to the letter ; 
 for his man George idolized his master, and turned a 
 deaf ear to all applications for admission to his master's 
 chamber. It was well there was no one of his friends 
 or relatives present to listen to his ravings ; for the dis- 
 gorgings of his polluted soul were horrible. His progress 
 towards convalescence was by very slow steps ; for the 
 energies of both mind and body had been dreadfully 
 shaken. His illness, however, had worked little or no 
 alteration in his moral sentiment — or, if any thing for 
 the worse. 
 
 " It won't do at all, will it. Doctor ?" said Mr Effing- 
 stone, when I was visiting him, one morning at the 
 
 house of a titled relation in Square, whither he had 
 
 been removed to prepare for a jaunt to the Continent. 
 " What do you allude to, Mr Effingstone ? — What 
 won't do ?" I asked, for I knew not to what he alluded, 
 as the question was the first break of a long pause in our 
 conversation, which had been quite of a miscellaneous 
 character. " What won't do ?" " Why, the sort of life I 
 have been leading about town these two or three last 
 years," he replied. " Egad ! Doctor, it has nearly wound 
 me up, has not it ?" 
 
 " Indeed, Mr Effingstone, I think so. You have had 
 a very, very narrow escape — have been within a hair's 
 breadth of your grave." — " Ay," he exclaimed, with a 
 sigh, passing his hand rapidly over his noble forehead, 
 " 'twas a complete toss up whether I should go or stay !
 
 220 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 I look somewhat shaken — une roue qui se deraye — do I 
 not, faith ?— But come, come, the good ship has wea- 
 thered the storm bravely, though she has been battered 
 a little in her timbers I" said he, striking his breast ; and 
 she's fit for sea again already — with a little caulking, 
 that is. Heigho ! what a fool illness makes a man I I've 
 had some of the strangest, oddest twingings — such 
 gleams and visions! — What d'ye think, Doctor, I've had 
 dinging in my ears night and day, like a dismal church 
 bell ? Why, a passage from old Persius, and this is it, 
 (you know I was a dab at Latin, once, Doctor), rotundo 
 ore — 
 
 Magne Pater divum ! ssevos punlre tyrannos 
 Haud alia ratlone velis, quum dira libido 
 Movent ingenium, ferventi tincta veneno ; 
 — Virtutem videaat — intabescantque relicta !* 
 
 True and forcible enough, isn't it ?" 
 
 " Yes," I replied ; and expressed my satisfaction at 
 his altered sentiments. " He might rely on it," I ven- 
 tured to assure him, " that the paths of virtue, of reli- 
 gion" I was getting on too fast I 
 
 " Poh, poh, Doctor ! No humbug, I beg — come, 
 come, no humbug — no nonsense of that sort ! I meant 
 nothing of the kind, I can assure you I I'm a better 
 Bentley than you, I see ! What d'ye think is my read- 
 ing of ' virtutem videant f — Why, let them get wives 
 when they're worn out, and want nursing — ah, ha! — 
 Curse me ! — I'd go on raking — ay, I would, stern as you 
 look about it ! — but I'm too much the worse for wear at 
 present — I must recruit a little." 
 
 " Mr Effingstone, I'm really confounded at hearing 
 
 * P£Rs. Sat. iii.
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 221 
 
 you talk in so light a strain ! Forgive me, my dear 
 sir, but" 
 
 " Fiddle-de-dee, my dear Doctor ! Of course, I'll for- 
 give you, if you won't repeat the offence. 'Tis unplea- 
 sant — a nuisance — 'tis, upon my soul ! Well, however, 
 what do you think is the upshot of the whole — the prac- 
 tical point — the winding up of affairs — the balancing of 
 the books" — he delighted in accumulations of this sort 
 — " the shutting up of the volume, eh ? I'm going to 
 get married — I am, by ! I'm at dead low water- 
 mark in money matters ; and, in short, I repeat it, I 
 intend to marry — a gold bag ! A good move, isn't it ? 
 But, to be candid, I can't take all the credit of the thing 
 to myself either, having been a trifle bored, bulHed, bad- 
 gered into it by the family. They say the world cries 
 shame on me ! Simpletons, why listen to the world ! — 
 I only laugh, ha, ha, ha ! and cry, curse on the world ; 
 and so we are quits with one another !* — By the way, 
 the germ of that's to be found in that worthy old fellow 
 Plautus !" 
 
 All this, uttered with Mr Effingstone's characteristic 
 emphasis and rapidity of tone and manner, conveyed his 
 real sentiments ; and it was not long before he carried 
 them into effect. He spent two or three months in the 
 south of France ; and not long after his return to Eng- 
 
 [* " What are the thousands that have been laughing at us, but 
 company?" — " Laard, my dear," returned he with the greatest good 
 
 humour, " you seem immensely chagrined ; but, b 1 me ! when 
 
 the world laughs at me, I laugh at all the world — and so we are even." 
 Citizen of the World — Letter liv. 
 
 It is said that the germ of the observation in the text is " to be 
 found in Plautus.^' I do not recollect it there : possibly Effingstone 
 had some indistinct recollection of this assage from Goldsmith Ed. j
 
 222 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 land, with restored health and energies, he singled out, 
 from among- the many, many women who would hare 
 exulted in being an object of the attentions of the accom- 
 plished, the distingue Effingstone, Lady E , the 
 
 very flower of English aristocratical beauty, daughter of 
 a distinguished peer, and sole heiress to the immense 
 
 estates of an aged Baronet in shire. 
 
 The unceasing exclusive attentions exacted from her 
 suitor by this haughty young beauty, operated for a while 
 as a salutary check upon Mr Eflfingstone's reviving pro- 
 pensities to dissipation. So long as there was the most 
 distant possibility of his being rejected, he was her will- 
 ing slave at all hours, on all occasions, yielding implicit 
 obedience, and making incessant sacrifices of his own 
 personal conveniences. As soon, however, as he had 
 " run down the game," as he called it, and the lady was 
 so far compromised, in the eyes of the world, as to rendec 
 retreat next to impossible, he began to slacken in his 
 attentions ; not, however, so palpably and visibly as to 
 alarm either her ladyship, or any of their mutual rela- 
 tions or friends. He compensated for the attentions he 
 was obliged to pay her by day, by the most extravagant 
 nightly excesses. The pursuits of intellect, of literature, 
 and philosophy, were utterly, and apparently finally, 
 discarded — and for what ? For wallowing swinishly in 
 the foulest sinks of depravity, herding among the ac- 
 knowledged outcasts, commingling intimately with the 
 very scum and refuse of society, battening on the rotten- 
 ness of obscenity, and revelling amid the hellish orgies 
 celebrated nightly in haunts of nameless infamy. Gamb- 
 ling, gluttony, drunkenness, harlotry, blasphemy !
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 223 
 
 [I cannot bring- myself to make public the shocking 
 
 details with which the following- five pag-es of Dr 's 
 
 Diary are occupied. They are too revolting- for the 
 columns of this distinguished Magazine, and totally unfit 
 for the eyes of its miscellaneous readers. If printed, 
 they would appear to many absolutely incredible. They 
 are little else than a corroboration of what is advanced 
 in the sentences immediately preceding this interjected 
 paragraph. What follows must be given only in a frag- 
 mentary form — the cup of horror must be poured out 
 before the reader, only Kecrcc a-Tciyoyx*] 
 
 Mr Effingstone, one morning, accompanied Lady 
 
 E and her mother to one of the fashionable shops, 
 
 for the purpose of aiding the former in her choice of some 
 beautiful Chinese toys, to complete the ornamental 
 department of her boudoir. After having purchased some 
 of the most splendid and costly articles which had been 
 exhibited, the ladies drew on their gloves, and gave each 
 an arm to Mr Effingstone to lead them to the carriage. 
 
 Lady E was in a flutter of unusually animated 
 
 spirits, and was complimenting Mr Effingstone, in en- 
 thusiastic terms, on the taste with which he had guided 
 their purchases. They had left the shop-door, and the 
 footman was letting down the carriage-steps, when a very 
 young woman, elegantly dressed, who happened to be 
 passing at that moment, seemingly in a state of deep 
 dejection, suddenly started on seeing and recognising 
 Mr Effingstone, placed herself between them and the 
 carriage, and, lifting her clasped hands, exclaimed, in 
 piercing accents, " Oh, Henry, Henry, Henry ! how 
 cruelly you have deserted your poor ruined girl ! What 
 
 * Alex, in ^phrodisio.
 
 224 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 have I done to deserve it ? I'm ])roken-hearted, and can 
 
 rest nowhere I I've been walking- up and down M 
 
 Street nearly three hours this morning- to get a sig-ht of 
 you, but could not ! Oh, Henry, how differently you said 
 
 you would behave before you brought me up from 
 
 shire I " All this was uttered with the impassioned 
 vehemence and rapidity of highly excited feelings, and 
 
 uninterruptedly ; for both Lady E and her mother 
 
 seemed perfectly petrified, and stood pale and speechless. 
 Mr Effingstone, too, was for a moment thunderstruck ; 
 but an instant's reflection showed him the necessity of 
 acting with decision one way or another. Though deadly 
 pale, he did not disclose any other symptom of agitation ; 
 and, with an assumed air of astonishment and irrecog- 
 nition, exclaimed, concernedly, " Poor creature ! unfor- 
 tunate thing ! Some strange mistake this ! " — " Oh, no, 
 no, no, Henry, it's no mistake ! You know me well 
 enough — I'm your own poor Hannah ! " 
 
 " Poh, poh ! nonsense, woman ! / never saw you be- 
 fore." 
 
 " Never saw me ! never saw me ! " almost shrieked the 
 girl ; " and is it come to this ? " 
 
 " Woman, don't be foolish — cease, or we must give you 
 over to an officer as an impostor," said Mr Effingstone, 
 the perspiration bursting from every pore. " Come, 
 come, your ladyships had better allow me to hand you 
 into the carriage. See, there's a crowd collecting." 
 
 " No, Mr Effingstone," replied Lady E 's mother, 
 
 with excessive agitation ; '* this very singular, strange 
 affair — if it is a mistake — had better be set right on the 
 spot. Here, young woman, can you tell me what is the 
 name of this gentleman ? " pointing to Mr Effingstone.
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 225 
 
 " Effingstone — Effingstone, to be sure, ma'am," sobbed 
 the girl, looking imploringly at him. The instant she 
 had uttered his name, the two ladies, dreadfully agitated, 
 withdrew their arms from his, and, with the footman's as- 
 sistance, stepped into their carriage, and drove off rapidly, 
 leaving Mr Effingstone bowing, kissing his hand, and 
 assuring them that he should " soon settle this absurd 
 
 affair," and be at Street before their ladyships. They 
 
 heard him not, however ; for the instant the carriage had 
 set off, Lady E fainted. 
 
 " Young woman, you're quite mistaken in me — I 
 never saw you before. Here is my card — come to me at 
 eight to-night," he added, in an under tone, so as to be 
 heard by none but her he addressed. She took the hint, 
 appeared pacified, and each withdrew difi'erent ways 
 — Mr Effingstone almost suffocated with suppressed 
 execrations. He flung himself into a hackney coach, 
 
 and ordered it to Street, intending to assure Lady 
 
 E , with a smile, that he had " instantly put an end 
 
 to the ridiculous affair." His knock, however, brought 
 him a prompt " Not at home," though their carriage had 
 but the instant before driven from the door. He jumped 
 again into the coach, almost gnashing his teeth with 
 fury, drove home, and despatched his groom with a note, 
 and orders to wait an answer. He soon brought it back, 
 
 with the intelligence that Lord and Lady had given 
 
 their porter orders to reject all letters or messages from 
 Mr Effingstone I So there was an end of all hopes from 
 that quarter. This is the history of what was myste- 
 riously hinted at in one of the papers of the day, as a 
 " strange occurrence in high life, which would probably 
 break off a matrimonial affair long considered as settled." 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 226 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 But how did Mr Effingstone receive his ruined dupe 
 at the appointed hour of eight ? He answered her ex- 
 pected knock himself. 
 
 " Now, look, !" said he, fiercely, extending his 
 
 arm with clenched fist towards her, " if ever you pre- 
 sume to darken my door again, by , I'll murder you ! 
 
 I give you fair warning. You've ruined me — you have, 
 you accursed !" 
 
 " Oh, my God ! What am I to do to live ? What is 
 to become of me ?" groaned the victim. 
 
 " Do ? Why, go and be ! And here's something 
 
 to help you on your way — there!" and, flinging her a 
 cheque for £50, he shut the door violently in her face. 
 
 Mr Effingstone now plunged into profligacy with a 
 spirit of almost diabolical desperation. Divers dark 
 hints — stinging innuendoes — appeared in the papers, of 
 his disgraceful notoriety in certain scenes of an abomin- 
 able description. But he laughed at them. His family, 
 at length, cast him off", and refused to recognise him till 
 he chose to alter his courses — to make the " amende' to 
 society. 
 
 Mr Effingstone was boxing one morning with Belasco 
 -—I think it was — at the latter's rooms ; and was 
 preparing to plant a hit which the fighter had defied him 
 to do, when he suddenly dropt his guard, turned pale, 
 and, in a moment or two, fell fainting into the arms of 
 the astounded boxer. He had, several days previously, 
 suspected himself the subject of indisposition — how 
 could it be otherwise, keeping such hours, and living 
 such a life as he did — but not of so serious a nature as 
 to prevent him from going out as usual. As soon as he 
 1
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 22? 
 
 had recovered, and swallowed a few drops of spirits and 
 water, he drove home, intending- to have sent imme- 
 diately for Mr , the well-known surgeon ; but, on 
 
 arriving at his rooms, he found a travelling carriage-and- 
 four waiting before the door, for the purpose of convey- 
 ing him instantly to the bedside of his dying mother, in 
 a distant part of England, as she wished personally to 
 communicate to him something of importance before she 
 died. This he learned from two of his relatives, who 
 were up stairs giving directions to his servant to pack up 
 his clothes, and make other preparations for his journey, 
 so that nothing might detain him from setting off the 
 instant he arrived at his rooms. He was startled — 
 alarmed — confounded at all this. Good God ! he 
 thought, what was to become of him ? He was utterly 
 unfit to undertake a journey, requiring instant medical 
 attendance, which had been too long deferred ; for his 
 dissipation had already made rapid inroads on his consti- 
 tution. Yet what was to be done ? His situation was 
 such as could not be communicated to his relatives, for 
 he did not choose to encounter their sarcastic reproaches. 
 He had nothing for it but to get into the carriage with 
 
 them, go down to shire, and, when there, devise 
 
 some plausible pretext for returning instantly to town. 
 That, however, he found impracticable. His mother 
 would not trust him out of her sight one instant, night 
 or day, but kept his hand close locked in hers ; he was 
 also surrounded by the congregated members of the family, 
 and could literally scarce stir out of the house an instant. 
 He dissembled his illness with tolerable success, till his 
 aggravated agonies drove him almost beside himself. 
 Without breathing a syllable to any one but his own man,
 
 228 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 whom he took with him, he suddenly left the house, and, 
 without even a change of clothes, threw himself into the 
 first London coach ; and, by two o'clock the next day, 
 was at his own rooms in M Street, in a truly deplo- 
 rable condition, and attended by Sir and myself. 
 
 The consternation of his family in — — shire may be 
 conceived. He coined some story about being- obliged 
 to stand second in a duel — but his real state was soon 
 discovered. Nine weeks of unmitigated agony were 
 passed by Mr Effingstone — the virulence of his disorder 
 for a long time setting at defiance all that medicine could 
 do. This illness, also, broke him down sadly, and we 
 recommended to him a second sojourn in the south 
 of France — for which he set out the instant he could 
 undertake the journey with safety. Much of his peculiar 
 character was developed in this illness ; that haughty, 
 reckless spirit of defiance — that contemptuous disregard 
 of the sacred consolations of religion — that sullen indiffer- 
 ence as to the event which might await him — which his 
 previous character would have warranted me in predicting. 
 ****** 
 
 About seven months from the period last mentioned, 
 I received, one Sunday evening, a note, written in 
 hurried characters ; and a hasty glance at the seal, which 
 bore Mr Effingstone's crest, filled me with sudden vague 
 apprehensions that some misfortune or other had befallen 
 him. This was the note : — 
 
 " Dear Doctor, — For God's sake, come and see me 
 immediately, for I have this day arrived in London from 
 the Continent, and am suffering the tortures of the 
 damned, both in mind and body. Come, come — in God's 
 pame, come instantly, or I shall go piad, or destroy
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 229 
 
 myself. Not a word of my return to any one till I have 
 seen you. You will find me — in short, my man will 
 accompany you. — Yours in agony, 
 
 " St J. H. Effingstone.'' 
 
 " Sunday evening y Nov, 18 — ." 
 
 Tongue cannot utter the dismay with which this note 
 filled me. His unexpected return from abroad — the 
 obscure and distant part of the town (St George's in the 
 East) where he had established himself — the dreadful 
 terms in which his note was couched — revived, amidst a 
 variety of vague conjectures, certain fearful apprehen- 
 sions for him which I had begun to entertain before he 
 quitted England. I ordered out my chariot instantly ; 
 his groom mounted the box to guide the coachman, and 
 we drove down rapidly. A sudden recollection of the 
 contents of several of the letters he had sent me latterly 
 from the Continent, at my request, served to corrobo- 
 rate my worst fears. I had given him over for lost, by 
 the time my chariot drew up opposite the house where 
 he had so strangely taken up his abode. The street and 
 neighbourhood, though not clearly discernible through 
 the fogs of a November evening, contrasted strangely 
 with the aristocratical regions to which my patient had 
 
 been accustomed. Row was narrow, and the houses 
 
 were small, yet clean and creditable looking. On 
 entering No. — , the landlady, a person of quiet respect- 
 able appearance, told me that Mr Hardy — for such, it 
 seems, was the name he chose to go by in these parts — 
 had just retired to rest, as he felt i*atigued and poorly, 
 and she was just going to make him some gruel. She 
 spoke in a tone of flurried excitation, and with an air 
 of doubt, which were easily attributable to her astonish-
 
 230 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 ment at a man of Mr Effingstone's appearance and 
 attendance, with such superior travelling equipments, 
 dropping into such a house and neighbourhood as hers. 
 I repaired to his bedchamber immediately. It was a 
 small comfortably furnished room ; the fire was lit, and 
 two candles were burning on the drawers. On the bed, 
 the plain chintz curtains of which were only half-drawn, 
 lay St John Henry EfBngstone. I must pause a moment 
 to describe his appearance, as it struck me at first 
 looking at him. It may be thought rather far-fetched, 
 perhaps, but I could not help comparing him, in my 
 own mind, to a gem set in the midst of faded tarnished 
 embroidery. The coarse texture of the bed-furniture, the 
 ordinary style of the room, its constrained dimensions, 
 contrasted strikingly with the indications of elegance 
 and fashion afforded by the scattered clothes, toilet, and 
 travelling equipment, &c. — together with the person and 
 manners — of its present occupant ; who lay on a bed all 
 tossed and tumbled, with only a few minutes' restless- 
 ness. A dazzling diamond ring sparkled on the little 
 finger of his left hand, and was the only ornament he ever 
 wore. There was something, also, in the snowiness, 
 simplicity, and fineness of his linen, which alone might 
 have evidenced the superior consideration of its wearer, 
 even were that not sufficiently visible in the noble, 
 commanding outline of his features, faded though they 
 were, and shrinking beneath the inroads of illness 
 and dissipation. His forehead was white and ample; 
 his eye had lost none of its fire, though it gleamed with 
 restless energy; in a word, there was that ease and 
 loftiness in his bearing — that indescribable maniere d'etre 
 — which are inseparable from high birth and breeding. 
 So much for the appearance of things on my entrance.
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 231 
 
 " How are you, Mr Effing-stone — how are you, my 
 dear sir ? " said I, sittings down by the bedside. 
 
 " Doctor — the pains of hell have got hold upon me. I 
 am undone," he replied gloomily, in a broken voice, and 
 extended to me a hand cold as marble. 
 
 " Is it as you suspected in your last letter to me from 
 Rouen, Mr Effingstone ? " I enquired, after a pause. He 
 shook his head, and covered his face with both hands, but 
 made me no answer. Thinking he was in tears, I said, 
 in a soothing tone — " Come, come, my dear sir, don't be 
 carried away : don't" 
 
 " Faugh ! Do you take me for a puling child, or a 
 woman, Doctor ? Don't suspect me again of such con- 
 temptible pusillanimity, low as I am fallen," he replied, 
 with startling sternness, removing his hands from his 
 face. 
 
 " I hope, after all, that matters are not so desperate as 
 your fears would persuade you," said I, feeling his pulse. 
 
 " Doctor, don't delude me ; all is over. I know it is. 
 A horrible death is before me ; but I shall meet it like 
 a man. I have made my bed, and must lie upon it. I 
 have not only strewn, but lit the pile of my own im- 
 molation I " 
 
 " Come, come, Mr Effingstone, don't be so gloomy — 
 so hopeless ; the exhausted powers of nature may yet be 
 revived," said I, after having asked him many questions. 
 
 " Doctor , I'll soon put an end to that strain of 
 
 yours. 'Tis absurd — pardon me — but it is. Reach me 
 one of those candles, please." I did so. " Now, I'll 
 show you how to translate a passage of Persius : — 
 
 Tentemus fauces : — tensro latet ulcus in ore 
 Putre, quod baud deceat plebeia radere beta !
 
 232 
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 " Eh, you recollect it ? Well, look ! — What say you to 
 this; isn't it frightful?" he asked bitterly, raising the 
 candle that I might look into his mouth. It was, alas, as 
 he said I In fact, his whole constitution had been long 
 tainted, and exhibited symptoms of soon breaking up al- 
 together. I feared, from the period of my attendance on 
 him during the illness which drove him last to the Con- 
 tinent, that it was beyond human power to dislodge the 
 harpy that had fixed its cruel fangs deeply, inextricably, 
 in his vitals. Could it be wondered at, even by himself? 
 Neglect, in the first instance, added to a persevering 
 course of profligacy, had doomed him, long, long before, 
 to premature and horrible decay ! And though it can 
 scarcely be credited, it is, nevertheless, the fact, that even 
 on the Continent, in the character of a shattered invalid, 
 the infatuated man resumed those dissolute courses which, 
 in England, had already hurried him almost to death's 
 door! 
 
 <« My good God, Mr Effingstone," I enquired, almost 
 paralysed with amazement at hearing him describe recent 
 scenes in which he had mingled, which would have made 
 even satyrs skulk ashamed into the woods of old, " how 
 could you have been so insane — so stark staring mad, to 
 say nothing else of it ? " 
 
 " By instinct, Doctor — by instinct ! The nature of 
 the beast !" he replied, through his closed teeth, and with 
 an unconscious clenching of his hands. Many enquiries 
 into his past and present symptoms forewarned me that 
 his case would probably be marked by more appalling 
 features than any that had ever come under my care ; 
 and that there was not a ray of hope that he would sur- 
 vive the long, lingering, and maddening agonies, which
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 233 
 
 were " measured out to him from the poisoned chalice," 
 which he had " commended to his own lips." At the 
 time I am speaking- of — I mean when I paid him the 
 visit above described — his situation was not far from 
 that of Job, described in chap. xx. 
 
 T^ y^ ^ y^ yp 
 
 He shed no tears, and repeatedly strove, but in vain, 
 to repress sighs with which his breast heaved, nearly to 
 bursting, while I pointed out, in obedience to his deter- 
 mination to know the worst, some portions of the dreary 
 prospect before him. 
 
 " Horrible ! hideous ! " he exclaimed, in a low broken 
 tone, his flesh creeping- from head to foot. " How shall 
 I endure it ! — Oh ! Epictetus, how ? " He relapsed into 
 silence, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and his hands 
 joined over his breast, and pointing upwards, in a posture 
 which I considered supplicatory. I rejoiced to see it, and 
 ventured to say, after much hesitation, that I was de- 
 lighted to see him at length looking to the right quarter 
 for support and consolation. 
 
 " Bah I " he exclaimed impetuously, removing his 
 hands, and eyeing me with sternness, almost approaching 
 fury, " whif will you persist in pestering your patients with 
 twaddle of that sort ? — eandem semper canens cantile- 
 nam, ad nauseam usque — as though you carried a psal- 
 ter in your pocket ? When I want to listen to any thing 
 of that kind, why, I'll pay a parson ! Haven't I a tide 
 enough of horror to bear up against already, without your 
 bringing a sea of superstition upon me ? No more of it 
 — no more — 'tis foul." I felt roused myself, at last, to 
 something like correspondent emotion ; for there was an 
 insolence of assumption in his tone which I could not 
 brook.
 
 234 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 " Mr EflSngstone," said I, calmly, *' this silly swag^ger 
 will not do. 'Tis unworthy of you — unscholarly — uh- 
 gentlemanly. Yo\x force me to say so. I beg I may hear 
 no more of it, or you and I must part. I have never been 
 accustomed to such treatment, and I cannot now learn 
 how to endure it from you. From what quarter can you 
 expect support or fortitude," said I, in a milder tone, 
 seeing him startled and surprised at my tone and manner, 
 *' except the despised consolations of religion ?" 
 
 " Doctor, you are too superior to petty feelings not to 
 overlook a little occasional petulance in such a wretched 
 fellow as I am ! You ask me whither I look for sup- 
 port ? I reply, to the energies of my own mind — tho 
 tried, disciplined energies of my own mind, Doctor — a 
 mind that never knew what fear was — that no disastrous 
 combinations of misfortune could ever yet shake from its 
 fortitude I What but this is it, that enables me to shut 
 my ears to the whisperings of some pitying fiend, who, 
 knowing what hideous tortures await me, has stepped 
 out of hell to come and advise me to suicide — eh ? " he 
 enquired, his eye glaring on me with a very fearful 
 expression. " However, as religion, that is, your Chris- 
 tian religion, is a subject on which you and I can never 
 agree — an old bone of contention between us — why, the 
 less said about it the better. It's useless to irritate a man 
 whose mind is made up. I shall never — I will never — 
 be a believer. May I perish first!" he concluded, with 
 angry vehemence. 
 
 The remainder of the interview I spent in endeavour- 
 ing to persuade him to relinquish his present unsuitable 
 lodgings, and return to the sphefe of his friends and re- 
 lations — but in vain. He was fixedly determined to con-
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 235 
 
 tinue in that obscure hole, he said, till there was about 
 a week or so between him and death, and then he would 
 return, " and die in the bosom of his family, as the phrase 
 was." Alas I however, I knew but too well, that, in the 
 event of his adhering to that resolution, he was fated to 
 expire in the bed where he then lay ; for I foresaw but 
 too truly that the termination of his illness would be 
 attended with circumstances rendering- removal utterly 
 impossible. He made me pledg-e my word that I would 
 not, without his express request or sanction, apprize any 
 member of his family, or any of his friends, that he had 
 returned to England. It was in vain that I expostulated 
 — that I represented the responsibility imposed upon 
 me ; and reminded him, that, in the event of any thing- 
 serious and sudden befalling him, the censure of all his 
 relatives would be levelled at me. He was immovable. 
 " Doctor, you know well I dare not see them, as 
 well on my own account as theirs," said he, bitterly. 
 He begged me to prescribe him a powerful anodyne 
 draught ; for that he could get no rest at nights — that an 
 intense, racking- pain was gnawing- all his bones from 
 morning to evening — from evening to morning : and what 
 with this and other dreadful concomitants, he " was," he 
 said, " suffering the tortures of the damned, and perhaps 
 worse." I complied with his request, and ordered him 
 also many other medicines and applications, and pro- 
 mised to see him soon in the morning. I was, accord- 
 ingly, with him about twelve the next day. He was 
 sitting up, and in his dressing-gown, before the fire, in 
 great pain, and suffering under the deepest dejection. 
 He complained heavily of the intense and unremitting 
 agony he had endured all night long, and thought that,
 
 236 A MAN ABOUT TOWN4 
 
 from some cause or other, the laudanum draught I 
 ordered had tended to make him only more acutely 
 sensible of the pain. " It is a peculiar and horrible 
 sensation ; and I cannot give you an adequate idea of 
 it," he said : " it is as though the marrow in my bones 
 were transformed into something animated — into blind- 
 worms, writhing, biting, and stinging incessantly" — and 
 he shuddered, as did I also, at the revolting comparison. 
 He put me upon a minute exposition of the rationale of 
 his disorder ; and if ever I was at a loss for adequate 
 expressions or illustrations, he supplied them with a 
 readiness, an exquisite appositeness, which, added to his 
 astonishing acuteness in comprehending the most strictly 
 technical details, filled me with admiration for his great 
 powers of mind, and poignant regret at their miserable 
 desecration. 
 
 " Well, I don't think you can give me any efficient 
 relief, Doctor," said he ; " and I am, therefore, bent on 
 trying a scheme of my own." 
 
 " And what, pray, may that be ? " I enquired, curiously, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 " I'll tell you my preparations. I've ordered — by ! 
 
 -T-nearly a hundred weight of the strongest tobacco that's 
 to be bought, and thousands of pipes ; and with these I 
 intend to smoke myself into stupidity, or rather insensi- 
 bility, if possible, till I can't undertake to say whether I 
 live or not ; and my good fellow, George, is to be read- 
 ing me Don Quixote the while." Oh, with what a 
 sorrowful air of forced gaiety was all this uttered I 
 
 One sudden burst of bitterness I well recollect. I was 
 saying, while putting on my gloves to go, that I hoped 
 to see him in better spirits the next time I called.
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 237 
 
 " Better spirits I Ha ! ha ! How the can I be 
 
 in better spirits — an exile from society — and absolutely 
 rotting away here — in such a contemptible hovel as this, 
 among a set of base-born brutal savages ? — faugh ! faugh ! 
 It does need something here — here," pressing his hand 
 to his forehead, " to bear it — ay, it does ! " I thought 
 his tones were tremulous, and that for the first time I 
 had ever known them so ; and I could not help thinking 
 the tears came into his eyes, for he started suddenly 
 from me, and affected to be gazing at some passing 
 object in the street. I saw he was beginning to droop 
 under a consciousness of the bitter degradation into 
 which he had sunk — the wretched prospect of his sun's 
 going down at noon — and in darkness I " I saw that the 
 strength of mind to which he clung so pertinaciously for 
 support, was fast disappearing, like snow beneath the 
 sunbeam. * * * 
 
 [Then follow the details of his disease, which are so 
 shocking as to be unfit for any but professional eyes. 
 They represent all the energies of his nature as shaken 
 beyond the possibility of restoration — his constitution 
 thoroughly polluted — wholly undermined. That the re- 
 medies resorted to had been almost more dreadful than 
 the disease — and yet exhibited in vain ! In the next 
 twenty pages of the Diary, the shades of horror are repre- 
 sented as gradually closing and darkening around this 
 wretched victim of debauchery ; and the narrative is car- 
 ried forward through three months. A few extracts only, 
 from this portion, are fitting for the reader.] 
 
 Friday, January 5. — Mr Effingstone continues in 
 the same deplorable state described in my former entry. 
 It is absolutely revolting to enter his room, the effluvia
 
 236 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 is SO sickening- — so overpowering-. I am compelled to 
 use a vinaigrette incessantly, as well as eau de Cologne, 
 and other scents, in profusion. I found him engaged, 
 as usual, deep in Petronius Arbiter ! — He still makes 
 the same wretched show of reliance on the strength and 
 firmness of his mental powers ; but his worn and hag- 
 g-ard features — the burning- brilliance of his often half- 
 frenzied eyes — the broken, hollow tones of his voice — 
 his sudden starts of apprehension — belie every word he 
 utters. He describes his bodily sufferings as frightful. 
 
 Indeed, Mrs has often told me, that his groans 
 
 both disturb and alarm the neig-hbours, even as far as 
 on the other side of the street I The very watchman has 
 several times been so much startled in passing-, at hear- 
 ing his groans, that he has knocked at the door to enquire 
 
 about them. Neither Sir nor I can think of any 
 
 thing that seems likely to assuage his agonies. Even 
 laudanum has failed us altogether, though it has been 
 given in unprecedented quantities. I think I can say, 
 with truth and sincerity, that scarce the wealth of the 
 Indies should tempt me to undertake the management of 
 another such case. I am losing my appetite — loathe 
 animal food — am haunted day and night by the piteous 
 spectacle which I have to encounter daily in Mr Effing- 
 stone. Oh I that Heaven would terminate his tortures 
 — surely he has suffered enough ! I am sure he would 
 hail the prospect of death with ecstasy I 
 
 Wednesday, 10. — Poor, infatuated, obstinate Effing- 
 stone, will not yet allow me to communicate with any 
 of his family or friends, though he knows they are 
 almost distracted at not hearing from him, fancying 
 him yet abroad. Colonel i asked me the other day,
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 239 
 
 earnestly, when I last heard from Mr EfBngstone ! I 
 wonder my conscious looks did not betray me. I almost 
 wish they had. Good God I in what a painful predica- 
 ment I am placed ! What am I to do ? Shall I tell them 
 all about him, and disregard consequences ? Oh — no — 
 no ! how can that be, when my word and honour are 
 solemnly pledged to the contrary ? 
 
 Saturday, 20 Poor EiEngstone has experienced a 
 
 signal instance of the ingratitude and heartlessness of 
 mere men of the world. He sent his man, some time 
 
 ago, with a confidential note to Captain , formerly 
 
 one of his most intimate acquaintances, stating briefly 
 the shocking circumstances in which he is placed, and 
 begging him to call and see him. The Captain sent back 
 a viva voce (J) message, that he should feel happy in 
 calling on Mr Effingstone in a few days' time, and would 
 then, but that he was busy making up a match at billiards, 
 and balancing his betting-book, &c. &c. &c. ! This day 
 the fellow rode up to the door, and — left a card for Mr 
 Effingstone, without asking to sec him! Heartless, con- 
 temptible thing ! — I drove up about a quarter of an hour 
 after this gentleman had left. Poor Effingstone could 
 not repress tears, while informing me of the above. 
 " Would you believe it. Doctor," said he, " that Captain 
 
 was one of my most intimate companions — that he 
 
 has won very many hundred pounds of my money — and 
 that I have stood his second in a duel ?" " Oh, yes — 1 
 could believe it all, and much more ! " 
 
 " My poor man, George," he resumed, " is worth a 
 million of such puppies I Don't you think the good, 
 faithful fellow looks ill ? He is at my bedside twenty 
 times a night ! Pray, try and do something for him I
 
 240 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 I've left him a trifling- annuity out of the wreck of my 
 fortune, poor fellow ! " and the rebellious tears again 
 glistened in his eyes. His tortures are unmitigated. 
 
 Friday, 26. — Surely, surely, I have never seen, and 
 seldom heard or read, of such sufferings as the wretched 
 Effingstone's. He strives to endure them with the forti- 
 tude and patience of a martyr ; or rather, is struggling to 
 exhibit a spirit of sullen, stoical submission to his fate, 
 such as is inculcated in Arrian's Discourses of Epictetus, 
 which he reads almost all day.* His anguish is so ex- 
 cruciating and uninterrupted, that I am astonished how 
 he retains the use of his reason. All power of locomo- 
 ion has disappeared long ago. The only parts of his 
 body he can move now, are his fingers, toes, and head — 
 which latter he sometimes shakes about, in a sudden 
 ecstasy of pain, with such frightful violence as would, 
 one would think, almost suffice to sever it from his 
 s'houlders ! The flesh of the lower extremities — the flesh 
 
 * * Horrible I All sensation has ceased in them 
 
 for a fortnight ! — He describes the agonies about his 
 stomach and bowels to be as though wolves were raven- 
 ously gnawing and mangling all within. 
 
 Oh, my God ! if " men about town," in London, or 
 elsewhere, could but see the hideous spectacle Mr Effing- 
 
 * Though it may be thought far-fetched and improbable, to repre- 
 sent my patient engaged in the perusal of such works as are men- 
 tioned in the text, I can assure the reader, that I have known several 
 men of the world — especially if with any pretension to scholarship — 
 endeavouring to steel themselves against the pain and terrors of the 
 deathbed, by an earnest study of the old stoic philosophy ; any thing, 
 of (course, being better than the mild and glorious consolations of 
 Christianity.
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 241 
 
 stone presents, surely it would palsy them in the pursuit 
 of ruin, and scare them into the paths of virtue ! 
 
 Mrs , his landlady, is so ill with attendance on 
 
 him — almost poisoned by the foul air in his chamber — 
 that she is gone to the house of a relative for a few weeks, 
 in a distant part of the town, having first engaged one 
 of the poor neighbours to supply her place as Mr Effing- 
 stone's nurse. The people opposite, and on each side of 
 the house, are complaining again, loudly, of the strange 
 nocturnal noises heard in Mr Effingstone's room. They 
 are his groanings ! * * 
 
 Tuesdai/y SI. — Again I have visited that scene of loath- 
 someness and horror — Mr Effingstone's chamber. The 
 nurse and George told me he had been raving deliriously 
 all night long. I found him incredibly altered in coun- 
 tenance, so much so, that I should hardly have recognised 
 his features. He was mumbling with his eyes closed, 
 when I entered the room. 
 
 " Doctor ! " he exclaimed in a tone of doubt and fear, 
 such as I had never known from him before, " you have 
 not heard me abuse the Bible lately, have you ?" 
 
 " Not verT/ lately, Mr Effingstone," I replied, point- 
 edly. 
 
 " Good," said he with his usual decision and energy 
 of manner. " There are awful things in that book — 
 aren't there. Doctor ?" 
 
 " Many very awful things there are indeed," I replied, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 " I thought so — I thought so. Pray" his man- 
 ner grew suddenly perturbed, and he paused for a 
 
 moment, as if to recollect himself — " Pray — pray" 
 
 again he paused, but could not succeed in disguising his 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 242 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 trepidation, " do you happen to recollect whether there 
 are such words in the Bible as — as — ' many stripes ?'"■ 
 
 " Yes, there are ; and they form part of a very fearful 
 passage," said I, quoting- the verse as nearly as I could. 
 He listened silently. His features swelled with suppressed 
 emotion. There was horror in his eye. 
 
 " Doctor, what a — a — remark — able — nay, hideous 
 dream I had last night ! I thought a fiend came and took 
 me to a gloomy belfry, or some other such place, and 
 muttered * Many stripes — many stripes,' in my ear ; and 
 the huge bell tolled me into madness, for all the damned 
 danced around me to the sound of it ; ha, ha ! " He 
 added, with a faint laugh, after a pause, " There's some- 
 thing cu — cur — cursedly odd in the coincidence^ isn't 
 there ? How it would have frightened some /" he con- 
 tinued, a forced smile flitting over his haggard features, 
 as if in mockery. " But it is easily to be accounted for — 
 the intimate connexion — sympathy — between mind and 
 matter, reciprocally affecting each other — affecting each 
 
 ha, ha, ha! — Doctor, it's no use keeping up this 
 
 damned farce any longer. Human nature won't bear it. 
 
 D n ! I'm going down to hell I I am I " said he, 
 
 almost yelling out the words. I had never before wit- 
 nessed such a fearful manifestation of his feelings ! I 
 almost started from the chair on which I was sitting. 
 
 <« Why" — he continued, in nearly the same tone and 
 manner, as if he had lost all self-control, " what is it that 
 has maddened me all my life, and left me sober only at 
 this ghastly hour — too late ?" My agitation would not 
 permit me to do more than whisper a few unconnected 
 words of encouragement, almost inaudible to myself. In 
 about five minutes' time, neither of us having broken the
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 243 
 
 Silence of the interval, he said in a calmer tone, " Doctor, 
 be good enough to wipe my forehead — will you ?" I did 
 so. " You know better, Doctor, of course, than to attach 
 any importance to the nonsensical rantings extorted by 
 deathbed agonies, eh ? Don't dying people, at least 
 those who die in great pain, almost always express them- 
 selves so ? How apt superstition is to rear its dismal 
 flag over the prostrate energies of one's soul, when the 
 body is racked by tortures like mine ! Oh ! — oh ! — oh ! 
 — that maddening sensation about the centre of my sto- 
 mach ! Doctor" — he added, after a pause, with a grim 
 air — " go home, and forget all the stuff you have heafd 
 me utter to-day — ' Richard's himself again ! ' " 
 
 Thursday, 2d February. — On arriving this morning 
 
 at Row, I was shown into the back parlour, where 
 
 sat the nurse, very sick and faint. She begged me to 
 procure a substitute, for that she was nearly killed her- 
 self, and nothing should tempt her to continue in her 
 present situation. Poor thing ! I did not wonder at it. 
 I told her I would send a nurse from one of the hospitals 
 that evening ; and then enquired what sort of a night Mr 
 Effingstone had passed. " Terrible," she said ; " groaning, 
 shaking, and roaring all night long — < Many stripes ! ' 
 ' Many stripes ! ' ' O God of mercy I ' and enquiring 
 perpetually for you." I repaired to the fatal chamber 
 immediately, though latterly my spirits began to fail me 
 whenever I approached the door. I was going to take 
 my usual seat in the arm-chair by the bedside. 
 
 " Don't sit there — don't sit there," groaned, or rather 
 gasped Mr Effingstone ; " for a hideous being sat in that 
 chair all night long" — every muscle in his face crept 
 and shrunk with horror — " muttering, ' Many stripes /'
 
 244 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 Doctor, order that blighted chair to be taken away, broken 
 up, and burnt, every splinter of it ! Let no human being 
 ever sit in it again ! And give instructions to the people 
 about me never to desert me for a moment — or — or — 
 carry me off! — they will! * * * My frenzied fancy 
 conjures up the ghastliest objects that can scare man into 
 madness." He paused. 
 
 " Great God, Doctor ! suppose, after all, what the 
 Bible says should prove true ! " — he literally gnashed his 
 teeth and looked a truer image of Despair than I have 
 ever seen represented in pictures, on the stage, or in real 
 life. " Why, Mr Effingstone, if it should^ it need not be 
 to your sorrow, unless you choose to make it so," said I 
 in a soothing tone. 
 
 " Needn't it, needn't it?" with an abstracted air — 
 " Needn't it ? Oh, good !— hope — there, there it sat, 
 all night long — there ! I've no recollection of any dis- 
 tinct personality, and yet I thought it sometimes looked 
 like — Of course," he added, after a pause, and a sigh of 
 exhaustion — " of course these phantoms, or similar ones, 
 must often have been described to you by dying people 
 —eh?" 
 
 Friday Sd. — * * * jje was in a strangely 
 altered mood to-day ; for though his condition might 
 be aptly described by the words " dead alive," his calm 
 demeanour, his tranquillized features, and the mild ex- 
 pression of his eye, assured me he believed what he said, 
 when he told me that his disorder had " taken a turn," 
 — that the " crisis was past;" and he should recover! 
 Alas ! was it ever known that dead mortified flesh ever 
 resumed its life and functions ! To save himself from 
 the spring of a tiger, he could not have moved a foot or
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 2 45 
 
 a finger, and that for the last week ! Poor, poor Mr 
 Effing-stone began to thank me for my attentions to him 
 during his illness ; said, he " owed his life to my consum- 
 mate skill ;" and he would " trumpet my fame to the 
 Andes, if I succeeded in bringing him through !" 
 
 " It has been a very horrible affair, Doctor — hasn't 
 it?" said he. 
 
 " Very, very, Mr Effingstone ; and it is my duty to 
 tell you, there is yet much horror before you !" 
 
 " Ah I well, well ! I see you don't want me to be too 
 sanguine — too impatient. It's kindly meant — very ! 
 Doctor, when I leave here, I leave it an altered man ! 
 Come, does that not gratify you, eh ? " 
 
 I could not help a sigh. He would be an altered man, 
 and that very shortly ! He mistook the feelings which 
 prompted the sigh. " Mind — not that I'm going to com- 
 mence saint — far, oh, very far from it ; but — but I don't 
 despair of being at some time or other a Christian. I 
 don't, upon my honour ! The New Testament is a sub- 
 lime — a — I believe — a revelation of the Almighty. My 
 heart is quite humbled ; yet — mark me — I don't mean 
 exactly to say I'm a believer — not by any means; but 
 I can't help thinking that my enquiries might tend to 
 make me so." I hinted that all these were indications of 
 bettered feelings. I could say no more. 
 
 " Tm bent on leading a different life to what I have 
 led before, at all events I Let me see — I'll tell you what 
 I've been chalking out during the night. I shall go to 
 
 Lord 's villa in , whither I have often been 
 
 invited, and shall read Lardner and Paley, and get them 
 up thoroughly — I will, by 
 
 <' Mr Effingstone, pardon me"-
 
 246 
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 " Ah ! I understand — 'twas a mere slip of the tongue ; 
 what's bred in the bone, you know" 
 
 " I was not alluding- to the oath, Mr EfBngstone ; but 
 — but it is my duty to warn you" 
 
 " Ah ! that I'm not going the right way to work — 
 eh ? Well, at all events, I'll consult a clergyman. The 
 
 Bishop of is a distant connexion of our family, you 
 
 know — I'll ask his advice ! * * Oh, Doctor, look at 
 that rich — that blessed light of the sun ! Oh, draw aside 
 the window curtain — let me feel it on me ! What an 
 image of the beneficence of the Deity I — a smile flung 
 from his face over the universe!"* I drew aside the 
 curtain. It was a cold, clear, frosty day, and the sun 
 shone into the room with cheerful lustre. Oh I how 
 awfully distinct were the ravages which his wasted fea- 
 tures had sustained ! His soul seemed to expand beneath 
 the genial influence of the sunbeams ; and he again ex- 
 presseigl his confident expectations of recovery. 
 
 " Mr Effingstone, do not persist in cherishing false 
 hopes I Once for all," said I, with all the deliberate 
 solemnity I could throw into ray manner, " I assure you, 
 in the presence of God, that, unless a miracle takes place, 
 it is utterly impossible for you to recover, or even to 
 last a week longer I " I thought it had killed him. His 
 features whitened visibly as I concluded ; his eye seemed 
 
 * A provincial critic gravely says of this — " A fine, a noble conceit, 
 it must be owned ; but only an expansion of one of Moore's in Lalla 
 Rookh — ' 'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw from Heaven's gate.' " 
 Whatever may be the merit of the expression in the text, it cannot 
 truly be charged with plagiarism. I never read Lalla Rookh in my 
 life, nor ever saw or heard of the above cited passage, till it was point- 
 ed out by the Bristol critic.
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 24? 
 
 to sink, and the eyelids fell. His lips presently moved, 
 but uttered no sound. I thought he had received his 
 death-stroke, and was immeasurably shocked at its having 
 been from my hands, even though in the strict perform- 
 ance of my duty. Half an hour's time, however, saw 
 him restored to nearly the same state in which he had 
 been previously. I begged him to allow me to send a 
 clergyman to him, as the best means of soothing and 
 quieting his mind; but he shook his head despondingly. 
 I pressed my point, and he said deliberately, " No^ He 
 muttered some such words as, " The Deity has deter- 
 mined on my destruction, and is permitting his devils to 
 mock me with hopes of this sort — let me go, then, to 
 my own place ! " In this awful state of mind I was com- 
 pelled to leave him. I sent a clergyman to him in my 
 
 chaise — the same whom I had called to visit Mr , 
 
 (alluding to the " Scholar's Deathbed"); but he refused 
 to see him, saying, that if he presumed to force himself 
 into the room, he would spit in his face, though he could 
 not rise to kick him out ! The temper of his mind had 
 changed into something perfectly diabolical since my 
 interview with him. 
 
 Saturday, 4th. — Really my own health is suifering — 
 my spirits are sinking through the daily horrors I have 
 to encounter at Mr Effingstone's apartment. This morn- 
 ing I sat by his bedside full half an hour, listening to 
 him uttering nothing but groans that shook my very soul 
 within me. He did not know me when I spoke to him, 
 and took no notice of me whatever. At length his groans 
 were mingled with such expressions as these, indicating 
 that his disturbed fancy had wandered to former scenes : — 
 <' Oh ! oh! — Pitch it into him. Bob ! Ten to two on
 
 248 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 Crib ! Horrible ! — These dice are loaded, Wilmington ; 
 
 by , I know they are I Sevens the main ! Ha ! — 
 
 done, by I * * Hector, yes — [he was alluding- 
 
 to a favourite race-horse] — won't 'bate a pound of his 
 price ! Your Grace shall have him for six hundred — 
 Fore-legs, only look at them ! — There, there, go it ! away, 
 away I neck and neck — In, in, by ! * * Han- 
 nah ! what the 's become of her ? — drowned ? No, 
 
 no, no I What a fiend incarnate that Bet is ! 
 
 * * Oh ! horror, horror, horror ! Rottenness ! Oh, 
 that some one would knock me on the head and end me I 
 
 * * Fire, fire! Stripes, many stripes — Stuff I You 
 
 did'nt fire fair. By , you tired before your time — 
 
 [alluding, I suppose, to a duel in which he had been 
 concerned] — Curse your cowardice ! " 
 
 Such was the substance of what he uttered ; it was 
 in vain that I tried to arrest the torrent of vile recollec- 
 tions. 
 
 " Doctor, Doctor, I shall die of fright I " he exclaimed 
 an hour afterwards — " What do you think happened to 
 me last night ? I was lying here, with the fire burnt 
 very low, and the candles gone out. George was asleep, 
 poor fellow, and the woman gone out to get an hour's 
 rest also. I was looking about, and suddenly saw the 
 dim outline of a table, set as it were, in the middle of the 
 room. There were four chairs, faintly visible, and three 
 ghostly figures came through that door and sat in them, 
 one by one, leaving one vacant. They began a sort of 
 horrid whispering, more like gasping ; they were devils, 
 and talked about — my damnation ] The fourth chair 
 was for me, they said, and all three turned and looked 
 me in the face. Oh I hideous — shapeless — damned!" 
 He uttered a shuddering groan. * * *
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 249 
 
 [Here follows an account of his interview with his two 
 brothers — the only members of the family (whom he 
 had at last permitted to be informed of his frightful con- 
 dition) that would come and see him.j * * * He 
 did little else than rave and howl in a blasphemous man- 
 ner, all the while they were present. He seemed hardly 
 to be aware of their being- his brothers, and to forget the 
 
 place where he was. He cursed me — then Sir , and 
 
 his man George, and charged us with compassing his 
 death, concealing his case from his family, and execrating^ 
 us for not allowing him to be removed to the west end of 
 the town. In vain we assured him that his removal 
 was utterly impossible — the time was~|)ast — I had offered 
 it once. He gnashed his teeth, and spit at us all I — 
 " What ! die — die — Die in this damned hole ? — I won't 
 
 die here — I will go to Street. Take me off! — 
 
 Devils, then do you come and carry me there ! — Come 
 — out, out, out upon you ! — * * * — You have killed 
 me, all of you ! — You're throtthng me ! — You've put a 
 hill of iron on me — I'm dead — all my body is dead ! — 
 * * * — George, you monster ! why are you ladling 
 fire upon me ? — Where do you get it ? — Out, out — out ! 
 — I'm flooded with fire ! — Scorched — Scorched! — * * 
 Now — now for a dance of devils — Ha — I see ! I see I — 
 
 There's , and , and , among them ! — 
 
 What ! all three of you dead — and damned before me ? — 
 
 W ! Where are your loaded dice ? — Filled with fire, 
 
 eh ? — * * — So, YOU were the three devils I saw sitting 
 
 at the table, eh ? — Well, I shall be last— but, by , 
 
 I'll be the chief of you ! — I'll be king in hell ! — * * — 
 What — what's that fiery owl sitting at the bottom of the 
 bed for, eh ? — Kick it off — strike it I — Away — out on
 
 250 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 thee, thou imp of hell ! — I shall make thee sing presently ! 
 — Let in the snakes — let the large serpents in — I love 
 
 them! I hear them writhing up stairs they shall 
 
 twine about my bed!" He began to shake his head 
 violently from side to side, his eyes glaring like coals of 
 fire, and his teeth gnashing. I never could have imagined 
 any thing half so frightful. What with the highly ex- 
 cited state of my feelings, and the horrible scents of 
 death which were diffused about the room, and to which 
 not the strongest salts of ammonia, used incessantly, could 
 render me insensible, I was obliged to leave abruptly. I 
 knew the last act of the black tragedy was closing that 
 night ! I left word with the nurse, that so soon as Mr 
 Effingstone should be released from his misery, she should 
 get into a hackney-coach, and come to my house. 
 ****** 
 
 I lay tossing in bed all night long — my mind suifused 
 with the horrors of the scene of which I have endeavour- 
 ed to give some faint idea above. Were I to record half 
 what I recollect of his hideous ravings, it would scare 
 myself to read it ! — I will not ! Let them and their 
 memory perish ! Let them never meet the eye or ear of 
 man ! — I fancied myself lying side by side with the loath- 
 some thing bearing the name of Effingstone ; that I could 
 not move away from him ; that his head, shaking from 
 side to side, as I have mentioned above, was battering 
 my cheeks and forehead ; in short, I was almost beside 
 myself! I was in the act of uttering a fervent prayer to 
 the Deity, that even in the eleventh hour — the eleventh 
 hour — when a violent ringing of the night-bell made me 
 spring out of bed. It was as I suspected. The nurse 
 had come ; and, already, all was over. My heart seemed
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 251 
 
 to grow suddenly cold and motionless. I dressed my- 
 self, and went down into the drawing-room. On the 
 sofa lay the woman : she had fainted. On recovering 
 her senses, I asked her if all was over ; she nodded 
 with an affrighted expression ! A little wine and water 
 restored her self-possession. " When did it occur ?" I 
 asked. " Exactly as the clock struck three," she re- 
 plied. " George, and I, and Mr the apothecary, 
 
 whom we had sent for out of the next street, were 
 standing round the bed. Mr Hardy lay tossing his 
 head about for nearly an hour, saying all manner of 
 horrible things. A few minutes before three he gave a 
 loud howl, and shouted, ' Here, you wretches — why do 
 you put the candles out — here— here — I'm dying I' 
 
 " ' God's peace be with you, sir ! — the Lord have 
 mercy on you !' " — we groaned, like people distracted. 
 
 " ' Ha, ha, ha ! — D — n you ! — D — n you all ! — 
 Dying — D — n me ! I won't die ! — I won't die ! — No 
 — No I — D — n me — I won't — won't — won't'-^ — he 
 gasped and made a noise as if he was choked. We 
 looked. Yes, he was gone !" 
 
 He was interred in an obscure dissenting burying- 
 ground in the immediate neighbourhood, under the name 
 of Hardy, for his family refused to recognise him. 
 
 So lived — so died, " A Man about Town ;" and so, alas ! 
 will yet live and die many another man about town ! 
 
 Notwithstanding the scrupulous and anxious care 
 with which the foregoing fearful narrative was prepared 
 for the public eye, so that a lively picture of the horrors 
 of vice might be drawn, at the same time that a veil was 
 thrown over the more ghastly and revolting features, in
 
 232 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 
 the particular instance — the Editor regrets to state, that 
 loud, and, in some instances, angry complaints have been 
 made against it, in one or two influential and respectable 
 quarters ; and in others, such atrocious misrepresenta- 
 tions of the author's design, accompanied by insulting, 
 nay, beastly, insinuations, as have, he fears, succeeded in 
 exciting suspicion and disgust in the minds of those who 
 did not read the paper till after they read the cruel and 
 lying character fixed upon it. All those with whom the 
 Editor has conversed, have, without exception, declared 
 they read the paper with feelings of simple unmitigated 
 grief and agony — in the spirit aimed at by the writer. 
 The Editor farther states, that the sketch had in its 
 favour the suffrages of most of the leading prints in town 
 and country, some of whom were pleased to express 
 themselves in terms of such flattering eulogy, as even 
 the writer of the Diary might consider extravagant. 
 Three other such attacks were made upon it by London 
 Journals, as sink their perpetrators beneath the desert 
 of notice. Wo be to those polluted minds and degraded 
 hearts, that could attach such meaninL;-s as would fain 
 have been fastened on certain portions of " The Man 
 about Town !" 
 
 Sincerum est nisi vas, quodcunque infuiidis acescit. 
 
 A word to those who may think its statements exag- 
 gerated: Would to Heaven that he who suspects as 
 much, but once had been beside the frightful deathbed 
 of Efiingstone I Talk of exaggeration ! — that " the 
 experience of mankind does not, nor ever did, furnish 
 such scenes !"* Why, the Editor knows of such a tale, 
 
 * American Paper.
 
 A MAN ABOUT TOWN. 253 
 
 as, if told, might make a devil to leap with horror in the 
 fires I — one, that a man might listen to with quaking 
 heart and creeping flesh, and prayers to God that it 
 might be forgotten ! 
 
 In conclusion, the Editor knows well, that, despite the 
 small cavillers above spoken of, this narrative has wrought 
 the most satisfactory effects upon minds and hearts by 
 themselves thought irreclaimably lost : good evidence of 
 which lies now in his escrutoire, and may possibly be 
 appended to some future edition of this work.* And he 
 knows farther, that " The Man about Town" will continue 
 long to be a beacon, warning off from guilt and ruin the 
 " simple-hearted, the unwary, the beguiled." If there 
 were nothing else in these volumes, the thought of writ- 
 ing " The Man about Town" would bring consolation to 
 the deathbed of its writer, as having endeavoured to ren- 
 der lasting service to society. 
 
 * I am not at liberty to do so, yet. — Ed. (4th Edition.)
 
 [ 254 ] 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 DEATH AT THE TOILET. 
 
 " *Tis no use talking to me, mother, I will go to Mrs 
 
 P 's party to-night, if I die for it — that's flat ! You 
 
 know as well as I do, that Lieutenant N is to be 
 
 there, and he's going to leave town to-morrow — so up I 
 go to dress." ' 
 
 " Charlotte, why will you be so obstinate ? You know 
 
 how poorly you have been all the week ; and Dr 
 
 says, late hours are the worst things in the world for 
 you." 
 
 " Pshaw, mother ! nonsense, nonsense." 
 
 " Be persuaded for once, now, I beg ! Oh, dear, dear, 
 what a night it is too — it pours with rain, and blows a 
 perfect hurricane ! You'll be wet, and catch cold, rely on 
 it. Come now, won't you stop and keep me company 
 to-night ? That's a good girl ! " 
 
 " Some other night will do as well for that, you know ; 
 
 for now I'll go to Mrs P 's if it rains cats and dogs* 
 
 So up — up — up I go!" singing jauntily. 
 
 Oh ! she shall dance all dress' d in white, 
 So ladylike.
 
 DEATH AT THE TOILET. 255 
 
 Such were, very nearly, the words, and such the man- 
 ner, in which Miss J expressed her determination 
 
 to act in defiance of her mother's wishes and entreaties. 
 She was the only child of her widowed mother, and had, 
 but a few weeks before, completed her twenty-sixth year, 
 with yet no other prospect before her than bleak single 
 blessedness. A weaker, more frivolous, and conceited 
 creature never breathed — the torment of her amiable 
 parent, the nuisance of her acquaintance. Though her 
 mother's circumstances were very straitened, sufficing 
 barely to enable them to maintain a footing in what is 
 called the middling genteel class of society, this young 
 woman contrived, by some means or other, to gratify 
 her penchant for dress, and gadded about here, there, 
 and everywhere, the most showily-dressed person in the 
 neighbourhood. Though far from being even pretty- 
 faced, or having any pretensions to a good figure — for 
 she both stooped and was skinny — she yet believed her- 
 self handsome ; and by a vulgar, flippant forwardness of 
 demeanour, especially when in mixed company, extorted 
 such attentions, as persuaded her that others thought so. 
 
 For one or two years she had been an occasional 
 patient of mine. The settled pallor — the tallowiness of 
 her complexion, conjointly with other symptoms, evi- 
 denced the existence of a liver complaint ; and the last 
 visits I had paid her, were in consequence of frequent 
 sensations of oppression and pain in the chest, which 
 clearly indicated some organic disease of her heart. I 
 saw enout^h to warrant me in warnino: her mother of the 
 possibility of her daughter's sudden death from this cause, 
 and the imminent peril to which she exposed herself by 
 dancing, late hours, &c. ; but Mrs 's remonstrances,
 
 256 DEATH AT THE TOILET. 
 
 gentle and affectionate as they always were, were thrown 
 away upon her headstrong^ daughter. 
 
 It was striking eight by the church clock, when Miss 
 
 J , humming the words of the song above mentioned, 
 
 lit her chamber-candle by her mother's, and withdrew 
 to her room to dress, soundly rating the servant -girl by 
 the way, for not having starched some article or other 
 which she intended to have worn that evening. As 
 her toilet was usually a long and laborious business, it 
 did not occasion much surprise to her mother, who was 
 sitting by the lire in their little parlour, reading some 
 book of devotion, that the church chimes announced 
 the first quarter past nine o'clock, without her daughter's 
 making her appearance. The noise she had made over- 
 head in walking to and fro to her drawers, dressing-table, 
 &c. had ceased about half an hour ago, and her mother 
 supposed she was then engaged at her glass, adjusting 
 her hair, and preparing her complexion. 
 
 " Well, I wonder what can make Charlotte so very 
 
 careful about her dress to-night !" exclaimed Mrs J , 
 
 removing her eyes from the book, and gazing thought- 
 fully at the fire ; " Oh ! it must be because young Lieu- 
 tenant N is to be there. Well, I was young my- 
 self once, and it's very excusable in Charlotte — heigho !" 
 She heard the wind howling so dismally without, that 
 she drew together the coals of her brisk fire, and was 
 
 laying down the poker, when the clock of church 
 
 struck the second quarter after nine. 
 
 u Why, what in the world can Charlotte be doing all 
 this while ?" she again enquired. She listened — " I have 
 not heard her moving for the last three quarters of an 
 hour I I'll call the maid and ask." She rang the bell, 
 and the servant appeared.
 
 DEATH AT THE TOILET. 257 
 
 *' Betty, Miss J is not gone yet, is she?" 
 
 " La, no, ma'am," replied the girl ; " I took up the 
 curling-irons only about a quarter of an hour ago, as she 
 had put one of her curls out ; and she said she should 
 soon be ready. She's burst her new muslin dress behind, 
 and that has put her into a way, ma'am." 
 
 " Go up to her room, then, Betty, and see if she wants 
 any thing ; and tell her it's half-past nine o'clock," said 
 
 Mrs J . The servant accordingly went up stairs, and 
 
 knocked at the bedroom door, once, twice, thrice, but re- 
 ceived no answer. There was a dead silence, except 
 
 when the wind shook the window. Could Miss J 
 
 have fallen asleep ? Oh, impossible ! She knocked again, 
 but unsuccessfully, as before. She became a little flus- 
 tered ; and;, after a moment's pause, opened the door, and 
 
 entered. There was Miss J sitting at the glass. 
 
 " Why, la, ma'am I " commenced Betty in a petulant 
 tone, walking up to her, " here have I been knocking for 
 these five minutes, and" Betty staggered, horror- 
 struck, to the bed, and uttering a loud shriek, alarmed 
 Mrs J , who instantly tottered up stairs, almost pal- 
 sied with fright. — Miss J was dead ! 
 
 I was there within a few minutes, for my house was 
 not more than two streets distant. It was a stormy night 
 in March ; and the desolate aspect of things without- — 
 deserted streets — the dreary howling of the wind, and the 
 incessant pattering of the rain, contributed to cast a gloom 
 over my mind, when connected with the intelligence of 
 the awful event that had summoned me out, which was 
 deepened into horror by the spectacle I was doomed to 
 
 witness. On reaching the house, I found Mrs J in 
 
 violent hysterics, surrounded by several of her neigh- 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 258 DEATH AT THE TOILET. 
 
 bours, who had been called in to her assistance. I repair- 
 ed instantly to the scene of death, and beheld what I shall 
 never forget. The room was occupied by a white-cur- 
 tained bed. There was but one window, and before it 
 was a table, on which stood a looking-glass, hung with a 
 little white drapery ; and various articles of the toilet 
 lay scattered about — pins, brooches, curling-papers, ri- 
 bands, gloves, &c. An arm-chair was drawn to this 
 
 table, and in it sat Miss J , stone dead. Her head 
 
 rested upon her right hand, her elbow supported by the 
 table ; while her left hung down by her side, grasping 
 a pair of curling-irons. Each of her wrists were encircled 
 by a showy gilt bracelet. She was dressed in a white 
 muslin frock, with a little bordering of blonde. Her face 
 was turned towards the glass, which, by the light of the 
 expiring candle, reflected with frightful fidelity the 
 clammy fixed features, daubed over with rouge and car- 
 mine — the fallen lower jaw — and the eyes directed full 
 into the glass, with a cold, dull stare, that was appalling. 
 On examining the countenance more narrowly, I thought 
 I detected the traces of a smirk of conceit and self-com- 
 placency, which not even the palsying touch of Death 
 could wholly obliterate. The hair of the corpse, all 
 smooth and glossy, was curled with elaborate precision ; 
 and the skinny sallow neck was encircled with a string of 
 glistening pearls. The ghastly visage of Death, thus 
 leering through the tinselry of fashion — the '' vain show" 
 of artificial joy — was a horrible mockery of the fooleries 
 of life ! 
 
 Indeed, it was a most humiliating and shocking spec- 
 tacle I Poor creature ! struck dead in the very act of 
 sacrificing at the shrine of female vanity ! — She must
 
 DEATH AT THE TOILET. 259 
 
 have been dead for some time, perhaps for twenty mi- 
 nutes or half an hour, when I arrived, for nearly all the 
 animal heat had deserted the body, which was rapidly 
 stiffening. I attempted, but in vain, to draw a little 
 blood from the arm. Two or three women present pro- 
 ceeded to remove the corpse to the bed, for the purpose 
 of laying it out. What strange passiveness! No re- 
 sistance offered to them while straightening the bent 
 right arm, and binding the jaws together with a faded 
 
 white riband, which Miss J had destined for her 
 
 waist that evening ! 
 
 On examination of the body, we found that death had 
 been occasioned by disease of the heart. Her life might 
 have been protracted, possibly, for years, had she but 
 taken ray advice, and that of her mother. I have seen 
 many hundreds of corpses, as well in the calm composure 
 of natural death, as mangled and distorted by violence ; 
 but never have I seen so startling a satire upon human 
 vanity, so repulsive, unsightly, and loathsome a spectacle, 
 as a corpse dressed for a hall !
 
 C 260 ] 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 Hypochondriasis,* Janus-like, has two faces — a 
 melancholy and a laughable one. The former though 
 oftener seen in actual life, does not present itself so 
 frequently to the notice of the medical practitioner as 
 the latter ; though, in point of fact, one as imperatively 
 calls for his interference as the other. It may be safely 
 asserted, that a permanently morbid mood of mind 
 invariably indicates a disordered state of some part or 
 other of the physical system ; and which of the two forms 
 of hypochondria will manifest itself in a particular case, 
 depends altogether upon the mental idiosyncrasy of the 
 patient. Those of a dull, phlegmatic temperament, 
 unstirred by intermixture and collision with the bustling 
 activities of life, addicted to sombrous trains of reflec- 
 tion, and by a kind of sympathy, always looking on the 
 gloomy side of things, generally sink, at some period or 
 other of their lives, into the " Slough of Despond" — as 
 
 * Arising, as its name imports, from disease in the hypochondres, 
 (l<ffo Xi^v^ioi) i- «• t^6 viscera lying under tlie cartilage of the breast- 
 bone and false ribs, the liver, spleen, &c.
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 261 
 
 old Bunyan significantly terms it — from whence they are 
 seldom altogether extricated. Religious enthusiasts con- 
 stitute by far the largest portion of those afflicted with 
 this species of hypochondria — instance the wretched 
 Cowper ; and such I have never known entirely disabu- 
 sed of their dreadful fantasies. Those, again, of a gay 
 and lively fancy, ardent temperament, and droll, grotesque 
 appetencies, exhibit the laughable aspect of hypochon- 
 driasis. In such, you may expect conceits of the most 
 astounding absurdity that could possibly take possession 
 of the topsyturvied intellects of a confirmed lunatic ; and 
 persisted in with a pertinacity — a dogged defiance of 
 evidence to the contrary — which is itself as exquisitely 
 ludicrous, as distressing and provoking. There is gene- 
 rally preserved an amazing consistency in the delusion, 
 in spite of the incessant rebuttals of sensation. In short, 
 when once a crotchet, of such a sort as that hereafter 
 mentioned, is fairly entertained in the fancy, the patient 
 will not let it go I It is cases of this kind which 
 baffle the adroitest medical tactician. For my own part, 
 I have had to deal with several during the course of my 
 practice, which, if described coolly and faithfully on 
 paper, would appear preposterously incredible to a non- 
 professional reader. Such may possibly be the fate of 
 the following. I have given it with a minuteness of 
 detail, in several parts, which I think is warranted, by 
 the interesting nature of the case, by the raritv of such 
 narratives, and above all, by the peculiar character and 
 talents of the well-known individual who is the patient ; 
 and I am convinced that no one would laugh more hear- 
 tily over it than himself — had he not long lain quiet in 
 his grave !
 
 262 THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 You could scarcely look on N without laughing-. 
 
 There was a sorry sort of humorous expression in his 
 odd and ugly features, which suggested to you the idea 
 that he was always struggling to repel some joyous emo- 
 tion or other, with painful effort. There was a rich light 
 of intellect in his eye, which was dark and full ; you felt 
 when its glance was settled upon you — and there it 
 remained concentrated, at the expense of all the other 
 features; for the clumsy ridge of eye-bone impending 
 sullenly over his eyes — the Pitt-like nose, looking like a 
 finger-and-thumb-full of dough drawn out from the pliant 
 mass, with two ill-formed holes inserted in the bulbous 
 extremity — and his large, liquorish, shapeless lips — 
 looked, altogether, any thing but refined or intellectual. He 
 was a man of fortune — an obstinate bachelor — and educa- 
 ted at Cambridge, where he attained considerable distinc- 
 tion ; and, at the period of his introduction to the reader, 
 was in his thirty-eighth or fortieth year. If I were to 
 mention his name, it would recall to the literary reader 
 many excellent, and some admirable portions of literature, 
 for the perusal of which he has to thank N . 
 
 The prevailing complexion of his mind was sombrous ; 
 but played on, occasionally, by an arch, humorous fancy, 
 flinging its rays of fun and drollery over the dark sur- 
 face, like moonbeams on midnight waters. I do believe 
 he considered it sinful to smile I There was a puckering 
 up of the corner of the mouth, and a forced corrugation 
 of the eyebrows, the expression of which was set at 
 nought by the comicality — the solemn drollery — of the 
 €yes. You saw Momus leering out of every glance of 
 them ! He said many very witty things in conversa- 
 tion, and had a knack of uttering the quaintest conceits
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 263 
 
 with something- like a whine of compunction in his tone, 
 which ensured him roars of laughter. As for his own 
 laugh — when he did laugh — there is no describing it — 
 short, sudden, unexpected was it, like a flash of powder 
 in the dark. Not a trace of real merriment lingered on 
 his features an instant after the noise had ceased. You 
 began to doubt whether he had laughed at all, and to 
 look about to see where the explosion came from. Except 
 on such rare occasions of forgetfulness on his part, his 
 demeanour was very calm and quiet. He loved to get a 
 man who would come and sit with him all the evening-, 
 smoking and sipping wine in cloudy silence. He could 
 not endure bustle or obstreperousness ; and when he did 
 unfortunately fall foul of a son of noise, as soon as he had 
 had " a sample of his quality," he would abruptly rise and 
 take his leave, saying, in a querulous tone, like that of a 
 sick child, " I'll go ! " (probably these two words will at 
 once recall him to the memory of more than one of my 
 readers) — and he was as good as his word ; for all his 
 acquaintance — and I among the number — knew his eccen- 
 tricities, and excused them. 
 
 Such was the man — at least as to the more prominent 
 points of his character — whose chattering black servant 
 presented himself hastily to my notice one morning, 
 as I was standing on my door steps, pondering the pro- 
 babilities of wet or fine for the day. He spoke in such 
 a spluttering tone of trepidation, that it was some time 
 before I could conjecture what was the matter. At length 
 I distinguished something like the words, " Oh, Docta, 
 Docta, com-a, and see-a a Massa ! Com-a ! Him so 
 gashly — him so ill — ver dam bad — him say so — Oh, lorra- 
 lorra-lorra! Come see-a a Massa — him ver orrid !"
 
 264 THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 " Why, what on earth is the matter with you, you 
 sable, eh ? Why can't you speak slower, and tell me 
 plainly what's the matter?" said I, impatiently, for he 
 seemed inclined to gabble on in that strain for some 
 minutes longer. " What's the matter with your master, 
 sirrah, eh?" I enquired, jerking his striped morning 
 jacket. 
 
 " Oh, Docta I Docta I coma-a — Massa ver bad ! Him 
 say so ! — Him head turned I Him head turned ! " 
 
 " Him what, sirrah?" said I, in amazement. 
 
 " Him head turned, Docta — him head turned," re- 
 plied the man, slapping his fingers against his forehead. 
 
 " Oh, I see how it is, I see ; ah, yes," I replied, point- 
 ing to my forehead in turn, wishing him to see that I 
 understood him to say his master had been seized with a 
 fit of insanity. 
 
 " Iss, iss, Docta — him Massa head turned — him head 
 turned ! Dam bad ! " 
 
 << Where is Mr N , Nambo, eh?" 
 
 " Him lying all 'long in him bed, Massa — him dam bad. 
 But him 'tickler quiet — him head turned." 
 
 a Why, Nambo, what makes you say your master's 
 head's turned, eh ? What d'ye mean, sir ? " 
 
 " Him, Massa, self say so — him did — him head turned. 
 D — m ! " I felt as much at a loss as ever ; it was so odd 
 for a gentleman to acknowledge to his Negro servant that 
 his head was turned, 
 
 " Ah I he's gone mad, you mean, eh? — is that it? 
 Hem ! Mad — is it so ? " said I, pointing, with a wink, 
 to my forehead. 
 
 " No, no, Docta — him head turned ! — him head,** re- 
 plied Nambo ; and raising both his hands to his head, he
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 265 
 
 seemed trying to twist it round ! I could make nothing 
 of his gesticulations, so I dismissed him, telling him to 
 take word, that I should make his master's my lirst call. 
 I may as well say, that I was on terms of friendly fami- 
 liarity with Mr N , and puzzled myself all the way 
 
 I went, with attempting to conjecture what new crotchet 
 he had taken into his odd, and latterly, I began to sus- 
 pect, half-addled head. He had never disclosed symptoms 
 of what is generally understood by the word hypochon- 
 driasis ; but I often thought there was not a likelier 
 subject in the world for it. At length I found myself 
 knocking at my friend's door, fully prepared for some 
 specimen of amusing eccentricity — for the thought never 
 crossed my mind, that he might be really ill. Nambo 
 instantly answered my summons, and, in a twinkling, 
 conducted me to his master's bedroom. It was partially 
 darkened, but there was light enough for me to discern, 
 that there was nothing unusual in his appearance. The 
 bed was much tossed, to be sure, as if with the restlessness 
 of the recumbent, who lay on his back, with his head 
 turned on one side, buried deep on the pillow, and his 
 arms folded together outside the counterpane. His fea- 
 tures certainly wore an air of exhaustion and dejection, 
 and his eye settled on me with an alarmed expression 
 from the moment that he perceived my entrance. 
 
 " Oh, dear Doctor !— Isn't this frightful ?— Isn't it a 
 dreadful piece of business ?" 
 
 "Frightful! — dreadful business I" I repeated with 
 much surprise. " What is frightful? Are you ill — 
 have you bad an accident, eh?" 
 
 " Ah, ah ! — you may well ask that I " he replied ; 
 adding, after a pause, " it took place this morning — 
 about two hours ago 1"
 
 266 THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 " You speak in parables, Mr N ! Why, what 
 
 in the world is the matter with you ?" 
 
 " About two hours ag-o — yes," he muttered, as if he 
 had not heard me. ** Doctor, do tell me truly now, for 
 the curiosity of the thing — what did you think of me on 
 first entering the room, eh ? — Feel inclined to laugh, or 
 be shocked — which?" 
 
 " Mr N , I really have no time for trifling, as I 
 
 am particularly busy to-day. Do, I beg, be a little more 
 explicit ! Why have you sent for me ? What is the 
 matter with you ?" 
 
 " Why, God bless me. Doctor I " he replied, with an 
 air of angry surprise in his manner, which I never saw 
 before, " I think, indeed, it's i/ou who are trifling! Have 
 you lost your eyesight this morning? Do you pretend 
 to say that you do not see I have undergone one of the 
 most extraordinary alterations in appearance that the 
 body of man is capable of — such as never was heard or 
 read of before ?" 
 
 " Once more, Mr N ," I repeated, in a tone of 
 
 calm astonishment, *' be so good as to be explicit. What 
 are you raving about ?" 
 
 " Raving! — Egad, I think it's t/ou who are raving, 
 Doctor ! " he answered ; *' or you must wish to insult 
 me ! Do you pretend to tell me you do not see that m^ 
 head is turned .^" and he looked me in the face steadily 
 and sternly. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha I Upon my honour, N , Fve been 
 
 suspecting as much for this last five or ten minutes ! I 
 don't think a patient ever described his disease more 
 accurately before I" 
 
 " Don't mock me, Doctor ," replied N ,
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 267 
 
 sternly. " 'Pon my soul, I can't bear it ! It's enough 
 for me to endure the horrid sensations I do !" 
 
 " Mr N , what do you" 
 
 " Why, confound it, Doctor ! you'll drive me 
 
 mad ! Can't you see that the back of my head is in front, 
 and my face looking backwards? Horrible I" I burst 
 into loud laughter. 
 
 " Doctor , it's time for you and me to part — high 
 
 time," said he, turning his face away from me. " I'll let 
 you know that I'll stand your nonsense no longer! I 
 called you in to give me your advice, not to sit grinning 
 like a baboon by my bedside ! Once more — finally : Doc- 
 tor , are you disposed to be serious and rational ? If 
 
 you are not, my man shall show you to the door the mo- 
 ment you please." He said this in such a sober, earnest 
 tone of indignation, that I saw he was fully prepared to 
 carry his threat into execution. I determined, therefore, 
 to humour him a little, shrewdly suspecting some tem- 
 porary suspension of his sanity — not exactly madness — 
 but at least some extraordinary hallucination. To adopt 
 an expression which I have several times heard him use 
 — " I saw what o'clock it was, and set my watch to the 
 time." 
 
 " Oh — well ! — I see now how matters stand I — The 
 fact is, I did observe the extraordinary posture of affairs 
 you complain of, immediately I entered the room, but 
 supposed you were joking with me, and twisting your 
 head round in that odd way for the purpose of hoaxing 
 me ; so I resolved to wait and see which of us could play 
 our parts in the farce longest ! Why, good God ! how's 
 
 all this, Mr N ? — Is it then really the case ? — Are 
 
 you — in — in earnest — in having your head turned ?"
 
 268 THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 " In earnest, Doctor I" replied Mr N , in amaze- 
 ment. " Why, do you suppose this happened by my 
 own will and agency? — Absurd I" 
 
 " Oh ! no, no — most assuredly not — it is a phenome- 
 non — hem! hem! — a phenomenon — not unfrequently 
 attending on the night-mare" I answered, with as good 
 a grace as possible. 
 
 " Poh, poh, Doctor ! — Nonsense I — You must really 
 think me a child, to try to mislead me with such stuiF as 
 that I I tell you again, I am in as sober possession of 
 my senses as ever I was in my life ; and, once more, I 
 assure you, that, in truth and reality, my head is turned 
 — literally so." 
 
 " Well, well ! — So I see ! — It isj indeed, a very extra- 
 ordinary case — a very unusual one ; but I don't, by any 
 means, despair of bringing all things round again ! — 
 Pray tell me how this singular and afflicting accident 
 happened to you ?" 
 
 " Certainly," said he, despondingly. " Last night, or 
 rather this morning, I dreamed that I had got to the 
 West Indies — to Barbadoes — an island where I have, as 
 
 you know, a little estate, left me by my uncle C ; 
 
 and that, a few moments after I had entered the planta- 
 tion, for the purpose of seeing the slaves at work, there 
 came a sudden hurricane, a more tremendous one than 
 ever was known in those parts — trees — canes — huts — 
 all were swept before it ! Even the very ground on 
 which we stood seemed whirled away beneath us ! I 
 turned my head a moment to look at the direction in 
 which things were going, when, in the very act of turning, 
 the blast suddenly caught my head, and — oh, my God ! 
 — blew it completely round on my shoulders, till my face
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 269 
 
 looked quite — directly behind me — over my back ! In 
 vain did I almost wrench my head off my shoulders, in 
 attempting- to twist it round again ; and what with hor- 
 ror, and — and — altogether — in short, I awoke — and found 
 the frightful reality of my situation ! — Oh, gracious 
 
 Heaven 1" continued Mr N , clasping his hands, and 
 
 looking upwards, " what have I done to deserve such a 
 horrible visitation as this !" 
 
 Humph ! it is quite clear what is the matter here^ 
 thought I ; so assuming an air of becoming professional 
 gravity, I felt his pulse, begged him to let me see his 
 tongue, made many enquiries about his general health, 
 and then proceeded to subject all parts of his neck to a 
 most rigorous examination ; before, behind, on each side, 
 over every natural elevation and depression (if such the 
 usual varieties of surface may be termed) did my fingers 
 pass ; he all the while sighing, and cursing his evil stars, 
 and wondering how it was that he had not been killed 
 by the " dislocation ! " This little farce over, I continued 
 silent for some moments, scarcely able, the while, to con- 
 trol my inclination to burst into fits of laughter, as if 
 pondering the possibility of being able to devise some 
 means of cure. 
 
 " Ah, thank God I" — said I, abruptly — " I have it, I 
 have it." 
 
 " What ! — what — eh ? — what is it ?" he enquired with 
 anxiety. 
 
 " I've thought of a remedy, which, if — if — if any thing 
 in the world can bring it about, will set matters right 
 again — will bring back your head to its former position." 
 
 " Oh, God be praised ! — Dear — dear Doctor ! — if yon 
 do but succeed, I shall consider a thousand pounds but
 
 270 THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 the earnest of what I will do to evince my gratitude !" 
 he exclaimed, squeezing my hand fervently. " But I am 
 not absolutely certain that we shall succeed," said I cau- 
 tiously. " We will, however, give the medicine a twenty- 
 four hours' trial ; during all which time you must be in 
 perfect repose, and consent to lie in utter darkness. Will 
 you abide by my directions ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes — yes — yes I — dear Doctor I — What is the 
 inestimable remedy ? Tell me — tell me the name of my 
 ransomer. I'll never divulge it — never ! " 
 
 " That is not consistent with my plans at present, Mr 
 
 N ," I replied, seriously ; " but, if successful — of 
 
 which I own I have very sanguine expectations — I pledge 
 my honour to reveal the secret to you." 
 
 " Well — but — at least you'll explain the nature of its 
 operation — eh? is it internal — external — what?" The 
 remedy, I told him, would be of both forms ; the latter, 
 however, the more immediate agent of his recovery ; the 
 former, preparatory — predisposing. I may tell the read- 
 er simply what my physic was to be: three bread-pills 
 (the ordinary placebo in such cases) every hour ; a strong 
 laudanum draught in the evening ; and a huge bread- 
 and-water poultice for his neck, with which it was to be 
 environed till the parts were sufficiently mollified to 
 admit of the neck's being twisted back again into its 
 former position ! — and, when that was the case — why — 
 to ensure its permanency, he was to wear a broad band of 
 strengthening plaster for a week ! I This was the bright 
 device, struck out by me — all at a heat ; and which, 
 explained to the poor victim, with the utmost solemnity 
 and deliberation of manner — all the wise winks and 
 knowing nods, and hesitating " hems" and " ha's" of
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 271 
 
 professional usage — sufficed to inspire him with some 
 confidence as to the result. I confess I shared the most 
 confident expectations of success. A sound night's rest 
 — hourly pill-taking — and the clammy saturating sensa- 
 tion about his neck, I fully believed would bring him, or 
 rather his head, round; and, in the full anticipation of 
 seeing him disabused of the ridiculous notion he had taken 
 into his head, I promised to see him the first thing in the 
 morning, and took my departure. After quitting the 
 house, I could not help laughing immoderately at the re- 
 collection of the scene I had just witnessed ; and a Mrs 
 
 M , by the way — who happened to be passing on the 
 
 other side of the street, and observed my involuntary risi- 
 bility — took occasion to spread an ill-natured rumour, 
 that I was in the habit of " making myself merry at the 
 expense of ray patients I " 
 
 I foresaw, that should this " crick in the neck" prove 
 permanent, I stood a chance of listening to innumerable 
 conceits of the most whimsical and paradoxical kind ima- 
 ginable — for I knew N 's natural turn to humour. 
 
 It was inconceivable to me how such an extraordinary 
 delusion could bear the blush of daylight, resist the evi- 
 dence of his senses, and the unanimous simultaneous 
 assurances of all who beheld him. Though it is little 
 credit to me, and tells but small things for my self-con- 
 trol — I cannot help acknowledging, that at the bedside of 
 my next patient, who was within two or three hours of 
 her end, the surpassing absurdity of the " turned head" 
 notion glared in such ludicrous extremes before me, that 
 I was near bursting a bloodvessel with endeavours to sup- 
 press a perfect peal of laughter ! 
 
 About eleven o'clock the next morning, I paid N
 
 272 THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 a second visit. The door was opened, as usual, by his 
 black servant, Nambo ; by whose demeanour I saw that 
 something- or other extraordinary awaited me. His sable 
 swollen features, and dancing white eyeballs, showed 
 that he was nearly burstings with laughter. " He — 
 he — he I" he chuckled, in a sort of sotto voce, "him 
 Massa head turned ! — Him back in front ! Him waddle I 
 — he — he — he I" — and he twitched his clothes — -jerking- 
 his jacket and pointing to his breeches, in a way that I 
 
 did not understand. On entering- the room, where N- , 
 
 with one of his favourite silent smoking- friends (M , 
 
 the late well-known counsel), were sitting- at breakfast, 
 I encountered a spectacle which nearly made me expire 
 with laughter. It is almost useless to attempt describ- 
 ing it on paper — yet I will try. Two gentlemen sat 
 opposite each other at the breakfast table, by the fire ; the 
 
 one with his face to me was Mr M ; and N 
 
 sat with his back towards the door by which I entered. 
 A glance at the former sufficed to show me, that he was 
 sitting in tortures of suppressed risibility. He was quite 
 red in the face — his features were swollen and pliify — 
 and his eyes fixed strainingly on the fire, as though 
 through fear of encountering- the ludicrous figure of his 
 friend. They were averted from the fire, for a moment, 
 to welcome my entrance — and then re-directed thither 
 with such a painful effort — such a comical air of compul- 
 sory seriousness — as, added to the preposterous fashion 
 
 after which poor N had chosen to dress himself, 
 
 completely overcame me. The thing was irresistible ; 
 and my utterance of that peculiar choking sound, which 
 indicates the most strenuous efi'orts to suppress one's 
 risible emotions, was the unwitting signal for each of 
 3
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 273 
 
 US bursting into a long and loud shout of laughter. It 
 was in vain that I bit my under lip, almost till it brought 
 blood, and that ray eyes strained till the sparks flashed 
 from them, in the futile attempt to cease laughing ; for 
 full before me sat the exciting cause of it, in the shape 
 
 of N , his head supported by the palm of his left hand, 
 
 with his elbow propped against the side of the arm-chair. 
 The knot of his neckerchief was tied, with its customary 
 formal precision — but behind — at the nape of his neck ; 
 his coat and waistcoat were buttoned down his back ; 
 and his trowsers, moreover, to match the novel fashion, 
 buttoned behind, and, of course, the hinder parts of them 
 bulged out ridiculously in front ! Only to look at the 
 coat-collar fitting under the chin, like a stiff military 
 stock — the four tail buttons of brass glistening conspicu- 
 ously before, and the front parts of the coat buttoned 
 carefully over his back — the compulsory handiwork of 
 poor Nambo I 
 
 N , perfectly astounded at our successive shouts 
 
 of laughter — for we found it impossible to stop — 
 suddenly rose up in his chair, and, almost inarticulate 
 with fury, demanded what we meant by such extraordi- 
 nary behaviour. This fury, however, was all lost on me ; 
 I could only point, in an ecstasy of laughter almost 
 bordering on frenzy, to his novel mode of dress, as my 
 apology. He stamped his foot, uttered volleys of im- 
 precations against us ; and then, ringing his bell, ordered 
 the servant to show us both to the door. The most 
 violent emotions, however, must, in time, expend their 
 violence, though in the presence of the same exciting 
 
 cause ; and so it was with Mr M and myself. On 
 
 seeing how seriously afi'ronted N was, we both sat 
 
 VOL. r. s
 
 274 THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 down, and I entered into examination, my whole frame 
 aching with the prolonged convulsive fits of irrepressible 
 laughter. 
 
 It would be in vain to attempt a recital of one of the 
 
 drollest conversations in which I ever bore part. N *s 
 
 temper was thoroughly soured for some time. He declared 
 that my physic was all a humbug, and a piece of quack- 
 ery ; and the " filthy pudding round his neck," the 
 absurdest farce he ever heard of : he had a great mind to 
 make Nambo eat it, for the pains he had taken in making 
 it and fastening it on — poor fellow ! 
 
 Presently he lapsed into a melancholy reflective mood. 
 He protested that the laws of locomotion were utterly 
 inexplicable to him — a practical paradox ; that his voli- 
 tions as to progressive and retrogressive motion neutra- 
 hzed each other ; and the necessary result was the cursed 
 circumgyratory motion — for all the world like that of a 
 hen that had lost one of its wings I That henceforward he 
 should be compelled to crawl, crab-like, through life, all 
 ways at once, and none in particular. He could not con- 
 ceive, he said, which was the nearest way from one given 
 point to another ; in short, that all his sensations and 
 perceptions were disordered and confounded. His situa- 
 tion, he said, was an admirable commentary on the words 
 of St Paul — " But I see another law in my members 
 warring against the law of my mind." He could not con- 
 ceive how the arteries and veins of the neck could carry 
 and return the blood, after being so shockingly twisted ; 
 or " how the windpipe went on" affording a free course 
 to the air through its distorted passage. In short, he 
 said, he was a walking lie ! 
 
 Curious to ascertain the consistency of this anomalous
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 275 
 
 state of feeling, I endeavoured once more to bring his 
 delusion to the test of simple sensation, by placing one 
 hand on his nose, and the other on his breast, and asking 
 him which was which, and whether both did not lie in the 
 same direction. He wished to know why I persisted in 
 making myself merry at his expense I I repeated the 
 question, still keeping my hands in the same position; but 
 he suddenly pushed them off, and asked me, with indigna* 
 tion, if I was not ashamed to keep his head looking over 
 his shoulder in that way ; accompanying the words with 
 a shake of the head, and a sigh of exhaustion, as if it had 
 really been twisted round into the wrong direction. 
 "Ah!" he exclaimed, after a pause, " if this unnatural 
 state of affairs should prove permanent — hem ! — I'll put 
 an end to the chapter ! He, he, he! — He, he, he!" he 
 continued, l)ursting suddenly into one of those short abrupt 
 laughs, which I have before attempted to describe. " He, 
 he, he 1 — how very odd !" We both asked him, in sur* 
 prise, what he meant, for his eyes were fixed on the fire, 
 in apparently a melancholy mood. 
 
 " He, he, he I — exquisitely odd!" he continued, with- 
 out answering us. '' He, he, he I" After repeated en- 
 quiries, he disclosed the occasion of his unusual cachin- 
 nations. 
 
 " I've just been thinking," said he, "suppose — he, he, 
 he ! — suppose it were to come to pass that I should be 
 hanged — he, he, he ! — he, he, he ! — God forbid, by the 
 way — but, suppose I should, how old Ketch would be 
 puzzled ! — My face looking one way, and my tied hands 
 and arms poking another ! How the crowd would stare ! 
 He, he, he ! And suppose," pursuing the train of thought, 
 " I were to be publicly whipped — how I could superin-
 
 276^ THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 tend operations ! And again — how the devil am I to 
 
 ride on horseback, eh ? with my face to the tail, or 
 
 to the mane ? In short, what is to become of me ? I am, 
 in effect, shut out from society I I am something else than 
 a mere turn-coat!" 
 
 " You have only to walk circumspectly ," said M , 
 
 with an air of solemn waggery — " and as for 5acA:-biters 
 —hem!" 
 
 " That's odd — very — but impertinent," replied the hy- 
 pochondriac, with a mingled expression of chagrin and 
 humour. 
 
 " Come, come, N -, don't look so steadily on the 
 
 dark side of things," said I. 
 
 " The dark side of things ?" he enquired; " I think it 
 is the 6«c^-side of things I am compelled to look at ! " 
 
 " Look forward to better days," said I. 
 
 " Lookforwardy again ! What nonsense ! " he replied, 
 interrupting me ; " impossible ! How can I look for- 
 ward? My life will henceforth be spent in wretched 
 retrospections ! " and he could not help smiling at the 
 conceit. Having occasion, during the conversation, to 
 use his pocket-handkerchief, he suddenly reached his hand 
 hehind as usual, and was a little confused to find that 
 the unusual position of his coat-pocket required that 
 he should take it from before ! This I should have con- 
 ceived enough to put an end to his delusion ; but I was 
 mistaken. 
 
 " Ah ! it will take some time to reconcile me to this 
 new order of things; but practice — practice — makes 
 perfect, you know ! " It was amazing to me, that his 
 sensations, so contradictory to the absurd crotchet he had 
 taken into his head, did not convince him of his error,
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 277 
 
 especially when so frequently compelled to act in obe- 
 dience to long^ accustomed impulses. As, for instance, 
 on my rising" to go, he suddenly started from his chair, 
 shook my hands, and accompanied me to the door, as if 
 nothing had been the matter. 
 
 " Well, now ! What do you think of that?" said I, 
 triumphantly. 
 
 " Ah, ah I" said he, after a puzzled pause, " but you 
 little know the effort it cost me ! " 
 
 He did not persevere long in the absurd way of put- 
 ting on his clothes which I have just described ; but even 
 after he had discontinued it, he alleged his opinion to be, 
 that the front of his clothes ought to be with his face ! I 
 might relate many similar absurdities springing from this 
 notion of his turned head, but sufficient has been said 
 already to give the reader a clear idea of the general cha- 
 racter of such delusions. My subsequent interviews with 
 him, while under this unprecedented hallucination, were 
 similar to the two which I have attempted to describe. 
 The fit lasted near a month. At length, however, 1 hap- 
 pened luckily to recollect a device successfully resorted to 
 by a sagacious old English physician, in the case of a royal 
 hypochondriac abroad, who fancied that his nose had 
 swelled into greater dimensions than those of his whole 
 body beside ; and forthwith resolved to adopt a similar me- 
 thod of cure with N . Electricity was to be the won- 
 der-working talisman I I lectured him out of all opposi- 
 tion, silenced his scruples, and got him to fix an even- 
 ing for the exorcisation of the evil spirit — as it might well 
 be called — which had taken possession of him.
 
 278 THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 Let the reader fancy, then, N 's sitting-room, about 
 
 seven o'clock in the evening-, illuminated with a cheerful 
 fire, and four mould candles ; the awful electrifying ma- 
 chine duly disposed for action ; Mr S of Hos- 
 pital, Dr , and myself, all standing round it, 
 
 adjusting the jars, chains, &c. ; and Nambo busily enga- 
 ged in laying bare his master's neck, N all the while 
 
 eyeing our motions with excessive trepidation. I had 
 infinite difficulty in getting his consent to one prelimi- 
 nary — the bandaging of his eyes. I succeeded, however, 
 at last, in persuading him to undergo the operation blind- 
 folded, by assuring him that it was essential to success ; 
 for that if he was allowed to see the application of the 
 conductor to the precise spot requisite, he might start, 
 and occasion its apposition to a wrong place ! The real 
 reason will be seen presently ; the great manoeuvre could 
 not have been practised but on such terms ; for how 
 
 could I give his head a sudden twist round, and S 
 
 give him a smart stroke on the crown of the head at the 
 instant of his receiving the shock, if he saw what we were 
 about ? I ought to have mentioned that we also pre- 
 vailed upon him to sit with his arms pinioned, so that he 
 was completely at our mercy. None of us could refrain 
 from an occasional titter at the absurdity of the solemn 
 farce we were playing — fortunately, however, unheard by 
 
 N . At length, Nambo being turned out, and the 
 
 doors locked — lest, seeing the trick, he might disclose it 
 subsequently to his master — we commenced operations. 
 
 S worked the machine — round, and round, and round, 
 
 whizzing — sparkling — crackling — till the jar was mode- 
 rately charged : it was then conveyed to N *s neck, 
 
 Dr .. using the conductor. N — — , on receiving a
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 279 
 
 tolerably smart shock, started out of his chair, and I had 
 not time to i,nve him the twist I had intended. After a 
 few moments, however, he protested that he felt " some- 
 thing loosened" about his neck, and was easily induced to 
 submit to another shock, considerably stronger than the 
 former. The instant the rod was applied to his neck, I 
 gave the head a sudden excruciating wrench towards the 
 
 left shoulder. S striking him, at the same moment, 
 
 a smart blow on the crown. Poor N 1 
 
 *' Thank God ! " we all exclaimed, as if panting for 
 breath. 
 
 " I — i — s it all over?" stammered N faintly — 
 
 quite confounded with the effects of the threefold remedy 
 we had adopted. 
 
 " Yes — thank God, we have at last brought your head 
 round again, and your face looks forward now as hereto- 
 fore ! " said I. 
 
 " Oh, remove the bandage — remove it ! Let my own 
 eyesight behold it ! — Bring me a glass !" 
 
 " As soon as the proper bandage^ have been applied to 
 your neck, Mr N ." 
 
 " What, eh — a ^ecowc? pudding, eh?" 
 
 '* No, merely a broad band of diachylum plaster, to 
 prevent — hem — the contraction of the skin," said I. As 
 soon as that was done, we removed the handkerchiefs 
 from his eyes and arms. 
 
 " Oh, my God, how delightful I " he exclaimed, rising 
 and walking up to the mirror over the mantelpiece. — 
 " Ecstasy ! All really right again." 
 
 "My dear N -, do not, I beg, do not work your 
 
 neck about in that way, or the most serious disarrange- 
 ment of the — the parts," said I.
 
 280 THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 " Oh ! it's so, is it ? Then I'd better get into bed at 
 once, I think, and you'll call in the morning." 
 
 I did, and found him in bed. " Well, how does all go 
 on this morning ?" I enquired. 
 
 " Pretty well — middling," he replied, with some em- 
 barrassment of manner. " Do you know. Doctor, I've 
 been thinking about it all night long — and I strongly 
 suspect" — (His serious air alarmed me) — I began to fear 
 that he had discovered the trick — " I strongly suspect — 
 hem — hem — " he continued. 
 
 " What?" I enquired, rather sheepishly. 
 
 " Why, that it was my brains only that were turned — 
 and that — that — most ridiculous piece of business" 
 
 " Why, to be sure, Mr N " * * *__ 
 
 and he was so ashamed about it, that he set oiF for the 
 country immediately ; and, among the glens and moun- 
 tains of Scotland, endeavoured to forget ever having 
 dreamed that his head was turned. 
 
 One of the papers roundly asserts, that the foregoing 
 is " pure fiction." I like the modesty and caution of 
 this ; the more especially when I know it is next to im- 
 possible for the assertor to know any thing about the 
 matter. But mark his reasoning : — 
 
 " The conceit is droll and witty enough," he says, 
 *' but, unfortunately, is too much so for truth I Who 
 ever heard of such a consistent delusion — in such a hu- 
 morous subject?" 
 
 I leave this little argumentative chokepear for a child 
 to nibble at : medical men know better. Samuel or 
 Charles Wesley (surviving relatives of the celebrated
 
 THE TURNED HEAD. 281 
 
 John Wesley) fancied himself a tea-pot, and stuck to 
 the notion strongly for some time ! I know one whom 
 he told of his " misfortune." 
 
 A medical man in Lincolnshire, a few years ago, per- 
 suaded himself into the notion that he had been trans- 
 formed into a GREAT -COAT ! No one now laughs at the 
 thing more heartily than himself; at the same time 
 protesting that his delusion was complete at the time ! 
 I have heard also, that the late Mr Nollekens fancied he 
 had sunk into a pair of shoes ; and would ask people, if 
 they " put him on," to keep out of the wet as much as 
 possible ! 
 
 The gentleman with whom I was articled had the care 
 of the workhouse ; and I saw there a woman who seri- 
 ously told me she was dead, and had been so for many 
 weeks. She was taking tea, when she told me of the 
 strange fact. " Well, I think yours is a pretty comfort- 
 able sort of death," said I ; but she replied, with a sigh, 
 " It was Satan that had entered into her body the mo- 
 ment her own soul had left it, and plagued her with 
 eating, drinking, talking, and living, without any of the 
 pleasure and relish of true life ! " The woman was a 
 Roman Catholic ; and said she was suffering the pains of 
 purgatory for a wicked life. 
 
 A metaphysical gentleman — once a member of Parlia- 
 ment — not many years ago imagined himself a spirit — 
 an impalpable, intangible being. He said he had the 
 power of pervading matter, and knew the secret cause 
 of its cohesion, having, in a manner, seen and known it 
 while operating. He said he had a perfect knowledge 
 of the " quomodo," as he called it, of the presence and 
 operation of gravity. He was asked for an explanation
 
 282 THE TURNED HEAD. 
 
 of the phenomena, and made an answer in a long tissue 
 of metaphysic rigmarole, unintelligible to any one that 
 heard him. He said, that as for himself, he had the power 
 of diffusing himself over the centre of our globe, and 
 interfusing his influence throughout the whole congeries 
 of matter, till the earth swelled to a thousand times its 
 present dimensions — that all spirits had the same power! 
 
 " Why, mercy on us ! Mr ," said Sir , with 
 
 affected alarm, " we're not safe^ then ! Perhaps the world 
 is swelling under us now I What is to become of us?" 
 
 " Spirit is benevolent and wise, so you are safe !" re- 
 plied the hypochondriac, with a most singular air, as if 
 he half saw the absurdity of his notion, and was half 
 
 angry with Sir " You might cut your son's throat 
 
 — but you dont!" During the same interview, he told 
 his medical man that the " soul of Kant" wandered 
 ** through the universe ;" and once diffused itself so ex- 
 tensively, as to render its re-compression very difficult ! 
 ** If you only knew how, you could compress me into a 
 compass infinitely less than that of a needle point," said 
 he, solemnly ! 
 
 If the veracity of this instance should be seriously 
 questioned, it is possible that the ci-devant hypochon- 
 driac himself might step for a moment from his elegant 
 and profound privacy, where thought and imagination 
 dwell " gloriously supreme," and good-humoredly attest 
 the truth of what I am relating. I have given the few 
 amusing instances above, out of a store of many similar 
 ones ; and, reader, if you are extra-professional, and still 
 a doubter, ask the most experienced medical friend you 
 have, whether, in the above, you are required to put faith 
 in improbabihties and figments.
 
 [ 283 ] 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE WIFE. 
 
 Monday Evening, July 25, 18 — — Well ! the poor 
 martyr has at last been released from her suflferings, and 
 her wasted remains lie hid in the kindly gloom of the 
 
 grave. Yes, sweet, abused, forgiving Mrs T I I 
 
 this morning attended your funeral, and let fall tears of 
 unavailing regret ! Shall I tell your sad story all in one 
 word or two? The blow that broke your heart was 
 struck by your husband ! 
 
 Heaven grant me calmness in recording your wrongs! 
 Let not the feelings of outraged humanity prompt me to 
 " set down aught in malice." May I be dispassionately 
 enough disposed to say but the haify nay, even the 
 hundredth part only, of what I know, and my conscience 
 will stand acquitted ! Let not him who shall read these 
 pages anticipate any thing of romance, of high-flown 
 rhodomontade, in what follows. It is all about a poor, 
 ill-used, heart-broken wife: and such an object is, alasl 
 too often met with in all classes of society, to attract, 
 in an ordinary case, any thing of public notice. The 
 ensuing narrative will not, however, be found an ordinary 
 case. It is fraught with circumstances of such peculiar
 
 284 
 
 THE WIFE. 
 
 aggravation, and exhibits such a moving picture of the 
 tenderness and unrepining fortitude of woman, that I am 
 tempted to give it at some length. Its general accuracy 
 may be rehed upon, for I succeeded in wringing it from 
 the lips of the poor sufferer herself. I must, however, 
 be allowed to give it in my own way ; though at the risk 
 of its being thereby divested of much of that sorrowful 
 simplicity and energy — that touching naivete which cha- 
 racterised its utterance. I shall conclude with extracting 
 some portions of my notes of visits made in a professional 
 capacity. 
 
 Miss Jane C had as numerous a retinue of suitors 
 
 as a pretty person, well-known sweetness of disposition, 
 considerable accomplishments, and £10,000 in the funds, 
 could not fail of procuring to their possessor. She was 
 an orphan, and was left absolute mistress of her property 
 on attaining her twenty-first year. All the members of 
 her own family most strenuously backed the pretensions 
 of the curate of the parish — a young man of ascertained 
 respectability of character and family, with a snug sti- 
 pend, and fair prospects of preferment. His person and 
 manners were agreeable and engaging ; and he could 
 not conceal his inclination to fling them both at Miss 
 
 C 's feet. All who knew the parties, said it would be 
 
 an excellent match in all respects, and a happy couple 
 
 they would make. Miss C herself could not look 
 
 at the curate with indifference — at least, if any inference 
 might be drawn from an occasional flushing of her fea- 
 tures at church, whenever the eyes of the clergyman 
 happened to glance at her — which was much oftener than 
 his duty required. In short, the motherly gossips of the
 
 THE WIFE. 285 
 
 place all looked upon it as a settled thing-, and had pitched 
 upon an admirable house for the future couple. They 
 owned unanimously that " the girl might have gone far- 
 ther and fared worse," and so forth ; which is a great deal 
 for such people to say about such matters. 
 
 There happened, however, to be given a great ball, 
 
 by the lady of the ex-Mayor, where Miss C was one 
 
 of the stars of the evening ; and at this party there 
 chanced to be a young Londoner, who had just come 
 down on a three-weeks' holiday. He was training for 
 the law in a solicitor's office, and was within six or seven 
 months of the expiration of his articles. He was a per- 
 sonable sort of fellow to look at — a spice of a dandy — 
 and had that kind of air about him which tells of town 
 — if not of the blandness, ease, and elegance of the West, 
 still — of town — which contrasted favourably with the 
 comparative ungainliness of provincials. He was, in a 
 word, a sort of small star ; a triton among the minnows ; 
 and whatever he said or did took infallibly. Apprized 
 by some judicious relatives, of the united charms of Miss 
 
 C 's purse and person, he took care to pay her the 
 
 most conspicuous attentions. Alas ! the quiet claims of 
 the curate were soon silenced by his bustling rival. This 
 
 young spark chattered Miss C out of her calm 
 
 senses. Wherever she went, he followed ; whatever she 
 said or did, he applauded. He put into requisition all 
 his small acquirements — he sang a little, danced more, 
 and talked an infinity. To be brief, he determined on 
 carrying the fort with a coup de main ; and he succeeded. 
 The poor curate was forgotten for ever ! Before the 
 
 enterprising young lawyer left , he was an accepted 
 
 suitor of Miss C 's. The coldness of all her friends
 
 286 THE WIFE. 
 
 and acquaintances signified nothing to her ; her loyer 
 had, by some means or other, obtained so powerful a 
 hold of her affections, that sneers, reproaches, remon- 
 strances, threats, on the part of all who had previously 
 betrothed her to the curate, " passed by her as the idle 
 wind, which she regarded not." She promised to become 
 his wife as soon as his articles should have expired, and 
 to live in London. 
 
 In due time, as matters approached a crisis, friends 
 
 were called in to talk over preliminaries. Mr T 
 
 proved to be comparatively penniless ; but what was 
 
 that ? Miss C acted with very unusual generosity. 
 
 She insisted on settling only half her fortune — and left 
 the other half entirely at his disposal. On receiving this 
 intelligence from her own lips, the young man uttered 
 the most frantic expressions of gratitude ; promised 
 her eternal love and faithfulness ; protested that he 
 idolized her ; and — took her at her word. It was in vain 
 that cautious relatives stepped in to tender their remon- 
 strances to Miss C on the imprudent extent to 
 
 which she was placing her fortune beyond her own con- 
 trol. Opposition only consolidates and strengthens the 
 resolutions of a woman whose mind is once made up. 
 The generous creature believed implicitly every word 
 that her lover poured into her delighted ear ; and was 
 not startled into any thing like distrust, even when she 
 found that her young husband had expended, at one fell 
 swoop, nearly £3000 of the £5000 she had so impru- 
 dently placed at his disposal — in " establishing them- 
 selves in London," as he termed it. He commenced a 
 rate of living which it would have required an income 
 of at least £1000 a-year to support ; and when an uncle
 
 THE WIFE. 287 
 
 of his wife's took upon him to represent to Mr T 
 
 his ruinous extravagance — his profligate expenditure of 
 his wife's funds, which all their mutual friends were 
 lamenting- and reprobating-, he was treated with an inso- 
 lence which for ever put an end to his interference, and 
 effectually prevented that of any other party. 
 
 All, however, might yet have gone right, had Mr 
 
 T paid but a moderate attention to his business ; for 
 
 his father had the command of an excellent town con- 
 nexion, which soon put enough into his son's hands to 
 keep two clerks in regular employment. 
 
 It was not long before his wife was shocked by hearing 
 her husband make incessant complaints of the drudgery 
 of the office, though he did not devote, on an average, 
 more than two or three hours a-day to it. He was 
 always proposing some new party, some dehghtful drive, 
 some enchanting excursion, to her, and she dared not 
 refuse, for he had, already, once disclosed symptoms of a 
 most imperious temper whenever his will was interfered 
 with. She began to grow very uneasy, as she saw him 
 drawing cheque after cheque on their banker, without 
 once replacing a single sum ! Good God ! what was to 
 become of them ? He complained of the tardy returns 
 of business ; and yet he left it altogether to the manage- 
 noent of two hired clerks ! He was beginning also to 
 grow irregular in his habits ; repeatedly kept her wait- 
 ing for hours, expecting his return to dinner in vain ; 
 filled his table with frequent drafts from the gayest and 
 most dissipated of his professional acquaintance, whose 
 uproar, night after night, alarmed every one in the house, 
 and disturbed even the neighbours. Then he took to 
 billiard-playing, and its invariable concomitants — drink-
 
 288 THE WIFE. 
 
 ing and late hours ; the theatres, frequented alone for 
 the purpose — alas ! too notorious to escape even the 
 chaste ears of his unfortunate and insulted wife — of 
 mingling with the low wretches — the harpies — who fre- 
 quent the slips and saloons ; then " drinking bouts" at 
 taverns, and midnight " larks," in company with a set of 
 vulgar, ignorant young coxcombs, who always left him to 
 settle the reckoning. 
 
 He sent one of the clerks to his banker's^ one morning, 
 with a cheque for £10 ; which proved to be the exact 
 amount by which he had " overdrawn" his account — 
 and worse — returned without the usual accommodation 
 afforded. He was a little dismayed at finding such to be 
 the state of things, and went up stairs to his wife to tell 
 her, with a curse, of " the meanness," the " d — d stingi- 
 ness," of Messrs . 
 
 " What ! Is it all spent, George ? " she enquired, in a 
 gentle and faint tone of voice. 
 
 " Every rap, by , Jane ! " was the reply. She 
 
 turned pale, and trembled, while her husband, putting his 
 hands in his pockets, walked sullenly to and fro about the 
 
 parlour. With trembling hesitation, Mrs T alluded 
 
 to the near approach of her confinement, and asked, al- 
 ,most inaudible with agitation and the fear of offending 
 ■him, whether he had made any provision for the neces- 
 sary expenses attending it — had laid up any thing. He 
 replied in the negative, in a very petulant tone. She 
 could not refrain from shedding tears. 
 
 " Your crying can't mend matters," said he, rudely, 
 walking to the window, and humming the words of some 
 popular air. 
 
 *' Dear, dear George ! have you seen any thing in my 
 
 2
 
 THE WIFE. 289 
 
 conduct to displease you ?" she enquired, wiping her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Why do you ask me that, Mrs T ?" said he, 
 
 walking slowly towards her, and eyeing her very sternly. 
 She trembled, and had scarcely breath enough to answer, 
 that she had feared such might have been the case, be- 
 cause he had become rather cool towards her of late. 
 
 " D'ye mean to say, ma'am, that I have used you ill, 
 eh ? Because, if you do, it's a d " 
 
 " Oh no, no, George ! I did not mean any thing of the 
 kind; but — but — kiss me, and say you have forgiven 
 me — do ! " and she rose and stepped towards him, with a 
 forced smile. He gave her his cheek, with an air of sullen 
 indifference, and said, " It's no use blubbering about 
 misfortunes, and all that sort of thing. The fact is, some- 
 thing must be done, or , Fm done ! Look here, 
 
 Jane ! Bring your chair there a minute ! What do you 
 say to these ?" He pulled out of his pocket a crumpled 
 mass of papers — bills which had been sent in during the 
 week, some of them of several months' standing — £70 
 were due for wine and spirits ; £90 for articles of his 
 dress ; £35 for the use of a horse and tilbury ; £10 for 
 cigars and snuffs ; and, in short, the aobve are a sample 
 of items which swelled into the gross amount of more 
 than £300 — all due — all from creditors who refused him 
 longer credit, and all for articles which had ministered 
 nothing to his poor wife's comforts or necessities. She 
 burst into tears, as she looked over the bills scattered on 
 the table, and, flinging her arms round her husband's 
 neck, implored him to pay more attention to business. 
 
 " I tell you, I do,'' he replied impatiently, suffering, 
 not returning, her affectionate embrace. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 290 THE WIFE. 
 
 " Well, dearest George I I don't mean to blame 
 you" 
 
 " You had better not, indeed I " he replied coldly ; 
 " but what's to be done, eh ? — That's what we ought to 
 be considering. Do you think — hem! — Jane — could you, 
 do you think" He paused, and seemed embarrassed. 
 
 " Could I what, dear George ?" she enquired, squeez- 
 ing his hands. 
 
 " D'ye think — d'ye think — but — no — I'll ask you some 
 other day I " and he rose from his chair. What will be 
 imagined was his request ? — She learnt some days after- 
 wards, that it was for her to use her influence with her 
 aunt, an old widow lady, to lend him £500. To return, 
 however. 
 
 He was standing opposite the fire, in moody contem- 
 plation, when a rude puppy, dressed in the extreme of 
 the fashion, with three different coloured waistcoats on — 
 crossed and recrossed by a heavy pewter-looking chain— 
 and a glossy new hat, with tapering crown, stuck with 
 an impudent air on the left side of his head — burst 
 unceremoniously into the parlour, and disturbed the sor- 
 rowful tete-a-tete of T and his wife, by rushing up 
 
 to the former, shaking his hands, and exclaiming boister- 
 ously — ^' Ah ! T , how d'ye do, d — e ? Bill Bunce's 
 
 Chaffer has beat ; he has, by 1 I've won £15 
 
 on it ! — Oh ! a thousand pardons, ma'am — I didn't see 
 you ; but there's been a great dog-fight, you see, and I 
 
 have been luckier than what Mr T here has ; for 
 
 I've won £15, and he has lost £20!" 
 
 This scoundrel was one of T 's bosom friends! 
 
 Ay, incredible as it may seem, it was for such worthless 
 fellows, such despicable blockheads as these, that Mr
 
 THE WIFE. '291 
 
 T had squandered his generous wife's property, 
 
 and forsaken her company ! On the present occasion, — 
 a sample of what had occurred so often as to cause — no 
 surprise — nothing- but a gush of bitter tears after he was 
 
 gone, — T civilly bade her good morning, departed 
 
 arm-in-arm with his " friend," and did not return till 
 past two o'clock in the morning, almost dead drunk. 
 Had he seen how the remainder of the day was spent 
 by his poor wife — in tears and terror — unsoothed by 
 the thought that her husband was absent on errands of 
 honourable employment — content with making a scanty 
 dinntr of that at which the servant " turned up her nose," 
 as the phrase is — and sitting the rest of the evening, 
 sewing and shedding tears by turns, till the hour of 
 midnight warned her to retire to a sleepless bed ; could 
 he have felt the hurried beatings of her heart whenever 
 her wakeful ear fancied she heard the sound of his 
 approaching footsteps on the pavement beneath ; could 
 he have done this, he might not, possibly^ on waking in 
 
 the morning, have called her a , nor struck her 
 
 on the mouth till her under-lip was half cut through, for 
 presuming to rouse him before he had slept oif the fumes 
 of the brandy, and all he had drunk over night — in order 
 that he might be in time for a consultation appointed 
 for eleven o'clock. He did do this ; and I was the first 
 person on earth to whom she reluctantly told it — on her 
 deathbed! 
 
 Though her delicate and interesting situation — within 
 a very few weeks of her accouchement — might have 
 kindled a spark of tenderness and pride in the bosom of 
 any husband, who had not lost all the feelings of honour 
 and manhness, it sufficed, apparently, to inspire T
 
 292 THE WIFE. 
 
 with a determination to treat her more unkindly and 
 neglectfully than ever. She scarcely ever saw him during 
 the day ; and when he came home at night — more than 
 once conducted by the watchman — he was almost inva- 
 riably stupified with liquor ; and if he had the power 
 of utterance, he seemed to take a demoniacal pleasure in 
 venting upon her the foulest expressions which he could 
 recollect being used by the riffraff of the taverns, where 
 he spent his time. More than once was she so horrified 
 with what he said, that, at the peril of her life, she 
 insisted on leaving him, and sharing the bed of the ser- 
 vant girl ! Her wretched look might have broken a 
 heart of stone ; yet it affected .not that of the wretch who 
 called her his wife ! 
 
 A few days after the occurrence above related, the maid- 
 servant put a twopenny post letter into her mistress* 
 
 hands ; and fortunate it was for Mrs T that the girl 
 
 happened to be in the room while she read it, awaiting 
 orders for dinner. The note was in these words, written 
 in a feigned, but still a lady's hand : — 
 
 « Unfortunate Madam ! — I feel it my duty to 
 
 acquaint you that your husband, Mr T , is pursuing 
 
 quite disgraceful courses all night and day, squandering 
 away his money among sharpers and blacklegs, and that 
 he is persuaded to back one of the boxers in a great 
 fight that is to be ; and, above all, and what I blush to 
 tell you — but it is fitting Mrs T— should know it — 
 
 in my opinion, Mr T is notoriously keeping a 
 
 woman of infamous character, with whom he is con- 
 stantly seen at the theatres and most other public places, 
 and she passes as his cousin. Hoping that you will have 
 prudence and spirit to act in this distressing business as
 
 THE WIFE. 293 
 
 becomes a lady and a wife, I am, madam, with the truest 
 respect and sympathy, 
 
 « A Real Friend." 
 Mrs T read this cruel letter in silence — motion- 
 less — and with a face that whitened sensibly as she pro- 
 ceeded ; till, at the disg-raceful fact mentioned in the 
 concluding- part, she dropped the paper from her hands — 
 and the servant ran to her in time to prevent her fall- 
 ing from her chair ; for she had swooned I It was long- 
 before she came to ; and, when that was the case, it was 
 only that she might be carried to her bed — and she was 
 confined that evening. The child was still-born ! All this 
 came on the husband like a thunder-stroke, and shocked 
 him, for a time, into something like sobriety and com- 
 punction. The admirable qualities of his wife — her 
 virtues and her meekness — shone before his startled 
 eyes in angel hues. He forsook the scenes, a constant 
 frequenting of which had rendered him unworthy to live 
 under the same roof with her, and betook himself to the 
 regular pursuits of business with great earnestness. He 
 soon found out what arduous up-hill work it was to bring 
 again under his control affairs which had been so long 
 and shamefully neglected. He felt several times dis- 
 posed to throw it all over in disgust ; for, alas ! he had 
 lost almost every vestige of the patience and accuracy 
 of business habits. He succeeded, with great difficulty, 
 in appeasing the more clamorous of his creditors, and, 
 in a word, once more, stood a chance of clearing his 
 way before him. His poor wife, however, was brought 
 several times to the very verge of the grave, and was 
 destined for months to the monotonous hours of a bed 
 of sickness. For nearly a month, she experienced the
 
 294 THE WIFE. 
 
 most affectionate attentions from her husband, that were 
 consistent with a due attention to the business of his 
 office. She felt revived and cheered by the prospect of 
 his renewed attachment, and trusted in its permanency. 
 But, alas ! her husband was not made of such materials 
 as warranted her expectations ; he was little else than a 
 compound of weakness, vanity, ignorance, and ill-tem- 
 per; and for such a one, the sober loveliness and at- 
 tractiveness of domestic life had no charms. He had no 
 sooner got his affairs a little into train, and succeeded in 
 reviving the confidence of some of his principal clients, 
 than he began to relax his efforts. One by one, his old 
 associates drew around him, and re-entangled him in 
 the toils of dissipation. The first time that poor ill- 
 fated Mrs T came down into the parlour to dinner, 
 
 after a three months' absence in her sick chamber, she 
 was doomed to dine alone — disappointed of the promised 
 presence of her husband to welcome her ; for the same 
 low, contemptible coxcomb, formerly introduced to the 
 reader as one of her husband's most intimate friends, had 
 called in the course of the morning, and succeeded in 
 enticing him away to a tavern-dinner with a set "of good 
 'uns," who were afterwards to adjourn to one of the 
 minor theatres. In vain was the little fillet of veal, ordered 
 by her husband himself, placed on the table before his 
 deserted wife ; she could not taste it, nor had strength 
 
 enough to carve a piece for the nurse I Mr T had 
 
 had the grace to send her a note of apology, alleging that 
 his absence was occasioned by "an affair of business!" 
 This cruel and perfidious conduct, however, met with 
 its due punishment. One of his principal creditors — his 
 tailor — happened to be swallowing a hasty dinner in a
 
 THE WIFE. 295 
 
 box adjoining the one in which T and his boisterous 
 
 associates were dining, and accidentally cast eyes on his 
 
 debtor T . He saw and heard enough to fill him with 
 
 fury ; for he had heard his own name mentioned by the 
 half-inebriated debtor, as one of the " served-out snips" 
 whom he intended to " do" — an annunciation which was 
 received by the gentlemanly young men who were din- 
 ning with him, with cries of " Bravo, T , do ! D — e, 
 
 I — and I — and I — have done it before this !" 
 
 The next morning he was arrested for a debt of £110, 
 at the suit of the very " snip" whom he intended, in his 
 own witty way, to " do," and carried off to a spunging- 
 house in Chancery Lane. There he lay for two days with- 
 out his wife's knowing any thing of the true state of things. 
 He could get no one to stand bail for him, till one of his 
 wife's insulted friends, and his own brother-in-law, came 
 forward reluctantly for that purpose, in order to calm 
 her dreadful agitation, which had flung her again on a 
 sick-bed. Her husband wrote her a most penitential let- 
 ter from the spunging-house, imploring her forgiveness 
 for his misconduct, and promising amendment. Again 
 she believed him, and welcomed him home with enthu- 
 siastic demonstrations of fondness. He himself could 
 not refrain from weeping ; he sobbed and cried like a 
 child ; for his feelings — what with the most pungent sense 
 of disgrace, remorse, and conscious unworthiness of the 
 sweet creature, whose affections no misconduct of his 
 seemed capable of alienating — were quite overcome. Three 
 of his chief creditors commenced actions against him, and 
 nothing seemed capable of arresting the ruin now im- 
 pending over him. Where was he to find the means of 
 satisfying their claims ? He was in despair ; and had sul-
 
 296 THE WIFE. 
 
 lenly and stupidly come to a resolution to let things take 
 their course, when, as if Providence had determined to 
 aiFord the miserable man one chance more of retrieving 
 his circumstances, the sudden death of his father put him 
 in possession of £800 in ready cash ; and this sum, 
 added to £200 advanced him by two of his wife's friends, 
 who could not resist her agonizing supplications, once 
 more set matters to rights. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Passing over an interval of four years, spent with 
 disgrace to himself, and anguish to his wife, similar to 
 that described above, they must now be presented to the 
 reader, occupying, alas ! a lower station of society. They 
 had been compelled to relinquish an airy, respectable, 
 and commodious residence, for a small, bad house, in a 
 worse neighbourhood. His business had dwindled down 
 to what was insufficient to occupy the time of one solitary 
 clerk, whom he was scarcely able to pay regularly — and 
 the more respectable of his friends had utterly deserted 
 him in disgust. The most rigorous — nay, almost starv- 
 ing — economy, on the part of his wife, barely sufficed 
 to " make both ends meet." She abridged herself of 
 almost every domestic comfort, of all those little elegan- 
 cies which a well-bred woman loves to keep about her — 
 and did so without a murmur. The little income arising 
 from the £5000, her settlement money, might surely, of 
 itself, with only ordinary prudence on his part, have 
 enabled them to maintain their ground with something 
 like respectabihty, especially if he had attended to what 
 remained of his business. But, alas ! alas ! T 's tem- 
 per had, by this time, been thoroughly and permanently 
 soured. He hated his good wife — his business — his
 
 THE WIFE. 297 
 
 family — himself — every thing, except liquor and low- 
 company ! His features bore testimony to the sort of life 
 he led — swelled, bloated, and his eyes languid and blood- 
 shot. Mrs T saw less of him than ever ; for, not 
 
 far from his house, there was a small tavern, frequented 
 by none but the meanest underlings of his profession ; 
 
 and there was T to be found, evening after evening, 
 
 smoking and drinking himself into a state of stupid in- 
 sensibility, till he would return home redolent of the 
 insufferable stench and fumes of tobacco smoke, and 
 brandy and water. In the day time, he was often to be 
 found for hours together at an adjoining billiard-room, 
 where he sometimes lost sums of money, which his poor 
 wife was obliged to make up for by parting, one by one, 
 with her little trinkets and jewellery ! What could have 
 infatuated him to pursue such a line of conduct? it may 
 be asked — why, as if of set purpose, ruin the peace of 
 mind of one of the fondest and most amiable wives that 
 ever man was blessed with ! A vulgar, but forcible ex- 
 pression, may explain all — it was " the nature of the 
 beast." He had no intellectual pleasures — no taste for 
 the quiet enjoyments of home ; and had, above all, in his 
 wife, too sweet, confiding, and unresisting a creature! 
 Had she proved a termagant, the aspect of things might 
 have been very different ; she might have bullied him 
 into something like a sense of propriety. Here, how- 
 ever, he had it all his own way — a poor creature, who 
 allowed him to break her heart without remonstrance or 
 reproach ; for the first she dared not — the second she 
 could not. It would have broken a heart of stone to see 
 her ! She was wasted to a skeleton, and in such a weak, 
 declining state of health, that she could scarcely stir out
 
 298 THE WIFE. 
 
 of doors. Her appetite was almost entirely gone ; her 
 spirits all fled long ago ! — Now, shall I tell the reader 
 one immediate cause of such physical exhaustion I I will, 
 and truly. 
 
 Mr T had still a tolerable share of business ; but 
 
 he could scarcely be brought to give more than two 
 hours' attendance in his office a-day, and sometimes not 
 even that. He therefore imprudently left almost every 
 thing to the management of his clerk, a worthy young 
 man, but wholly incompetent to such a charge. He had 
 extorted from even his idle and unworthy master frequent 
 acknowledgments of his obligations for the punctuality 
 with which he transacted all that was entrusted to him ; 
 and, in particular, for the neatness, accuracy, and celerity 
 with which he copied drafts of pleadings, leases, agree- 
 ments, &c. His master often hiccoughed to him his asto- 
 nishment at the rapidity with which he " turned them 
 out of hand ; " but how little did the unworthy fellow 
 imagine that, in saying all this, he was uttering, not his 
 clerk's, but his wife's praises! For she it was, poor 
 creature ! who, having taken the pains to learn a lawyer's 
 hand, engrossing, &c., from the clerk, actually sat up, 
 almost regularly, till two or three o'clock in the morning, 
 plodding perseveringly through papers and parchments- 
 making long and laborious extracts — engrossing settle- 
 ments, indentures, &c., and copying pleadings, till her 
 wearied eyes and her little hands could no longer perform 
 their office ! I could at this moment lay my hands on a 
 certain legal instrument, of tiresome prolixity, which was 
 engrossed, every word, by Mrs T I 
 
 This was the way in which his wife spent the hours 
 of midnight, and to enable him to squander away his
 
 THE WIFE. 299 
 
 time and money in the unworthy, the infamous manner 
 above related I 
 
 Was it wonderful that her health and spirits were 
 wholly borne down by the pressure of so many accumu- 
 lated ills ? Had not her husband's eye been dulled, and 
 his perceptions deadened, by the perpetual stupors of in- 
 toxication, he might have discerned the hectic flush — 
 the coming fever — the blood-spitting, which foretell con- 
 sumption ! But that was too much to be expected. As 
 for the evenings — they were invariably spent at his fa- 
 vourite tavern, sotting hour after hour among its lowest 
 frequenters ; and as for her night-cough and blood-spit- 
 ting, he was lulled by liquor into too profound a repose, 
 to be roused by the sounds which were, in eifect, his 
 martyred wife's death-knell. If, during the day time, he 
 was in a manner forced to remark her languor — her 
 drooping spirits — the only notice, the only sympathy it 
 called forth on his part, was a cold and careless enquiry, 
 why she did not call in a medical man ! I shall conclude 
 this portion of my narrative with barely reciting four in- 
 stances of that conduct on the part of Mrs T 's 
 
 husband, which at last succeeded in breaking her heart, 
 and which, with many other similar ones, were commu- 
 nicated to me with tears of tortured sensibility. 
 
 I. Half drunk, half sober, he one evening introduced 
 to her, at tea, a female " friend," whose questionable ap- 
 pearance might, at first sight, have justified his wife's 
 refusal to receive her. Her conversation soon disclosed 
 her real character ; and the insulted wife abruptly retired 
 from the room that was polluted by the presence of the 
 infamous creature whom he avowed to be his mistress! 
 He sprung after her to the door, for the purpose of drag-
 
 300 THE WIFE. 
 
 ging" her back ; but her sudden paleness, and the faint 
 tones in which she whispered — " Don't stop me— don't 
 — or I shall die ! " so shocked him, that he allowed her 
 to retire, and immediately dismissed the wretch, whom 
 he could have brought thither for no other purpose than 
 to insult his wife ! Poor creature ! did a portion of her 
 midnight earnings go towards the support of the wretch 
 who was kept by her husband ? 
 
 II, Having occasion, late one evening, to rummage 
 among her husband's office papers, in search of something 
 which was to be engrossed that night, her eye happened 
 to light on a document, with a pencil superscription — 
 " Copy^ case for counsel^ concerning Mrs T '* mar- 
 riage settlement." A very excusable curiosity prompted 
 her to peruse what proved to be a series of queries sub- 
 mitted to counsel, on the following points, among others : 
 —What present powers he had under her marriage settle- 
 ment ? — whether her own interest in it could be legally 
 made over to another, with her consent, during her life- 
 time? and, if so, how ? — whether or not he could part 
 with the reversion, provided she did not exercise her 
 power of willing it away elsewhere ? — From all this, was 
 it possible for her not to see how heartlessly he was cal- 
 culating on the best method of obtaining possession of the 
 remnant of her fortune ? 
 
 " Oh, cruel — cruel — cruel George ! So impatient ! — 
 Could you not wait a month or two ? I'm sure I shall 
 not keep you out of it long ! I always intended to leave 
 it to you, and I won't let this alter my mind, though 
 
 it is cruel of you ! " sobbed Mrs T , till her heart 
 
 seemed breaking. At that moment she heard her hus- 
 band's loud obstreperous knock at the door, and hastily
 
 THE WIFE. 301 
 
 crumpling- up the paper into the drawer of the desk from 
 which she had taken it, she put out the candle, and, 
 leaving her midnight labours, flew up stairs to bed — to a 
 wretched and sleepless one ! 
 
 III. Mrs T 's child, which was about three year3 
 
 and a half old, was suddenly seized with convulsive fits, 
 as she was one evening- undressing- it for bed. Fit after 
 fit followed in such rapid succession, that the medical 
 man who was summoned in prepared her to expect the 
 worst. The distraction of her feelings may be easier 
 conceived than described, as she held on her knee the 
 little creature on whose life were centred all the proud 
 and fond feelings of a mother's love, deepened into ex- 
 clusive intensity ; for it seemed the only object on earth 
 to return her love ; — as she held it, I say, but with great 
 difficulty, for its tiny limbs were struggling and plunging 
 about in a dreadful manner. And then the frightful 
 rolling of the eyes ! They were endeavouring to pour 
 a tea-spoonful of Dalby's carminative, or some such 
 medicine, through the closed teeth, when the room door 
 
 was suddenly thrown open, and in reeled Mr T , 
 
 more than half-seas over with liquor, and in a merrier 
 mood than usual, for he had been successful at billiards ! 
 He had entered unobserved through the street door, which 
 had been left ajar by the distracted servant girl ; and, 
 hearing a bustle in the room, he had entered, for the pur- 
 pose of seeing what was the matter. 
 
 " Wh — wh — what is the matter, good fo — oiks, eh?" 
 
 he stammered, reeling towards where Mrs T was 
 
 sitting, almost fainting with terror at seeing the frightful 
 contortions of her infant's countenance. She saw him 
 not, for her eyes were fixed in agony on the features of 
 her suffering babe.
 
 302 THE WIFE. 
 
 " What the — the — the d — 1 is the matter with all of 
 you here, eh ? " he enquired, chucking the servant girl 
 under the chin, who, much agitated, and shedding tears* 
 had approached, to beg he would leave the room. He 
 tried to kiss her, and in the presence of the medical man 
 — who sternly rebuked him for his monstrous conduct. 
 
 " D — n you, sir — ^who the devil are you?'' he said, 
 putting his arms a-kimbo — " I will know what's the mat- 
 ter ! " He came near — he saw all ! — the leaden-hued, 
 quivering features — the limbs, now rigid, then struggling 
 violently — the starting eyeballs. 
 
 « Why, for God's sake, what's the matter, eh?" he 
 stammered, almost inaudibly, while the colour fled from 
 his face, and the perspiration started upon his forehead. 
 He strove to steady iiimself ; but that was impossible. 
 He had drunk too deeply. 
 
 " What are you doing to the child — what — what ? " 
 he again enquired, in a feeble and faltering voice, inter- 
 rupted by a hiccough. No notice whatever was taken of 
 him by his wife, who did not seem to see or hear him. 
 — " Jane, tell me," addressing her again, " has the child 
 had — (hickup) — an — an ac — ci — dent?" The infant 
 that moment gave a sudden and final plunge ; and Mrs 
 
 T 's faint shriek, and the servant girl's wringing of 
 
 the hands, announced that all was over ! The little thing 
 lay dead in the arms of its mother. 
 
 " Sir, your child is dead," said the apothecary, sternly, 
 
 shaking Mr T by the arm — for he stood gazing on 
 
 the scene with a sullen, vacant stare, scarcely able to 
 steady himself. 
 
 « Wh — wh — at I D — e — a — df" he muttered, with a 
 ghastly air. 
 
 " Oh I George, my darling is— *is dead I " groaned the
 
 THE WIFE. 303 
 
 afflicted mother, for the first time looking at and ad- 
 dressing her husband. The word seemed to sober him 
 in an instant. 
 
 " What !— Dead ? And I drunk ! " 
 
 The medical man, who stood by, told me he could 
 never forget the ^cene of that evening ! When Mrs 
 T discovered, by his manner, his disgraceful condi- 
 tion, she was so utterly overcome with her feelings of 
 mingled grief, shame, and horror, that she fell into violent 
 hysterics, which lasted almost all night long. As for 
 
 T , he seemed palsied all the next day. He sat alone 
 
 during the whole of the morning, in the room where the 
 dead infant lay, gazing upon it with emotions which may 
 be imagined, but not described. 
 
 IV. Almost the only piece of ornamental furniture, 
 her last remaining means of amusement and consolation, 
 was her piano. She played with both taste and feeling, 
 and many a time contrived to make sweet sounds pour 
 an oblivious charm over her sorrows and sufferings, by 
 wandering over the airs which she had loved in happier 
 days. Thus was she engaged one afternoon with one 
 of Dr Arne's exquisite compositions, the air beginning, 
 " Blow, blow, thou winter's wind." She made several 
 attempts to accompany the music with her voice — for 
 she once had a very sweet one, and could sing — but, 
 whenever she attempted, the words seemed to choke 
 her. There was a sorrowful appropriateness in them, a 
 touching echo of her own feelings, which dissolved her 
 very spirit within her. Her only child had died, as the 
 reader was informed, about six months before, and her 
 husband had resumed his ill courses, becoming more and 
 more stern and sullen in his demeanour — more unrea-
 
 804 THE WIFE. 
 
 sonable in his requirements. The words of the air, as 
 may be easily conceived, were painfully appropriate to her 
 situation, and she could not help shedding- tears. At that 
 moment her husband entered the room with his hat on, 
 and stood for some moments before the fire in silence. 
 
 " Mrs T ! " said he, as soon as she had concluded 
 
 the last stanza. 
 
 " Well, Georg-e I " said she, in a mild tone. 
 
 " I — I must sell that piano ^ ma'am — I must !" said he. 
 
 " What !" exclaimed his wife, in a low whisper, turn- 
 ing round on the music-stool, and looking him in the face 
 with an air of sorrowful surprise. " Oh ! you cannot be 
 in earnest, George I " 
 
 " Ton my life, ma'am, but I am — I can't indulge you 
 with superfluities while we can hardly afford the means of 
 keeping body and soul together." 
 
 " George — dear George — do forgive me, but I — I — I 
 cannot part with my poor piano," said she. 
 
 " Why not, ma'am, when / say you must ?" 
 
 " Oh! because it was the gift of my poor mother!" 
 she replied, bursting into tears. 
 
 '* Can't help that, ma'am — not I. It must go. I hate 
 to hear its cursed noise in the house — it makes me me- 
 lancholy — it does, ma'am — you're always playing such 
 gloomy music," replied the husband, in a severe and less 
 decisive tone. 
 
 " Well, well ! if that's all, I'll play any thing you like 
 — only tell me, dear George ! what shall I play for you 
 now ? " said she, rising from the music-stool and approach- 
 ing him. 
 
 " Play a farewell to the piano, for it must go, and it 
 shall !" he replied, desperately. 
 2
 
 THE WIFE. 305 
 
 *' Dear, kind George ! let me keep it a little longer," 
 said she, looking him beseechingly in the face — " a little 
 — a little longer " 
 
 " Well, ma'am, sit down and play away till I come in 
 again, any thing you like." 
 
 He left the room ; and, in less than half an hour — oh, 
 hardness of heart unheard of ! — returned with a stranger, 
 who proved to be a furniture broker, come to value the 
 instrument ! That evening it was sold to him for £15 ; 
 and it was carried away the first thing in the morning, 
 before his wife came down stairs ! What will be sup- 
 posed the occasion of this cruelty ? It was to furnish 
 Mr T with money to pay a bill of the infamous crea- 
 ture more than once alluded to, and who had obtained a 
 complete ascendency over him ! 
 
 It was a long continued course of such treatment as 
 this, that called me upon the scene, in a professional 
 capacity, merely, at first ; till the mournful countenance 
 of my patient inspired me with feelings of concern and 
 friendly sympathy, which eventually led to an entire con- 
 fidence. She came to me in the unostentatious character 
 of a morning patient, in a hackney-coach, with an elderly 
 female friend. She looked quite the lady, though her 
 dress was but of an ordinary quality, yet exquisitely neat 
 and clean ; and she had still a very interesting and some- 
 what pretty face, though long continued sorrow had made 
 sad havoc with her features ! These visits, at intervals 
 of a week, she paid me, and compelled me to take my 
 fee of one guinea, on each occasion — though I would 
 have given two to be enabled to decline it without hurt- 
 ing her delicacy. Though her general health had suffer- 
 ed severely, still I thought that matters had not gone 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 306 THE WIFE. 
 
 quite so far as to destroy all hopes of recovery, with due 
 attention ; though her cheeks disclosed, almost every 
 evening-, the death-rose — the grave-flower — of hectic, 
 and night-sweats and a faint cough were painfully regu- 
 lar in their recurrence — still I saw nothing, for a long 
 time, to warrant me in warning her of serious danger. 
 I insisted on her allowing me to visit her at her own 
 house, and she at last permitted me, on condition that I 
 would receive, at least, half-a-guinea — poor creature ! — 
 for every visit. That, however, I soon dropped ; and I 
 saw her almost every day gratuitously, whenever any 
 temporary aggravations of her symptoms required my 
 attendance. The first time I saw her husband, I could 
 not help taking a prejudice against him, though she had 
 never breathed a syllable to me of his ill conduct. He 
 was apparently about forty years old, though his real 
 age was not more than two or three-and-thirty. His 
 manners and habits had left a sufficiently strong impress 
 upon him to enable a casual beholder to form a shrewd 
 conjecture as to his character. His features, once rather 
 handsome than otherwise, were now reddened and 
 swollen with long-continued excess ; and there was alto- 
 gether an air of truculence — of vulgar assurance and 
 stupid sullenness about him, which prepossessed me 
 
 strongly against him. When, long afterwards, Mrs T 
 
 gave me that description of his appearance and manners 
 under which he is first placed before the reader of this 
 narrative, I could not help frequently interrupting her 
 with expressions of incredulity, and reminding her of his 
 present ill-favoured looks ; but as she went on with her 
 sad story, my scepticism vanished. Personal deterioration 
 was no incredible attendant on moral declension ! * * *
 
 THE WIFE. 307 
 
 3Iarch 28, 1 8—. — There can be no longer any doubt 
 
 as to the nature of Mrs T 's symptoms. She is the 
 
 destined victim of consumption. The oftener I go to 
 her house, the stronger are my suspicions that she is an 
 unhappy woman, and that her husband ill-uses her. I 
 have many times tried to hint my suspicions to her, but 
 she will declare nothing. She will not understand me. 
 Her settled despondency, however, accompanied with 
 an under-current of feverish nervous trepidation, which 
 she cannot satisfactorily explain, convinces me something 
 or other is wrong. I see very little of her husband, for 
 he is scarcely ever in her company when I call. Though 
 his profession is that of an attorney, and his house and 
 office are one, I see scarcely any indications of business 
 stirring. I am afraid they are in sinking circumstances. 
 I am sure that she, at least, was born and bred for a 
 station superior to that she now occupies. Her manners 
 have that simplicity, ease, and elegance, which tell of a 
 higher rank in society. I often detect her alone in tears, 
 over a low fire. In a word, I am sure she is wretched, 
 and that her husband is the cause of it. That he keeps 
 late hours, I know — for she happened to let slip as much 
 one day to me, when I was making enquiries about the 
 time of her retiring to sleep. I feel a great interest in 
 her ; for, whenever I see her, she reminds me of " Pa- 
 tience on a monument, smiling at Grief" — of 
 
 *' Sorrow deck'd 
 In the poor faded garb of tarnisli'd joy, 
 111 fitting to her wasted form." 
 
 April 5th. — To-day I found them both together — 
 sitting one on each side of the fireplace, he smoking — 
 in the parlour — and she, with a little needlework in
 
 308 THE WIFE. 
 
 her lap. I thought he seemed somewhat embarrassed at 
 my entrance ; which probably had put an end to some 
 scene of unpleasantness, for her face was suffused with 
 crimson. It soon retired, however, and left the wanness 
 to which I had been accustomed in her. 
 
 " So, my wife's ill, sir, it seems ? " said Mr T , 
 
 abruptly, putting- his pipe on the hob. 
 
 " I'm sorry to say she is, Mr T ," I replied, " and 
 
 that she is worse to-day than she has been for some time." 
 
 Mrs T let fall tears. 
 
 " Sorry to hear you say so, Doctor ; I've just been 
 telling her it's all owing to her own obstinacy in not call- 
 ing earlier on ." 
 
 " I think you might have used a milder word, sir," 
 said I, with involuntary sternness, at the same time 
 directing my attention exclusively to his wife — as if for 
 the purpose of hinting the propriety of his retiring. 
 
 " What's the matter with her, sir ? " he enquired, in a 
 more respectful tone than he had hitherto assumed. 
 
 " General debility, sir, and occasional pain," said I, 
 coldly. 
 
 « What's it owing to ?" 
 
 . I looked suddenly at Mrs T ; our eyes met — and 
 
 hers had an expression of apprehension. I determined, 
 however, to give a hint that I suspected all was not right, 
 and replied — " I fear she does not take suitable nourish- 
 ment — keeps irregular hours — and has something or other 
 on her mind which harasses her." The latter words I 
 accompanied with a steady look into his face. He seemed 
 a little flushed. 
 
 " You're mistaken, sir," said he, with a brusque air ; 
 " she may eat what she likes — that I can afford — may
 
 THE WIFE. 309 
 
 go to bed at what hour she likes — and it*s all her own 
 fault that she will sit moping- over the fire night after 
 night, and week alter week — waiting for my return — till 
 two or three o'clock in the morning" 
 
 " That is, of itself, sufficient to account for her illness," 
 said I, pointedly. He began to lose his temper, for he 
 saw the shameful acknowledgment he had unwittingly 
 
 made. " Pray, Mrs T ," he enquired, looking angrily 
 
 at his wife, who sat pale and trembling by my side — 
 " Have you any thing on your mind — eh ? If so — why 
 — speak out — no sneaking ! " 
 
 " No ! " she stammered ; " and I never said I had — 
 I assure you. — Did I ever give you even the most dis- 
 tant hint of the kind, Doctor ? " she continued, appealing 
 to me. 
 
 " By no means, madam — not in the slightest, on any 
 occasion," I replied ; " it was only a conjecture — a sus- 
 picion of my own." I thought he looked as if he would 
 have made some instant reply, for his eye glared furi- 
 ously on me. He bit his lips, however, and continued 
 silent. His conscience " pricked him." I began to feel 
 
 uneasy about the future quiet of Mrs T , lest any 
 
 observations of mine should have excited her husband's 
 suspicions that she had made disclosures to me of family 
 matters. 
 
 " What would you advise for her, sir ? " he asked 
 coldly. 
 
 *' Removal, for a few weeks, to the sea-side — a liberal 
 diet — and lively society." 
 
 " Very well, sir," said he, after a puzzled pause ; 
 "very good, sir — very; it shall be attended to. Per- 
 haps you want to be alone — eh? — So I'll leave you!"
 
 310 THE WIFE. 
 
 and directing^ a peculiar look towards his wife, as if warn- 
 ing her against something or other, he left the room. She 
 burst into tears directly he was gone. 
 
 " My dear madam, forgive me for saying that I sus- 
 pect your husband's behaviour towards you is somewhat 
 harsh, and, perhaps, unkind,'* said I, in as soothing a 
 tone as I could command, and pressing her hand kindly 
 into mine. 
 
 " Oh, no. Doctor — no ! " she replied, adding abruptly, 
 in an altered manner, indicating displeasure, " What makes 
 you think so, sir?" 
 
 " Why, madam, simply because I cannot shut my eyes 
 or my ears to what passes even while I am here; as for 
 instance, only just now, madam — just now." 
 
 She sighed, and made me no reply. I told her I was 
 in earnest in recommending the course I had mentioned 
 to her husband. 
 
 " Oh dear, Doctor, no, no ! — we could not afford it," 
 said she, with a sigh. At that moment her husband re- 
 turned, and resumed his former seat in sullen silence. I 
 soon after took my departure. 
 
 April 1th. — Does not the following make one blush for 
 one's species? — I give it nearly as I received it from the 
 
 lips of Mrs T . Inestimable woman I why are you 
 
 fated to endure such pangs ? 
 
 About twelve o'clock at noon, hearing her husband 
 come in, and thinking from his looks, of which she caught 
 a casual and hasty glance through the window, that he 
 was fatigued, and stood in need of some refreshment, she 
 poured out a glass of port wine, almost the last in a 
 solitary bottle which she had purchased, under my direc- 
 tions, for medicinal purposes, and, with a biscuit, brought
 
 THE WIFE. 311 
 
 it herself down stairs — though the effort so exhausted her 
 feeble frame, that she was obliged to sit down for several 
 moments on the last stair, to recover her breath. At 
 last, she ventured to knock at the door of the back-office 
 where he was sitting, holding the little waiter with the 
 glass of wine and the biscuit in her left hand. 
 
 " Who's there ? " enquired the gruiF voice of T . 
 
 " It's only I, my dear. May I come in, please ?" re- 
 plied the gentle voice of the wife. 
 
 " What brings you here, eh ? — What the d — 1 do you 
 want with me now ?" said he, surlily. 
 
 " I've brought you something, my dear," she replied, 
 
 and ventured to open the door. T was sitting before 
 
 some papers or parchments, alone, and his countenance 
 showed that he was in a worse humour than usual. On 
 seeing her errand, he suddenly rose from his chair, exclaim- 
 ing, in an angry tone — " What the brings you here 
 
 in this way, plaguing me while engaged at business, you 
 
 ! — Eh, woman?" and, Oh, my God ! in a sudden fit 
 
 of fury, he struck the waiter, wine, biscuit, and all, out 
 of her trembling hands to the floor, rudely pushed her out 
 of the room, and slammed the door violently in her face. 
 He did not re-open it, though he could not but have 
 heard her fall upon the floor, the shock was so sudden and 
 violent. 
 
 There, stretched across the mat, at the bottom of the 
 staircase, lay that suff"ering creature, unable to rise, till 
 her stifled sobbings brought the servant girl to her assist- 
 ance. 
 
 "I can't help saying it's most abominable usage of 
 you, ma'am ; it is — and I don't care if master hears me 
 say so neither/' said the girl, herself crying ; " for I'm
 
 312 THE WIFE. 
 
 sure he isn't worthy of the very shoes you wear — he 
 isn't." She was endeavouring- to lift her mistress, when 
 Mrs T ■ suddenly burst into a loud unnatural laugh, 
 
 and went off into violent hysterics. Mr T , hearing 
 
 the noise of talking and laughing, sprung to the door, 
 threw it open, and shouted to them to be " off with their 
 noise — disturbing business I " but the piteous spectacle 
 of his prostrate wife stopped him ; and almost petrified 
 with horror, he knelt down for the purpose of assisting 
 her all he could. * * * 
 
 About an hour after this occurrence, I happened to 
 call, and found her lying in bed, alone, her husband 
 having left her on business. When the servant told me 
 — and her mistress reluctantly corroborated what she said 
 — the circumstances above related, I felt such indignation 
 swelling my whole frame, that, had he been within reach, 
 I could not have resisted caning the scoundrel within an 
 inch of his unworthy life ! The recollection of this occur- 
 rence tortures me even now, and I can hardly believe 
 
 that such brutality as T 's could have been shown by 
 
 man I 
 
 Mrs T kept her room from that hour, and never 
 
 left it, till she was carried out for burial ! But this is 
 anticipating. 
 
 April Sthf 9thf lOth^ llth. — I see clearly that poor 
 
 Mrs T will never rise from her bed again. She has 
 
 drained the bitter cup of grief to the dregs ! She is one 
 of the meekest sufferers I ever had for a patient. She 
 says little to me or to any one ; and shows a regard — 
 a love for her unworthy husband, which, I think, can be 
 called by no other name than absolute infatuation. I 
 have never yet heard her breathe a hint to his disadvan-
 
 THE WIFE. 313 
 
 tage. He is not much with her ; and from what little I 
 have seen, I feel convinced that his eyes are opening to 
 a sense of the flagrant iniquity of his past conduct. And 
 what are the effects produced by his feelings of shame and 
 remorse ? He endeavours to forget all in the continual 
 stupor induced by liquor ! 
 
 April \2th — Mrs T delirious. Raved while I 
 
 was there about her child — convulsions — said something 
 
 about " cruel of Mr T to be drunk while his child 
 
 lay dying ; " and said many other things which shocked 
 me unutterably, and convinced me that her primary dis- 
 order was — a broken heart. I am sure she must have 
 endured a series of brutal usage from her husband. 
 
 April ISth The whole house upside down — in dis- 
 order and confusion from the top to the bottom — for there 
 is an execution in it, and the officers and an appraiser are 
 making an inventory of the furniture — poor, poor Mrs 
 T lying all the while on her deathbed I The ser- 
 vant told me afterwards, that her mistress, hearing strange 
 steps and voices, called to know what was the cause ; 
 and, on receiving word of the real state of matters, lifted 
 up her hands, burst into an agony of weeping, and prayed 
 that the Almighty would be pleased to remove her from 
 
 such a scene of wretchedness. T himself, I learned, 
 
 was sitting cowering over the kitchen fire, crying like a 
 child ! Brute I coward I fool ! 
 
 Such was the state of things at the time of my arrival. 
 
 I was inconceivably shocked, and hurried to Mrs T 's 
 
 room, with unusual haste and trepidation. I found her in 
 tears — sobbing, and exclaiming, " Why won't they let us 
 rest a little ! why strip the house before I am gone ? can 
 they not wait a little ? where, where is Mr T ? "
 
 314 THE WIFE. 
 
 I could not for several minutes speak myself, for tears. 
 At length I succeeded in allaying- her excitement and 
 agitation. At her request, I sent for the appraiser into 
 her room. He came, and seemed a respectable and feel- 
 ing- man. 
 
 " Are you bent upon stripping the house, sir, while 
 this lady is lying in her present dangerous state?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir, indeed, sir," replied the man, with consi- 
 derable emotion — " I'm sorry for it — very ; but it is my 
 duty — duty — ordered" — he continued, confusedly ;/' if I 
 had my own way, sir" 
 
 " But at least you need not approach this chamber, 
 sir," said I, rather sternly. He stammered something 
 like the words, " obliged — sorry — court of law," &c. Mrs 
 T again burst into an agony of tears. 
 
 " Retire, sir, for the present," said I, in an authoritative 
 tone, " and we will send for you soon." I then entered 
 into conversation with my poor persecuted patient, and 
 she told me of the £5000 settled to her separate use, 
 and which she intended, under a power in the deed of 
 settlement, to will to her husband. I spontaneously 
 promised to stand security for the satisfaction of the 
 execution, provided the creditors would defer proceed- 
 ings for three months. She blessed me for it I — This, 
 however, I afterwards learned, would be illegal, — at 
 least so I was told ; and I therefore wrote a cheque on 
 my banker for the amount awarded by the court, and 
 thus put an end to distress from that quarter. At Mrs 
 
 T 's urgent request, I returned to her bedside that 
 
 evening. I found a table with writing materials placed 
 before a chair, in which she begged me to be seated. She 
 then dictated to me her will — in which, after deducting
 
 THE WIFE. 315 
 
 the sum I had advanced in satisfaction of the execution, 
 and leaving me, in addition, sufficient to purchase a plain 
 mourning ring, she bequeathed the whole, absolutely 
 and unreservedly, to her husband ; and added, my hand 
 shaking while I wrote it down, " hoping that he will use 
 it prudently, and not entirely forget me when I am gone. 
 And if he should — if he should" — her utterance was 
 choked — '^ and if he should — marry again'* — again she 
 paused. 
 
 " Dear, dear madam ! compose yourself I Take time ! 
 This dreadful agitation will accelerate the event we are all 
 dreading !" said I. 
 
 " No — don't fear. I beg you will go on ! — If he 
 should marry again, may he use her — use her — No, no, 
 no ! — strike all the last clause out I Give me the pen 1" 
 I did as she directed me — struck out from the words, 
 *' and if he should," &c. and put the pen into her hand. 
 With trembling fingers she traced the letters of her name ; 
 I witnessed it, and she said, " Now, is all right ?" — " Yes, 
 madam," 1 replied. She then burst into a flood of tears, 
 exclaiming, " Oh, George I George ! this will show you 
 that, however tired you may have grown of me, I have 
 loved you to the end — I have — I have ?" She burst into 
 louder weeping. <' Oh ! it's hard, it's very hard to part 
 with him, though he might — he might have used me — 
 No!" She paused. I suffered her excited feelings to 
 grow calm; and, after some time spent in endeavouring 
 to soothe her, I took my departure, after witnessing one 
 of the most heart-breaking scenes I have ever encoun- 
 tered. Her husband could not be prevailed on to enter 
 her room that day ; but all night long, I was told, he sat 
 outside the door, on one of the steps of the stairs, and 
 more than once startled her with his sighs.
 
 316 THE WIFE. 
 
 April I4th to May ^th, — Sinkings rapidly. I shall be 
 astonished if she survive a week. She is comparatively 
 in a happy frame of mind, and has availed herself of the 
 consolations of religion to happy purpose. On this day 
 (May 6th) I succeeded in extracting from her the facts 
 which compose the former part of this narrative. Her 
 gentle palliating way of telling it, divested the conduct 
 of her husband of almost all blame- worthiness I She 
 will not allow me to make a harsh or condemnatory com- 
 ment all the way through ! She censured herself as she 
 went on ; accused herself of want of firmness ; said she 
 was afraid Mr T had been disappointed in her dis- 
 position ; said that if he had done any thing wrong, it 
 was owing to the bad companions who had enticed him 
 from the path of duty into that of dissipation ; that he 
 had not exactly neglected her, or wilfully ill-used her ; 
 but — ^but — 'twas all in vain — she could say nothing to 
 extenuate his guilt, and I begged her not I 1 left her, in 
 tears myself. 
 
 O woman I woman I woman ! " We had been brutes 
 
 without you," and the mean and miserable T was a 
 
 brute with you I 
 
 May 8th. — Mrs T wasted to a shadow ; all the 
 
 horrors of consumption I Her husband, though appa- 
 rently broken-hearted, cannot, though probably no one 
 will believe it — he cannot refrain from frequenting the 
 public-house ! He pretends that his spirits are so low, 
 so oppressed, that he requires the aid of stimulating 
 
 liquors I Mrs T made me promise this morning 
 
 that I would see her coffin closed ; and a small locket 
 containing a portion of her child's and husband's hair, 
 placed next her heart. I nodded acquiescence, for my 
 tongue refused me words. I felt choked.
 
 THE WIFE. 317 
 
 10^^. — I was summoned this evening to witness the 
 exit from our world of one of the sweetest, loveliest 
 spirits, that it was, and is, unworthy of I I was sent for, 
 not under the apprehension that her end was at hand, 
 but on account of some painful symptoms which had 
 manifested themselves since my visit in the morninj^. 
 It was about nine o'clock when I arrived, and found her 
 in a flow of spirits very unexpected, and rather unusual 
 in her situation. Her eye was bright, and she could talk 
 with a clearness and rapidity of utterance, to which she 
 had long been a stranger. She told me that she had 
 been awakened from sleep by hearing the sound of sweet 
 singing, which, I need hardly say, was wholly imagin- 
 ary. She was in a very happy frame of mind ; but 
 evidently in a state of dangerous excitement. Her sottish 
 husband was sitting opposite the fire, his face entirely 
 hid in his hands; and he maintained a stupid silence, 
 
 undisturbed even by my entrance. Mrs T thanked 
 
 me, in almost enthusiastic terms, for my attention to her 
 throughout her illness, and regretted that I would not 
 allow her to testify her sense of it, by leaving me a trifling 
 legacy. 
 
 " George — George ! " she exclaimed, with sudden and 
 startling energy — an impetuosity of tone, which brought 
 him in an instant, with an affrighted air, to the foot of 
 the bed. 
 
 " George, I've a message from Heaven for you ! 
 Listen — God will never bless you, unless you alter your 
 courses !" The man shrunk and trembled under the burn- 
 ing, overpowering glance of her eye. " Come, dearest," 
 said she, after a pause, in an altered tone, " Come — Doc- 
 tor will let you sit beside me for a few moments I "
 
 318 THE WIFE. 
 
 I removed, and made way for him. She clasped his hand 
 in hers. 
 
 " Well, George, we must part ! " said she, closing her 
 eyes, and breathing softly, but fast. Her husband sob- 
 bed like a child, with his face buried in his handkerchief. 
 — "Do you forgive me?" he murmured, half choked 
 with emotion. 
 
 " Yes, dear — dear — dearest husband ! — God knows I 
 do, from my heart I I forgive all the little you have ever 
 grieved me about I " 
 
 " Oh, Jane — Jane — Jane I " groaned the man, sud- 
 denly stooping over the bed, and kissing her lips in an 
 apparent ecstasy. He fell down on his knees, and cried 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Rise, George, rise," said his wife, faintly. He obeyed 
 her, and she again clasped his hand in hers. 
 
 " George, are you here — are you ? " she enquired, in a 
 voice fainter and fainter. 
 
 " Here I am, love ! — oh, look on me ! — look on me ! " 
 He sobbed, gazing steadily on her features. " Say once 
 more that you forgive me ! Let me hear your dear, bless- 
 ed voice once again — or — or " 
 
 " I DO ! Kiss me — kiss me," she murmured, almost 
 inaudibly ; and her unworthy — her guilty — husband kiss- 
 ed away the last expiring breath of one of the loveliest 
 and most injured women, whose hearts have been broken 
 by a husband's brutality ! 
 
 \2th. — This evening I looked in at the house where 
 my late patient lay dead, for the purpose of fulfilling my 
 promise, and seeing her locket placed near her heart, and 
 the coffin closed. I then went into the parlour, where 
 sat the bereaved husband, in company with his clerk, who
 
 THE WIFE. 319 
 
 had, ever since his engagement, shown a deep regard and 
 
 respect for Mrs T . After I had sat some moments 
 
 in their company — 
 
 " IVe something on my mind, Mr T ," said the 
 
 young man, suddenly, with emotion, " which I shall not 
 be happy till I've told you." 
 
 " What is it?" enquired his master, languidly. 
 
 " Do you recollect how often you used to praise my 
 draft-copying, and wondered how I got through so much 
 work ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, curse you, yes !" replied his master, an- 
 grily ; "what have you brought that up for now, eh?" 
 
 " To tell you, sir, that I did not deserve your praises" — 
 
 " Well — well — no more," interrupted his master, im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " But I must, and will tell you, that it was all done by 
 
 poor Mrs T , who learnt engrossing, and sat up whole 
 
 nights together, writing, that you might not lose your 
 business, till she was nearly blinded, poor, dear lady ! and 
 she would not ever let me tell you ! But I shall take 
 leave now to say," continued the young man, rising, and 
 bursting into tears — " I shall make free to tell you, that 
 you have behaved shamefully — brutally to her, and have 
 broken her poor heart — you have — and God will remem- 
 ber and curse you for it!" — And he left the room, and 
 never again entered the house, the scene of his beloved 
 mistress' martyrdom. 
 
 Mr T listened to all this without uttering a word 
 
 — his eyes dilated — and he presently burst into a fit of 
 loud and lamentable weeping, which lasted long after I 
 left the house ; and that evening he attempted to com-
 
 320 THE WIFE. 
 
 mit suicide f like one before him, unable to endure the 
 heavy smitings of a guilty conscience. 
 
 This paper has ex*cited some little attention, and in 
 quarters where I devoutly hope it may be useful. Very 
 many enquiries, also, have been made, as to the veracity 
 of its details. I would to Heaven that, for the honour 
 of humanity, I could say the principal incidents narrated 
 had no other basis than fiction ! I solemnly assure you, 
 reader, that they are true : I tell you, farther, that to the 
 best of my belief, the wretched husband still lives ! More 
 about him I cannot — dare not say. There are, really^ 
 many drafts of pleadings, and leases, &c. now extant, in 
 the handwriting of the amiable and unfortunate lady 
 whose sorrows are recorded above, and which have now 
 met with sympathy, I trust, from thousands. Another 
 incident, which has been considered improhahly atrocious 
 and brutal — that of pushing down the poor wife, with her 
 refreshments — is also true ; and the Editor farther 
 assures you, reader, that, even were this portion of the 
 narrative fictitious, he saw in private life a brutal husband 
 act similarly towards his wife — a beautiful woman, and 
 affectionate wife I 
 
 Wo, however, to the man of quick and delicate feel- 
 ing, that looks closely on even the commonest scenes of 
 life I How much must he see to shock and wound his 
 heart — to disgust him with his species ! But " the eyes 
 of the swinish see not, neither do their hearts feel."
 
 r 321 -} 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 GRAVE DOINGS. 
 
 My gentle reader — start not at learning that I have 
 been, in my time, a resurrectionist. Let not this 
 appalling word, this humiliating confession, conjure up in 
 your fancy a throng of vampire-like images and associa- 
 tions, or earn your " Physician's" dismissal from your 
 hearts and hearths. It is your own groundless fears, my 
 fair trembler ! — your own superstitious prejudices — that 
 have driven me, and will drive many others of my breth- 
 ren, to such dreadful doings as those hereafter detailed. 
 Come, come — let us have one word of reason between 
 us on the abstract question — and then for my tale. You 
 expect us to cure you of disease, and yet deny us the 
 only means of learning how ? You would have us bring 
 you the ore of skill and experience, yet forbid us to break 
 the soil, or sink a shaft ! Is this fair, fair reader ? Is 
 this reasonable ? 
 
 What I am now going to describe was my first and 
 last exploit in the way of body-stealing. It was a gro- 
 tesque, if not a ludicrous scene, and occurred during the 
 period of my " walking the hospitals," as it is called, 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 322 GRAVE DOINGS. 
 
 which occupied the two seasons immediately after my 
 leaving Cambridge. A young, and rather interesting 
 female, was admitted a patient at the hospital I attended ; 
 her case baffled all our skill, and her symptoms even 
 defied diagnosis. Now, it seemed an enlargement of 
 the heart — now, an ossification — then this, that, and 
 the other ; and, at last, it was plain we knew nothing at 
 all about the matter — no, not even whether her disorder 
 was organic or functional, primary or symptomatic — or 
 whether it was really the heart that was at fault. She 
 received no benefit at all under the fluctuating schemes 
 of treatment we pursued, and, at length, fell into dying 
 circumstances. As soon as her friends were apprized 
 of her situation, and had an inkling of our intention to 
 open the body, they insisted on removing her imme- 
 diately from the hospital, that she might " die at home." 
 In vain did Sir and his dressers expostulate vehe- 
 mently with them, and represent, in exaggerated terms, 
 the imminent peril attending such a step. Her two 
 brothers avowed their apprehension of our designs, and 
 were inflexible in exercising their right of removing their 
 sister. I used all my rhetoric on the occasion, but in 
 vain ; and, at last, said to the young men, " Well, if you 
 are afraid only of our dissecting her, we can get hold of 
 her, if we are so disposed, as easily if she die with you as 
 with us." 
 
 " Well — we'll troy that, measter," replied the elder,, 
 while his Herculean fist oscillated somewhat signifi- 
 cantly before my eyes. The poor girl was removed 
 accordingly to her father's house, which was at a certain- 
 •village, about five miles from London, and survived her 
 arrival scarcely ten minutes ! We soon contrived to*
 
 GRAVE DOINGS. 32S 
 
 receive intelligence of the event ; and as I and Sir 
 
 two dressers bad taken great interest in the case through- 
 out, and felt intense curiosity about the real nature of 
 the disease, we met together and entered into a solemn 
 compact, that, come what might, we would have her 
 body out of the ground. A trusty spy informed us of 
 the time, and exact place of the girl's burial ; and on 
 
 expressing to Sir our determination about the 
 
 matter, he patted me on the back, saying, " Ah, my fine 
 fellow! — IF you have spirit enough — dangerous," &c. 
 &c. Was it not skilfully said? The Baronet farther 
 told us, he felt himself so curious about the matter, that 
 if fifty pounds would be of use to us in furthering our 
 purpose, they were at our service. It needed not this, 
 nor a glance at the eclat with which the successful issue 
 of the affair v/ould be attended among our fellow-students, 
 to spur our resolves. 
 
 The notable scheme was finally adjusted at my rooms 
 
 in the Borough. M and E , Sir 's dressers, 
 
 and myself, with an experienced ^^grab" — that is to say, 
 a professional resurrectionist — were to set off from the 
 Borough about nine o'clock the next evening — which 
 would be the third day after the burial — in a glass coach 
 provided with all " appliances and means to boot." Dur- 
 ing the day, however, our friend, the grab, suffered so 
 severely from an overnight's excess, as to disappoint us 
 of his invaluable assistance. This unexpected contre- 
 temps nearly put an end to our project ; for the few other 
 grabs we knew, were absent on professional tours ! 
 Luckily, however, I bethought me of a poor Irish porter 
 — a sort of " ne'er-do-weel" hanger-on at the hospital — 
 whom I had several times hired to go on errands. Thi&
 
 324 GRAVE DOINGS. 
 
 man I sent for to my rooms, and, in the presence of 
 my two coadjutors, persuaded, threatened, and bothered 
 into acquiescence, promising him half-a-g-uinea for his 
 evening's work — and as much whisky as he could 
 drink prudently. As Mr Tip — that was the name he 
 went by — had some personal acquaintance with the sick 
 grab, he succeeded in borrowing his chief tools ; with 
 which, in a sack large enough to contain our expected 
 prize, he repaired to my rooms about nine o'clock, while 
 the coach was standing at the door. Our Jehu had 
 received a quiet douceur in addition to the hire of him- 
 self and coach. As soon as we had exhibited sundry 
 doses of Irish cordial to our friend Tip — under the effects 
 of which he became quite " bouncible," and ranted about 
 the feat he was to take a prominent part in — and equip- 
 ped ourselves in our worst clothes, and white top-coats, 
 we entered the vehicle — four in number — and drove off. 
 The, weather had been exceedingly capricious all the 
 evening — moonlight, rain, thunder, and lightning, fitfully 
 alternating. The only thing we were anxious about, 
 was the darkness, to shield us from all possible observa- 
 tion. I must own, that, in analyzing the feelings that 
 prompted me to undertake and go through with this 
 affair, the mere love of adventure operated quite as power- 
 fully as the wish to benefit the cause of anatomical science. 
 A midnight expedition to the tombs ! — It took our fancy 
 
 amazingly ; and then — Sir 's cunning hint about the 
 
 " danger" — and our " spirit !" 
 
 The garrulous Tip supplied us with amusement all the 
 way down — rattle, rattle, rattle, incessantly ; but as soon 
 as we had arrived at that part of the road where w e were 
 to stop, and caught sight of church, with its hoary
 
 GRAVE DOINGS. 325 
 
 Steeple grey — glistening^ in the fading moonlight, as 
 though it were standing sentinel over the graves around 
 it, one of which we were going so rudely to violate — Tip's 
 spirits began to falter a little. He said little — and that 
 at intervals. To be very candid with the reader, none 
 of us felt over much at our ease. Our expedition began 
 to wear a somewhat harebrained aspect, and to be envi- 
 roned with formidable contingencies which we had not 
 taken sufiSciently into our calculations. What, for 
 instance, if the two stout fellows, the brothers, should 
 be out watching their sister's grave ? They were not 
 likely to stand on much ceremony with us. And then 
 
 the manual difficulties ! E was the only one of us 
 
 that had ever assisted at the exhumation of a body — and 
 the rest of us were likely to prove but bungling workmen. 
 However, we had gone too far to think of retreating. 
 We none of us spoke our suspicions, but the silence that 
 reigned within the coach was tolerably significant. In 
 contemplation, however, of some such contingency, we 
 had put a bottle of brandy in the coach pocket ; and 
 before we drew up, had all four of us drunk pretty deeply 
 of it. At length, the coach turned down a by-lane to 
 the left, which led directly to the churchyard wall ; and 
 after moving a few steps down it, in order to shelter our 
 vehicle from the observation of highway passengers, the 
 coach stopped, and the driver opened the door. 
 
 " Come, Tip," said I, " out with you." 
 
 " Get out, did you say, sir ? To be sure I will — 
 Och ! to be sure I will." But there was small show of 
 alacrity in his movements as he descended the steps ; for, 
 while I was speaking, I was interrupted by the solemn 
 clangour of the church clock announcing the hour of
 
 326 GRAVE DOINGS. 
 
 midnight. The sounds seemed to warn us against what 
 we were going to do. 
 
 " 'Tis a cowld night, yer honours," said Tip, in an 
 under tone, as we successively alighted, and stood to- 
 gether, looking up and down the dark lane, to see if any 
 thing was stirring but ourselves. " 'Tis a cowld night 
 — and — and — and" — he stammered. 
 
 " Why, you cowardly old scoundrel," grumbled M , 
 
 " are you frightened already ? What's the matter, eh ? 
 Hoist up the bag on your shoulders directly, and lead the 
 way down the lane." 
 
 " Och, but yer honours — och ! by the mother that 
 bore me, but 'tis a murtherous cruel thing, I'm thinking, 
 to wake the poor cratur from her last sleep." He said 
 this so querulously, that I began to entertain serious 
 apprehensions, after all, of his defection ; so I insisted 
 on his taking a little more brandy, by way of bringing 
 him up to par. It was of no use, however. His reluc- 
 tance increased every moment — and it even dispirited 
 us. I verily believe the turning of a straw would have 
 decided us all on jumping into the coach again, and 
 returning home without accomplishing our errand. Too 
 many of the students, however, were apprized of our 
 expedition, for us to think of terminating it so ridicu- 
 lously. As it were by mutual consent, we stood and 
 paused a few moments, about half way down the lane. 
 
 M whistled with infinite spirit and distinctness ; 
 
 E remarked to me that he " always thought a church- 
 yard at midnight was the gloomiest object imaginable;'' 
 and I talked about business — "soon be over" — "shallow 
 grave," &c. &c. 
 
 " Confound it — what if those two brothers of hers
 
 GRAVE DOINGS. 327 
 
 SHOULD be there ? " said M abruptly, making a dead 
 
 stop, and folding his arms on his breast. 
 
 " Powerful fellows, both of them ! " muttered E , 
 
 We resumed our march — when Tip, our advanced guard 
 — a title he earned by anticipating our steps about three 
 inches — suddenly stood still, let down the bag from his 
 shoulders, elevated both hands in a listening attitude, 
 and exclaimed, " Whisht ! — whisht ! — By my soul, what 
 was that?" We all paused in silence, looking palely 
 at one another — but could hear nothing except the 
 drowsy flutter of a bat wheeling away from us a little 
 over-head. 
 
 " Fait — an' wasn't it somebody spoking on the far 
 side o' the hedge, I heard ?" whispered Tip. 
 
 « Poh— stuff, you idiot !" I exclaimed, losing my tem- 
 per. " Come, M and E , it's high time we had 
 
 done with all this cowardly nonsense ; and if we mean 
 really to do any thing, we must make haste. 'Tis past 
 twelve — day breaks about four — and it is coming on wet, 
 you see." Several large drops of rain, pattering heavily 
 among the leaves and branches, corroborated my words, 
 by announcing a coming shower, and the air was sultry 
 enough to warrant the expectation of a thunder-storm. 
 We therefore buttoned up our great-coats to the chin, 
 and hurried on to the churchyard wall, which ran across 
 the bottom of the lane. This wall we had to climb over 
 to get into the churchyard, and it was not a very high 
 one. Here Tip annoyed us again. I told him to lay down 
 his bag, mount the wall, and look over into the yard, 
 to see whether all was clear before us ; and, as far as the 
 light would enable him, to look about for a new-made 
 grave. Very reluctantly he complied, and contrived to
 
 328 GRAVE DOINGS. 
 
 scramble to the top of the wall. He had hardly time, 
 however, to peer over into the churchyard, when a flut- 
 tering streak of lightning flashed over us, followed, in a 
 second or two, by a loud burst of thunder I Tip fe^ll in 
 an instant to the ground, like a cockchaffer shaken from 
 an elm-tree, and lay crossing himself, and muttering 
 Paternosters. We could scarcely help laughing at the 
 manner in which he tumbled down, simultaneously with 
 the flash of lightning. " Now, look ye, gintlemen," said 
 he, still squatting on the ground, " do you mane to give 
 the poor cratur Christian burial, when ye've done wid 
 her ? An' will you put her back again as ye found her ? 
 'Case, if you won't, blood an' oons " 
 
 " Hark ye now, Tip," said I, sternly, taking out one 
 of a brace of empty pistols I had put into my great-coat 
 pocket, and presenting it to his head, " we have hired you 
 on this business, for the want of a better, you wretched 
 fellow ! and if you give us any more of your nonsense, by 
 
 , I'll send a bullet through your brain ! Do you 
 
 hear me. Tip ?" 
 
 " Och, aisy, aisy wid ye ! don't murther me ! Bad 
 luck to me, that I ever cam wid ye ! Och, and if ivir I 
 live to die, won't I see and bury my ould body out o' the 
 rache of all the docthers in the world ? If I don't, divil 
 burn me I " We all laughed aloud at Tip's truly Hiber- 
 nian expostulation. 
 
 " Come, sir, mount ! over with you ! " said we, help- 
 ing to push him upwards. " Now, drop this bag on the 
 other side," we continued, giving him the sack that con- 
 tained our implements. We all three of us then followed, 
 and alighted safely in the churchyard. It poured with 
 rain ; and to enhance the dreariness and horrors of- the
 
 GRAVE DOINGS. 329 
 
 time and place, flashes of lightning followed in quick suc- 
 cession, shedding a transient awful glare over the scene, 
 revealing the white tombstones, the ivy-grown venerable 
 church, and our own figures, a shivering group, come on 
 an unhallowed errand ! I perfectly well recollect the lively 
 feelings of apprehension — " the compunctious visitings 
 of remorse" — which the circumstances called forth in my 
 own breast, and which, I had no doubt, were shared by 
 my companions. 
 
 As no time, however, was to be lost, I left the group, 
 for an instant, under the wall, to search out the grave. 
 The accurate instructions I had received enabled me to 
 pitch on the spot with little difficulty ; and I returned to 
 my companions, who immediately followed me to the 
 scene of operations. We had no umbrellas, and our great- 
 coats were saturated with wet ; but the brandy we had 
 recently taken did us good service, by exhilarating our 
 spirits, and especially those of Tip. He untied the sack 
 in a twinkling, and shook out the hoes and spades, &c. ; 
 and, taking one of the latter himself, he commenced 
 digging with such energy, that we had hardly prepared 
 ourselves for work, before he had cleared away nearly 
 the whole of the mound. The rain soon abated, and 
 the lightning ceased for a considerable interval, though 
 thunder was heard occasionally grumbling sullenly in 
 the distance, as if expressing anger at our unholy doings 
 — at least, I felt it so. The pitchy darkness continued, 
 so that we could scarcely see one another's figures. We 
 worked on in silence, as fast as our spades could be 
 got into the ground ; taking it in turns, two by two, as 
 the grave would not admit of more. On — on — on we 
 worked, till we had hollowed out about three feet of
 
 830 GRAVE DOINGS. 
 
 earth. Tip then hastily joined together a long iron 
 screw, or borer, which he thrust into the ground, for 
 the purpose of ascertaining the depth at which the coffin 
 yet lay from us. To our vexation, we found a distance 
 of three feet remained to be got through. " Sure, and 
 by the soul of St Patrick, but we'll not be done by the 
 morning!" said Tip, as he threw down the instrument, 
 and resumed his spade. We were all discouraged. Oh, 
 how earnestly I wished myself at home, in my snug 
 little bed in the Borough ! How I cursed the Quixotism 
 that had led me into such an undertaking I I had 
 no time, however, for reflection, as it was my turn to 
 relieve one of the diggers ; so into the grave I jumped, 
 and worked away as lustily as before. While I was 
 thus engaged, a sudden noise, close to our ears, so start- 
 led me, that I protest I thought I should have dropped 
 down dead in the grave I was robbing. I and my fel- 
 low-digger let fall our spades, and all four stood still for 
 a second or two, in an ecstasy of fearful apprehension. 
 We could not see more than a few inches around us, but 
 heard the grass trodden by approaching feet ! They 
 proved to be those of an ass, that was turned at night 
 into the churchyard, and had gone on eating his way 
 towards us ; and, while we were standing in mute ex- 
 pectation of what was to come next, opened on us with 
 an astounding hee-haw I hee-haw ! hee-haw ! Even after 
 we had discovered the ludicrous nature of the inter- 
 ruption, we were too agitated to laugh. The brute was 
 actually close upon us, and had given tongue from under 
 poor Tip's elbow, having approached him from behind, 
 as he stood leaning on his spade. Tip started suddenly 
 backward against the animal's head, and fell down.
 
 GRAVE DOINGS. 331 
 
 Away sprung" the jackass, as much confounded as Tip, 
 kicking- and scampering like a mad creature among the 
 tombstones, and hee-hawing incessantly, as if a hundred 
 devils had got into it for the purpose of discomfiting us. 
 I felt so much fury, and fear lest the noise should lead 
 to our discovery, I could have killed the brute, if it had 
 been within my reach, while Tip stammered, in an 
 affrightened whisper — " Och, the baste I Och, the baste ! 
 The big black divel of a baste ! The murtherous thun- 
 dering" and a great many epithets of the same sort. 
 
 We gradually recovered from the agitation which this 
 provoking interruption had occasioned ; and Tip, under 
 the promise of two bottles of whisky as soon as we arrived 
 safe at home with our prize, renewed his exertions, and 
 dug with such energy, that we soon cleared away the 
 remainder of the superincumbent earth, and stood upon 
 the bare lid of the coffin. The grapplers, with ropes 
 attached to them, were then fixed in the sides and 
 extremities, and we were in the act of raising the cofifin, 
 when the sound of a human voice, accompanied with 
 footsteps, fell on our startled ears. We heard both dis- 
 tinctly, and crouched down close over the brink of the 
 grave, awaiting in breathless suspense a corroboration 
 of our fears. After a pause of two or three minutes, 
 however, finding that the sounds were not renewed, we 
 began to breathe freer, persuaded that our ears must have 
 deceived us. Once more we resumed our work, suc- 
 ceeded in hoisting up the coffin — not without a slip, 
 however, which nearly precipitated it down again to the 
 bottom, with all four of us upon it — and depositing it 
 on the grave-side. Before proceeding to use our screws, 
 or wrenchers, we once more looked and listened, and
 
 332 GRAVE DOINGS. 
 
 listened and looked ; but neither seeing nor hearing any 
 thing, we set to work, prized off the lid in a twinkling, 
 and a transient glimpse of moonlight disclosed to us the 
 shrouded inmate — all white and damp. I removed the 
 
 face-cloth, and unpinned the cap, while M loosed 
 
 the sleeves from the wrists. Thus were we engaged, 
 
 when E , who had hold of the feet, ready to lift them 
 
 out, suddenly let them go — gasped — " Oh, my God ! 
 there they are! " and placed his hand on my arm. He 
 shook like an aspen leaf. I looked towards the quarter 
 whither his eyes were directed, and, sure enough, saw 
 the figure of a man — if not two — moving stealthily 
 towards us. " Well, we're discovered, that's clear," I 
 whispered as calmly as I could. " We shall be mur- 
 dered I " groaned E . " Lend me one of the pistols 
 
 you have with you," said M , resolutely ; " By , 
 
 I'll have a shot for my life, however I " As for poor Tip, 
 who had heard every syllable of this startling colloquy, 
 and himself seen the approaching figures, he looked at 
 me in silence, the image of blank horror ! I could have 
 laughed even then, to see his staring black eyes — his little 
 cocked ruby-tinted nose — his chatteriug teeth. " Hush 
 
 — ^hush!" said I, cocking my pistol, while M did 
 
 the same ; for none but myself knew that they were 
 unloaded. To add to our consternation, the malignant 
 moon withdrew the small scantling of light she had been 
 doling out to us, and sank beneath a vast cloud, " black 
 as Erebus," but not before we had caught a glimpse of 
 two more figures moving towards us in an opposite 
 direction. " Surrounded !" two of us muttered in the 
 same breath. We all rose to our feet, and stood together, 
 not knowing what to do — unable in the darkness to see
 
 GRAVE DOINGS. 333 
 
 one another distinctly. Presently we heard a voice say, 
 in a subdued tone, " Where are they ? where ? Sure I 
 saw them ! Oh, there they are I Halloa — halloa ! " 
 
 That was enough — the signal of our flight. With- 
 out an instant's pause, or uttering another syllable, off 
 we sprung, like small-shot from a gun's mouth, all of us 
 in different directions, we knew not whither. I heard 
 the report of a gun — mercy on me ! and pelted away, 
 scarcely knowing what I was about, dodging among the 
 graves — now coming full-butt against a plaguy tomb- 
 stone, then tumbling on the slippery grass — while some 
 one followed close at my heels panting and puffing, but 
 whether friend or foe, I knew not. At length I stum- 
 bled against a large tombstone ; and finding it open at 
 the two ends, crept under it, resolved there to abide the 
 issue. At the moment of my ensconsing myself, the 
 sound of the person's footsteps who had followed me 
 suddenly ceased. I heard a splashing sound, then a 
 kicking and scrambling, a faint stifled cry of, " Ugh — 
 oh — ugh ! " and all was still. Doubtless it must be one 
 of my companions, who had been wounded. What could 
 I do, however? I did not know in what direction he 
 lay — the night was pitch-dark — and if I crept from my 
 hiding-place, for all I knew, I might be shot myself. I 
 shall never forgot that hour — no, never ! There was I, 
 squatting like a toad on the wet grass and weeds, not 
 daring to do more than breathe ! Here was a predica- 
 ment ! I could not conjecture how the affair would 
 terminate. Was I to lie where I was till daylight, that 
 then I might step into the arms of my captors ? What 
 was become of my companions? — While turning these 
 thoughts in my mind, and wondering that all was so
 
 834 GRAVE DOINGS. 
 
 quiet, my ear caught the sound of the splashing of water, 
 apparently at but a yard or two's distance, mingled with 
 the sounds of a half-smothered human voice — " Ugh ! 
 ugh! Och, murther ! murther! murther!" — another 
 splash — '« and isn't it dead, and drowned, and kilt I 
 am 
 
 Whew ! Tip in trouble, thought I, not daring to speak. 
 Yes — it was poor Tip, I afterwards found — who had 
 followed at my heels, scampering after me as fast as fright 
 could drive him, till his career was unexpectedly ended 
 by his tumbling — souse — head over heels, into a newly 
 opened grave in his path, with more than a foot of water 
 in it. There the poor fellow remained, after recovering 
 from the first shock of his fall, not daring to utter a word 
 for some time, lest he should be discovered — straddling 
 over the water with his toes and elbows stuck into the 
 loose soil on each side, to support him. This was his 
 interesting position, as he subsequently informed me, at 
 the time of uttering the sounds which first attracted my 
 attention. Though not aware of his situation at the 
 time, I was almost choked with laughter as he went on 
 with his soliloquy, somewhat in this strain : — 
 
 " Och, Tip, ye ould divel ! Don't it sarve ye right, 
 ye fool ? Ye villanous ould coffin robber ! Won't ye 
 burn for this hereafter, ye sinner ? Ulaloo I When ye 
 are didd yourself, may ye be trated like that poor cratur 
 — and yourself alive to see it ! Och, hubbaboo ! hub- 
 baboo ! Isn't it sure that I'll be drowned, an' then it's 
 kilt I'll be !" — A. loud splash, and a pause for a few 
 moments, as if he were readjusting his footing — " Och ! 
 an' I'm catching my dith of cowld ! Fait, an' it's a divel 
 a drop o' the two bottles o' whisky I'll iver see — Och,
 
 GRAVE DOINGS. 335 
 
 och, och ! "—another splash — " och, an' isn't this uncom- 
 fortable I Murther and oons ! — if e^er I come out of this 
 — shan't I be dead before I do ? " 
 
 « Tip — Tip — Tip!" I whispered, in a low tone. There 
 was a dead silence. " Tip, Tip, where are you ? What's 
 the matter, eh?" — No answer; but he muttered in a 
 low tone to himself — " Where am I! by my soul ! Isn't 
 it dead, and kilt, and drowned, and murthered I am — 
 that's all!" 
 
 « Tip— Tip— Tip ! " I repeated, a little louder. 
 
 *' Tip, indeed I Fait, ye may call, bad luck to ye — 
 whoever ye are — but it's divel a word I'll be after spaking 
 to ye." 
 
 " Tip, you simpleton ! It's I — Mr ." 
 
 In an instant there was a sound of jumping" and 
 splashing-, as if surprise had made him slip from his 
 standing again, and he called out, " Whoo I whoo ! an' 
 
 is't you, sweet Mr I What is the matter wid ye ? 
 
 Are ye kilt ? Where are they all ? Have they taken ye 
 away, every mother's son of you ? " he asked eagerly, in a 
 breath. 
 
 " Why, what are i/ou doing. Tip ? Where are t/ou 9" 
 
 " Fait, an' it's being washed 1 am, in the feet, and in 
 the queerest tub your honour ever saw ! " A noise of 
 scuffling, not many yards off, silenced us both in an 
 
 instant. Presently I distinguished the voice of E , 
 
 calling out — " Help, M I" (my name) — " Where 
 
 are you ?" The noise increased, and seemed nearer than 
 before. I crept from my lurking-place, and aided at 
 Tip's resurrection, when both of us hurried towards the 
 spot whence the sound came. By the faint moonlight, 
 I could just see the outlines of two figures violently
 
 336 GRAVE DOINGS. 
 
 struggling and grappling together. Before I could come 
 up to them, both fell down, locked in each other's arms, 
 rolling over each other, grasping one another's collars, 
 gasping and panting as if in mortal struggle. The moon 
 suddenly emerged, and who do you think, reader, was 
 E 's antagonist ? Why, the person whose ap- 
 pearance had so discomfited and affrighted us all — our 
 COACHMAN. That worthy individual, alarmed at our 
 protracted stay, had, contrary to our injunctions, left his 
 coach to come and search after us. He it was whom we 
 had seen stealing towards us ; his steps — his voice had 
 alarmed us, for he could not see us distinctly enough to 
 discover whether we were his fare or not. He was on 
 the point of whispering my name it seems — when we 
 must all have understood one another — when, lo, we all 
 started off in the manner which has been described ; and 
 he himself, not knowing that he was the reason of it, had 
 taken to his heels, and fled for his life ! He supposed 
 we had fallen into a sort of ambuscade. He happened 
 to hide himself behind the tombstone next but one to 
 
 that which sheltered E . Finding all quiet, he and 
 
 E , as if by mutual consent, were groping from their 
 
 hiding-places, when they unexpectedly fell foul of one 
 another — each too affrighted to speak — and hence the 
 scuffle. 
 
 After this satisfactory denouement, we all repaired 
 to the grave's mouth, and found the corpse and coffin 
 precisely as we had left them. We were not many 
 moments in taking out the body, stripping it, and thrust- 
 ing it into the sack we had brought. We then tied the 
 top of the sack, carefully deposited the shroud, &c. in 
 the coffin, re-screwed down the lid — fearful — impious 
 
 3
 
 GRAVE DOINGS. 337 
 
 mockery ! — and consigned it once more to its resting--place 
 — Tip scattering- a handful of earth on the lid, and ex- 
 claiming reverently — " An' may the Lord forgive us for 
 what we have done to ye!" The coachman and I then 
 
 took the body between us to the coach, leaving M , 
 
 and E , and Tip, to fill up the grave. 
 
 Our troubles were not yet ended, however. Truly it 
 seemed as though Providence were throwing every 
 obstacle in our way. Nothing went right ! On reaching 
 the spot where we had left the coach, behold it lay 
 several yards farther in the lane, tilted into the ditch — 
 for the horses, being hungry, and left to themselves, in 
 their anxiety to graze on the verdant bank of the hedge, 
 had contrived to overturn the vehicle in the ditch — and 
 one of the horses was kicking- vigorously when we came 
 up — the whole body off the ground — and resting on that 
 of his companion. We had considerable difficulty in 
 righting the coach, as the horses were inclined to be 
 obstreperous. We succeeded, however — deposited our 
 unholy spoil within, turned the horses' heads toward^ the 
 high-road, and then, after enjoining- Jehu to keep his 
 place on the box, I went to see how my companions were 
 getting on. They had nearly completed their task, and 
 told me that " shovelling in, was surprisingly easier than 
 shovelling out!" We took great pains to leave every 
 thing as neat, and as nearly resembling what we found it, 
 as possible, in order that our visit might not be suspected. 
 We then carried away each our own tools, and hurried as 
 fast as possible to our coach, for the dim twilight had 
 already stolen a march upon us, devoutly thankful that, 
 after so many interruptions, we had succeeded in effecting 
 our object. 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 338 GRAVE DOINGS. 
 
 It was broad daylight before we reached town — and a 
 wretched coach company we looked — all wearied and 
 dirty — Tip especially, who, nevertheless, snored in the 
 corner as comfortably as if he had been warm in his bed. 
 I heartily resolved, with him, on leaving- the coach, that 
 it should be " the devil's own dear self only that should 
 timpt me out agin body -snatching ! " * 
 
 * On examining tlie body, we found that Sir 's suspicions were 
 
 fully verified. It was disease of the heart — but of too complicated a 
 nature to be made intelligible to general readers. I never heard that 
 the girl's friends discovered our doings ; and, for all they know, she is 
 
 now mouldering away in churchyard ; whereas, in point of fact, 
 
 her bleached skeleton adorns 's surgery ; and a preparation of 
 
 her heart enriches 's museum ! 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 EDINBURGH : PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PAUL'S WORK.
 
 UNIVERSmr OF ILLINO»-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 056527036 
 
 
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