L I E) R^ARY OF THE UN IVERSITY Of ILLINOIS S2.3 m\ U. n '.'Sl^A 1 r i V ^l. ^^U./Ly^ ;? 0^''^^^^^^:^^-zytc.^^^^ /^'^. TOM THORNTON. Darling & Son, Printers, 31, Leadenhall Street, London. TOM THOimON OR, LAST EESOUECES. BY V/ILLXATVT PL ATT, " Quod putavi fore gaudium, id extitit exitium. "' y *A\jOiX/*^iJ\CiA.A^ IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: JAMES BLACKWOOD, PATERNOSTER ROW. MDCCCLIV. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/tomthorntonorlas01thor i K TOM THORNTON. PART I. 5 ■/> CHAPTER 1. -J How is it, clear reader, that so many of my countrymen, after planning a continental trip, with all the appliances of content and comfort at their command, and promising _•: themselves all sorts of gaiety and gratifica- ^ tion, which health, leisure, and unlimited . credit/ can command, get cross and disgusted * "^Talmost before they have well digested their - first French dinner ? Simply, because so 5^any start from their native shores, blinded ■ by such vulgar, pig-headed prejudices, that - tliey will not see anything in its right light, :,or rather, in any light but their own, and so \ VOL. T. ^ Z TOM THORNTON. return (and let them), as ignoranti/and to be A^ pitied as they set forth. ' Poor Dobson in foreign parts ! Why, dear Sir, you may know the animal among a thousand/" and a most respectable, well- conditionea animal he is/ his heart's pride, John Bull, stamped on every inch of him. Who disputes that he is lord and master over all the world ? who don't know that his beef and plum puddings, to say no- thing of his Queen and constitution, are the envy of the universe ? who doubts for a moment he could buy up, if he liked, fifty such pinched, parched, paltry-looking fel- lows as that opposite^ver his bouilli and half bottle oftenpenny claret? But he need not look so sad about it. How the French- man over his leek soup laughs and talks, as if there were no such thing as care in the world, and how dull and dumb is Dobson ! What ails him ? My dear Sir, there is no roast beef at table ; therefore is the noble TOM THORNTON. 3 mind of Dobsoii overclouded, and you see that unhappy expression in the corners of his mouth ; therefore looks Dobson down- cast and distrustful around him ; therefore revert his thoughts in gloomy pride to his own happy little isle, his country, her glo- rious institutions, his home, his wife, his little one^ the pride of Old England ; and therefore blesses Dobson himself that he was born within the sound of Bow bells, and has a perfect right, if he like, to be a martyr to the end of the chapter to beef steaks and blue devils. But there are briglit exceptions. With such uninteresting, irreclaimable mortals as Dobson and Co. we have nothing to do at present, but only with those far more enlightened and estimable folks^ho, like myself, can see and appreciate/ and take V- measure by other's merits ; who can acknow- ledge beauty, when they find it, in a Hot- tentot, honesty in a Jew, gentleness in a B 2 a 4 TOM THORNTON. Turk, courtesy in a Fleming, sincerity in the French, and something fit to eat and drink, too, at their tables d'hote, besides beef steaks and double stout. Just as if Dobson could not have stayed at home with Mrs. D. and the little ones, and the beef- steak puddings and porter, and not come fuming and fretting on the continent, mak- ing himself miserable and ridiculous ; and just as if Frenchmen would depart from all established usages for his sake, and dine at six o'clock off beef steaks and apple dump- lings ! Perfectly suicidal is it of Dobson to sacrifice himself so y he knew very well, and how often did Mrs. Dobson remind him, when he would persist in crossing the water, that those nasty^coldj sour, clarets never did ao-ree with him, and that he never could endure a drop of grease in his gravy. He knew it all, andv^if he will so sacrifice him- self, as I said before, there is no one to blame but himself. TOM THORNTON. O With some such reflections as these, in- duced by the presence of as veritable a Dobson as eyes ever beheld^ on board the Queen-of-the-French packet, which was conveying, one heavenly July day, as motly a group as you will see in a day's journey^ as fast as steam could carry them to Bou- logne, I paced in high spirits up and down the deck, in that harmonious state of mind, that enviable serenity of disposition towards all mankind, which makes everybody and ever}'thing appear in their best colours. In fact I had set out, like that most amiable traveller Sterne, with a determination to be pleased, the consequence of which was that not an object that met my gaze but had some charm or interest peculiarly its own ; and^hile poor Dobson seemed the perpe- tual victim of mortifications, everything appeared to me to conspire for my joy and edification ; notwithstanding the dismal phiz of my fellows-traveller, and his dark hints, Sk 6 TOM THORNTON. **/o look sharp after my baggage, and take care those mscally Frenchmen didn't rob me of the teeth ont of my head." Mercy ! what a hurrying and scampering and pushing and palavering, as we neared the quay and were drawn tight along shore/ ^ And here poor Dobson's troubles seemed to begin in good earnest. The last I saw of him, as I mounted the ladder, was that he was in the hands of two douaniers, who were in vain endeavouring to convince him that no personal affront was intended by his being compelled to leave the boat ^sithout his bags, and to give up two bottles of old port, which Mrs. D. excellent creature ! y had smuggled into the lining of his roque- laire. In a moment more I was on terra £, / jirma^ Wnding my way to the Custom-house, when .amongst the countless heads that pressed forward to scrutinize the new comers, I was struck by the appearance of a tall gentlemanly-looking man of decayed ap- TOM THORNTON. 7 pearance, who kept his eyes riveted on me from the moment I left the boat. That his face was perfectly familiar to me I was sure — the image of my old friend and college chum, Tom Thornton ; but how altered — / it was impossible — it could not be the once handsome^legant Tom Thornton — impos- sible ! Yet what wrecks will not extrava- gance and dissipation soon leave their vic- tims ! I returned his gaze ; he saw that he was recognised, and a slight colour flushed his cheeks, which the moment before were as pale as marble/ I turned eagerly towards the spot where he had been standing, but he had left it, and disappeared. " Par ici, monsieur, par id — entrez, entrez /" urged a sharp voice at my side ; and I was hurried on, and in due time, be- ing found regie in all respects, was consign- ed to the tender mercies of the Commission- aires. In less than an hour afterwards I had come to the determination to adopt on my R 8 TOM THORNTON. return home, extensive reforms in my own culinary arrangements, and that that must be a very fastidious stomach indeed^which could depart unsatiated from the table d'hote of mine host of the Hotel des Bains, As I was sipping my claret and wonder- ing how Dobson got on with the douaniers, in bustled the waiter, and handed me a note that had just been left for me. — " Did any- one wait ?" " No, the garcon who brought it left im- mediately." It would have been the easiest thing in the world to have broken the seaL and seen in a moment from whom it came; and yet, I don't know why, I continued eyeing it, and turning and twisting it about, tilKcatching the ^ waiter's eye wistfully watching my move- ments, I w^as brought again to my senses. " A heron with a heart in its beak — the Thornton's crest, by George !" The restless dark grey eyes, once so lustrous, with their ^ TOM THORNTON. 9 long silken lashes, that had rivetted me on landing, instantly recurred to me ; and^s the conviction flashed on me that that haggard X fornv and my old and loved friend Tom C Thornton,c,^vere one and the same person, I broke the seal, and read as follows — " Dear Jack — My heart is thumping at my ribs, and my hand shakes so, I can hardly guide my pen. I am wild with joy — saw you land just no\y aud think you re- cognised me. You might well have doubt- ed the evidence of your senses ; there's no concealing it — times are sadly altered with ^y^:yU^ me ; nevertheless, it was your old friend and chum, Tom Thornton. Though there's scarcely left a vestige of what you once knew me, my heart is as stanch as ever, and, if yours is the same, come and drink your coffee and smoke a mild W^with me ^^^\ to-night, and talk over old times. It may be the last time we shall ever meet ; yes, B 3 9> 10 TOM THORNTON. Jack, I feel — but nUmporte ! ^^ind, Rue ^^^1- ^ d'Amhois, No ^ third story ; take care and don't break your neck. If you don't come by seven, shall place it to the score, not of any diminution of your love for me, but that you hadn't time, or couldn't find your way ; so, au revoir, and believe that you have, as ever, the affection and best wishes of Thursday, &c. &c." T. T. Now, had I left my native shores, as thou- sands do, impressed with those inaccessible notions of self-consequencei^ which shut up the hearts of Englishmenjcjand make them the solitary animals they are, even in a crowd, here was the very thing to raise the spleeii/ and hurry me on my journeys grum- bling and stiff-necked. My dinner, then, would have disagreed with me ; the splendid salon in which I was sitting, with its pretty tasteful muslins and scarlet draperies, its colossal mirrors and gilt cornices, would, in TOM THORNTON. 11 comparison with my own well-appointed dining-room, have appeared trumpery and comfortless. I should immediately have noticed the difference between my own ^ massive and highly-polished table^ by Gil- ^ low, solid as rock-work, and the long, nar- row, ricketty affair, which, extending almost from one end of the room to the other, seemed hardly strong enough to sustain the imposing row of gaudy epergnes, plated- covers, and flower baskets, showily ranged along its centre. Most likely, too, the sleeky, cringing, de- bonnaire figures of the^arco/2^,with their yel- low faces and killing curls, would have sadly contrasted with the contemplation of the rubicund cheeks, spruce velvet breeches, and clean white stockings of my own Absalom — that pattern of what a footman should be. Something, no doubt, would have start- ed up at every turn to have reminded me that I was not at home, and that not so be- A- y ^rta/^/:^Lf ni.if^'^ 12 TOM THORNTON. ing, I was justified in'lDpJ^J^ as wretched -UM^eeif, and as disagreeable to every ovLQ^^^tm^a^ti/- as possible ; but such had not been the feelings with which I had left the home of my fathers ; that home I loved, and fully appreciated the superior arrangements of H^'/^^^e^ my own menage ; nor would I have exchang- ed Absalom and his velvet breeches^ for all ^ the sausage-curled, cossack-trousered gar- cons, in all Europe : but I had voluntarily bade adieu to Absalom and his manifold at- tractions for awhile, and made up my mind to think as little of myself^ and as well as possible of my neighbours, all of whom seemed to smile upon me — becausiji sup- pose, I smiled on them — with a heSty un- mistakable weIcomey(J[ ^fiSil^^ \\^^^^ been a savage not to have responc^ to. Other- wise, I might have regarded the invitation of a poor devil in adversity, although an old and intimate fi^nd of better days, as a piece of unpardonable im pertinences which it was V 4 % ^ TOM THORNTON. 13 beneath an Englishman, traveUing for plea- sure^ with his pocket-book crammed with bank notes, to notice. As it was, nothing could have happened to please me better than this fortunate rencontre with my old chunu the beloved companion of my boy- hood, the bosom friend and confidant of my earliest and happiest affections. Had we not been inseparable from child- ^ /7y hoocpK^H^d we not travelled together through ^ the different forms at Eton^members of the ^ same college^ were we not linked together Eton^membe] :ejt'w( bv every tie that binds two devoted hearts »' »■ togethei;^and was I not acquainted with every incident of his careerx how he had succeeded to a good estate — how by reck- less profusion it had been all squandered — his headstrong passions, his fatal attach- ment for the beautiful daughter of a French officer, which his family bad never forgiven, and the pittance allowed him by a maiden- aunt, who still loved him, for his support/^ 14 TOM THORNTON. g^y-l^^n^^LJ^ ^^^-(/^>^^^ /y llis pride, his Obstinacy ? his generosity, his frank-heartediiess — all i3leaded in his favour, as I called to mind the many joyous days we had passed together. Yes, my heart swelled within me as I anti- cipated the emotion of our meeting thus^ ^-^ after so long a separation. I knew my man — selfishness had nothing to do with it — my purse was safe, even if any sneaking mis- givings on that score had crossed me; so, putting his note into my pocket, and asking my way to the Rue cVAmhois^ I set out, de- termined to be rather twenty minutes be- fore than after the appointed time. " Pray, madame, have the goodness to direct me to the Rue d'Ambois" " Ah, 771072 Dieu ! the Rue d'Amhois ? • y^ y^^ ^^^^^ never find it Jif Mo7isieu7' had better have a co77i77iissio72ai7'e—it was an ugly quar- ter y did 77i07isieur know the Rue Royale P" I was a stranger, and knew nothing but that tnadame was very obliging. s TOM THORNTON. 15 " Then, ecoutez)(— monsieur will have the kindness to take the second turning to the left; that will take him to the Rue JTant- /" A- perd Jd^ant'paix ; if monsieur will have the goodness to go straight on till he comes to the Rue de la pampe, then turn again to the left, and then give himself the trouble to take the second turning to the right, he will see the Rue Royale ; he has only to ob- serve the third turning to the left again, and any one wilLshew him the Rue d'Ambois" " Merci beaucoup, madame,'' and follow- ing the line pointed out with admirable patience, I reached at last, after many en- quiries, the street wdiere my friend had chosen his habitation. Something like a cold shudder crept over me as I stood with- ^^ in the doorway of a grim gloomy. edifice of ufCylZ^-u^ some four or five stories. The entrance ^ was almost pitch dark, as was the whole way up the steep winding staircase, the only thing recognisable being the horrible Xy 16 TOM THORNTON. stench that prevailed on every side — that peculiar effluvium characteristic of French lodging-houses ; and I soon found that his warning^o " take care and not break my neck," was no needless precaution, for, more than once, CJwing to the clammy slip- y^ periness of the stairs*^nd the necessity of feeling my way step by step, I could hardly keep my footing, till, fairly out of breath, I reached the landing of floor num- ber three. Tom had heard my approach, and in a moment we were in each others arms, em- bracing each other as old friends ought, whatever may have been their ups and downs of fortune. When we last parted he was rich, I was poor ; now I wanted no- thing, he seemed to lack everything; but ^ this did not diminish one jot/ the joy we (jL felt at that moment ; our hearts yearned Hv towards each other^^^with but one feeling, that of reciprocal and unaltered attachment. TOM THORNTON. 17 " Well," said he, after an internal strug- gle of some moments, during which the glistening tear and the choking utterance told what no words could have expressed ; " well, this is kind of jou, Jack, that it is^ {^__JL^ knew you would come if jou coulcV;y^ou /'^^ saw nie>. I was sure of it. Ah, I don't wonSer you hardly knew me — my mother scarcely would V non sum quails erain, 'Gad, though, if I had known you had been coming, you shouldn't have dined there off their soupe maigre, though I had changed my last five franc piece." " Soupe maigre /" said I, " 'faith, I've dined like an emperor — six courses and dessert, my boy, for half-a-crown ; that beats the beef steaks and porter at the Blue Posts, eh ?" " Ah, those were happy days, Jack — 'gad, but if you'll take pot luck with me to- morrow, I'll give you a beef steak and a glass of pale ale at Lowe's,(^as good as any Jf 18 TOM THORNTON. in Europe. But how are all at home, eh ? fivA the governor, getting shakey, eh ? and Aunt Lucy ? Zounds, man ! but yotmapo / growing fat : ah ! the world goes well with you, and so it ought. Well, how long d'ye stay ? Oh ! to Paris to-morrow ? 'Gad ! you must stop a day or two with us, and see the lions. Devereux and the Morleys just left ; you recollect Frank Morley — money Morley as we called him at Christ Church — a precious screWj^ You know ho oamo ■m-JJoj* all hiig unclo's money, and married ^ .Jenkinson's daughter? well, we knocked against each other in the Grande rue the — '/other day^by St Nicholas! I thought he / would have squeezed my hand off; though, poor fellow ! he fidgetted a little at the sight of my old hat — was almost in tears to hear that Aunt Lucy was as irreconcilable as ever — implored me to make any conces- y^ sions ; '/(\vas a thousand pities for me to cut off my nose to be revenged of my face ' — TOM THORNTON. 19 promised to call if he had time^ hadn't time, but sent me the civilest note next ^ daj^ with a long lecture about Aunt Lucy's money and forgiveness, and a five-pound note from Caroline, as a souvenir, with her best wishes. What d'ye think of that — art- ful wasn't it ? as if he didn't reckon on its return by the next mail. But what d'ye think of my lodgings — not so bad, eh, Jack ? near the sky, eh — airy enough ; what the (^^/^iy deuce d ^OB a man want more ? — there's a table, three chairs — not counting that vaga- bond out at elbows and not a leg to stand on — a wash-stand, and a cupboard for the prog, when there's any ; and, as for a car- pet, it's a luxury I have learnt to despise ; besides, not having a regular establishment, I'm the worst hand in the world at a broom or a duster," " Nothing could be snugger," said I, with a wretched endeavour at a smile, and a slight shudder — " and your dormitory ?" 20 TOM THORNTON. " Ah, by St. Nicholas ! I'd forgotten that," he replied, approaching a recess in the wall, and drawing a curtain ; " what emperor could repose in greater luxury — a clever dodge that curtain, isn't it ? some- thing Oriental in it : you see what may be done with a little providence, eh ?. like the - cobbler's stall, / ' It serves for my parlour, and bed room, and all.' Come, now don't be looking so straight down your nose, or I shall fancy you are thinking of sending me a five-pound note — artful that, wasn't it, of Morley. By the bye, did I ever tell you about the turbot ? 'gad, sir, I had had some duck shooting at Morley, and, knowing his wife loved fish, took them down a turbot I gave a guinea for^/ meant for Lord Sefton. * Magnificent fish that,' said Frank, ' and Caroline much obliged, Tom,' and all that sort of thing^ /^ like turbot pretty well myself, only the sauce comes so confoundedly expensive. / TOM THORNTON. 21 But what are you looking so grave about ? have the kindness to take another chair — I won't answer for that vagabond." Grave, very grave, in truth, I felt, al- though I did my best to control the painful emotion that was bursting within me ; nor did the tone of forced pleasantry with which my poor friend strove to conceal his own too visible anguish of heai-t/ make matters better. "Tom," said I, after a mutual pause of some moments, for I could disguise no longer, " this is dreadful ! — nay, I must and will speak ! What, in Heaven's name, can you be thinking of to be rotting your life away in this hole — to be wasting the best years of your life in wilful indigence and in- action, when, as Frank Morley says, a word of concession from your lips would place you at freedom, and affluence ! Nay, hear me — you shall ! By our old and lasting friendship — by every tie of affection and at- ^ 22 TOM THORNTON. tachment that has ever linked our hearts together, T claim the privilege of a friend — a true and stanch friend, to protest against such obstinacy, such false pride, such mad- ness ! Has not your Aunt Lucy offered to pay every debt, remove all encumbrances, and establish you in a splendid home, with the certainty of her large fortune by-and- bye, if you will only be rational, and re- nounce that " " Hold, Jack, if you love me — not a word of her ! No man, not even my dearest friend, shall breathe that name with dis- respect in my hearing." " Tom, you misunderstand me. This is wilful folly — to sacrifice yourself and the brilliant prospects before you, to lie rotting here, an exile from your country and kin- dred, the victim of obstinacy ^nAj^f^^^^B^ ■sionsr when you might command, if you would, every enjoyment of lifeTf^to give up all — the land of your birth, your family, /iccc^^^!^C t^^'^'iy^^^'^-*^^ , TOM THORNTON. 23 friends, the fortune that is yours if you will z/^P-^^^ '^ but hold out your hand for it^ your proper position in society as a man and a gentle- man, and all for the sake of " " Peace, Jack — you know not what you say. Promise me that you will never, while I live, disclose what I am about to tell you." " Is that your wish ?" " It is ; you promise on the word of a gentleman." " I do ; you never found me false." " Enough ; Jack, she is dead — Blanche is dead " As he uttered these words with . ^Cc^^^ tremulous lips, his cheeks -^^i^e-ghastly pale, ^^<*'^z^^j^?-?^£[_ louder. " Ah ! it is my little angel — my ^ other Blanche," he cried, as he sprang to- wards a door, which, I now perceived, opened into a small apartment, or cabinet, into which he entered, and, returning immediate- ly, beckoned me to follow him. C 2 28 TOM THORNTON. " I had prepared," said he, smiling, " a little surprise for you, but the gipsy has spoilt it all — there, then ! what think you of my nursery ?" " Wonders will never cease," I exclaimed, approaching the bed, snuggled up in which lay the most lovely infant girl, wide awake and staring at me with her large blue eyes, I had ever beheld. " This is, indeed, a paradise,^ for, without flattery, I never saw anything so like an angel as that beautiful child in my life." " Isn't she perfection, eh, Jack ? Did she want to kiss her father, then — there — there ! Jack, since God gave me that cherub, I have been an altered man : she'll be the image of her mother, if she live. What d'ye think my aunt would say, if she could see us all at this moment? I could have wished, for that sweet angel's sake, to have had a brighter prospect." " Wished, Tom ? I have no patience — TOM THORNTON. 29 the higliest aspirations of the fondest of fathers could not be sooner answered/ than, with God's blessing, may yours Tom, for that dear child's sake, if indeed you love her, and value her welfare, beyond the self- ish indulgence of your own foolish pride and suicidal resentments." " Hush, hush, messieure^V you will make ^ mademoiselle cry if you talk so loud," urged the gentle-toned voice of a stout comely look- Vjl ing young woman/ who sat by the bedside of her charge, endeavouring to pacify her de- termined struggles to attract her father's notice. " Ah, Josephine, you should have put her on Madame Dagueherfs pretty lace cap, with the white satin bows ; the gipsy isn't fit to be seen in that ugly muslin." " Ah, if I had but known that monsieur expected company." It mattered nothing, I insisted, whether it was lace or muslin. ^ 30 TOM THORNTON. ^ My judgment, however, not worth much I must owiu in such matters, was overruled by both father and nurse ; but, as it was universally agreed that she looked as beau- tiful as an angel as she was, what more could be desired^^" God bless thee, my sweet child, my other Blanche, my^nly treasure !" ejaculated her father, as he leant over his babe and kissed her cheek ; " Heaven watch over thee ! And, Josephine, rock her now to sleep, if you can, and then you can leave the door ajar, so that we may hear her if she awake, and let us have the candles and coffee." X t/A^l^^ /A^^ey'— ia^^. TOM THORNTON. 31 CHAPTER II. Jack, that poor creature is a treasure to me, a better croaturc never lived ; since the death of my mfe she has been nurse, mo- ther, all in all^o my child ; I regard \i^'[^Un^ ^^^ as one committed in an especial manner to ^^/^.^^^ my care and protection by Providence ; but ^ sit down, and I will tell you her story. You must bear with me, my dear fellow, if I make a fool of myself sometimes ; but for that safety valve, my heart had given way long ago ; well, then — It was about fifteen months ago, during the height of the revo- ^£-1^-^^ lutions, when, you know, the continent was all in arms, and it was just the turn of a die whether it was to be the reign again of terror and anarchy for France, or of peace and good order ; when, deserted by her ^ 32 TOM THORNTON. rightful rulers, and left for her guidance to the tender mercies of demagogues, poets, missionaries, and adventurers of every class, she was reeling this way and that, so that no man dared predict what the morrow would bring forth ; when honest men's hearts quailed within them, and every cou- rier that galloped through the stree^brought ^e who would share the spoils must not shrink from the battle/ ^ne^^ struggle more and the victory is ours." In vain were expostulations ; in vain his friends besought him not to rush to ^rtain - ruin ; in vain his wife, tlien within a few days of her confinement, implored him on her knees^and with streaming eyes^not to leave her. " Would you," said he, " that I seem a ^ ^^^^-c^^atyO'ti^ TOM THORNTON. 35 recreant in my kinsmen's eyes/ Would you - — ^^"^^^ ^x^^^^tliat I desert the a oblo cause to which my whole life has been devoted, and for which my father shed his heart's best blood ?" " Go not, at all events," entreated his Avife, "till you have received your babe NL from my arms^and blessed it with a father's blessing. Forget you, Louis, that in a few days I shall be a mother — the mother of your child ? Oh, Louis, can you leave me thus ?" Overcome for the moment by her tears and supplications, he pressed her fondly to his bosom, an(Lpromising not to leave her till he had " blessed his babe with a father's blessing," quitted not her bedside till, exhausted by fatigue, she had sunk into a deep sleep. Alas ! when she closed those streaming eyes*/ they had smiled with con- fiding joy for the last time on her heart's best treasure. Despatch after despatch ar- rived ; another letter more urgent and more taunting from Hugo— he was gone ! When ^ 36 TOM THORNTON. she awoke next day, Louis was far on his way to the scene of slaughter. ^ In less than twenty-four hours^came the ^) intelligence that he was brained by a musket- ball, while fighting, like a lion, at the barri- cade^ side by side with Hugo, with a bra- very worthy of a better cause. The same day, in a fit of frenzy, she gave birth to her child. Poor thing ! troubles seldom come singly ; hardly had she recovered, in some measure, from the first stunning effects of this terrible shock, when suddenly she found herself left pennrless, with many others, by the flight of the notary, into whose hands her husband, only the day be- fore he left his home, had, for greater secu- ritvy as he thought, placed his all. Oh, Jack ! if there is one epithet in our lan- guage more indicative, more condemnatory of the wretch^who, under the veil of an immaculate name and reputation, thus uses the confidence placed in him to entrap the TOM THORNTON. 37 unsuspicious — to pillage the widow and the orphan^^^who exact, apparently, in all his dealings, of blameless conduct^eemingly, and conversation^f rigid piety, profuse in small gifts of charity, obsequious to the priesthood, is never without the poor on his lips, and a subscription in his hands — oh, hurl it at such as, like that villanous no- tary, carries beneatli that immaculate front the black heart of the hypocrite and impos- tor< who, under the guise of a fair reputa- tion, revels in pei-fidy and plunder, till, compelled to throw off the mask, all the consolation left his victims is to know that either his corpse floats in the waters of the Liane, or that, as some atonement for his crimes, he has founded and endowed, out of his ill-gotten gains, another church on the other side of the Atlantic ! Verily, he shall have his reward ! Husbandless and penntless, yet was the heart of poor Jose- phine not utterly without comfort, while her. ^Z^i^< ^^^ y/U ^^^ ^^ 38 / TOM THORNTON. babe was left her ; norj^srm nbn with on ti -rr smile of gratitude for the many kind friends who flocked round her in her hour of need. Among these, not one seemed so welcome to her, or to whose conversation she listened with such evident interest and consolation, as Blanche — my angel Blanche ; for^if to // minister peace and joy, and patience, and comfort and resignation, be the attributes of angelic natures, then was she indeed an angel. We were sitting one day, at the close of evening, over our coffee, after a visit Blanche had been paying her poor neighbour, in consequence of the dangerous illness of her baby, and were putting our wits to work to devise some means for her future support, when hurried footsteps coming up stairs, followed by a sharp knock at the door, drove all the blood from Blanche's cheeks. — " Something has happened, Tom," said she, faintly, and turning pale as marble, TOM THORNTON. 39 " I am sure of it, for I have had a load all ^ — /Z day at my heart/ Jflark ! entrez, entrezp and — c/^ in rushed Adolph Pernet, the Dubois' next door neighbour, breathless seemingly Avith haste. — " What is the matter, Adolph?" r-g^^^d(?T;uande4 Blanche/ "^ou come from Jo- — Y_ sephine ; speak, speak ! I left her but just ^ now better, and her child — her child ?" " Died, poor thing' ! shortly after madarne Aa^a^t^-^ left the cottage." BTt^ayf^r ' " I feared as much ; and Josephine — poor Josephine ?" " Mad — raying mad ! Pauline had left the room but a moment ; she must have snatched the poor dead babe from its cradle, left the cottage by the back way, and has gone we know not whither." " Did none of the neighbours see which way she went ?" " No, but they thought she had gone^ perhaps^ to madame, whom she loves — whom every body loves." 40 TOM THORNTON. " Would it were so, good Adolph !" cried Blanche : " but there is no time to lose — 1/ -A O/J (^/T ^^ heart forbodes evil^hasten back — as- semble the neighbours — let instant search be made in every direction/ Z*oor unhappy child ! her reason has forsaken he^ i^o, go ! — g^ I will but throw over me my cloak, and ^ will follow you." " Impossible-^' said Adolph, " 'tis a fear- > ful night." As he spoke, the wind, which had risen to a hurricane, drove the pelting rain in torrents against the windows, and, sweeping in violent gusts up the staircase, almost extinguished the light of our solitary candle. — " No, no, Blanche," said I, " this is no night for such as you — leave tfei? to l^^ me ; nay, I insist on it, and depend .^b^ we o^ a^ shall soon return with good tidings of your poor friend." This I said to reassure her, although my heart foreboded the worst, no less than hers. It was indeed, as Adolph said, a fear- 7 TOM THOHNTON. 41 y/ ful night, Jack^ pitch dark, the wind blowing a hurricane, and driving the storm thick and fast into our teeth ; but on we pressed, till, having crossed the bridge over the ^ '^ Lian^ to Can^eure, I thought I saw the uiA^^^-^^ dim outline of a female forrn^hurrjing on ^K. by the river side, about a hundred yards be- fore me. A terrible presentiment instantly //flashed across ine^ and^rdering Adolph / to follow me at a short distance, the bet- ter to avoid discovery, I turned out of the main path/ and, taking a circuitous route, so as to keep the figure in sight without being observed, I hastened on, till coming to some broken ground where lay a pile of loose stones, I could advance near enough to dis- a cover that my fears were too well founded, and that it was indeed the form of poor Josephine, with her lifeless infant pressed to her breast, that stood on the verge of eternity before me. As I gazed on her, uncertain how to act for the best, she sud- /y-cof 42 TOM THORNTON. denly stopped for a momeiiy and glanced p{ hurriedly around her, therLhugging her babe ^/ still closer to her heart, on she went again — stopped — retraced her steps, as if undeter- mined, and .suddenly bounding forward again, it was with the greatest difficulty owing to the unevenness of the ground, I could keep up with her. At length, as if actuated by some sudden resolution, she stood still, an(L sinking on her knees, seemed in the act of prayer. I saw there was not a moment to lose ; unperceived I crossed the space that separated us till within twenty yards of her, when, springing from the earth, she turned her head, an distrain- ing her babe to her breast, ere I could rush forward to her rescue, had sought a refuge from her sorrows in the dark bosom of the flood. In a moment I had thrown off my cloak, and plunging into the streairuwhere A the edge of a white mantle was visible above the waters, succeeded, after a terrible strug- TOM THORNTON. 43 gle, in briDging mother and child to shore, and conveying them, with Adolph's assist- ance, in safety to her home. The rest I will leave you to imagine. That night, Jack, was the happiest of my life. Jack, there is no joy under Heaven, like that which springs from a good deed doneK Well, after a w^hile she got round — was sensible of her sin — prayed for forgiveness — and she knows she is forgiven, for she says her child appeared to her as an angel of light in her sleejy and told her that God had pardoned her, and that her Louis was also blessed and happy. It was soon after this that Blanche's con- finement took place; I dare not dwell on that scene, Jack ushe died giving birth to her child ; the recollection of that night is stamped here. Jack, never to be effaced. Since her death. Heaven bless her! that poor thing has been nurse, mother, all in allto my babe. 1 can't help it. Jack, if I make a fool of myself. You see now why '/ 9. — ay 44 TOM THORNTON. I regard her as a God-send, as one com- mitted by Providence in an especial manner to my care ; and you see toothy she loves and tends her charge as if it were her own." There was a knock at the outer door at this momenUwhich fortunately diverted the melancholy train of thought into which poor Tom's mind was again relapsing — " Entrez, entrez^'^ said he, as the knock was repeated; " ah, Pierre with the coffee !" and in walked a spruce grinning garcon from a neighbour- ing cafe, bearing a covered jug smoking hot in his hand; having deposited which, and arranged cups and saucers on the table, he grinned again, bowed, and vanished from the room. By this time Tom had resumed his natural spirits, and now strove/ all he ^ ^ could^ to chase away the cloud of sadness^^ Jy which, in spite of all my efforts, 1 could not altogether disguise. — " I say. Jack, you can't get such coffee as this in England/ (come, — C cheer u])/ Mh, you were thinking, I'll bet a TOM THORNTON. 45 O guinea, of the jovial days, eh/ when we used to sit, like two grand Turks, sipping our Mocha out of old seire ; it wasn't such stuff as this though." " You may well call Josephine a trea- sure," said I ; " I'd give twenty guineas if my man Absalom could make coffee like Josephine — it is excellent." " Would you though," laughed Tom; " then give your money to Madame Jacques opposite. I always get my coffee from the Red Cat — they are noted for it ; it saves fuel too. 'Gad, sir, there's a poor de^^l over head, drove his four-in-hand once, lives on it and a herring six days out of the sevens j / ^ lalk of this being a hoW 'gad, Jack, you / / should see the crib over head." A gentle tap at the outer dooiv announced cK a visitor. i " Don't stir," said Tom ; " it's only poor Sanguine, my neighbour," pointing to the ceiling, " stepped down to borrow a lucifer ; ^ 46 TOM THORNTON. come in!" and in walked a tall, gamit, Don Quixotte-looking figure, of some fifty years/ more or less, whose threadbare garb and famished visage^ contrasted strangely with the proud look and lofty bearing/ the — ■ / consciousness of superior birth and intel- lect^ which not even the direst misfortunes can wrest from their possessor ; nay, the more cruelly fortune pursues the philoso- pher — and no man had fairer claim to that honoured title than Septimus Sanguine — the more does his mind seem to rise superior to its attacks, and, conscious of the host within ;/^^J^ himself, to set at nought its -gtet4^^&t^ machi- J/ nations y the rustier grows his hat, the more / jauntily will he wear it on parade ; the seedier his coat, the higher goes his head, the more his chest expands ; and, though he i}^€J/\\2A not broken fast for four-and-twenty hours, let his dearest friend beware how he asks him to dinner if he love him. — " There is not a countryman, Jack, of my TOM THORNTON. 47 acquaintance in Boulogne, and I know them all," said Tom, as soon as Mr. Sanguine, with a profound bow and many apologies, had retired, bearing between his forefinger and thumb, without the slightest embarrass- ment, the half of a candle and a lucifer or two, borrowed of my friend, " no, not one, that I have a greater respect for than Septimus Sanguine. 'Gad, sir, I am as sure of my candle and matches to-morrow y^-; morning as I am that he will do me the honour to borrow them again before night- fall: I can never induce him to take a whole candle ; and I'm not sorry for it, as it gives me the pleasure of his society every night for an hour. We are the best of neighbours ; we respect each other's pecu- liarities y we can't be cordial, that is impos- sible ; he is proud of his blood, his pedigree, his learning, for he's a great scholar — can t/i^ talk 4eB^ languages; I am proud only of my O little angeL- asleep yonder, and my Adrian 48 TOM THORNTON. Ostard there ; but we are excellent friends / — A- nevertheless/ He need not sit the long winter's evenings in the dark, and I can have his broom; my tea-leaves are at his service/ and^hen I am ill, I want not a nurse to sit by my bedside, and tend me like a brother, and lull me to sleep^o, with an y /A ode from Horace/ or a chorus of Sophocles, if I want a lullaby." ^ " Sanguine — Sanguina^^I can't think where I have heard that name, Tom ; and that strange face and figure, as fami- V^ liar to me^ as if I had seen them but yes- terday." «' Zounds, man ! don't you remember San- guine Septimus, as we used to call him, w^ho took the double first at Magdalen, and married the widow of that rascally Irish pauper peer who ruined him ?" " Impossible, Tom, that that can be the once-happy Septimus Sanguine, who called Frank Morley out for questioning his pedi- i c^^n-L ^ u^i^^^ TOM THORNTON. 49 gree, and /when we laughed at him for his aristocratic airs, used to spout — De gustibus non dis. — I'd rather be A beggar among kings, and bow the knee — Ay, pick up crumbs in halls of high estate, Than feast to surfeit with the ignoble great ! Oh, horrible ! Tony what a shadow !" " My dear fellow, one meal, by good luck, a day, and that not every day of the week, either, sadly tries a man's good looks ; especially if born, as any one can see at a glance, to three courses and a dessert every day of the year." " And^eLhis fortune, how ample !" " Five thousand a year, till the Jews got hold of him." « Who left him " " Not a stiver ; and yet, though starve he must almost but for the few wretched francs he picks up by teaching the dead languages, 'gad, sir, to see him turn out on holi- days^ you would take him for the Czar at least." D _ /A^^ yM.^:^ LIBRARY IINIVERSITY OP !M!Mn»Q 52 TOM THORNTON. looking for the bee's- wing in his host's best port — to mark his look of easy nonchalance, as the rueful glances of the quidnuncs are shot first at him, then at the last edition of the Times between his knees — to see hii^ J^^ A\dth his coat tails over his arms^ and his ^ eyes fixed on the ceiling, roasting his beam- ends before the fire, in spite of Brown's short cough, and Smith's unutterable dis- gust ; 'gad. Jack, you would never guess/ V thatafter payment of the reckoning and the odd sous to Marcus, that great man, that scion of a noble race, had happy been to take a franc for all the coin, of every realm, he had left in the world." Q^h^Oy^/ " You-^aii^ well call him a philosopher, /-y Tom ; if fortune spites him, he has his in- ^ demnityyand snaps his fingers in her face, seemingly." " To be poor, Mr. Thornton," he often says to me, " is bad enough ; but to seem so, is the devil to pay. Eslo quod esse ^ TOM THORNTON. 53 videris, sir, is all very pretty, and, were poverty no sin in the world's eyes, a good maxim enough ; but for poor Sanguine, sir, beaten, broken-down, to seem as well as know that he is not worth three-halfpence — worse luck to him — would be a stretch of moral worth, of magnanimitv^society ^ (/"^^^ ^ don't appreciate. Don't you see, Mr. Thorn- ton, that the merit lies in hiding from the world's eye the real nakedness of the land/T — / Vv ouldn't it be sheer lunacy, sir, as the ^ world wags (unless you would be kicked)/ ^1 out at elbows, to ask credit for a new surtout ? 'Gad, sir, as I have said in the history of my life, which I intend giving the world some day, but that's entre nous — /Have stomach always with fat cajDon lined, And like an Emperor you may be dined ; Have velvet suits and satins to your back, Though poor as Job, and nothing need you lack. Wliile fortune smil'd, and nought he seem'd to need, On_ev'ry side he had a friend indeed ; But no"^Jvvith scarcely salt, sir, to his porridge, And e'en for thaylike slave compell'd to forage — 54 TOM THORNTON. Shorn of all titles to the world's respect. At every turn he gets the cut direct. But Sanguine snaps his fingers at his foes. And has indemnity for all his woes ; Nor would he forfeit, to be made Lord Mayor, One drop of genuine blood that circles there. Yet, spite of rusty suit and cut direct, q All treat the name of Sanguine with respect/ ^ /~-/ Blood, blood ! sir, notwithstanding seedy hat "~^ And famish'd phiz, they can't depreciate that. " / ^y x^v^V •'^^ were his best friend to say ' ' Sanguine, my boy, you'll dine with me to-dayw If Sanguine knows himself, to bed heM go, ' f^ . Sans dinner — supperless— than he should know, ' Howe'er the grumbling stomach gave the lie Direct, mayhap, to his philosophy — Howe'er the carnal eye might basely fire At thoughts which beef and pudding would inspire, /i And e'en, by chance, a recreant tear-drop tol^ A^ The tale nought else so plainly could unfold, ^J-^. Though forc'd for food to borrow, beg, or steal, /C /^ / That Septimus was hard up for a meal?^ ^N. / But what say you to a mild W/ — there's a ^ . / beauty for yoiy Pontet's Cabanas, A^No. 1, / warranted, or my name's not Tom Thorn- ton." " They seem to be excellent," said I, ^ taking one up/ and examining it with the air of a connoisseur. TOM THORNTON. 55 " You'll never guess, Jack, how I got j fc booet i^apital joke as ever you heard. You ^7f^ know Felix 2onnereau, eh ? Mowbray's — • / man, obliging to an extreme — any thing, sir^ five hundrecL or fifty thousand, it's all /^^-"the^same to Felix, only let him see his way /— l^£^U^*t^i/ ^ Hy cleary-well, I was hard up, ft^^ jmgulft g- oc-^,^ v^ currence for me, you'll say k Felix knew^ / - would give my birthright w kiHot^ r three y ^ hundred — took a trip across on purpose— ^ }L behaved beautifully — ^gave us a sumptuous feed at Lowe's/ JMowbray in the chair, Charley Strong vice, O'Hara and Plumley r, niak ing the half dozen, "^^t^^ sir, how the j^ J?^^^/ champagne did now iW-l' Try one of these ^^ Cabanas of I twenty years he has never joined in * begone dull care,' without a pang, and at the sounds of kindness or congratulation could burst into a flood of tears." " Help yourself, my boy, to a weed and a glass of wine," suggested Tom, reaching a long necked bottle and glasses from the cupboard, and putting them on the table, " and be hanged to care till to-morrow ; w^hat says the song, eh ? — * Puff away, pufF away, pufF away care, Blow your misfortunes into the airT*" ' " I should not care so much about it, Mr. Hartley," continued Mr. Sanguine, having drained his glass, seemingly with TOM THORNTON. 61 great relish ; " let the fickle goddess play her pranks with me — that don't grieve me ; it's a long lane that has no turning — she'll come coquetting back again some day, sir. O Look ye, Mr. Hartley ; tboro io but one life, (J\^ sir — one, almost in articulo, absolutely sick- ly^ not worth a year's purchase, sir, between Septimus Sanguine and the baronetcy ; 'gad, gentlemen, that's something like-^^I shouldn't mind, I say, a fig about it; but how to carry on the war till then, certainly is a puzzler, Mr. Hartley, now that Greek and Latin are drugs, mere drugs, sir. 'Gad, sir, better be a marker at a billiard table in Boulogne/ than trust to the eloquence of a Cicero or a Demosthenes for a crust and a clean shirt." " I shouldn't wonder," I replied, hardly knowing what to say. " Appearances^nust be kept up, Mr. Hartley — there's the rub !" " I tell him. Jack," observed Tom, smil- a 62 TOM THORNTON. • / ing, " that he brushes his best suit too vi^aJ ' much^Vadr sin it would last him out ^ '/ much^"'ga4r sir, splendidly till he came to his paternal ^ acres^ but for that eternal brushy '^d.ap- ^^^^^ pearances that leave a man with but one coat to his back, and are not contented till they've robbed that of every vestige of its nap, who would trouble his philosophy for them ?" " They are the pests of society," assented I, " the besetting sin — the curse of the times, Mr. Sanguine." " True, true," added he ; " that must be granted : from the palace to the cottage the evil reigns supreme/ that baneful spirit — - / of competition which makes the rich man ^ poor, and the poor contemptible ; .but where / lies the sin, sir ?" ' " Not with Mr. Thornton and Sir Septi- mus Sanguine," laughed Tom ; " they do but copy their betters." " And yet," said I, " never was education TOM THORNTON. 63 SO much diffused — never was material versus artificial better taught and understood." " There is no fault in the quantity," said Mr. Sanguine. " It's altogether in the quality, eh, San- guine ?" mg^ Tom . " £^^^UH^ 64 TOM THORNTON. \ ^ " Unquestionably," replied -«% with ani- mation ; " it is a sin, Mr. Hartley, of no little magnitude — the main-spring, sir, of that plague of our times — the rampant radicalism which is overthrowing, sir, as fast as it can, all our noblest institutions." " I'll tell you what, old fellow," said Tom — " the way to judge of the value of a thing, is what it will fetch in the market." " Not always a criterion, that, Mr. Thorn- ton," replied Sanguine ; " good things go begging, while the trash finds ready custo- mers — quantity is the question now, sir, not quality. 'Gad, sir, to look at home — there are my two boys, as comely lads, both of them, as you vrill see any day in the week, but, though born within five minutes of each other/ and as like as two peas, in mind and pursuits as different as light and dark — the elder, a princely lad, worthy his lineage — the Sanguines, sir, pardon the vanity, stamped on every inch of him, and. TOM THORNTON. 65 thanks to his Uncle's, Sir Humphrey's patro- nage, must come off firsy next Term/ at Trinity, or break my heart — at twelve he could read Herodotus as well as Arnold, and took the senior prize for mathematics at fourteen. Dick's a radical — was a radical ^ from his cradle, nothing the matter with his /( heart — but a blockhead/l^i^ever could get him to look in a book — snapped his fingers at the Ancients ; and what's the conse- - / quence ?^there he his, sir, at this moment, ^ in Australia, pot-boy to his father's groom, who's making his five thousand a year at the sign of the Jolly Emigrant." " While his master, next heir but ono ' to a Baronetcy," laughed Tom, " is starving, ex- cuse me, on his wits, like a dog in a garret." " Perhaps it is well for Dick as it is," condoled I ; " there are worse berths, by all accounts, than Dick's, on the banks of the Yarra." " 'Gad, you are right," cried Tom — 9- ^ ^ 66 TOM THORNTON. "there's Julia Wilmington, Morley sajs, who went out with the Drapers/ as gover- i/ ness — highly accomplished, so they say — teaches French, German, the elements of Latiiy if required, geography, use of the globes, history^ancient and modern, piano, harp, singing, embroidery, and all the other branches of a polite education — maid of all work to her milliner ; and Harry Vernon, dandy Vernon, as we used to call him, who never did a stroke of work for himself in his life, whose hands seemed made only to wear rings upon, and would call for the footman to pick up his glove, is now too happy, for board and lodging, to watch a store/ or drive a waggon, sir." " Doubtless, gentlemen," acquiesced Mr. Sanguine, " a new race is necessary for the new country ; but that is no reason why we should make our youths dolts and dunces to fit them for the diggings. If our best blood must become waggoners and pot-boys, let TOM THORNTON. 67 US have the benefit of their services at home, where soon places, bj all accounts, will be abundant, and wages no object." " Comfortable prospect," observed Tom, " for parents and guardians." " It must come to that at last," continued Mr. Sanguine ; " it may not be in our time, Mr. Hartley, but the day will come, sir, when England will need those sons and daughters at home, whom she is now trans- porting by thousands from her shores, be- cause she knows not how, or is too supine, to make their thews and sinews available to the development of her own infinite/ ^^ though unexplored resources. England ^ vdW find it out, sir, to her cost/ when it's i^ too late, as she has often done before, when /l by her shortsightedness and narrow policv/ ^^;^ she has generously contrived to enrich teverybody but herself. It's a national ca- lamity, gentlemen, this emigration — mark my words." 68 X..^^TOM THORNTON. " Talking of appearance^sf said Tom, replenishing our glasses, " do you remem- l.>er Jenkinson of Millwood ?" " Which ?" asked I ; " Oscar Jenkinson, who had the fracas with his parishioners about the Offertory, and refused to bury the poacher's child, and got into a scrape with the Bishop V J / " Yes, and -to spite them all, threw up / 9 the livings and turned catholic^ he is here J/ with his domestic circle." / ^^/l/jA/ ''"^^^ gentlemen," cried Mr. Sanguine, ^ — -^ suddenly recovering from a deep reverie^ ^ into which he had fallen, and rubbing his knee with great animation, " it's an ill wind that blows nobody good — if Horatio plays his cards well, 'gad, gentlemen, he's a made man. The presentation, as no doubt you ^ are aware, being in my brother^ Sir Hum- ^ phrey's hands, the thing's done, if I will only make one or two concession sy which, o\ for the youngster's sake, I shan't stand TOM THORNTON. 69 out about, though his uncle and I, m ore's the shame, haven't spoken for three years." " Millwood," observed I, " has been, if I recollect right, the cradle of more than one Bishop." " True, true, sir," assented Mr. Sanguine, rubbing his knee with great rapidity, " I've only to say the word, and the youngster's a made man. A silly fellow that Jenkinson, not a prettier berth in the county ; but some people can't see, sir, on which side, to use a vulgar adage, their bread is but- tered." " Times are sadly changed in that quar- ter," said Tom, " or I am mistaken ; how changed, alas ! from what, in palmy days of yore, we knew the vicar's wife^ the pride and terror of the village." " Ay, ay," responded Mr. Sanguine, "as I have said in my book, which, entre 70 TOM THORNTON. nous, Mr. Hartley, I intend giving the world one of these days — Those times are o'er, And nought remains but pride's unpitied wreck^ Yet, still the haughty brow, the same proud neck, As when, in Paris robe of latest mode, Or shawl unique, up the long aisle she strode, '\\''ith here a gracious smile, and there a nod, j. ^ Pluming herself in presence of her God. ^^i^^; /lu^-^ ^hcr c is no greater pest of rural life," ^^^-^^^ said I, " than a proud, dressy pastor's wife ; U-u^e^e^ she is^he village bane, and yet who thinks herself more blameless ? Incalculable the amount of pride where one would expect to find least of it, and where Christian meek- ness and humility should seemingly most preside — the wretched struggles for pre- eminence that corrupt and scandalize the humblest villages. The gentler half of the community, whose fiat rules over the parish destinies, take their cue, naturally enough, from the vicarage ; nor, in the ordinary rou- tine duties of daily life, can one be found, perhq}^ more assiduous and sy s tomatio - t han ^/l/l^a-^-^^ TOM THORNTON. 71 A the vicar's ladj — whose hand is more open, or whose heart overflows with kinder feel- ^ings-for the poorer who, when want, or sorrow, or sickness are to be relieved, is oftener to be seen beside the cottage hearth, • " -with somethino' more/t£an~tracts and em- J^^ dite harangues to quell the pangs of hunger, and bind up the broken spirit ; but while intent, like good Samaritan, on her work of love/ inculcating the blessings of content and of patience and resignation to the will J above, ^d ioco sorest dJhspenibaliiJiis are all ' Jqyp.^ alas ! the Parisian robe^and the Cash- ^ / mere shawl, and the exquisite bonnet of the ^ latest mode/have spoilt it all(S^hile preach- ing the blessings of forbearance to the pa- rents, the joys that spring from self-denial, /l^y/^^^^yi^dl^ think you the daughters' eyes have been idle ^^'^^^^^ any more than their ears ? No, ncy they ~~y have been taking notes, and soon you will see — the first fine Sabbath — their wretched fruits, done to the life, though on a j^ duoo ^- 72 TOM THORNTON. scale, greatly, no doubt, to the horror of the * I vicar's pew- andl may be .the vicar himself who, though a solemn man^ but few words, V and limiting himself to such lectures on the ^ vanities and vexations of this life/ as he may deem it expedient to deliver ex cathedra^ / though seeing nothing, apparently, beneath I the sky, has, nevertheless, an eye Jbr every- thing about him ; /J^^eQn deKance even of the vicar's frowns, flowers and flounces/ silks X^ and satins^ keep the whole parish in a per- petual ferment of competition from sunrise to sunset." apt^ nui^i-i^u%^ ^^|i^^ — — —^ " Yes," said Tom, " and the evil don't rest O there; it sets the whole^ village in flames/^ ^ \ven the eldest school girLeyes Miss Caro- line's braided bands^dth longing looks ; and. as Miss Caroline has often told her that her face Avas far too pretty for a cottage maid — / / an(Lone day when she dressed her hair like the Queen, declared she was a little saucy beaut}), what harm if she wore bands like / TOM THORNTON. 7B Miss Caroline/and oh, what exquisite joy^^ j/ what triumph, to watch the doctor's daugh- / ters bursting with spite ! But bands like Miss Gary's and the Queen's require pretty caps to shew them off. and pretty caps call for pretty trimmings^ and Brussels lace don't harmonize at all with gingham frocks^ nor flounces and furbelows with clumsy shoes and coarse l)lue worsted stockings ; so, by the time the little savings of a year have disapjx^ared for all this costly to-do, out turns the village pet, her parent's pride, Qj tlie stay and prop/ perhaps/of their declin- ^ ing years, who parted yesterday with their » C/\ last shillin^to make her like Miss Gary and ^^^^""^Z the Queen." ' ^ " And where lies the scandal/^-SM* ?" O^ added Mr. Sanguin e ; " not, surely, with the poor school girl with the oval face, sloe / black eyes^and raven locks, but in that baneful school of vanities, sir, in which she » ^ / learns her creed/ j^f what avail, when temp- — ' ' K /? c/^k^/A-y 74 TOM THORNTON. tation assails the young and inexperienced heart, however enforced^A^ftd with whatever ^ good intent, are precepts, sir, in the teeth of examples ?" " A happy day for Millwood, by all ac- counts," said Tom, " when the Jenkinsons bade it farewell ; eh, Sanguine V " You may say that, Mr. Thornton. He must have heaved a sigh, though, if he has a heart, as he looked for the last time on the old ivy-porched church, venerable with the accumulated recollections of centuries. "^Gad-, sir, not a lovelier spot in Britain's bonny isle than the old parsonage, where nature's smiles, as the poet says — With brighter hopes their earliest visits paid, Or their last fond farewells with sweeter grace delay'd. Nor happier nor better children ever repaid a fond pastor's pains than did Millwood's little flock their good shepherd's care, in those days, gentlemen, when Parson Mow- bray had them in his fold." -^ TOM THORNTON. 75 " He had the reputation," responded I, "of a good man, in every sense of the word." " And pious, too, was he," continued Mr. Sanguine^" though slow to find in every empty form and ceremony those means of grace, Mr. Hartley, as they are called, which ^ unhappily distract men's minds/ and divert <^ them from the one main and indispensable condition of their salvation/^nd a true Christian, too, though content to worship his God and maker in the way his forefathers had done before him ; a zealous disciple, a generous host, kind neighbour, sincere friend — his chief delio-ht how best he mio-ht endear all hearts unto him ; though favoured by the great, yet the poor man's frequent , iiTr-« ^ E 2 /^.^ /^^. A-^^" ^^ 7^ 76 TOM THORNTON. Regardless of his Heavenly Master's cause^ While splitting hairs and quibbling about straws^_ Bringing the Church of Christ to disrepute, The love of change, or lust of praise to suit^^^ Asking but if the Church for him was fit^ Not whether he was good enough for it. ^ It must have been a sad hour for Mill- wood," said I, " that snatched the good old vicar from his flock." " Indeed was it," replied Mr. Sanguine ; " till they laid him in the dust, they knew not half his worth. 'Tis ever so — while we have what we loveg^n ilrnow no^ its value; we appreciate not the cost of the treasure till we have lost it for ever/yHien comes the bitter consciousness, gentlemeiy^with — /' the sense of hopelessness^^of opportunities lost, of duties unfulfilled, time misused, how much of present sorrow and disappoint- ment we owe to past neglect and selfishness^ h\ — how vain despair, how unavailing tears, to briuff the heart's lost treasure back o again !" " True, true," sighed Tom, casting an A a TOM THORNTON. 77 anxious glance at the chamber where his babe was sleeping ; " then is heard that still small voice which can't be silenced ; then comes the retrospect of by-gone days, of hopes blasted, affections severed ; and every angry look, or hasty word, reproach unmerited, or unkind act^pass like spectral A^-^ forms before the mincL^ ( '^ ^ " Happy they," said I, " to whom that still small voice speaks only comfort — who have gratefully employed, while yet they might, the opportunities given theni^hat when the summons comes to sever them from their heart's best treasures — when deso- JOitethe souL bereft of all it holds dear, and no solace^lefL^ but such as memory may bring, the consolation at least may remain that they have used them well." There was a pause for some moments ; I had touched a chord that vibrated power- fully/ T could see, in Tom's heartj^ it was evident he was thinking of his lost Blanche, / 78 TOM THOKNTON. his motherless child, his aunt Lucy — the past, the present, the future, and observing ^J the shade settling on his brow — " What is Jenkinson doing here," said I gaily ; " has he joined the Church of Rome T " Not yet, I fancy," replied Tom ; " the bargain's not quite to his mind at present, I suppose ; still wavering and wandering, they say, in search of a religion, of a mistress worthy of his best regards ; nor slow to re- ward him for his faithful services — a kind unscrupulous mistress, in whose consoling arms his harassed soul may find its long sought rest 'J a generous patroness, .if lives on earth the gratitude to appreciate the A worth of such devotedness, shall make the^ globe resound from pole to pole, no doubt.** " As if the Pope," said Mr. Sanguine, " had nothing to do at home/ but to gain ^k converts, and shower mitres on apostates' heads." " Or it mattered," added I, " when a man TOM THORNTON. 79 has forgotten what is due to himself, what clime or creed is most favoured with his patronage." " Do jou know Jenkinson by sight ?" asked Tom ; " once seen he is not easily to be forgotton. There's an expression in his look, like most men's not quite satisfied with themselves, doubtful of the exact in- tegrity of their purpose, half shame and half assurance, characteristic of your se- ceders." " I heard him preach once in London," replied I ; " and must own was not much prepossessed." " 'Gad, sir, Sanguine has taken him off to the life for his great work, which, entre nous, he intends, as I mentioned before, to astonish the world with one of these fine / daysy ^et's have it, ^^fglloAj^^^fs^ as a daguemtype. Peeps at passing scenes, e means to call it, Jack." If Mr. Hartley wishes it," modestly as- — / 80 TOM THORNTON. sented Mr. Sanguine, drawing a manuscript J from his coat jDOcket/and evidently not dis- pleased with Tom's request, " and will have the goodness to excuse the imperfections of a rough copy, I shall be most happy to re- cite the passage.''"'^ying which, and snuffing the candles, he read as follows : — (K -f K solemn man was the new Vicar, lean And hungry visag'd, of forbidding mien, And brow austere ; in whose impassive face You never e'en a transient smile coald trace. Where dwelt his thoughts 'twas difficult to know, "Whether on things above or things below ; So riveted for ever were his eyes niijiiin[j,i rm rmth^ or objects in the skies, /y*''^,yjJ^ ^T'liether his thoughts all Heavenward were turn'd. The truth-revealing muse hath never learn'd ; But there are those who say that he was proud^ • — • y Though bland of speech, and courteous to the crowd / ^ y That he as boastful as the best could be ' Of titled names and lofty pedigree : Was vain, too, of his learning, hand, and hair — Dress'd always a Vemque with curious care. That he was cold of heart, though fair of speech. Though opened-arm'd, yet difficult to reach ; Exclusive, though^pparently, his hand And heart o'erflowed at ev'ry man's demand ; Self-righteous, thougli^o the unpractis'd eye, A perfect pattern of humilitw ^ . TOM THORNTON. 81 —/ \ Less frequent on the threshold of the poor, Than guest obsequious at the rich man's door ; Though steeji'd in piety, the sinner's taint Pervading ev'ry effort of the saint, ^ ^. Wanted not scandal's rumour to convey To ev'ry hearth that own'd the Vicar's sway. Nor this the worst : in the old Vicar's days God's house had been a house of prayer and praise, Within whose hallow' d walls His holy word In peace was preach' d — where nought was ever heard Of paltry cavils upon points of faith, "WTiat one professeth, or another saith ; Whether in black or white, on foot or knee. With psalm or hymn approach' d, the Deity Were worshipp'd best ; but themes of mutual love, Of adoration of theJWill above. And joy and gratitude^© less display'd^ Because in meek simplicity an-ay'd, As acceptable service were receiv'd Perhaps as aught Rome's genius e'er achiev'd. Alas, how chang'd \ j(n Millwood's happiest days God's temple was a house of peace and praise, No less then prayer, where scenes of senseless strife, Neighbour 'gainst neighbour, husband against wife. Child ^iaa t parent, o'er some worthless bone Of spiritual contest, were unknown ; W«#* link'd together by one sacred bond Of mutual love and interest — beyond All other blessings bless' d — pastor and flock. Fixing their trust on that abiding rock Nor time nor tempest shakes, still, heart and soul Pressings united on to that bright goaL' The Christian's happiest home — together wrought E.3 ^ 82 TOM THORNTON, The good work out — ^tlie good fight bravely fought ; Ran the same Heavenward race, together trod The same bless'd ways— the ways that lead to God. How sad to see that peaceful temple rife, 'Neath innovation's curse, with themes of strife^ Fear, hate, and all uncharitableness. Where all so late was joy and thankfulness ; Its holiest rites and ceremonies, Q Handed, as heirloomsydoAvn for centuries, (/) From father unto son, with subtle mind Perverted, turned to suit each favouring wind A Of doctrine or caprice — its altar made/ C^ A stage where many parts were daily play'd — ' A tableau of strange tricks, a curious shew For dupes to gape at, and to pay for, too — Its pulpit used, not, as in Millwood's pride. To teach the Word, and preach Christ cnicified ; Not souls to save, but funds to reimburse — The passions to engage — ^to fleece the purse^ Its services adapted and applied/ —^ To minister to priestly pomp ?md pride, With which Christ's service has no more to do Than heaven with hell — true bliss with endless woe." A heavy footfall coining up stairs/ and pass- ing Tom's room/ caused Mr. Sanguine to replace the manuscript hastily in his pocket, and to glance wistfully towards the door ; in a moment or two afterwards Josephine TOM THORNTON. 83 made her appearance. — " A gentleman, en haute, desired to see monsieur^ " Mr. Hartley," said Mr. Sanguine, turn- ing very pale and grasping my hand, " fare- well for the present tbelieve me, sir, I am delighted to have had this opportunity to renew our acquaintance after so long a se- paration — trust you will pardon my oblivi- ousness in not recognising you when I first entered the room — the cares of this life, Mr. Hartley, make us very selfish, and play the deuce with our manners. I trust, sir, you do not leave us too soon to allow of your doing'me the honour to — to " " I fear, my dear sir," said I, " my stay will be but short this time ; but be assured, I shall take the first opportunity to pay my respects to you, and have a long chat over old times ; and if I can in any way be of -«agr service to you in EnglancL^where I trust we shall all meet soon under happier auspices, you know- / ^ ■y^x^ A-a^^ tr>z-Sc/ h 84 \toM THORNTON. " Ay, ay ! thank s^by-and-by, perhajDS/ j^ a word, may be, to Sir Humphrey about Millwood and Horatio — and, 'gad, sir, if it's -fated I should ever be Sir Septimus — and more improbable things have hap- pened — -'gad, sir, you know Sanguine Hall is a pleasant place, a hospitable place, sir ; and the duck shooting first rate, eh, Thorn- ton ?'' saying which, and with another squeeze of the hand, Mr. Sanguine hurried from the room, and left us once more to ourselves. As we sipped our wine and puffed away — one subject leading to another, I could no longer repress my anxiety to hear from himself an authentic history, if I could draw it from him, of his introduction toy i^ . and subsequent unioiy withJiis ill-fated wife. I need not have felt the least hesitation, for I had only to recur to the subject, and he was too ready to dwell on a theme which seemed ever uppermost in his thoughts. A- ^^,y^^^n-v^J a^il (^jU^ TOM THORNTON. 85 " No doubt," said he, " rumour has done me and my poor Blanche more or less than justice, as usual, in England ?" ^•^^^"^^-c^-^ I owned to him .that the reports tfea^ had reached his friends were not very flattering to his credit and honour ; but I was de- lighted to have an opportunity to hear the truth from his own lips. *' Then," said he, " you shall hear it." -,_ 86 TOM THORNTON. CHAPTER IV. Left an orphan, Jack, as you know, and heir to a fine estate before I was ^urteen years old, with a warm heart ^«»4- enthusi-y^^^^^^^ astic imagination, and a temper impatient of restraint ; deprived of a good father's and mother's care and guidance at an age when the disposition takes its bias, and most requires the watchful eye of parental ^ counsel and control : surrounded by every ^>^^ ^^^^^t^^^^ndulgence,.^ ^^^2cmSA^C^(£^^ /jj MiJ ^^^^^ tastes ancL^nlimited resources, where C^/^^^^'^^^ is the wonder, if, under the easy guardian- U'P*'^^ /V ship of my uncle/ Sir Harold/ and my K\mt^^^^^^'^^^^^ Lucy, I became a voluptuary — a creature of impulse — a bark on life's ocean without rudder or ballast/ Not that I would blame TOM THORNTON. 87 my uncle and aunt/ or lay to their charge, Jack, the consequences of my own head- strong follies and wilfulness ; they did all, and more than all, that devoted affection could devise, or liberality shower on me for my happiness, as they fondly imagined ; but they overdid it. Not a finer old fellow, a stancher cham- pion of church and state, a more zealous ad- vocate, a kinder landlord, or better friend and neighbour than Sir Harold ; he had his faults — call them peculiarities — eccentrici- ties ; w^ho has not ? 'Gad, sir, I shall never forget once, when I was at the Hall for the — -/ holidays/ Bloxam, the head keeper, mth / two of the watchers, just as we were going to breakfast, lugging in a poor devil they ^^^^ had caught setting springs in the heath-field */ copse /fh ere had been a hard scuffle, as was evident by the bandaged eye of one of the m men/ and the angry looks of the others. If there was one thing more than another Sir ^ 88 TOM THORNTON. Harrold had an affection for, and any moles- tation of which he was disposed to resent, it was his game ; and if there was one indi- vidual under the sun he had consequently a greater antipathy for, and was more bitter against than another, it was a poacher : we expected nothing less, therefore, than a summary sentence on Master Sykes/ to her Jf/ Majesty's county gaol, as an old offender-^ caught in the fact. " How is this, Sykes ?" said my uncle, sharply, and drawing himself up to his full height ; " here again, and this the third — ' / timeyeh, Bloxam?" ' " Yes, your honour, and it won't be last / neither, unless your honour makes an^x- ^^"^^ nmiAe of him; he's -incorrigible, your ho- nour ; has nearly knocked the daylight out of the man's eye there : all I can say, your — / honour, is just this/ that if it's not put down, / / there won't be a head of game soon left on the manorJ' , // // TOM THORNTON. 89 " It must and shall be put down, Blox- am," said ray uncl^"ytet me seej ^it c an't J^ be more than three months ago that he was committed last ?" " Not been out three days, your honour." " Incorrigible !" repeated my uncle, look- ing the culprit fixedly in the face. " Zounds, / mam wherefore 'must go stealing — wherefore cannot earn your bread like honest folks ?" Whether there was any thing in the tone of voice with which this was said /that y. touched the poacher, or what it w^as, he knew best himself; but ^raising his eyes sullenly from the floor, and fearlessly en- countering Sir Harold's piercing gaze — " I can get no work,'* said he. I " Can get no wor k, ma n^' repc at o 4 Sir Harold, and keeping his eyes fixed on him^ M "^ow is that, eh, Bloxam, ^and hands wanted on every farm ?" " No want of work, your honour," replied Bloxam, touching his forehead. " and a fair 90 TOM THORNTON. day's wage for a fair day's work^oo. on your honour's estate ; but it's clean useless (j^^/c to talk about it , j^ W cly will employ liimr -- — ' " That's it," said Sykes ; " ^ u d) i hHI ^ . employee." ' ^ 1^/^^ My uncle bit his lips and winked his eyes, his usual habit when at fault or undecided. /j^^___ :A^" If it were only the first time," reminded Bloxam, coming to my uncle's assistance ; " but his character's, your honour, clean gone." " Character !" interrupted Sykes, with an imploring look at Sir Harold, and a bitter smile ; " how oanjiget a character — how get work — how earn bread for my wife and children, if every body shuns me like a mad dog?" My uncle continued winking his eyes, evidently not a little perplexed. — " Hark'ye, man," said he, at length, and putting on a very stern look, " you shall not starve^ CJan - — ^ you work?" 8 /^^ .^ y. TOM THORNTON. 91 " i^s well as any man," answered the poacher. " Will you work ?" pursued my uncle. ~/ " Yes, ^^wiifai^iy if work I can get." / " Will you steal my game if I give you work ?" «. No." " On your word of honour, as a man, and Christian before God ?" " On my word, Sir Harold — before God, no!" y^^ " What can you do ?" asked my uncle, in a miklAone. " Any i\m^gJJ\^^^-^>^'f-' My uncle mused for a moment or two. ^£^ — *^I'll have it so^ook to it, Bloxam- ^ m i ll see what encourao-ement will do to ^-^^ (//^Of — £ u/c^ make an honest man of himi/nd give half- a-guinea to Symons there to heal the broken ^^ \J^ head, j^^, let nno i see — hast any money, / , — —- — -'^ /s man?" addressing Sykes. " Not a farthing in the world, your I // 92 TOM THORNTON. honour," replied Sykes, fairly overwhelm- ed. yl[^ " Must ««*^ get hung up at the shop," said my uncle ; " begin well, go on well. _Townshend," to the bailiff, " advance him ten shillingsland deduct a shilling a week till repaid. Zounds !" cried my uncle, as he ^^-^ took his seat at breakfast that morning^^^P ^ happier than I ever saw him in my life, ^ " they'll finely laugh at me/- 1 expect ; but if my neighbours will do likewise, the grand y ploblem how to reclaim the poacher, which has so long puzzled the wits of our legisla- tors, will, or I am very much deceived, at length be solved, and our pheasants roost in safety like our fowls, a consummation, nephew Tom, devoutly, my dear fellow, to be wished." " And he was not deceived — the experi- ment answered," said I. " Perfectly — Sykes behaved beautifully; the thing got wind of course, and my uncle ^ TOM THORNTON. 93 well laughed at; but he laughed too. There's a redeeming point, I suppose, even in a poacher, though justices and gaols had failed to find it out ; Sykes got promoted from one thing to another, till Master Bloxam paid the debt, and is now, if he's alive, head keeper at Rookwood. ^ ^-^-^"^ " Zounds, nephew Tom, the problem's solved, my boy,"HftS'my uncle often said to me since, '* I know them all, sir — have studied the character, Tom ; poaching's a curious disease^ut yields to treatment, as the doctors say. Zounds, Tom, if there's a scabby sheep among us, quarter sessions are no more use than a Methodist tract. D'ye see, my boy, I put some clothes on his wife's and children's backs/ and some food into their bellies ; make him a keeper if I can — restore him to his position in society — put him in a way to get an honest living — let him feel a pride in himself — in his own ex- ertions; in a word — not because he is an /^^. 94 TOM THORNTON. outcast, keep him an outcast — there's the secret, my boy." " A fine old English gentleman, Sir Ha- rold, as ever sat, Tom, at Sessions, with a calm head and a heart in its right place ; and a fine old English lady too, Aunt Lucy, as ever worthily represented her fine old race ; w^ho still keeps up the fine old estate at a bountiful old rate ; with a fine old English )r\ portey still to relieve the poor at the old gate, as in the olden time," said I. " 'Gad, and that's true," responded Tom, with glistening eyes ; " better creature never breathed than Aunt Lucy, Jack ; though a little stiffish. I wonder what she would say, if she knew we were talking about her at this moment. Worthless nephew, Jack ! ^^2^ Wever had kinder uncle and aunt than Tom / Thornton, and a precious return I've made them for it." " Well," said I, " I believe the old boy did take it to heart a good deal ; but I never TOM THORNTON. 95 heard an unkind word drop from his lips, Tom." « Just like him," replied Tom ; " I don't remember his ever being seriously angry with me but once, and that was for shooting a hen pheasant in January ; I didn't hear the last of that for a twelvemonth. No- thing he hated more than a scene ; and^o long as the accounts from my tutor were satisfactory, gave himself no further trouble than to write me, as in duty bound, a periodical five lines of encouragement and congratulations every quarter-day with my remittances, leaving the rest to Heaven's good time and pleasure. As for my Aunt Lucy, she loved me. Jack, I do believe, as much as if I had been her own child ; could never see a fault, although she now and then ventured to recommend a little more economy in my accounts, and rather more regard for the interests of my eternal welfare. * 'Tis a bad steward that spends all,' she 96 TOM THORNTON. would say ; and ' Remember now thy Crea- tor in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them.' Jack, when those blessed words were spoken, and oh, how oft ! for my coun- sel and reproof, little heeded I their import even ; how often, oh, how ofteny since those ^ ^ years have drawn nigh, have I, in the still- ness of my chamber, on the bed of sickness and tribulation, laid them to heart, in the agony of a contrite spirit. Then under- ^ I stood I, how 'Wisdom is good with an / inheritance, and by it there is profit to them • /y that see the suiy ^or wisdom is a defence, 1 1/ and money is a defence ; but the excellency of knowledge is, that wisdom giveth life to them that have it.' "^CC Well; continued Tom, after a moment's / pause, during which he was struggling, I could see, against recollections which forced themselves upon his memory, and which I TOM THORNTON. 97 had no wish to interrupt ; I was saying, Jack, that my aunt, God bless her ! never ^ saw a fault in me^I believe, till one day/ ^, when I was taking leave of her just before starting for Oxford for my first term. Af- ter having seen to the filling to suffocation/ and packing of my trunks and boxes, and loading me with presents and good advicei^^^ {X of the latter of whichy if I had followed but Q^ one-hal^ I should not have been now mak- ing confession of my fooleries, like a scape- grace as I auL ^ " Tom," said she, " you know I never had but one interest in offering you my ad- vice, when I thought your welfare and happiness required it — advice, Tom, which, deprived of your natural protectors, and committed in an especial manner to my charge by your poor mothers on her death- bed, I considered it my bounden duty to give you; as if you were my own child. That I have ever looked upon you/ and F i? 98 TOM THORNTON. lovedyand cherished you as such, you know well, Tom ; so now listen to me seriously, and consider well what I am going to say to you. " You are now, my dear boy, going to make your first grand entrance into life — a new and most important life to you, and one, no doubt, fraught with many bright hopes and expectations, and very naturally so ; but a life, nevertheless, full of dangers for an ardent/ enthusiastic spirit like yours, my dear Tom, no less than of delights ; and it is a kind friend who will point out to you how you may best avoid the one, and safely and permanently enjoy the other. Nay, T am not going to read you a jgot u pg; but I am getting an old woman, and we know not what to-morrow may bring forth /and I M should not be doing my duty/ nor justice to Q your dear mother's memory/ if I let you leave my roof, on this your first great intro- 1 duction into life, without a parent's parting ^^/^-yyu counselr— for I now stand, by God's will, in TOM THORNTON. 99 that sacred light towards you — as well as a parent's blessing. " For your pecuniary wants, your fit out,^ and all you need.andjreasonably requireO:o maintain your position as a gentleman at the University, Sir Harold has, I believe, amply provided. If you want more, your uncle and guardian is the friend to whom you should apply/ he will refuse you nothing in reason ; but debt, you know, Tom, is his detestation. Shun it as you would a viper in your path. Many are the temptations that will beset you — as beset they do the paths of those favoured by fortune ; but make your uncle your model, who never allows the sabbath-day to dawn on him owing aught to any man. Like him, Tom, be rigidly punctual in your engagements — the soul of truth and honour/'and integrity in all your dealings and conversations ; and. like him, too, a never failing attendant on the public worship of your God. F 2 100 TOM THORNTON. " Now, take this — mv best gift to you — and tliev are not few, nor, I trust, worth- less, that you have had from these hands — take this, the most precious of all," re- l>eated she, while tears stood in her eyes, as she put into my hands a small hand- somely bound Bible ; *' take it with my best blessing, Tom ; nor regard it merely as a ofift of dutv on mv inirt, nor receive it onlv as an act of duty on yours ; but \n'\zc it as the gift of Him, * who left His word for us, that we might rejoice, and not die/ Let it be your constant companion, your guide, your counsellor, the sanctitier of all vour joys, your refuge and solace in all vour sorrows. In it are contained every dutv that you owe to God and man, and the rules by which the right knowledge of those duties can alone be acquired and per- formed ; for I need not tell you, that with- out the fear of God before your eyes — the rio'lit understanding of your duty towards T03I THORXTON. 101 Him, and your duty towards jour neighbour — neither worldly knowledge, nor riches, nor honour?, though yuu had the wisdom of Solomon, and the wealth of the whole world, would profit you. Xor think the good work can be begun too soon— that youth is the season but for joy and revelry, and that to old age is to be left the busi- ness of repentance and preparation, ' In the morning sow thy seed., and in the even- ing withhold not thy hand ; for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that : or whether they both shall be ahke good.' And again — 'Rejoice, young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes ; but know thou, that for these things God will bring thee into judgment.' Nor omit night and morning, Jii prayer to offer up the heartfelt tribute of a meek and grateful spirit to Him, through whose gift vt/ ^^4Z^ ^^^X-~ ' 102 TOM THORNTON. alone it is thou canst boast of any good thing — casting all your burthens at the feet of Him who alone has power to remove, or give you strength to bear them. So will you best attain, my dear boy, to that wis- dom, beyond all price, which will be the light in your pathy and the lantern to your feet, to lead you unharmed through the ^aiA^Ucti^^ , ways of darkness into the light that is ever- k lasting." ^^ Jack, continued Tom, pointing to a shelf on which stood a few volumes com- prising his library, look ! that was Aunt Lucy's gift. When I think, Jack, how many years that blessed book lay almost unopened, almost unthought of, and yet that there was within it a mine of endless wealth at my disposal — a never-failing treasure, in comparison with which the ut- most gains of man are infinitely, 0, how infinitely ! less than is a grain of sand to the ocean shore, need I ask, wherefore am TOM THORNTON. 103 I afflicted ? * Wherefore hidest thou thy fkce, and holdest me for thine enemy — wherefore hast thou written bitter things against me, and makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth V Trouble and ne- cessity have stripped me, Jack, of almost everything, but^hile that remains, I seem to have strength to bear it all. And where- in, think you, do I find most hope, most comfort, most assurance ? — In those pages, Jack — and therein is my consolation — that have been oftenest wetted with my tears." " But I have not quite done with you yet," said my Aunt, laying her hand on mine, as we sat side by side on the sofa, " there is something else I have to say to you; so, be patient as a lamb, for two mo- y ments, and I well let you off. Tom, I / have but one wish on earth ungratified, and that is to see you, when the right time comes, married as befits your station/ and ^ member for the county ; I shall/ then/ die 104 TOM THORNTON. happy. If you disappoint me in this/ you 3( will break my heart. Young blood will be wilful and thoughtless — a bad bargain is sooner made than mendedy nothing mars — y a young man's prospects in life more than an imprudent alliance. Sir Harold is per- fectly of my opinion — my ward Henrietta Clementina will suit you to perfection — my heart is set on it. In temper and disposi- tion she is, I know, the antipodes of your- self; but in this I see the best assurance of your mutual happiness. You are hot and headstrong, she is cautious and considerate — you are the sport of every impulse, she never leaps before she looks, Tom. No- thing can be more erroneous, my dear boy, than to suppose that, to render the union of two persons in wedlock happy, there need be exact accordance of tastes and disposi- tions. On the contrary, there will be much more solid satisfaction where the habits and opinions of those who have to pass a long TOM THORNTON. l05 and serene married life together, are to a certain extent dissimilar — where the acidity of the man, for instance, is neutralized by the gentle alkali of the woman — where reason and prudence, on the one side, coun- teract the errors of folly and enthusiasm on the other — where excess of caution checks excess of carelessness, and where modera- tion and matter of fact on the one part, keep within bounds the ambitious soarings of sentimentality, on the other, and vice versa. Well, then, you promise me not to get any nonsensical love affair into your head ; at all events, that you will never form any matrimonial engagement without / my sanction ?" ^ 1^^ ^^ I assured my aunt that such a thought as / matrimony had never entered my head, and that, should I ever be disposed to wear the silken bonds, her advice and approval would be indispensable to my happiness ; but, in a matter in which my own interests were so F 3 106 TOM THORNTON. materially involved, I must claim the un- fettered privilege of choosing for myself, y A cloud passed over my aunt's brow. ^Otr /z^XytM^ "Nephew T om — I ^ ^^, ton^ but one interest — your happiness ; I lay no injunc- tions on you — you are free, of course, to please yourself; but, if you value my fa- vour, you will not lightly disregard my wishes, especially in a matter on which your own prosperity in life so much depends. * No one had a greater esteem and regard for Miss Henrietta Clementina Hamilton, I assured my aunt, seeing her disappoint- ^ menty and really feeling very sorry, than I had ; a more amiable and accomplished girl, and one for whom I felt a sincerer in- terest, did not exist ; and I could hardly flatter myself^ that one so gifted in mind and person — for Henrietta Clementina was really beautiful — could see anything to par- ticularly admire in an ordinary person like ^ myself TOM THORNTON. 107 " On the contrary," replied my Aunt, brightening, " no one stands higher — I may say so high, Tom, in her good graces, as your- self; her fortune with accumulations will be splendid, and she will never give away her hand, that I can vouch for, without my consent. But I will say no more at present, and now go, my dear boy, and may God's blessing go with you !" '^^^H About a stone's throw from the Hall, as you know, Jack, stands the Priory, at that time the property of Sir Jephson Jewel, but since then passed into other hands. As Sir Harold, like his ancestors, was a stanch Tory, and Sir Jephson as stanch a whig, there never was any cordial intimacy be- tween them, though, as neighbours and #1 brother magistrates, they often met on busi- p^ ness/ and visited each other in a friendly way enough. It so happened that young Jewel had just entered on his second term at Christ ■^ x. 108 TOM THORNTON. Church, when I came fresh to Magdalen: you had not yet joined us. We had some slight knowledge of each other before we met at Oxford; although Sir Harold always advised me to fight shy of him. " He was a dandy," he used to say, " wore satin stocks and patent leather boots of a morning, and never looked you in the face." Sir Harold detested a dandy ; there was but one thing he despised more, and that was a whig / so there was no wonder at his antipathy to the compound animal. But Rook wood, with all its agre- mens within and without, was a dull place, as most old manor houses of its sort ara^uried — in a remote rural district some eight miles or more from any town, however charming their position/'or abundant their home re- sources. So, Aunt Lucy gave less ear than she might otherwise have done to Sir Ha- rold's philippics, and young Jewel had the honour of an occasional invitation to the Hall during the vacations. But for this, TOM THORNTON. 109 my holidays would have passed heavily enough. It always seemed to me, Jack, that people in dull places somehow contrive to make them much duller by the ridicu- lous manner in which they hem themselves in by, and are slaves to, a pack of nonsensical forms and ceremonies, destructive of those simple and unostentatious pursuits which are the soul and essence of the pleasures of rural life. But false pride brings its own punishment. If the evil were confined to those who originated it/ not much harm would be done, but example is powerful, and the whole community is more or less tinctured by it. Egad, sir, there is just as much bastard pride, parade, and ceremony, to be found in your humblest villages/ as under the very shadow of the Court. Nor had Rookwood, a pattern, apparently, as you strolled for the first time through its green lanes and sylvan shades, and smiled at the primeval simplicity almost of its in- 9. 110 TOM THORNTON. habitants, escaped the universal plague. To judge by their countenances, generally, you would have hardly supposed there was a cheerful heart in the village. — " We do all we can for them, Tom, to make them decent and comfortable, and give them a cheap and large loaf to eat ; but it's hard work, Tom — contented peasantries are not the sort ex- actly they make them out in the story books," said my Uncle. ^ It might be the soil which gave to their faces that dull downcast aspect which cha- racterized the happy peasantry of Rook- wood, for, if not happy, no peasantry, Jack, ought to have been more so with such a landlord, such a friend and benefactor^as Sir A Harold ; but he hadn't it all his own way. Sir Jephson Jewel was a poor-law guardian as well as himself, and Tom kins, the reliev- ing officer, his well-beloved coadjutor and ally, which explained it all. And there were the great rich people from Clapham TOM THORNTON. Ill M Common/ at the great red house on the hill/ C/ who never smiled, and the Major down at r\ the cottage who always frowned, and the ^ Ladies Lollatease/of the Thorns/ who never went out, and the parson's lady/all fuss and fancifulness, and the Rector himselj/who left the army in disgust for the bar, and the bar for the church, more lawyer than par- son, who might not laugh if he would, and the young gentlemen at Harrow, and the young ladies at a finishing establishment in Bryanstone Square — distant relations of a great bencher, whose influence some day might be worth j^*i»^, and who must, there- ^0'i^/Uuj fore, hold up their little heads and turn ^ their little noses up at ever}'thing plebeian ; so, what could poor Sir Harold do ? It was unfair, therefore, to attribute it altogether to the muddy aspect of the soil, though the looks of the ^ood folks of Rook- wood did certainly seem to partake largely of its cold clayey nature. In truth, the 112 TOM THORNTON. society of Rookwood was not sociable ; although it was amazing how many sociable little parties were talked about every day of the week. I have often noticed, Jack, that the spots most favoured by nature are doomed to be inhabited by the least favoured order of human beings, and so it seemed with Rookwood — a paradise, peopled with a peculiar race — a most stiff-necked and ex- traordinary genus. Dotted here and there/ j< where could you find finer specimens of old English architecture? but the presiding genius which makes even desolation habit- abley was wanting. Some were tenanted ; others would be by the next heir, probably, some day, if the rent roll permitted. But the old walls still served as a shelter from the storm without. The owl is a wise bird, Jack, and of exclusive notions ; he chooses his domicile in the old ivy-mantled tower, and clings to ity though its walls crumble about his ears — though it barely afford a TOM THORNTON. 113 shelter for his hungr, carcase/^ is Joo sagacious a tactician to desert the only hold that gives him a title with his compeers, and shelters him from the blaze of the noon-day. But he is, at least, a solitary and sad creature that loves not the light, <^i^n^. lives for himselfi' and sees his way clearest in gloom and darkness. Oh, the blind self- ishness of man as well as owls ! how rueful a spectacle would oftentimes both make, Jack, if driven from their dark holds into the ^^ sun's blessed light and warmtli/Eow pitiable 1^/ / would they appea^exposed to the mid-day / glare, and compelled to pass for what they f really ar^ " /^S4 ^'^ "Let us be charitable," said li^^/fter \^ / all, what is it to you or me, Tom, if our neighbours please to play the owl in their / own eyries^ Minerva, recollect, loved the owl, and she was a wise goddess." " And the cock, too,"^ added Tom ; " so I suppose we must let them e'en mope ^# / 'j:n^ a^ Z^^- y K 114 TOM THORNTON. away, and crow till they're tired, on their own dunghills?*^ Well, Sir Jephson Jewel being an ultra-liberal, and his son a tip-top swell, there was no wonder at Sir Harold's pre- judices. For myself, not inheriting, as no doubt I ought, all Sir Harold's extreme views of whigs and whigisms, it was matter of very little consequence to me what Sir Jephson's politics were ; all I knew was, that there was not a better looking or more dashing young fellow in the county than young Jewel — one who dressed better, was a surer card with the women, or more indis- pensable to a pleasure party. What was it to us who was returned for Snugborougli/ i: It was quite time for me to trouble my head about such matters when I stood for the county. If I could not quite see the con- sistency of Sir Harold's reasonings on poli- ^k ticsy at all times and under every circum- stance, it was no doubt, as he said, because — Uf- TOM THORNTON. 115 I was a fool, and had no busines/ at my C^ age/ to have an opinion at all. Hadn't the Thorntons been unflinching Tories since Adam, and wasn't that enough for any reasonable being ?a^ ho disputed it if Well, ^ iO there was Fred/ Jewel ready to receive me 2^) with open arms/ when I got to Magdalen. We were not going to perplex ourselves with politics, so, were sworn friends before four and twenty hours — par nohile fratrum. And now, indeed, opened to my enrap- tured senses a new and important life, as my aunt truly called it. They only who have experienced ity can form any idea, ^ Jack, of the ecstacy of that fresh burst of Wn joy and exultation^ which a youngster just released from parental control, with health and strength and ample means at his com- - mand, feels on his first entrance into college — / life/ tt is maddening ! From a state of thraldom and dependance — to-day a boy, to find yourself to-morrow a man at liberty to ^ 116 TOM THORNTON. think and act for yourself, independent of every will except your own — unfettered, courted, consulted, caressed, copied — the leader of a party, its pride, its oracle/ Oh, — what an emancipation — what a triumph ! enough to turn much wiser heads than Tom Thornton's. And so commenced my career/ a career, — V Jack, which thousands have run beforehand /^ r\ will again run, alas, with the same results. ^ fK Until now/ 1 had no conception of the ex- tent of a gentleman's wants. They are far more numerous than the uninitiated have any conception of, as any one may see by a srlance at Mr. Omnium's cataloo-ue. Nor >>^ was it till Fred/ Jewel took me in hand and introduced me to that indefatigable prince of caterers, that I became agreeably aware how easily those wants could be supplied. I don't know. Jack, whether the Omnium catalogue ever finds its way into the hands of " Heads of Houses," or of parents and TOM THORNTON. 117 guardians, but, if it does — and I have my doubts about it — they must stare to see what it takes, according to that great autho- rity, to make a scholar and a gentleman. I have often thought how it would answer to have an official inventory posted in every under-graduate's room, of things allowed, and things prohibited, by the University, strictly confined to essentials, any attempt to exceed which to be rigorously punished. I don't know how it is now. Jack ; perhaps they manage matters better than they did in our day, but some such plan as this, though destructive to Omniums, would do more for " Heads of Houses^' in public opinioiy than all their learning and grandiloquence gain fTw thorn^ Who can number the homes that have been made for ever deso- late for the want of ity/ But Omnium was a good fellow ; he not only anticipated every desire with astonish- ing penetration, but removed in the most ^^/ie^ Ay^-^^^^^ 118 TOM THORNTON. delicate, gentlemanly way, every possible obstacle to its gratification. My conscience^ X^ I must owiy kicked rather, at first, against a system so contrary to all Sir Harold's doctrines and practises, and for a time I bore in mind my aunt's parting counsel— was punctual to a moment in all my arrange- /S mentsy and regular as clockwork with my ' payments ; but no moderate purse could keep pace with Omnium's ideas of the wants of a gentleman — it was utterly im- possible. No matter, cash or credit, it was all one to Omnium — gentlemen must have the articles he dealt in/no gentleman could do without — all he bargained for was a right understanding — ' he never gave more than three years credit.' Three years credit/^wasn't it a tempting baitT" Of course we gorged it, and were hooked — three years credit ! the day of pay- ment would never come. ^^ Omnium, (/ Omnium ! it did come, though, and a pre- TOM THORNTON. 119 cious dark, dismal day it was ! I wonder how it goes now with Jewel ? Three years, bless us ! if he can get tick now for three days, he's better off, by Jove ! than his old chum, Tom Thornton/ for, dash me ! if he isn't obliged to pay, at present, for every »/ ' thing in a dvance— gic transit gloria mundi. ^----^ But I need not dwell on this part of my history, nor particularize the exact modus operandi by which I found myselfin due course, proceeding as fast as I could go/ on the high road to ruin : 'twould be to tell a tale too oft told. The road is so well known, it requires no additional finger-post from me to point it out. The only surprise is. Jack, that, traversed so often as it is, it should wear so well, so smooth, so even — not a rut, not an obstruction. ^ -—-"' " I suppose it is," said I, " that the sur- veyors of this pleasant road take good care to keep it in first rate travelling trini/ for the special benefit of those fast young gen- 120 TOM THORNTON. /X tlemeiy whose progress it is so necessary to maintain unimpeded, and who contribute exclusiyely to pay the tolls." " I suppose so," agreed Tom, " and they leave nothing undone. On you may go, rat- tling away on the nail head along the pleasantest road imaginable, now leisurely sauntering to recover breath, now trotting apace again, now full gallop, on, on, un- — • / checked, unregarding y till arrived, weary ' and exhausted, at your journey's end, you find you have taken the wrong turn, as the night, dreary and dark as pitch, is over- taking you — got into a bog, into which your fruitless struggles and lamentations ^ only serve to plunge you thicker and deeper ." l/^tc4Uy6<^^' 'VH. is difficult," said I, " to see the t^ friendly finger pointing to the right road, Tom, when one is galloping headlong to destruction." " Yes, yes — that's true — it was not for the want of that friendly monitor that I missed TOM THORNTON. 121 a my way — you did your best, Jack — I ^ couldn't, I wouldn't see it. Yes, yes^had ^^ I pulled up in time when that friendly hand was often held out to stop me, these bitter moments of self reproach would have been spared me. With such a mentor at my side as were you, Jack, with such an ex- ample as you set me/ with such a model for my guidance as Sir Harold, with such pains and interest as my Aunt Lucy took for me, to point out to me the right way y^ and -t^ keep me therein, I ought, indeed, to have steered clear of the quicksands, in- stead of being lead astray by that silly )/ Jewel / but I would have a race with him ; he hadn't half my mettle/ so, I beat him hollow, and went straight ahead to the dogs while he was thinking about it. How easy the descent of life's ladder — first, one ^^^ ^ ^ is perched, ppThrrfw , on high, with one's head in nubibus, snuffing the wind^ and J^ gazing triumphantly on the surrounding G ^ 122 TOM THORNTON. landscape, radiant with bright sunny smiles^ ^ unblemished by a single cloud / Instead of being firm-footed, and remembering that the steadiest often get giddy on an emi- nence, one must needs begin capering and shouting and exulting, till, losing one's ba- lance, down one goes !^ot to the bottom this time, perhaps, but only a grade lower for the present. One now must take a humbler range ; but nothing daunts your thorough-paced adventurers, your deter- mined star-gazers, who will be seeing every thing but that which is before their noses. Having had a taste of the sublime and beautiful, they are spoilt for anything in- ferior — their darling passion must be grati- fied, though on a scale reduced ; but they indemnify themselves for all humiliations by still keeping it up, though every fresh at- tempt brings them, gradatim et certe, lower down. There are little stars, though, as well as large ones, and the minor luminaries TOM THORNTON. 123 are resolved not to be eclipsed in their own spheres ; so, on they go, shining and spark- ling, appearing and disappearing, till some black ugly cloud comes over, and they are lost amidst its gloom and darkness. This is the last step in the ladder — it stands on the brink of an abyss, the deep, dark^myste- ries of which, who, Jack, can pretend to fathom ? :^^ la^Jt^^^ they were discontinued, the old symptoms were sure to return. ^ ^ He was a portly, fresh-coloured, bene- volent-looking sort of person, Theophilus }> at ^/ Shark, was he not ? said I, of stature / rather under the middle mark, M'ith red hair, and a broad-brimmed hat ? ^ ' / - C^ The man, sir ; you might see him most days about ^^^ o'clock/ bustling through ck Cockspur Street on his way to the short stage/ which had the honour of conveying his sacred person, after the toils of the day, to his snug suburban retreat beyond West- minster Bridge. He had no nretensions to personal charms of any sort; but there was^ enough in the tout ensemble of Mr. Theo- philus Shark, with those who look deeper than the surface/ and estimate mind and Aa^^i^C^^>^^^^ ayu<^z^<^c^ TOM THORNTON. 127 manners more than a handsome exterior, to redeem him from^ulgarity, in spite of a ^ certain coarseness of appearance in ordinary/ ^^ and a few ugly habits/ which might have O^ been unseemly in any but a money-lender. So winning, however, were his smile and bearing, such benevolence could there be in the expression of his large cerulian blue eyes, when desirous to be attractive, that any little personal defects were overlooked, and the pleasing impression alone remained, that, for a man of business, Mr. Theophilus Shark was, if not a decided ornament to society, most unquestionably a -at artling' ex- k^-ztJ-c^yt^f ception to the general rule. ^ ^ Why men of business. Jack, should not ^^ /^ ^y^ be universally elegant members of society/^ X? has never been satisfactorily accounted for. //But^o see Theophilus Shark to perfection, you should have observed him puffing away towards Parliament Street on his way home after business^ ^3uien, when the weather ;^t 128 TOM THORNTON. was hot, he would often take off his hat for a moment or two, to mop his forehead with his chocolate coloured pocket handkerchief, and then you saw that the top of Mr. Shark's head was quite bald. But a straggling crop of reddish hair on either side of his head bristling over his ears, and well-trimmed whiskers of the same radiant hue, redeemed his face from that insipidity of expression which often accompanies absolute baldness ; nay, gave him so sharp, almost at times so fierce an aspect, that even well-bred persons have been known to turn round and have another look at him as he passed. A s to his age, T believe he owned to forty-five ; but a good deal, no doubt, of that juvenility of appearance on which he prided himself' was due to the scrupulous care evidently bestowed on his dress/ always nicely regu- lated to comply with the prevailing mode^^' ^ without infringing, more than the least in the world, on that delicate line of distinction TOM THORNTON. 129 SO essential to be observed between the man of business and the man of pleasure. But Theophilus Shark, although no one was more tenacious about appearances, was no idler — his industry was not inferior to his urbanity. Ever at his post, he was always accessibWand/ although it was im- possible he could please all, yet he steered clear of offending any. I^ occasionally it happenecD as happen it 'must^ where one brain has to devise^ and one hand execute/ so many and varied operations, where all must be satisfied^that a disappointed client/ ventured/ in pure vexation of spirit/ to re- proach him with '^A.h, Mr. Shark, you were mistaken." *' My dear sir," he would mildly answ^er, laying his forefinger on his dupe's shoulder paternally, " we are none of us infallible." What the precise nature of Mr. Theo- pKilus Shark's professional pursuits might be. Jack, it is impossible to tell you ; they G3 ^ ^ s 130 TOM THORNTON. comprehended such a vast field of opera- tions/that he himself, had he been asked, would, probably, have been puzzled to define of which they most partook — of the attorney, agent, actuary, or one and all at the same time. That he was a man of infinite intelli- gence and res ources/e very body that knew him admitted ; and if his clients got their business transacted to their satisfaction^ Jl what mattered to them what he called him- self, or was called ? One thing was certain, that Mr. Theophilus Shark seemed to have a key to unlimited money chests, the con- ^^ tents of which were at hisfcdisposal to sluj j^iy^ amount/ at a moment's notice, in exchang^ j for satisfactory security. _^ / " No wonder, Tom, that he plumed him- self on his titles to consideration," said I ; *' no man seems to have had more in his way." ^j ^_ ^ ^ He possessed in perfection, too, con- ^ /tiuued Tom, the mainspring in the com- TOM THORNTON. 131 plicated machinery of a man of business — an accommodating conscience. Those little scruples and misgivings which retard the advancement of less daring spirits/ never caused Theophilus Shark a head or heart ache; and to this enviable pliability of disposition, this courageous disregard of those trumpery precepts of eiirjueUe, as it is called, which some squeamish folks make such a fuss about, was owing, they say, his fame for success in the delicate negotia- tions entrusted to his management. But if Theophilus despised the flimsy rules of eti- ^ / quette, which, he used to observe to his /'^confidential friends, over a bottle of bin A rfo. 1, were " the clogs and trammels that kept aspiring genius in bondage," it must not be thought that he was unobservant in the remotest degree of that fair line of ffi dealing/ which it is so indispensable, under every circumstance, to keep on the safe side of. No man knew the value of appa- 132 TOM THORNTON. rent integrity, in all his transactions, better than did Theophilus Shark ; he never seemed to take an unhandsome advantage — all was to the eye above-board ; and although it might confound ninety-nine persons out of a hundred. Jack, to demon- strate the logical correctness of his premises by any known rule, still, as the result, whatever that might be, was, seemingly, a legitimate product, what more could be required ? All could not be winners ; and^ ^ if his own success was universal, it provoked no anger, for, if he grew rich, he was still humble/ and gave himself no airs ; if he waxed wealthy, he was far too clever a tactician to repudiate the means that made him so. In a word, Mr. Theophilus Shark, whether in his capacity of attorney, or actuary, or agent, or by whatever other title he ca lled himsel f^ or was called, was, 'by universal acclamation, ajuodejiof a man - — ff — — ^of business. \ l / / % TOM THORNTON. 133 Man of business ! — how comprehensive, onQQCittCfltiQl a title, Jack — how un- ' . / ' / y mistakeable, and, yet, how. diffioulfe i ts defi-y/ ^ nition/" The ancient lexicographers, with all their wisdom, had no conception of our modern man of business^vhen they describe him as <^a highly respectable member of society, more useful than ornamental — society's servant of all work, Avitli an ex- cellent character f^ some having My that he's " a good sort of a chap — a trump — a brick f^ others^ but they are illnatured curs, that he is 2, genus per 5^a nondescripty^j--— a Jack-of-all-trades^ an animal with the head of a serpent and the heart of a flinL „ one who works on commission — not from abov^^of course taking the renowned Theophilu^or their model. For my own part. Jack, if asked for a definition of the man of business^jiot having ]\Ir. Shark ex- / actly in my eye^l should have no difficulty — I should describe him as an indispensable/ 7 134 TOM THORNTON. but ill-requited public servant, a martyr to public necessity, a patient, plodding, hard working, ill-requited animal/ society's right y hand, an edifying illustration of disinterest- edness and self-sacrifice ; and, with this definition, so much more like the truth, we will say farewell. Jack, to Mr Theophilus Shark, for the present, and go on with our history. Once set going, in good earnest on the pleasant/ well-kept road to ruin, all down- hill, not an obstacle, not an obstruction/ the ^j pace. Jack, with plenty to keep the wheels well greased, is fearful-T^the terminus is ^ inevitable/ not that which brings you safe and sound to a happy home, to the em- braces of loving relatives and approving friends, to the fulfilment of this life's best he- ritage — a resting-place in the hearts and esti- mation of your fellow men, but into strange lands, and among strange faces, and aliens and outcasts, there to ruminate/ and chew ^ TOM THORNTON. 135 the bitter cud of unavailiDg sorrow and self- reproach/ Abandoned to the tender mercies of Theophilus Shark and Co. — overwlielmed with liabilities — debt on debt — mortoaore on mortgage — every resource exhausted but one, and that— as I could never give away (T) my hand without my heart/even to propi- tiate my aunt, tntfv whose affection now was C'rz^ ^ A my only hope — impossible to contemplate Vs^ ^ w^ n/ any stopping^^^^^any pulling up, toy^ ^A/^- consider my whereabouts/ or retrace my steps, was impracticable. But wherefore should I dwell on these wretched recollec- tions ? I try hard to banish them from my thoughts; but there they are, fixed — for ever rooted — the plague-spot that never, never can be effaced — the ever-vivid con- sciousness of time mis-spent, blessings abused, opportunities for ever lost/ Oh, Jack, when I look around me/ at this wretched chamber/ this poverty^ — this des- titution — my poor helpless, disinherited 136 TOM THORNTON. babe lying there/ unconscious of its father's unworthiness, or it would never smile on me as it does, and call to mind what I once was, and might have been at this moment but for debt — fatal, accursed debt ! — when I think of my poor uncle Sir Harold, than whom never was there kinder guardiany or ^ friend and benefactor, and that I broke his heart — yes, Jack, broke his heart/ by my ^ shameless follies, and set at nought every precept and entreaty of the best of aunts, who loved.and cherished, and watched over me. like a mother ; when I think of all this — our last meeting — her tears — her supj^lica- tions — not her reproaches, no, no, she never reproached me. Jack — my indifference — my heartless return to her for all her goodness — her last passionate appeal to my honour and gratitude/ oh, God ! ought I to murmur that J/-'' Thou hast written bitter things against me, and makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth." It is at these moments. TOM THORNTON. 137 /N Jack, that, appealing/ in accents deep and /0\ sorrowful/ to my heart, I hear those oft- J repeated and never-to-be-forgotten words ^ — " Rejoice, 0/young mairin thy youth, and ' let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and Avalk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes ; but know, thou, that for all these things/ God will bring thee into judgment." " But there is a voice," reminded I, that says to the contrite spirit — to those that mourn not without hope — ' We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed ; we are perplexed, but not in despaii;j^persecuted, but not forsaken/«^cast down, but not destroyed ; for our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding weight of glory." " Would that I were worthy in spirit," replied Tom, " to number myself among those who might be thus comforted. There is a wide difference, Jack, between the 138 TOM THORNTON. //( afflictions we bring on ourselves, and those brought on us by the jTichednooo of others." " True, true," assented I ; " but there is one atonement, one means of imrdon and> A salvation for all." " I believe it, Jack — faithfully, fervently believe it: therein have I learnt it," em- phatically exclaimed Tom, pointing to aunt Lucy's parting gift ; " therein is my assur- ance !" " And does it not tell you, Tom, likewise, of no important duty yet unfulfilled — a duty of fihal love and gratitude to one ?" " To my aunt Lucy, you mean. Jack ; " yes, yes, 'tis that lies heaviest of all — 'tis that torments me." *' And wherefore ? ^ Ifou have but to " " Impossible !" cried Tom ; " I know what you would say. Jack — that can never be." " You misunderstand me, Toni/^ A^ word of concession from your pen — the acknow» TOM THORNTON. 139 ledgment of your marriage — of the death of your wife — of your earnest sorrow for the past, and your desire to be restored to that ^ place in your aunt's favour and affections/ ^^>C which is still, I am convinced, open to you/ ^ if you will but take the proper means to se- cure it, and I will vouch for your success. But go on with your history now, and we will talk more about that to-morrow." This I said, knowing that to urge the sub- Aject more for the present/ would be to de- feat my own wishes/and retard, rather than accelerate, their accomplishment. ^^ You remember. Jack, continued Tom, ^^ the day before I quitted England, and the long and anxious conversation we had about my affairs, then in a state of utter and irre- trievable ruin/how you would have had me throw myself on the forgiveness and pro- tection of my Aunt Lucy ; how I turned a deaf ear to all your entreaties ; how, almost in a state of distraction, I left you to make 140 TOM THORNTON. immediate preparation for my departure, having but too good reason to know that writs to an overwhehning amount would be out against me the next day/K Maddened with anxiety and despair/I returned to my lodgings, where a letter in Henrietta Cle- mentina's well-known hand awaited me. Furious with expectation that it contained only a repetition of old regrets and expostu- lations, I tore it open, when a few line^^ evidently written in great hast^ met my^^ astonished^aze/X imploring me to hasten/ /Z. without a moment's delay/ to the Hall, ^ where inquiries of a character calculated to fill my aunt with the deepest alarm/ had Cy been made about me, and assuring me of the same kind and affectionate welcome as ever ; that delay might be fatal, and that I might depend on all the interest she could exert with my aunt in my behalf, if I would / but take the only course now left me/ and (\ not allow any foolish false pride or resent- ^ TOM TilORNTON. 141 ments to mar their united endeavours for my safety and happiness?*" For an hour, though every moment was precious, I paced the room in an agony of doubt and dread, undecided how to act — of doubt whether I would humble myself, Heaven pardon me ! by suing for a forgive- ness which, when the fatal disclosure was made, as made it must be, that I was penni- less, I might not obtain/ and of dread, of what would be the inevitable consequence of my refusal in my present destitute state ; for in the phrenzied attempt to retrieve a part of my losses/ I had the night before staked and lost my last bank note. But I had not even the means for my travelling expenses. What was I to do ? I rang the bell. " Take these," said I, to my man, Fletcher, who through alL- through good report. Jack, and bad report, had stuck to me like a faithful creature/ as he was ; ** take these, 142 TOM THORNTON and these," throwing what jewellery I had left on the table ; " quick, j»a»-, get me all you can on them ; and then put up my things — I have not a moment to lose — I am off to the Hall." In less than an hour afterwards/ I was ^ hastening as fast as post horses could take me/ alas, Jack, with an aching heart ! to those scenes which till now I had never approached but with the certainty of a heartfelt welcome, nor had ever quitted without as good as a parent's blessing. How different now; every mile that brought me nearer to those once-beloved^^ scenes, the sadder beat my heart;r^the gloom- ier appeared every familiar object ; nothing seemed to smile on me^ even the post boys, I thought, regarded me with distrustful eyeytill, arrived at Rookwood, and having given directions for my valise to be left at the Lodge, I took a circuitous path round the village, so as to reach the Hall, if possi- ^^^^^ Aa^^nJ^^/^ ^ TOM THORNTON. 143 ble, without being observed. It was already night when I entered the grounds. For a moment my heart misgave me/^but the, baying of the blood hounds seemed follow- ing in my track, and, summoning all my resolution to encounter the terrible scene in store for me, I had grasped the door bell, when a hand was gently laid on my arm, and^urning fiercely round, while I could feel the blood leave my face pale as ashes and my knees tremble under me, I saw a female figure wrapped in a long cloak and hood close beside me. " Hush ! it is I — don't you know me, Tom ?" whispered Henrietta Clementina;^ " I heard the distant approach of a carriage, and, thinking it must be you, Tom, come at last, I stole out to meet you " " Thank you, thank you, Henrietta ; how kind of you to ^hink - j salir me ; indeed/ 1 did ^^ not know you in that ugly hood — and my aunt ?" . 144 TOM THORNTON. " Don't speak so loud, or they will hear us from the house /she has given you up for to-uight, Tom, and gone to bed ; she had better not know of your arrival till to-mor- row. But you are ill, Tom, I am sure you are — how dreadfully pale you look ! Oh, Tom, Tom ! why did you not come to us sooner — why did you hesitat^X^hy doubt — the love and affection of the best of women^ ^7 Ah, that was not kind of you; but now let us go in/ you -witt want some refresh- ^/^^ ment and rest after your journey, and to-mor- ro^y only follow my advice, Tom, and all will be well." ^ Poor, thoughtful, generous, noble-hearted, /.^ Henrietta, what had I ever done for j>so«^ to merit this care, this solicitude/ this affec- fl£^ tionate proof of w»^? regard for the prodigal? Oh, Jack ! there is in woman's heart a good- ness, where it truly loves, proof against . / every trial/ that neither neglect, nor indiffe- Ae^ TOM THORNTON. 145 rence, nor disappointment, nor even hope- lessness itself, can smother. ^ ''^^^ait a moment, here, Tom/' said she ; " I will go round and let you in by the glass / Qk Qoory through the conservatory; we - mu s t not / disturd Aunt Lucy ; the men are all gone/ ^>L and no one but Annette will know about it." In a few moments afterwards I was in the boudoir, whon - a blazing fire and a small ^fn^^^'c^^ round table^ already laid out with the mate- rials for an ample meaU seemed to welcome — -/ me to the home of my boyhood, and diffused through my heart the first glow of real comfort that it had known for many a day. ^^ " There, then," said Henrietta, rejoiced to see my evident gratification at the pains she had taken/ and drawing her chair oppo- site to mine, while I essayed to partake of the good things spread out so temptinglv before me ; " I knew you would like a nice hot cup of tea, Tom, and some of Deborah's new short-bread/ that you used to be so fond H K 146 TOM THORNTON. of; you must taste the pigeon pie, too ; or let me help you to some of the guinea fow^ I have been thinking of you all day,-41^ei^ ^ I was sure you would come, and have been down to the road twenty times to meet you. But who could those horrid ugly men be/^ who were here inquiring about you yester- day, and frightening us all out of our wits ?" " You did not tell them, Henrietta, where I was ?" " No, no — how could we ? We did not know." " What sort of men were they ?" " Oh ! the most horrible looking fellows, Tom, with short thick over-coats, corduroy trousers and waistcoats, and such bad faces ! " And what did they say for themselves ?" "They wanted you, Tom, ancLat first, j/ would not be satisfied that you were not ^ here. — ' Were you in London, then V — We did not know. — ' When did we hear from you last ?*—' About ten days ago.' — TOM THORNTON. 147 'Where from?' — 'From Oxfordshire.' — 'Was that all we knew?' — 'Yes, all.' — ' Did we expect you soon at Rookwood V — * Not at present." " Is that all ?" said I, for the moment much relieved. " Not a word morexhaving got what/ they could, off they walkecL muttering and grumbling, and we saw no more of them. Annette declares they were housebreakers in disguise, come to reconnoitre the premi- ses ; but Ralph says he saw them loitering about the park all day, and that they were Sheriffs Officers, I think he calls them." 0^^77^ / " No doubt of it, Henrietta ; but they ha\Ti't got me yet, and shan'tif I can help it. Nay, Henrietta, 'tis useless — 'twould be follv^to conceal the truth from you/ the game is up with me — I am beateo^^iid in- ^ stant flight, or the refuge of a debtor's gaol, is all that's left me." ^^ frighten me, Tom^no, no, it can- ^vW> lo4^ ?U^?^-c H 2 ^^^ . >%e^ -^r^ £^^y /^^ ^^ ^ ^c^-^^^^/^^^^^i^^ ^/ /V€^^>1^ ^c^^ , 148 TOM THORNTON. not be as bad as that — jour debts cannot be so large but that some arrangement may be made, or time obtained. Confess every- thing conceal nothing from your Aunt, Tom, who still loves you — yes, Tom, loves you tenderly with a mother's fondness ; throw yourself on her protection, unre- servedly, undisguisedly^and she will refuse you nothing in her power." )/ " Oh.Henrietta ! you know not what you y. /ask. I camiot^I dare not^^tgU my aunt." '^^ " This is folly — madness, Tom. Nay, I will vouch for it, your aunt's fortune is more than ample — she w^ould hardly miss the sum required to settle your affairs ; and you know, Tom, you know very well, I have never spent a quarter of my allowance, and in less than twelve months, by the provisions of my dear father's will, I become mistress of his handsome fortune, absolute^ncon- trolled mistress, Tom, to do with it as I please. Nay, do not frown ; I am not going TOM thohnton. 149 to lay you under any obligation, so, don't be alarmed. I may lend my money, may I not, as well as others ? yes, and can I make a better first use of it, Tom, than to place it at your aunt's disposal, and thus in some sort endeavour to repay her — my guardian, my second mother, my dearest best of friends and benefactresses, no less, Tom, ^y y than your own^for all her goodness to me ?"_-' ^ " Henrietta, dear, kind, ^onorou s- ^ Hen- y rietta !" exclaimed I, " how hav^I deserved this generosity at your hands ? No — no — never will I consent to make you a partaker of the ruin which no sacrifice of yours, Hen- rietta — no efforts on my aunt's part, without irreparable injury to you both, could now avert." " Oil, say not so, Tom — your fears ex- aggerate the true extent of your dangers — I cannot* will not believe it ; your debts, we know, are large — your estate is deeply mort- gaged ; but you have still a handsome in- 150 TOM THORNTON. come left, and with your aunt's assistance, and, if that be insufficient, with mine, Tom, for which you can pay me interest, you know, what is there to fear ? Ah, you think, perhaps," continued she smiling, while tears filled her eyes as she spoke, " you think, perhaps, that I have a design on you, Tom, and am throwing out a tempting trap to catch you ? No, no, Tom ; there was a day, perhaps — but no matter — 'tis past for ever. Why should T disguise from you that I have often talked with your aunt about the wish, as she kindly calls it, * next to her heart,' our union — ^and her hopes and inten- tions in your favour if that wish could be accomplished. That can never be ! Don't^c/ you remember telling me once^that you — - loved me better than all the world, as your sister, your sweet darling little sister; but that you thought you could not love me/ c^ as your wife, your darling little wife ? So, ^f I am resolved, you understandj to remain ^ TOM THORNTON. 151 your sister, Tom ; for it would break my heart to lose so kind, so precious^ brother's love. For my wealth I care nothing be- yond a competence to support me as a lady in the position I would hold in society ; the rest, Tom, would be well spent in minister- ing to the success and happiness of those I most love and am bound to by every tie of affection and gratitud^r'^o^JQ^^^^^^^ hesitatingly/ sign the deed, Tom, which makes that rest yours^^ithout a condition without even Henrietta Clementina being scheduled to the contract." This was too much, Jack; I^orgot for ez/^c-rty a moment the fearful dangers by which I was surrounded; selfishness sunk utterly abashed and prostrate before the all-power- ful influence of a truly noble mind ; I felt myself a poor pitiful, insignificant wretch. " Henrietta, >* Henrietta !" I stammered out, as the full consciousness of my un- 8 ? 152 TOM THORNTON. worthiness/ made me shrink almost at the sound of my own voice ; " forgive me !" " Nay, Tom," interrupted she, with ten- derness, oh, how ill deserved ! " I have no- thing to forgive ; you have never done aught to offend me that I know of; you have always treated me as a kind brother should treat an affectionate sister ; what more had I any right to expect ? If I have ever been foolish enough to indulge a hope I ought not to have encouraged, it has yielded to that which reason and reflection tellVme is, no doubt, fur our mutual good. Perhaps there was a time I might have wished — but no matter — 'twas a delusion, a sweet delusion, which T would not wholly banish from my memory if I could ; but, like all delusions, Tom, it will gave way to the convictions of reason and reflection." " Stay, Henrietta, dear Henrietta !" ex- claimed I, seizing her hand and pressing it to my lips as she rose to bid me good night ; ^ TOM THORNTON. 153 " leave me not thus — stay yet a moment ; I have not told you all — there is a load here, Henrietta, weighing at my heart so heavily ! — no, no, I cannot, I dare not tell you !" " Speak, speak, Tom, T conjure you !— you frighten me — why do you hesitate ? jLm T, then, unworthy of your confidence ? No. Then, wherefore/ conceal aught from me ? If you have a load at your heart I will share ^ it with you^T vdW help you to bear it / v^s, (y4^ you will tell me all — I know you will^ if — / not to nights Hark ! 'twas your aunt's bell^- / again^then ohc wanto mo / good night, good -j^ night ! Nay, do not detain me— there, thereT ^'^^''^%:/'^ then — it is thus fond brother and sister should ever part' ^rood night, Tom^ onco > move, and may Heaven watch over your slumbers !" IVIidnight had long passed, Jack, when I laid my aching head on that pilloAy which never till now had been wetted with my H 3 ^ ^ ^^^-i^ U^^i^^ ^^^^^^ V 154 TOM THORNTON. tears. How often, in happier days, had T sought its sweet repose when the morrow's dawn could only bring with it new hopes and brighter visions of happiness in store for me ; now, tossing on it, fevered with care and anxiety, I awaited its approach hke a criminal/on whom the next day's sun will shine for the last time. A terrible consciousness of impending retribution hung over me — a fearful ordeal had to be gone through ; but the effort must be made, and, composing my thoug'hts as well as I coulcL/ ^ by the reflection of the powerful advocate I still possessed in my aunt's affections, and the generous devotedness of Henrietta, my foster sister, to my interest, sleep at length overpowered, and brought me a short re- spite from reflection ; and it was not till the morning was far advanced, that, after several hours of sound and refreshing sleep, I was dressed and ready for my aunt's sum- mons. Before entering the breakfast room, TOM THORNTON. 155 as my aunt's bell had not yet rung, I sought the fresh air of the morning to brace me, if possible, for the scene I had to go through, SL hopingy pe rhapo/ that Henrietta might be influenced by the same motive, and give me an opportunity to unburthen my whole heart to her. I was not disappointed y in a few moments I espied her hastening to meet me up the old filbert walk, with her apron full of fresh-picked flowers for my aunt's boudoir, and looking handsomer to my eyes than I had ever seen her before." " You are more like yourself, a great deal, this morning, Tom," said she, smiling after the usual salutations between fond brother and sister had been exchanged ; " I did not tell you, but you looked dreadfully ill last night — so pale, and thin, and hag- gard — that horrid London life is killing ^^ you ! But you must stay with us^ now you ^ are here, till the roses come back again to those cheeks, and those eyes look as bright 156 TOM THORNTON. and haj^py as they used to do when we chased each other, don't you remember, round these dear old walks, and went scrambling after nuts and blackberries, like two mad-caps, over the heath-field copse. But how late you are ! I crept up to your door twice, but you were fast asleep. Good \//;6L.e^Mj^ ^gracious ! — nine o'clock^ I want my break- fast, and so do you, no doubt ; so, now, come in^ or Aunt Lucy's bell will ring be- fore we are ready for her." " Does my aunt know of my arrival ?" asked I, with a sensation of almost dread which I could not overcome. " Yes, I think she must have overheard us talking last night. I could not deceive her, and I fear she has passed a very rest- less night, Tom. You will find her look- ing so different from when you were here / /, lasty ^ut she will be happier now you are come, like a good boy. Only follow my advice ; conceal nothing — throw yourself on A TOM THORNTON. 157 her love and protection — be the same Tom jou used to be to her, and all will be well." Twenty times, Jack, during breakfast — hardly a morsel of which, save to satisfy Henrietta, could I have swallowed — w^as the terrible secret that hung so heavily at my heart/ on my lips ; but there it clung — I dared not give it utterance. To tell htr, with whom I was all in all — a pattern of perfection, " save in a few trivial errors of the understanding, not of the heart," as she fondly insisted, " and which time and ex- perience were alone required to correct — " to acknowledge to her. Jack, in whose es- timation I was all and everything, that there and then stood before her a ruined spendthrift — an insolvent beggar — oh, Jack, it was more than I had the courage, the principle to do ! It was evident that in however bad a state they supposed my affairs to be, no suspicion had they of the 158 TOM THORNTON. true extent of my embarrassments^ that in — truth, I had not one shilHng left of my / inheritance which I could call my own — that all was gone — that in fact, I was pen- ^ niless. In almost silence, therefore, passed breakfast over, when my aunt's bell told me that the dreaded moment had arrived/ J. and following Henrietta^ whose cheeks, ^-— spite of her assurances, were hardly less pallid than my owiuwith a beating heart I approached the couch on which lay my aunt supported by pillows, and seizing the thin white hand extended to me, and pressing it fervently to my lips, but for the flood of tears that could no longer be suppressed — sorrow's surest safety-valve, the afflicted soul's best comforter. Jack — my overcharged heart must, I think, have burst. Oh, Jack, what an apparition met my bewildered gaze ! Could it be my Aunt Lucy, once so hand- some, so brave, so blooming, that now TOM THORNTON. 159 reclined pale and wan and careworn be- fore me? For some moments T continued gazing on that sunken eye and quivering lip, as I stru^ofled in vain for utterance. " Leave us for a few minutes, my love," at length said my auntaddressing Henrietta ; " I wish to say a few words alone to my nephew ; but be within call in case I should want you, and^^ Dr. Clark arrives, let me ^^ know." ^^ " Tom," continued she, as soon as the door was closed, " you see I am very poorly to-day i^ I cannot talk much^draw your chair . — nearer, and now hear me. I need not say how much your conduct, Tom, has pained me — you will never know what I have suffered — but I will speak no more of that now ; you did well not to disregard my ward's letter, Tom. Your affairs, I know, are urgent ; my solicitors inform me that writs to a large amount are out against you «^^^^ 160 TOM THORNTON. — -yx)ur estate, left you unencumbered by your clear lamented parents, and delivered to you greatly improved by your beloved uncle, is, I am aware, deeply mortgaged ; but you have still, or ought to have, remain- ing, a handsome income, which, with more care for the future, and with such assistance /u/^ as I may beAable to give you, will enable you to maintain your position in society, and ere long, Tom, to realize my fondest hopes and ambitioiir you know what I meaiL^ " Nay, my dear aunt," interrupted I, for I could no longer bear the tortures of con- scious guilywhich every word that fell from those revered lips made doubly poignant — ^ " hear me, I beseech, I implore you to hear me !^You are deceived." " Tom," said she, looking me fixedly in the face, " this is no time for deception or disguise between us — 'tis best we understood » TOM THORXTON. 161 each other. I will make one more effort to retrieve you from ruin — to re-establish you in the position of life you have well nigh forfeited by extravagance and dissipation; but on this condition alone^that you conceal — nothing from me — that you place yourself and your affairs wholly and exclusively in the excellent hands of my solicitors, and that, renouncing any connexions — you un- derstand me — you may imprudently have formed, you ^vill devote yourself to the one grand object of my anxious solicitude for ^ the welfare and happiness of those wh(y have (yy the first claim to my favour and affections — do you hesitate ?" " No, no ! I would not hesitate one mo- ment if — nay, hear me/oh, hear me patient- ly !" cried I, sinking on my knees and bury- ing my face in my hands : " let me not add hypocrisy to the list of my transgressions. If I were willing to comply with the rest of your just and reasonable demands — and 162 TOM THORNTON. oh ! how willingly, how joyfully, how grate- fully, would I comply, if I could ! — there is one obstacle, one fatal, one insuperable ob- stacle " " I know what you would say," interrupt- ed my aunt, as the cloud gathered on her brow : " is that your determination ? Be it so, Tom — you please yourself: but you know on what my present assistance and future favour solely and absolutely depend, yy j^avc shall see you again by and by ; in the meantime^ consider well what I have said to you, and may the Almighty of his good- ness guide your thoughts^ and give you a right understanding !" '^ Jack, I was like one paralyzed ; I could neither speak nor move ; I stood for a mo- ment gazing in speechless agony at the poor broken-hearted picture of woe of my own creation ; a word from my lipy and it might be her deaths and yet it must be spoken, TOM THORNTON. 163 though all the vengeance of Heaven were hurled on me for it. " Aunt," faltered I ; " would vou wed your ward to a beggar ?" " What mean you, Tom ?" cried she^um- ing deadly pale, as she partly raised herself up and grasped my arm ; " speak, Nephew Tom, speak. You would not, you dare not, trifle with me 'I conjure you, as the son of your lamented parents, who were the soul of honour and integrity — by the memory of your beloved uncle — as the child of my love and adoption — as a man of honour yourself — as a gentleman — deceive me notyl^peak, you are //y~ ^ — y — / " Ruined/ utterly^ ruined !" faltered I ; /* a — / beggar !" / " God's will be done !" sighed she, and sunk back senseless on the pillow. ^Vy But this was but the commencement of my trials Scarcely had I reached the bell to summon the servants to my assistance. 164 TOM THORNTON. when Annette, pale and breathless, rushed into the room, and whispering something in /^ evident alarm to Henrietta — " Tom," said (/\ she, her face bloodless^ and her lips quiver- ing as she spoke, " they are coming / there _^ / is not a moment to lose^ they are already in A the village/ Ralph has seen them — fly, fly ! / or you are lost." " But my aunt — my poor aunt l^yOh, Henrietta ! my ingratitude has killed her." " No, no, she will be better soon ; nay, linger not thus/ your mare is already wait- ing in the court — ^quick, and you will yet have time !" ^ Snatching a last agonized look at the form of my poor aunt, who still lay uncon- scious of all around^after having kissed her cold forehead and bathed her hand with ^burning tears^I rushed terror-stricken from the chamber. Henrietta, with my hat and whip, met me in the hall. '' Farewell, Tom," said 7A^^ ;^2^^?>:^^2-^^^<;^,^2^1,^ y^<^4?^^<2^^c^- TOM THORNTON. 165 y she/i* we shall meet again, soon, under happier auspices — yes, yes^^I feel assured — •we shall lyy^-^ feinir only or ^^oufd^^ gafo^» ^r-fcaTG^.j-hftr-y^^t^M"n vo^ . This packet, ■^mk take it — it contains some papers that may be of interest to you ; and, when you read I them, think sometimes of those, Tom, whose / prayers will never cease for your welfare I and happiness.^vj^ay, go, go^and may God's I blessing attend you !" LA Jack, you know the rest — that night y the sea rolled between me and my native I land^ (9 . ^^^ ^ CZ^^ ^/^/r^ /^C^ 7^> 166 TOM THORNTON. CHAPTER VI. Jack, if there is one time/ more than ^ another, perhaps, when a man's heart — an Englishman's especially — not wholly dead to right impulses, feels to sink within him, to be utterly cast down and disconsolate, it rk is when he puts his foot/ for the first iunej/zy) on foreign shores, a refugee, in seach of a home among strangers and aliens. Not till then has he a conception of the value of the blessings he has left behind him, the extent of the losses he has sustained, the privileges he has forfeited, the irretrievable sacrifices he has made : and. as he casts >/ ^ about him/ and reflects on his sleepless pillow, what he was, and is, and may be, it is well for him if adversity teach him the TOM THORNTON. 167 lesson which it ought ; if not, his state i§ indeed deplorable. Accustomed from my childhood, as you know, Jack, to bask in the sunny lap of luxury and indulgence, with every thing of the best and newest always at my command, you may suppose what must have been my feelings, when, suddenly torn from all my old habits and associations, I found myself the tenant of furnished lodgings in Boulogne. The best might make a man's heart ache/who had ^ never had worse than what the A Ibany or Brook Street could afford ; but what is to be said for the generality as they used to be in that day, Jack ? — 'gad, sir, 'twas enough to freeze the blood in your veins— five chairs i^/n^ in old chintz/ sofa, perhaps, to correspond ; little ricketty round table with marble top^ big enough to put your hat on ; an antique walnut wood chefFonier ; long narrow chim- ' ney glass, too high for mortal man under six feet seven to see himself in, and a ^ ^ 168 TOM THORNTON. couple of white and gold vases stuffed with wax flowers ; some sort of window drapery there might be/ and a muslin blind ; but for carpet and rug, or comfortable old English fireside, if you wanted them, you should never have exchanged your snug quarters in Brook Street for a Boulogne quartier. But habit reconciles us wonderfully to scenes and circumstances/ which, at first sight, we can hardly contemplate with patience. And it is well for many of us that it does, or it would go hard with those who find it the best philosophy to make it a virtue as well as a necessity. So, after awhile, the aguish symptoms^ which had attacked me on my first introduction to continental life/ subsi- ding by degrees, I shuddered less and less every time I entered my apartments, till, with one little improvement or another — an alteration here, and an addition there — some canary birds, a guitar, a picture here and there on the walls, and the agreeable TOM THORNTON. 169 little chit chats occasionally with my land- lady's daughter — one of the prettiest bru- nettes, Jack, you ever saw in your life — I began to sigh less frequently at the thought of home and home scenes, ancL being relieved from any present pecuniary anxieties by the considerate generosity of my kind good aifectionate Henrietta^ whose package, I need hardly say, contained a considerable sum in ready money^ deter- mined to make myself as satisfied as it was possible that a buoyant imagination and cheerful temper could render me, espe- cially as all uneasiness on my aunt's account was removed by her gradual recovery ; and I was not without hope/that, after her first anger had been appeased, Henrietta Clemen- tina's eloquent advocacy in my behalf would not be in vain, and that ere long I should be reinstated in her favour and afik^tion. That she coul(Lor would re-establish me in ^ the possession of my lost rights^I dared not C^ 4 170 TOM THORNTON. believe, although Henrietta more than j^ once in her letters/ had held out repeated hopes that such an event was not impossible, provided my future behaviour warranted ii^ and her solicitors, Messrs. Honey & Aloes, could effect it. Men of my turn of mind and complexion, Jack, so long as there is no material deficiency of present supplies, or improbability of their renewal, don't take the trials and troubles of life so much to heart as others of a more serious and less sanguine mood ; like corks on troubled waters, toss us and dash us about as much as they will, buoyant and lighthearted we return to the surface ; though tossed and driven, beaten and bruised, we survive every shock ; while heavier natures, unable to contend with the fury of the waves, are overwhelmed in the torrent by their own specific gravity, and sink to rise no more. Thus buoying myself up with all the elasti- city of a sanguine temperament, and arguing f TOM THORNTON. 171 myself into the belief that something must turn up for me at the moment I most needed it, I did my best to drown dull care, though the world would never have suppo- sed/ how often beneath the mask was hidden the troubled brow^and aching heart. Oh, Jack ! " If ev'ry man's internal care "Were written on his brow, How many would our pity share, "\^''ho raise our envy now," But the world judges by appearances^ and has little s}Tnpathy for aching hearts and troubled brows ; so^^I was resolved, I say, to put the best face on it — snapped my fingers at care — sought those means within reach best calculated to induce oblivion of the pasty and give zest to the enjoyment of the present — studying rather how to best avail myself of what I could have, than to vex and torture myself to no purpose about what I could not; and^o^vvou see, Jack, how fast I was becoming a philosopher. ^ i2 H 9) 172 TOM THORNTON. " Nothing conduces so much, it seems, to the acquirement of a philosophic spirit, ^kui .. M as how to wear a smiling face with an ach- ing heart," said I. " That is the grand point, Jack." " How achieved, Tom ?" There is a great deal in disposition/ and ^ having a proper respect for society, and something in billiards and brandy and water ; but there is nothing like the companionship of brothers in misfortune to make your true philosopher. /Egad, sir, to see two great men struggling with adversitv^over their N. gin «i>^ toddy, is a sight for the gods ; their perfect satisfaction with themselves — their evident appreciation of their own merits — their utter apparent indifference to all sub- lunary cares — their superlative contempt for all tradesmen of every denomination — the easy graceful nonchalance with which they despatch every external source of annoy- ance, form a subject which none but a great A % /ityOtlyPi^^^ s? TOM THORNTON. 173 ^ artist could do justice to. It is astonishing ^ how men/ in one and the same boat, who, until tne chances of life's warfare have thrown them together, would/ probably^ ^ have as soon thought of eating their dinner 6j ^^th a steel fork/ as hob-and-nobbed with each other — excited by the same circum- stances — actuated by the same interests — = y'drawn together by mutual necessity and Xa dependence^ill, forgetting all inequalities, (^ put their wits to work/ and their strength >K united out/ to bring it safely through the ' rapids. What one don't know^or cannot do, the other will teach or assist him to effect ; the powers to will and to do are ^oon ' developed by combination ; and every nerve is put in requisition to turn to the best advantage the opportunities that be. But English refugees, whether pecuniary or political, are a sad uncertain set, and soon get rusty — very rusty,^ unless well oiled and kept in motion. If it is so difficult to 174 TOM THORNTON. take root on their own proper soils, how much more so transplanted to foreign ground ; and if they do, from rare choice or necessity, become fixtures, they are at best^but weeds / / among the flowers, and run to seed in no time ; or supposing there are some goodly w plants/of hardy natures, that will bear trans- /- planting and flourish any where,/*egad7 sir, /^ / there may come a crop, mayhap ;^^ut it will be more blossom", as Dr. Johnson says, " than / fruit." For myself, it had been well could I have shewn even the blossoms; but I was not one of those stones that gather moss^ — — v ^ ^ife in Boulogne soon grew tame and te- dious^^although no elegant there cut a better figure — was neater turned out — gave snugger little dinners, and was ^nocquoft 4f in more repute than Tom Thornton. ^ ^ /- It really is surprising, Jack, continued ^ ^ ^ Tom, to see how some people fit them- jf^^. selves^ and fall into last resources — how easily they adapt themselves to circumstances ^:C7^^ ^^::^^£^^.^:<^Ac /^^^ ^ca^itjz^t^ / / ^ TOM THORNTON. 175 which they can neither avert nor escape. Those last expedients are terrible things, Jack, talk lightly of them as one may — re- ducing all to one die — leaving no alterna- tive — excluding completely all fortuitous operations of chance or good luck — the whole host of those innumerable and fondly- cherished resources in the time of need/ to which the spirit in trouble so tenaciously clings, as long as there is a foot of ground to stand on, or a twig to hang hj/Xo6k at their victims, but look with charity :^what spectacles more saddening than are afforded, ^ Jack, by those numerous little colonies of eX our countrymen/ vegetating here and there in the sundry favourite refuges for the des- titute abroad — striving to drown care — cut a decent figure — some a daslj^ and many to // save money^oo, for six children, out of an- ^nuities which^in their own proper spheres 2^ at home/ would barely suffice to pay their house-rent/ they have tried all expedients — ^ ^^^^^a vA^-z^^ /(^/Ly U^-c^y^ ^^0^2^^ 176 TOM THORNTON. exhausted all resources, and Boulogne, Calais, Bruges, or Brussels, Heaven help them ! are the last resources. Jack, I know them all. Like others, in the vain hope of finding that peace and profit which the one could not afford — each has had its turn, and each its own merits to recommend it. We have lounged away the hours in Paris eating chocolate and ices — dining one day for twenty francs — another for as many sous — luxuriating in eau sucre^Mi^ chateau mar- ^y^ cjaux — flaunted it with the gayest on the / Boulevards of that most arrogant of all little /capitals Brussels^^laughed at their love of dress and equipage, and wondered at the airs they give themselves. From Brussels migrated in disgust to Malines — from thence, all but dead with ennui^ to Ghent — from Ghent next day to Bruges, where hope pointed to a resting-place at last. Jack, have you ever slept at Bruges ? If not, and you don't smoke, contrive, if you can, to see TOM THORNTON. 177 its lions, and they are well worth seeing, be- fore nightfall, and take the last train to — d^ any where/ under the face of the sunyyou please, unless you have invulnerable nerves olfactory. You need not be afraid of the numberless little votive offerings stuck up at the corners of the streets where the cholora once raged, and the people are ci^il enough to strangers with money in their pockets ; their beds and table'd'hotes^oo^Ye ^a/u ^oxceWcnt ^; and as to being cheated by the ^ Flemmings of the teeth out of your head, as some tell you ^hat'e - all noncoiioo*- you ave only to take good care of your teeth/ and you can't well lose them. Well, Jack, we thought we had found a home at last. A fine old city Bruges — unrivalled for its many monuments of antiquity — its vene- rable old buildings — its sacred relics — its ^ churches — convents — pictures — carvings — ^/ Smarboto — Spanish cloaks, and pretty women, and last, but not least^its society, they said. 178 TOM THORNTON". and sociability. Here were temptations / within and without X what could the heart J^ desire more? /o we were determined to be- come domesticated — took lodgings, and were soon in everybody's good graces. There was a soiree at Mrs. Rattray's — very se- lect, to which we were invitedy(^ Mrs. Rattray gave decidedly the best little soirees dansantes in Bruges/ they were un- exceptionable — not a fault — not an omis- sion — the best possible taste without osten- tation — nothing left to be desired. " What a number of beautiful little bot- tles, Tom, and full of the most delicious bouquets, too, I declare," whispered Blanche, as we stoo d- , duriiio- the dance/ beside an ele- J '^ gant console tabley on whichyamong a host (^ of pretty indescribable nick-nacs^ stood a U^ profusion of charming little vinaigrettes and scent-bottles ; "what can they be for?" " I can't conceive," said I ; " let us ask Kate Douglas." ^,^-^OC-i^^^^:^ TOM THORNTON. 179 « Oh, you will see, perhaps, presently," laughed Kate ; " dear Mrs. Rattray is so considerate ; . have patience !" and off she went laughing and spinning round the room with her partner, (k^ Jack, I shall never forget it ; scarcely had she spoken, when the sounds of heavy lumbering wheels approached the house. Ye Gods ! what a rush to the smelling bottles ; up they were snatched 7 here were ladies with their faces buried in their hand- kerchiefs / there, gentlemen holding in ago- nies the bottles to their noses ; while poor Blanche, less fortunate than the others,<^too late to secure one for herself, stood pale and heartsick with her face buried in her fan. " Dear, dear, how provoking, how thought- less of me !" exclaimed Mrs. Rattray, hast- ening to us from a cross room, for I thought Blanche would have fainted ; " how very unfortunate;?**" 180 TOM TTIORNTON. " Take my bottle, dear Mrs. Thornton ; yes, do, do 1" insisted Kate Douglas. " My friends, Mr. Thornton," explained our kind hostess, looking quite concerned, " are more numerous to-night — for the pleasure of meeting you and dear Mrs. Thornton — than I expected, and, really, I ought to have provided better." " You certainly ought to have counted noses," laughed Kate^" that's certain." The cart was gone/^it the pestiferous / record remained, which not all the combined sweets of Mrs. Rattray's drawing-room could dispel ; not even that sweetest of flowers, Kate Douglas, to forfeit my promised polka with w^hom cost me a pang. But Blanche could not get over it, so^xcusing j^' y ^»elvcs oimre'^score of indisposition, vveV ^jyj^ hurried home, resolved never more to sleep, after that night, within reach of the Com- merce de Bruges^ But this is a digression. . Well, then, to resume the thread of my TOM THORNTON. 181 story .^ Having exhausted the resources of Boulogne, I abdicated in favour of other aspirants, threw down the sceptre, and after a sumptuous farewell entertainment to my ^ h\ y t tV^T l g!T~-mH nPi^"; Y set out/ full of fresh cX. jj^^/^j^^^hopes and enthusiasm for Paris, .resolved j^i>t^ . 4 i hcir r to establish myself till some arrange- ment could be effected for my return to England, an event which I could not but flatter myself would be brought about by the combined endeavours of my friends. A new life was now open to me, a life fraught with no less peril than delight. But experience had taught me caution, and, resolved to be very circumspect in my ac- quaintances/ and having some good intro- ductions, I soon found myself among a delightful circle of admiring friends. So few of my countrymen, and more's the pity, seem to care to get into good French soci- ety, that improving all I could/ my oppor- tunities for intercourse with some of the ^ 182 TOM THORNTON. best families in Paris, I had now but few Endish associates, and those few- woiio of :<$ class which not only gratified my own pride exceedingly, but were highly satisfactory to my aunt, to whom, through Henrietta Cle- mentina, I was permitted occasionally to communicate my goings on. This promis- ing commencement on my part gave so much satisfaction indeed to my aunt, that a regular quarterly remittance was the agree- able consequence, with certain hints of a character most encouraging/ if I would only —y be tractable, and submit to be guided by those who knew what was good for me so much better than I did myself The more intimate I became with my new friends, the more I saw and really understood of Parisian society, the more I pitied the taste of thos^ tK who, wedded by prejudices — the result only of their ignorance— to their own habits and pursuits, think nothing so wise, nothing so good, as what they say and do themselves. L he^certainly/ incurs great risks when you endeavour to impart a polish to him beyond what is natural. Some things won't take a ghine, and you may do no end of mischief / TOM THORNTON. 187 if you attempt it. As long as you only rub off the rust, no harm is done ; but it will never do to reduce the^weip^ht of the metal /^^t^^^t^"^ in your impotent attempts to give it a po- lish, which it says plainly enough, if you will only make use of your faculties, it don't want, and won't receive. I can't account for it in any other w^ay. For myself, though British to the back bone, I'm a great advo- cate for French polish — it gives one such an air, such elegance, such composure, such confidence, when one enters a brilliantly-ap- pointed room. A good old English dinner /V part}y and a good old English country dance /y have their merits/ and lots of conviviality ' and good fun to recommend them ; but why the one or the other should be one whit lessened because Mr. Brown is re- quired, by the improved manners of the age, to allow his friends to talk sometimes as well as himself, and Miss Angelina Amelia yV Browiwto move " up the middle and down 188 TOM THORNTON. again," with Mr. Algernon Percy Reginald Smitly somewhat less like a country bum- kin with his Molly in a booth, I cannot comprehend. Port wine and punch, Sir Roger de Coverley, and hunt the slipjDer, are all capital in their way, if Brown would only join the ladies in a fit state, not tear Mrs. Smith's clothes off her back in the De Coverley, and Miss Angelina Amelia Brown could restrain the exuberance of her mirth with Mr. Algernon Percy Reginald Smithy within anything like decent bounds ; if nor, a little French polish in those quar- ters would not be mis-applied, and, I should think, without any material danger to the national character. But we shall never get on, Jack, at this rate. Increasing, then, daily^ the circle of my y. connections)' among others/ it was my good ^ ^Q fortune/to make the acquaintance of Colonel ^^Dupree, an old cavalry officer of the Repub- lic.' a branch of one of the best families in (/a^ C^^f^^i^*^ TOM THORNTON. 189 France, and as brave and distinguished a soldier as ever fought under the most re- nowned of generals. But as our introduc- tion was somewhat extraordinary/ 1 will tell you how it happened. I was wandering ^ one day towards evening in the Pere ^a- ^ / dJiaise, in that half-musing half-melancholy tone of mind which a French cemetery always inspires in me, increased, as it happened, by a long serious letter I had re- ceived that morning from Henrietta^ recall- — / ing past days and hopes and joys for ever / /blasted/ and which had thrown a gloom over / my thoughts which I could not dispel, and ^. was leaning despondingly on the railings/' ^K which enclosed a beautiful monument to the memory of a countrywoman, once the idol of every heart and every tongue/ and thinking of the vanity and mutability of all wordly things, when I distinctly heard a deep groan uttered as from the anguish of a wounded heart near me. 190 TOM THORNTON. Starting, for the moment awe-stricken, from the spot where I stood, and turning hastily into the next alley, I saw an old man, evidently, by his appearance, of supe- rior rank, and a young woman, his child, as I supposed, kneeling side by side before a tomb, absorbed in deep and earnest prayer. >L, His hair was snow-white/' and fell waving over his shoulders, as^ith his bare head y (/\ thrown back/ and his eyes fixed on heaven, he held his hands clasped together before his breast, in the intensity of deep devotion. His features were eminently handsome ; but there was an expression of settled sorrow in them which threw a cloud over their beauty, and touched me with emotion as T gazed on them. His companion was also engaged in prayer, but, from the anxious glances she continually cast towards the old man, it was evident how much he occupied her thoughts, and that she was solicitous, in some way, on his account. Suddenly she raised her veil, ^ TOM THORNTON. 191 as if to watch him closer, when, oh, Jack, a vision of such transcendent loveliness, such heavenly beauty, was revealed to my enrap- tured gaze, that I stood riveted/ as if struck by an enchanter's wand ! Never before, never since, have I beheld female form so beautiful — my most ardent fancy had never pictured anything so^erfect ! How shall I //^e^^ ^(/^ describe her ! To feel the full influence of ^ such beauty it must be seen — nor pen nor pencil can depict it. It was not the lustre of those dark grey eyes, fringed with those long silken lashes in mercy, Jack, to their beholders — that lofty radiant brow, open and unclouded as the brightest noon-day — that faultless Grecian nose, those oval cheeks glowing with health and joy — that sweet be- witching mouth, not nm ilinjj m p nrtn n n ]^ ba ^- over redo l ent of -g milos, that graceful well-turned neck, that faultless figure — oh, no. Jack, it was not all these combined could produce such beauty as I then gazed on for //lo^-c^ 'l^.c'^ O^^-cc^-^ ^^^^/_ ^ 3 192 TOM THORNTON. the first time, unless accompanied with that nameless/ that indescribable expression of every feature/ that gave to each and all their crowning charm. Fearing to appear an intruder on their privacy, after heaving a parting sigly as the ^ thought crossed me that I had probably looked for the last time on the realization of all my fondest dreams, I was about to re- trace my steps, when another groan, still deeper and more spirit-broken, arrested me = — the next moment the old man had sunk senseless on the earth. A slight shriek from his companion brought me in an instant to her side. " Help, help, in God's name !" she cried, in an agony of terror. " My dear uncle ! my poor uncle ! lie has fainted^ Oh, do not - — y leave me !" '' Fear not," said I ; " he will be better soon — see, he is recovering." " Thank God !" ejaculated she, taking his OxAl /u^Zy/Ca^ " Nay, be not afraid, dear uncle," said his niece, affectionately, and kissing his cold ^ cheek ; " but for the kind assistance of this w gentleman/ you w^ould not Jbave been i*^*F ^^^ smiling^njng^ T^^Ussis^J^l to the^^^^^^^ carriage when you are able to w^alkp^nay, you must rest a moment longer^ Ah, now you are quite well again ! Let us come then. K >" 194 TOM THORNTON^y^^''^ ^^vu Mo n sieur w ill have the. fandneoo to let you lean on his arm." " Sir, we cannot sufficiently thank you for your kindness," said the uncle, as w^e ^Yfl^ walked to feie^carriage. " Blanche, my love, I trust you have expressed jiow? acknow- ^^^^^^^ lodgments to Monsieur, and that he wdll accept our best thanks." " I was indeed amply rewarded," replied I, venturing a glance at the beautiful face which now smiled on me with a language^^^ more convincing than a thousand words. " May I know," inquired the uncle, " to whom we are so much indebted ? Ah !" said he, taking my card, " I have heard this name before ; you are a friend, I think, of my old friend and fellow-comrade. General Poignac — good ! I am delighted to have the opportunity to make your acquaintance, Mr. Thornton, and trust, sir, w^^»ay often We had now reached the entrance to the h ^ cud ^/^^^j^/^ y^^^/^^..^-/ ^^^^ ^ ^-^^^ TOM THORNTON. 195 cemetery. Grasping my hand warmlv/ as he got into his carriage — " Farewell !" said the colonel ; " we shall see each other soon again, ^t^O^tyC/ I 5 \T'C; iSliail i3CC ^OiKjlA. V-»U11^X OVJV^XX CigCUXlj y^ ^rtsist." " I hope so," responded Blanche. Our eyes met. That night, Jack, not a ^ wink of sleep closed mine ;^wherefor^if ^ — thou canst not tell, I pity thy w^ant of pene- ^6 tration/ l^ut had I then forgotten one fond faithful heart afar off, beating with the de- votedness of w^oman's constancy/ for me and ^ me alone, in spite ^ ^Teven hopelessness ? had^^A?^?^?^ /^V I contemplated w^hat w^ould be the conse^^N— / ^ quence, when, by one fatal blow^ I had made ^^ a wreck of that fond heart, on whose un- changing solicitude and constancy all my best hopes, almost my daily bread, depen- ded ? No, no ! I had not forgotten. I saw, I knew it all, and terrible was the conflict ^1 between reason and passion ; but there was a siren voice within, appealing in tones of irresistible eloquence, and, though death, it- K 2 Q 196 TOM THORNTON. self had been the penalty, passion had pre- vailed , Jack, I would fain not dwell at length on this part of my history^ fraught as it is with reminiscences I would gladly banish, if I could^ for ever from my memory. Next day, as you may imagine, I was an early visitor at the colonel's hotel, and soon no one was a more frequent or welcome guest at his table than myself. I need not tell you of the rapid progress of my suit, though car- ried on without the slightest susj^icion on the part of the good old Colonel, who never seemed to suppose/ for a moment^- that his niece^Jeft an orphan to his charge, and wholly dependant on hini/with the excep- tion of her mother's small jointure of about five thousand francs/would bestow her hand on any man without his sanction, far less on a foreigner and a stranger ; so/we met, and y^ daily enjoyed each other's society without . restraint, but without any positive avowal/^ V ^ ^ ^^^^;^TOM THORNTON. 197 on either mif^, of the passion which con- sumed us/ till, meeting at a ball at the ^ Countess de ' Momofoldt's , we danced toge- *^^ -^ \)i\&^jC\ was madly in love — avowed it /you know, Jack, my ardent temper / Blanche returned my passion^but I was not without a rival. Between Eugene Dupree, the colo- nel's only son, and myself, the warmest inti- macy soon sprung ujy less, I acknowledge jy on my part, for his sak^for our dispositions and pursuits were totally dissimilar^ than for : > the lovely girl who lived under their roof; stilU)ur intimacy was of the most cordial kind, tilLsome suspicion as to the nature of my . attentions to his cousin crossing his mind,^^ ^ prompted/ no doubtyby jealousy at the evi-^^-> dent preference she shewed for my atten- tions, it soon became clear enough that I was not to carry off the prize so easily, a It was now beyond disguise that I loved and was beloved ; but Eugene also loved y) his cousin/ and had marked her for his own : i^ Ca^lyt {^y^ A^/^ ^^^.t^ '^C'Z^-%1L^ ■UyLjCt.^^Z,^^ ^_^ 198 TOM THORNTON. the colonel took fright, and my visits were forbidden. Maddened by despair, I bribed a confidential servant to convey my letters to her young mistress ; an assignation was the consequence^we met — she fled with me to AustriaTf^were there privately mar- ried, and, in the delirious enjoyment of pre- sent happiness, had not a thought -jg^en for the past or for the future. ^ '"-^ ^iuA-^^^ TOM THORNTON. 199 CHAPTER VII. re The heart, Jack, is a dangerous monitor, and its dictates, as a rule perhaps, should never be more distrusted than when it beats loudest and fastest ; for then it is that pas- sion holds its reign, and reason, submitting to its despotic sway, yields the palnyand /CS flies for very shame. Do not misunderstand /N me. Never since the hour that made Blanche Jx Dupree mine/ has a sigh of regret escaped my bosom on her account, further than that, had we never met, the trials she has suffered for my sake had been spared her. -| But for this reflectionyour union had been/ ^ from first to last/ supremely happy — unem- bittered by a care, save those which ^aaiy^ served to rivet our hearts still closer and 200 TOM THORNTON. 1 closer, and we have had our share ; if trials and troubles are the tests of true love, we have cheerfully paid the penalty, and heavy it has been. But why anticipate ? Much you know already — much I would that you should hear from any lips but these. Like poor Sanguine, my neighbour and copartner in affliction, Ltoo Jiave a tale to tell, and, if you will promise that it shall be entre nous, 1 ioo^ave my rough notes and my ambition, of which the world may hear some day ; but I lack a Sanguine's talent to give them shape and form. And now I think of it. Jack, 'tis the very thing — no hand could do it better than yours — you would enter into the subject con amorej<^jes, yes, — ;/ 'tis the very thing I sighed for; you will want something to keep you steady in Paris/' what better than occasional converse with scenes of sorrow ; they will give a zest to your enjoyments^ it is not good for the heart of man to be unacquainted with afflic- ^> tc^ TOM THORNTON. 201 tion. What say you then^o putting the rough notes in your pockey and throwing them, for amusement, into printing trim? 'Twill keep you out of mischief, and, depend on it, I shall not fail to make honourable mention of you in my second edition. ^ ^ " Nothing w^ould please me better," re- sponded I ; " but J am anxious to know more^ 'TU^^^^ of your adventures at Vienna/^^What said Eugene ?" ^ Ah, true, true ! I was saying that we were as happy and careless as present grati- fication could make us, where all our joys and wishes w^ere centred in each other. One only thought was there that occasionally would intrude, and throw a transient cloud over my spirits — how I should break the intelligence of my marriage to my aunt ; but^s this seemed impossible at present/ without a total and irreparable breach, even if I could be sure of Henrietta's continued friendship and advocacw^ which how could k3 ^ /^<^4 / 202 TOM THORNTON. — / I expect ? - I strove all I could to disguise from Blanche the anxiety which, in spite of -^.^ii, would now and then occupy my thoughts; but our trials were soon to begin. As there /yj is/in Heaven's eyes/ no respect of persons, / .^ neither is there .impunity for those that ^^ insgress. One day w^e were lounging happily enough, arm in arm, in the Prater, enjoy- Q ing its beautiful walksy and the delicious music which is nowhere heard in greater perfection than in Vienna, and laughing heartily at the disconcerted phiz of a re- nowned member of Le Creme de la Creme, who«descending from his high estate, was compelled to run as fast as his legs could carry him after his haty which the wind had taken off his head/ and driven for some distance through the dust, when a man's hand tapped me on the shoulder, and, turn- ing sharply round, Eugene Dupree, rage and hatred in his face, stood before me. TOM THORNTON. 203 A clue, then, had been obtained to our re- treat. I thought Blanche would have faint- ed as she encountered the savage glance of her cousin, and the look of vengeance he cast on me. " Villain !" he exclaimed, almost choking with rage ; " you shall dearly pay for the dishonour you have dared to bring upon my family. I have found you at last ; you shall not escape me twice." "He is my husband, Eugene ; my hus- band !" faltered Blanche. A- — — — ^ " Peace, cousin !" cried Eugene, scorn- 'tf(^iC' fully ; " dare j^ add falsehood to your crime — for shame, for shame !" Though boiling with indignation, I stood unmoved/y^ meeting the furious accusations heaped on me without a word. Not so Eugene Dupree. Enraged beyond endu- rance by my apparent indifference, he could no longer contain himself, and, raising his arm, I received his blow upon my chest. I ' - - ^ ' ^ '^^^^'^ ^ 204 TOM THORNTON. uttered neither threat nor reproach ; he had stmck me, and my sword alone could wash out that affront. Throwing him my card, and receiving his in return, I continued my w^alk as if nothing had occurred, making as light of it as I could to Blanche, that she might have no suspicion of my intention. f^Dtaining the assistance of an acquaintance, the usual preliminaries were quickly com- pleted — we met. " Eugene Dupree," said I, " w^e know not what may be the issue of this meetings' # / /ou dared yesterday to impute falsehood to ^ her w^ho is incapable of deceity I owe it to her to repeat now, before God and man, that your cousin Blanche is my lawful wife — dare you doubt me ?" " May it be as you say," replied Eugene, / sullenly, " formy cousin's sake ! But I am ' y /' not here to avenge her honour, as she seems to have so little respect for it herself ; 1 am here to receive the only satisfaction you ^a>i ^^^ i/^^u^ ^c^ TOM THORNTON. 205 dc can give me for the dishonour done my family, to say nothing of your faithlessnessTj^ your treachery, towards myself." " Be it so," replied I ; " but if you fall, A- your blood be on your own head." ^ Eugene was a perfect master of his wea- inferior to me in coolness ; 4*e» ^ -^ - ^ ft viQontW tl: -^^. .xion^ thirsted for my blood. For some time we were pretty evenly matched ; when, making a violent lunge, I received a flesh wound in my left arm ; almost at the same moment my sword passed through his body — he felly and again I was compelled to fly. ^Whither should we go/ By the bounty of my Aunt Lucy, who, pleased with the course she fondly hoped I was now pursuing, had taken great interest lately in my affairs, my debts, by the co- operation of Messrs. Honey and Aloes, had been so far discharged as to permit of my return to England without fear ; though it was thouofht as w^eli that I should remain in ^ 206 TOM THORNTON. Pariy for the present, or proceed to Italy, till some further arrangements in my behalf were ripe for execution, till when it was judged best that I should be out of the way. My sudden return, therefore, was not likely to be very pleasing to my aunt, espe- cially under the circumstance in which I was now to appear before her — a supplicant p^ for forgiveness ^^ain, kill fui a ' pa - rdon which it seemed almost hopeless for me to expect to obtain. But what alternative was left ? Until the excitement attending Eugene's fate had pass- Sc ed every France was shut against me ; sa in- y 1 dulging still a hope that if we could throw ourselves at my aunt's feet — if she could but see Blanche — she could never be insensi- ble to such beauty, such virtue, such gentle- ness, such goodness, I determined to make a last appeal to her affections, andif possible, ^ttle - in my native land. But my fliglit ■with the beautiful niece of Colonel Dupree TOM THORNTON 207 /o had, as I might have supposed, got wind, and soon travelled as ill-winds usually do, fast enough to reach my friends /odium and reproach encountered us at every turn. I resolved to set the world at defiance/ and ^nap my fingers at its slanders and malice. It only remained for me to seek my aunt, make a full confession of everything, pre- sent my beautiful Blanche to her, ^^'lio^^ would hg, i f dm o n cn ^nw he^-^ j a sure p^ss - ^pnvf- J piV^r^Q no flor^^^j t^:>^Lo v Lo o rf^ aud then what need we care for Avhat the world might say ? Full of alternate fears and hopes we ar- rived at the Hall. JMy aunt had observed my approach from her chamber window, and furious with rage^for she did not think we were married^ she ordered the servants to refuse me admittance. " If I desired to communicate with her it must be by letter.'* Not even Henrietta made her appearance, being, as I learnt afterwards with keenest 208 TOM THORNTON. sorrow, confined with serious illness to her bed. Jack, you know the rest — the next day I quitted my native land for ever. -^ " " Not for ever, Tom — no, no, not for ever !" " Yes, Jack, for ever !" There was a mutual silence for some mo- ments. ^^ What trials and troubles, Jack, we ^f have had to contend with, continued he, ^ none but myself and the angel that shared all my sorrows will ever know. France not offering us a safe asylum at present, we found a temporary home in Brussels ; till, hearing to our joy that, with his last breath, Eugene had done me justice — acknowledged his belief that his cousin Blanche was my lawful wife — that personal feelings of jea- lousy and hatred alone had induced him to provoke me to the duel — 2fc«4 that he died in peace and forgiveness with me^and that the popular odiuny which had been so K 4 TOM THORNTON. 209 lavishly but unjustly heaped on me/was, in ^ consequence fast subsiding, and that the colonel's wrath/ which had threated to pur- ^^ ^ sue me with unceasing vengeance^ was so ^fJ p/ far appeased/ as to remove all apprehensions ^ ^ on that score, although no entreaties could induce him to forgive his niece for the grief and affliction into which her undutiful con- duct had plunged her family — I resolved to ^ quit Belgium/ and again steer my course, after visiting in turn all the most reputed r\ resorts for domiciliation by English exiles in France/ Belgium^ and Germany, to little Boulogne/ from which, after all, the unhap- py refugee in search of a home^a home as Anglican, and more so perhaps than he will — '/find elsewhere/^ may go farther and fare / worse. It has these advantages — quick and cheap access -- to and from the white cliffs of Dover, early posts, easy communication with Paris, lodgings plentiful and not dear, heal- thy climate, fine sea, pleasant environs, to* .K 210 TOM THORNTON. lerable markets, abundance of English faces for those that like them, and last, but to too many not least, plenty of chea]) brandy and billiard tables. For none of these in particular, however, except for the white cliffs and the early posts, did I retrace my steps to Boulogne ; but as a reconciliation, if possible, with my aunt was a matter of indispensable import- ance, I still indulged a hope that in time it might be brought about by the mediation of friends, and J;herefore that the nearer we were together, the better it would be for />^^V^ us j( for, after the unfeeling, the unmerited repulse, as I then regarded it, that we had lately received, my pride forbade the pos- sibility of any personal communication - from -m^ even by letter, and all our hopes rested consequently on the interest my friends might be able to exert in our behalf. Pride, Jack, has been the stumbling block before now, and will continue to be, of wiser TOM THORNTON. 211 men than Tom Thornton. How many a trouble of this h'fe might be warded off, how many a blow averted, how many a wound healed, by the word spoken in due season ; how many miseries are incurred, how much needless sorrow and tribulation perpetuated, because the heart refuses to be humbled, and the lips are slow to speak ? peace/ For some time we managed to live de- cently enough on what remained of Henri- etta's package, together with Blanche's little / / all ; but^s this became exhausted, and po- /— /verty^fearful in any shape, but doubly so in ^n a foreign land^tared us in the face, for the / remittances from my aunt had been entii-ely withdrawn, I at last yielded to Blanche's solicitations, and penned a penitential letter /-x to hoPir inveighing bitterly against her cru- (y^ elt)y in casting me^ unheard^ like a dog from ^A^ / her door, but imploring her assistance till some arrangement could be made for my A^^ ^ 212 TOM THORNTON. return to England, where I hojDed to have interest enough to procure/ perhaps the post ^ of private seeretar}yor of attache to a foreign embassy ; with much more/of a kind which I thought would best find its way to her heart. For weeks my letter remained unanswer- ed, when the post at length brought me a few frigid lines, in my aunt's hand, to say, C/ C that — If I really desired her forgiveness, I knew how to deserve ityby renouncing im- mediately and for ever, as the first earnest of my sinceritv/ and an indispensable con- dition of her favour, a connection;^ as scan- dalous and discreditable as it was without )/ ^ — -J excuse or palliation. — Heaven forgive her ! — -^therwise she would abandon me to my fate. She would give me twelve months to determine between a life of jdislia»^9;^«_and^ reproach, or of honour and respectability. If by then I persisted in continuing a ^ts* .gKtee-^to my name and family, her favour jft^l^^t'JTl^ TOM THORNTON. 213 should be for ever withdrawn. In the meanwhile I should not wanty^ZIn applica- ^tion_at Adam'o bank, I should find a thou- sand francs placed to my credit >^ a like n amount should be also at mj disposal quar- ^ iT- terly/iill the year's end. ^^ " A year, Jack, all but a few weeks, has now elapsed/ since the receipt of that letter. I shall then, if I live, take my last remit- tance, and then MH^nporte, I can have ^^ Blanche's tablet finishecUthat's a consola- tion ; and, after that " " You have wisely resolved, Tom," said I, " to prefeiv if not for your own sake, at least for that of your child^ a life of credit and comfort, to poverty and reproach," He made me no answer ; but I could see the conflict working within him — I had touched the chord that vibrated most power- fully at his heart — it was evident the thought of his helpless innocent child had — i/na^^yU^\ 214 TOM THORNTON. for a momerit shaken his resolution ; but, if so, it was but for a moment. " No, Jack," said he, " my course is well nigh runi:^something here," pointing to his heart, " tells me that this chamber will be my last/ niy only home on earth. For my V> child I have no fear/ now. Jack, that you know all. My aunt Lucy could not be in- sensible to your mediation in her behalf No, no," continued Tom, while tears glis- tened in his eyes, " she could not desert my babe :^or myself, this chamber, shared with my beautiful Blanche, was a palace of joy and content^ of what value woi^ be that wealth and distinction now, 4^yhich she ^^ jf/i^Ty^/^^^^^ not ^ft*^ nor would I exchange the ^ / ^^LS^ luxury of my visits to her grave/ for all the i/J pleasures my Aunt Lucy's fortune could procure me." It was useless, I saw, in his present tone of mind, to expostulate with him. To my question, why he should not long ago have TOM THORNTON. 215 acknowledged his marriage to Aunt Lucy, and set the world's censure at rest. — " What," replied he, " after being turned like a dog from her door ? No, no, Jack, you know me better ; call it folly, false pride, obstinacy, madness, what you will — I de- sjDise the world and its opinions too much to make any further efforts to satisfy one or the other 1" " But," urged I, " the authentication of your marriage is due to your wife and child." " I do not see," said he, " how my friends can expectg^nf my hnndffj- «» why I should gratify thefc, with, a certificate of my wife's fair title, or my child's either." " But the laws of society require it," in- sisted I ; " that you must know, Tom." " Well, well," said he, thoughtfully, " there is something in that. For my child's sake, and that no spot should ever sully her fair fame, these papers — taking some me- {J^ M^^y ^^^ C^^^>^ ^-^^ flexihlliti) / but would attack him again to- morrow. The scene changed — my slumbers became more and more disturbed^c^I felt the tears gushing from my eyes^^^ my heart was too full, I could w^ restrain them^lon- ger.yv I was following my poor friend, as chief mourner, to the cemetery, where I was to have accompanied him to visit the grave of his Blanche, but where he had since en- joined me to see him placed by her side. Feverish and unrefreshed, I started from these dismal phantoms of an over-excited brain, and found it was already within an hour of my appointment to be again in the Rue d'Amhois, I was to be there by eleven, and we were to set out immediately for the Haute Vilie, in which direction the cemetery lay. As I mounted the staircase and ap- L 2 ^ ^ 220 TOM THORNTON, proached landing number three, I felt rather disappointed at not seeing Tom, as on the preceding day, to greet mex^ after his usual wont ; my surprise became Silaruy when, knocking at the door, I received no answer. Again I tapped/but more gently, thinking that fatigued^ perhaps/ by our last night's long conversatioiy he was not yet uiywhen // a faint voice from withiny bade me enter, //3/ and, to my grief, there lay poor Tom, bol- stered up in bed/ as high as he could raise himself, and evidently suffering with acute internal pain. To my anxious enquiries, expressed more by the consternation of my looks than words — for the difficulty of breathinof under which he seemed to be la- bourinof left me in no doubt as to the nature of his disease — he replied only with a faint smiley as if he *iftft glad I had come, and, Ufe^ pointing to the window, made a sign as if he wanted more air. I opened the case- ment — this seemed to revive him, and sit- A ^5^^ TOM THORNTON. 221 tiDg down by^is- bedside, I asked hiny if he ^ ^ had sent for a doctor. " Yes," said he, " Sanguine has been to Allerton ; he'll be here soon, if he's at home ; he never shirks me/ though I do owe him an old score. Put your hand there. Jack, it's there — the heart — my mother died of it/^'^2><) •^ Don't look so blue, though^ I'm safe — /enough this timeyit's going off — I can't ^ talk much, though — the joy of seeing you last night upset me. Go and take a peep at my girl, there, and give her a kiss for ^ me \AiVii have you breakfasted ? Josephine shall get some coffee in a moment." " Yes, yes ; I wanted nothing but to see him better ; he must not talkyas it seemed to give him pain." Returning from the chamber where his child lay sleeping in blissful unconsciousness of the dark threatening clouds gathering around her — " I have been thinking," said Tom, as I drew a chair beside him, " of ^ 222 TOM THORNTON. what you said last night about the duty I Ql^^ owe to that poor babe and the memory of — its mother ; yZ^ think, Jack, I shall write to Aunt Lucy some day. By the bye, w^hen do you talk of going on to Paris ? — ah, to- morrow, if I am quite well enough. Yes, yes, I shall be all right again by and bye — you mustn't forget, though, to take some of S>L the mild Wj^'s with you, or you'll be poison- ed with their cabbage leaves — hark ! who's that ! ah, my kind neighbour Sanguine — he's as good as a mother to me." " I am delighted, Mr. Hartley, to see you here this morning," exclaimed Mr. San- guine, grasping my hand with emotion ; " 'tw^ill be all right with him now. Aller- ton will be with us directly. Try this, my dear fellow," continued he, addressing Tom, and stirring a smoaking hot mess of por- ^ ridgey which he placed before him ; " I have had it made on purpose/ from a receipt of ^ my grandmother. Lady Florence Sanguine, « TOM THORNTON. 223 of lamented memory. She was a good womaiy^Lady Florence, Mr. Hartley; her medicine chest wrought more miracles than even Saint Hubert himself, and this por- ridge, the receipt for which I shall be happy to give youy or any of your friends, was her universal and infallible panacea." " Give me a spoonful or two of it, then, by all means," said Tom, smiling, and swal- lowing spoonful after spoonful eagerly, as Mr, Sanguine replenished them evidently with extreme delight. " There, that will do for the present," interposed he, as Tom seemed by no means averse to Lady Florence's specific ; " we must not overdo it a(^ there may be too much even of a good thing. The diiFusion of use- ful knowledge, Mr. Hartley, can hardly be too widely encouraged, that all must allow : the universal adoption of that porridge, sir, would be a boon to mankind/ far exceeding i^i ,aH- the Hygeists^i*ft«ift. ever dreamt of. En- ^Z^i^ U / A^<^7-t^ 'T /^^^c^ ^^^yi^.^/'^/i^-,:*^^^^^.,?^^ 224 TOM THORNTON. jj tre/noiiSy I've serious thoughts of making a national affair of it. Taste it, only taste it, sir," urged Mr. SangTiine, enforcing his recommendation by taking several large mouthful s with considerable relish himself; " do me the favour to taste it, sir." " I have no doubt of its excellence," responded I ; nor had I, for its savour was most inviting, as much so as a happy combi- nation of the utile cum duIcibusAn which fragrant fumes of Jamaica rum and other ^;^^^^ pleasant t hings muisdimt generis combinecL / could make it : " but I would not rob our patient of a drop, especially as it appeared already to have worked wonders ; hut 1 should be proud of the receipt, and, if made a national affair of, as it ought to be, most assuredly it should have all the patronage that I could give it." Mr. Sanguine's eyes glistened — comfort, however compounded or conveyed, soon found its way to his heart. " 'Gad, sir, you / c co/~/A£^<^tz-ryL£^ u^^^iCr TOM THORNTON. 225 shall have it !" exclaimed he, joyfully ; " and if you can contrive to introduce it — to bring it before the public, Mr. Hartley, 'gad, sir, it shall be ' Sanguine, Hartle^^ Co.' — that's a bargain !" As he spoke, the doctor entered the room, rubbing his hands, although it was a broil- ing summer's day. He was a somewhat short, coii:ely, benovelent looking person in the meridian of life, evidently of a social complexion/ and with just the voice and manner suited to a sick chamber. " Ah !" said he, after returning my salutation and nodding to Mr. Sanguine ; " the old story I suppose — you've been dining again at Lowe's, and now are paying penance ; well, you won't take warning." This he said in a tone so compassionate/- that I loved the little doctor from that mo- ment, and felt that poor Tom was perfectly safe in his hands. ^ After the usual interrogations/ and pro- ^ L3 ^ 226 TOM THORNTON. fessional chitchat, I took him aside as he left the room, and^elling him who I wav and the circumstances of our yesterday's meeting, drew from him a confirmation of my worst fearsigl that Tom, in truth, had confirmed disease of the heart — that it had existed for a long time past, and that so frequent and violent had been the attacks of late, since the death of his wife, that great danger was to be apprehended^ that — - / eveiy cause of excitement ought to be avoided, as far as possible ; that there inight be little or no warning y that he would no - — doubt rally and soon recover this time/ and Ay appear again as well as ever in a day or two ; y but there was no certainty, no safety — he might live twelve months, or not one. I mentioned my intended journey to Paris/ and some engagements that required my presence there, if possible, the next day, but at the same time expressing my deter- /j TOM THORNTON. 227 mination not to quit Boulogne if he thought jikt^- would be of any service. " On the contrary," said he ; "I think your absence just now would be preferable. He is suffering, you see, from the excite- ment and agitation of your yesterday's meet- ing ; but you may assure him of your speedy return, and this will keep up his spirits till you meet again." " I shall not rest happily," I assured the doctor, " till that hour arrives. I have a ^ duty to perform, as his friend^ both to him- ^w self and his poor helpless, sinless^hild there, y which " ^ " I understand," responded the Z)octor ; " I ^C^ see, I see — that can be better done by-and- by/ any further excitement at present might be his deathJv^^and so sayin^and having re- ceived his repeated assurances that " Tom's recovery depended on all mention of his affairs being for the present avoided, and that he would send me regular accounts of /^e^/}i^€^^^i y TOM THORXTON. his progress while I was away, I placed a purse in Jbie- hands, that he might want for no comforts that his case required, and which he w^ould the more readily accept from him than any one else, and took my leave with a sanguine hope that hy our combined efforts he might not only be re- stored to health, but to the enjoyment of many unclouded years of happiness and pros- perity yet in store for him. " Ah !" said Tom, as I returned to his bed-side, " I know^ what you have been asking the doctor." " What ?" said I, striving to assume a smile, as if, although my looks were sad, my heart was full of reassurance. " You've been asking him. Jack, if I was going to die, and if you should defer your journey to Paris. No, no ; you had better go now — I tell you there is no danger — we shall soon meet again. You stay a fortnight you say^ I shall be quite well again by U^-/ 6J — TOM THORNTON. 229 then. You won't forget to have a look at us, though, on your return, eh ?^ and then t/ ^y^^ ^^^^^ ^ 234 TOM THORNTON. Tom closed his eyes, and soon, under the influence of the opiate, sunk into a deep and sound sleep. I lingered yet a few minutes, to be assured that all was well ; and once more committing him/ and all he ^ held dearest/ to the care of Him, in whose hands are the issues of life and death, and ^ whose dispensations are all love^I left the — - Rue d'Ambois with a heavy heart, andlaking 0/ Stn the doctor in my way/ and receiving his re- newed assurances that he would not fail to write to me at Paris, I took my place in the Diligence, and by the next evening/ was comfortably domiciled at Meurice's. If there is one place more than another cal- culated to make a man forget his troubles, w^hatever they may be, it is Paris. There is a charm, a fascinatioiLabout it, for those who understand how to avail themselves/ M and make the most of its infinite resources y for eating and drinking^dressing/^t^prome- ^ / nading, and sight-seeing, and all the other , TOM THORNTON. 235 innumerable agremens for time-killing on the most improved system, which can no where else be found in such perfection. However you may be imbued to the brim with John Bullism — however addicted to " the blues" — however disposed to regard everybody and everything as inferior to your- self and your own doings, the deuce is in it if you find any one to sympatize with your peculiarities there. It is worse than folly, my dear Mr. Dobson, to be hoisting your V colours in a land/ where all such flimsy / badges and questionable titles of distinction are for ever exploded. You have great cause to think well of yourself, no doubt, and of your own free and happy land/ second to none other under the face of the sun ; and pride of nationality is a virtue/and becomes you exceedingly in Lombard-street and Clapham Rise ; but forget it all you can, if you would be wise and happv in the Palais Royal; for I assure you there are nany i! 236 TOM THORNTON. capital things to be got there, which not even Cheapside or Ludgate Hill can boast of. Frenchmen know nothing of English " blues ;" they have not even a word or phrase in their dictionaries at all synonymous with our signification of the word ; their much more intelligible term triste conveys no idea at all of our " blues ;" a Frenchman, I say, cannot understand it ; he cannot, for the life of him, make out why an English- man, with all his self-complacency — with lots of money in his pocket, and every anti- dote to care seemingly at his command, should be the most miserable being in exist- ence. If ennui attack him in the morn- ing, his cafe or his ducasse make him ample amends before night — he snaps his fingers at care, and, to the sound of the fiddle or the dice-box, works and plays away his days like a true philosopher — catching pleasure as its flies — industrious but not morose — never idle — always cheerful — whose best ^ TOM THORNTON. 237 philosophy, he thinks, consists in the right appreciation of his favourite maxim, vive la bagatelle. During my journey from Boulogne to ^ Paris/ I could think of nothing but poor Tom and his little Blanche ; if I dozed for a few minutes in the corner of the coupe, still their forms were before me — I could not/ for a moment/ separate myself from the sick chamber of my poor friend ; perhaps we had met and parted for the last time. Whatever might befal, his child should never want a friend and protector, even should Aunt Lucy be irreconcilable/Kiit, arrived in the gayest capital in the world, my spirits soon revived; and a line from the /^ Jaf^'ovth.j doctor, imying that his patient was d^ even better than he could have expected, having set my mind at rest on that score, I gave myself up to the full enjoyment of the enchanting scenes around me. Hurried from one source of gaiety and ^ 4 238 TOM THORNTON excitement to anotbeiyin the intoxicating whirl of Parisian life, with ample means and excellent introduction, I was lost for some time in a transport of admiration and de- light, and had almost forgotten that there was such a place as old England, and a cer- tain sick and sad chamber/ on the third floor of a certain obscure street in Boulogne-sur- ??z^r^when, as I was looking over my port- folio one evening, Tom's " rough notes," which he had placed in my hands for correc- tiony and " putting into printing trim," as he expressed it, turned up. Something like a blush of shame suffused my cheeks/ as I thought how long they had lain unthought of- what if I made the best amends . I could/ and set to work at once in good ? earnest/ In a moment more the manu- script was before me, and soon I was deeply absorbed, to the exclusion of every other thought, in its perusal. It was evidently the work of Tom's leisure ^ tf^^^a^ ii^'uM^ ^^ ^^^^ "^/^^-^ TOM THORNTON. 239 hour&j^and they, alas ! were man}\ professing - to record some incidents of his own melan- choly but brief history, with his thoughts and reflections thereon, especially during the unhappy period of hi s impri s onmcntjord^ ^i^^^,^ , . JH Boulognn gaiJr It seemed Jie had kept ^^^^^/ a sort of rambling journal of his doings and sufferings there, and he appeared to set high ^ value on it; for in a note/- which accompa- <^ nied it, written the night before my depar- (/\ ture^ and addressed to me, he repeated his earnest wish that I would " look it over, and put it, if possible, into printing shape^for," J — ^ said he, " I think it would be read with in- /n terest/ and, may be, profit, by many on the ^ otheiy as well as on this side of the channel ; / an(Lif it did not edify much, it might serve / as a warning to many a fool/ like himself, against the love of trinkets — tailors-j- horse- jockeys — opera-dancers — G^hampagne-sup- ^ ;^^^pers^!jh»^^etting-booksJ^^_ - - I found, if I altered the course or con- ) ^ 240 TOM THORNTON. duct of the narrative, if such it could be called, or endeavoured to give it a more connected or comprehensive form, I should so change the original desigiythat it would assume quite a different shape to what it was intended, ancLif I attempted additions or embellishments, how did I know they would improve it ? So, I determined to let it go as it was^vord for word, as they fell unstudied from the pen that wrote them. »- The reader will judge for himself. At all events, if by the perusal of these pages one thoughtless youngster is warned against the perils of extravagance and dissipation, and induced to " look before he leaps ;" or the •^^^^I^^A'T^^^ spendthrift or profligate, laying to heart the ^-^ - ' moral intended to be inculcated, is arrested in his fatal career of ruin and misery, and induced to pause, ere he become inextrica- bly overwhelmed in the gulf that is hurrying him to destruction — then will poor Tom's history have not been penned in vain. TOM THORNTON. 241 ^ PART U. JOURNAL. Boulogne, December 15, 18 — . " There, then ; I -^nnofc see to do ^\in/^ O^^-^-z^/^ more now," said Blanche, suddenly laying down her work/ and regarding me T\dth a look of fond solicitude, as I sat, with my head leaning on my hand, absorbed in thought^by her side. " Tom, dear, what is the matter?, you have not smiled on me once to-day, no, not once • yv^re you ill, — ^ ^X^ Tom ?" " Only sick at hear t, Bl anche ; ^cannot >^/help thinking y and my thoughts are sad / enough. Heaven knows !" VOL. I. 242 TOM THORNTON. " Why do you think so much then, Tom, "•■^ dear?yv^ou think too much." ^ " It was of you, too, I was thinking, Blanche." — / " Of me, Tom ! how kind, how good of / — ^ you/yyXnd what were your thoughts about, ^^ ^'ieflme?" *' They might not please you if I did." 'y " Oh, yes, yes ! you would not think of anything, Tom, displeasing to me ; unless it were about Henrietta Clementina,^ and - that, you know, would make me very jealous." " No, it was not about Henrietta Cle- mentina^his time." " Well, what then ?" " I was thinking, then, how much happier you might have been, Blanche, had we ne- / /V JO ver met in the Fere ^aekm^e^imj, I see — ^- -"' that you are angry with me now." As I spoke, the blood forsook her face, her lip quivered, and a tear stole down her TOM THORNTON. 243 cheek. " Why, Tom ?" said she, raising her swimming eyes to mine/ " why happier ?" " Look around you, Blanche, and need you ask why ?" '* And yetyou told me, Tom, but yester- day^you would not exchange this humble lodging shared with your Blanche, for all Aunt Lucy's and Henrietta's riches put together." " Nor would I, that you know, Blanche." " Indeed, I shall not think so, if you say such unkind, such cruel things again, Tom. How much greater have been your sacrifices, T ^ m , than mine, and yet you do not com- plain." " If I do, 'tis not for myself." " What if I am happy ? )^at if I am — -^^^ contented with the lot it has pleased God to give me ?" " You deserve a better.'* " If I did, cannot He give it me^ who <^ gives us all things that are good for us ?" M 2 244 TOM THORNTON. * " Want and misery stare us in the face — how call you that a happy lot ?" " We have never had more laid on us than the power was given us to bear, Tom. With the affliction, He giveth a way out of it, if we trust in Him." " Blanche, 'tis the thought of the future that weighs heaviest here. If my aunt re- main irreconcilable — if I am compelled to lie and rot away my days in idleness and poverty, an exile^to eat the bitter bread of ToiTordepen dance — Oh, is not that thought enough to make me mad !" " Despair is sinful, Tom. Don't you re- collect the lines you wrote once, when T was very sad about Aunt Luoy — almost broken hearted ?" " I've walk'd amidst life's flowery ways, Where not a weed apparent grew, And all seem'd cloudless to the gaze — All deck'd alike in golden hue, And beautiful and bright ; ^^ /Ac^ c^^^/^A^^^ /^^^^^ ^ TOM THORNTON. 245 And mark'd the sudden storm arise — Rush through the vale the howling blast, And suddenly the sunniest skies. By threat'ning tempest overcast, Turn black as night. " Life's thorny paths I've travell'd too, With troubled brow and heart of care, Where neither fruit nor flow'ret grew. And all seem'd barren, bleak, and bare. And desolate and drear ; And, lo I above the raging storm, Dark angel-like but to destroy/ ^^ I've seen a bright and glorious form. Herald of hope, and peace, and joy, As suddenly appear. " And then I've thought, when fair the skies, Flow'rs strew' d my path, and all was bright, How full my heart of vanity, How distant seem'd th' approaching night Of desolating care ; But when.the hour of trial o'er, Hope smil'd, and all was bright again ; Oh ! not till then I've thought how poor Was proud presumptuous man, how vain. How sinful was despair !" " If all else fail, Tom, we have the talents left recollect, which have been given us for use." 246 TOM THORNTON. " God help us, Blanche, if we have to rely on them for our daily bread! Look at those fair, delicate hands — that fragile form — think you they are formed for la- bour?" U^ " Wherefore not l.We know not our strength till we try it. Don't you know, Tom, what Aunt Lucy's last and ' best gift' says — ' The slothful hideth his hand in his bosom ; it grieveth him to bring it again to his mouth. — The desire of the slothful killeth him, for his hands refuse to labour. — Slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep ; and an idle soul shall suffer hunger. — In all labour there is profit ; but the talk of the lips tendeth only to penury. — Then I saw and considered it well ; I looked upon it and received instruction." " What can / do, Blanche ?" " Many things, Tom ; let me see — write a book." " Who would read it ?" TOM THORNTON. 247 " How ridiculous ! I would read it — everybody would read it, to be sure !" A new light flashed across me/yy¥es, I woiild keep a journal — my own history, as a warning to those, and, ohw how numerous — how innumerable a class they were, who seemed to have an invincible propensity for over-running the constable. That would be an achievement second only in grandeur of conception to Septimus Sanguine's great r^nd immortal work^ which some day was to C\ electrify the world. I would no longer sit ^ with my hand in my bosony wasting away the ^V hours in fruitless repinings — T would shake off the slothfulness that was consuming me, and refrain my lips from the idle murmurs that tend but to penury and shame. " Good, good, Tom, 'tis a noble resolu- ^ tion 'JRfest assured, dear, the best antidote to care, is to have somethin^always to do." " Would I possessed your patience, Blanche, your perseverance !" ^^Z^/L^^f^^^^^c^ \ 248 TOM THORNTON. f r " Are you in earnest, Tom ? a X^ s^' 7^^ — ^ need not sigh in vain — they are easily ac- quired." " How?" I " Therein," said she, with a sweet encou- raging smile, pointing to Aunt Lucy's last and * best gift,' as we always called it, that . lay on a shelf before us ; " tbftt- is where I ^^'^^ find it, Tom, and where you may also, if you J — . y will/ .^h all I shew you where ?" *' Yes, yes, dearest^another time." " No, not another time, love — now is the best time. When I am sad, Toni^and I am sometimes sad as well as you^^l go to that book, and, like a faithful bosom friend, its arms arc always open to me. I will shew you where I have found the comfort I sought for — here," continued she, laying the volume open before me, ^ here, Toin^ I will read it to you." She read — I listened ; . she read on and onx I stirred not; verse followed verse, and ^ TOM THORNTON. 249 *—-/ chapter chapter i still my ears drank in, as a refreshing draught, those blessed words of consolation and encouragement, such as no language had ever before conveyed to my fainting soul. " There," said Blanche, as she closed the book, " you know now, Tom, wherein is my trust." Thus counselled and encouraged, I com- menced my task. December 17. — Blanche insists that go- ing on well/ is quite as essential to the attainment of a good end as beginning well. There can be no question about it, though the effort it costs terribly tries the strength sometimes. I tell her that " the back is not always suited to the burthen, nor the burthen to the back." " Faint not," she says — " press on — per- severe, and the hill-top M'ill be reached at last, where there is a resting-place ; and, oh, such a glorious prospect, Tom ! ' M 3 250 TOM THORNTON. So it is resolved that Aunt Lucy's ** best gift" is to be the supporter and encourager in all times of weakness and irresolution; and, moreover, that it shall occupy at least the last hour of every day^n one condition, U/^tMy that she - Avould say nothing about it to ^ Plumley or O'Hara. --* " Why not, Tom, dear ?" she asked, art- lessly. " Because they would only laugh at me, ia^-iJ:Ma/Uy if you did ; and one don't^ke to be laughed ^ at, Blanche." " Oh, is that all, Tom ?*pray let them laugh, and blush not. What if their mirth turn to sorrow, and your shame to joy !" " But it is exceedingly unpleasant to be laughed at, nevertheless." / I gained the point ; >>P'Hara and Plumley / should know nothing about it. I had no objection to be shown the right way, and, as far as I could, to continue to walk therein, provided I did not get laughed at for itA^ /A^ /^ l{y-^U^^ /!^ ^t^V-^^y/i^^^'^^^ / — z^. e^ ^^/j-tz^ t^^?^ia^7^^.^^^^y ^^^^-^ TOM THORNTON 251 This^^fts- all satisfactorily settled, as we 'sat at breakfast^ though I could see I had lost a step in Blanche's good opinion by my fear of Plumley and O'Hara^x Ao^ e lot k romovodj I now saw, by her bustling about the room, putting things in their places, drawing her little round work-table before the window, and arranging her portfolio' and pencils^hat something fresh was in the wind. I love to watch her pretty important look of^elf-satisfaction when about to put into execution some new design she has set her heart on. I kn/w, whatever may be the fruits, the motive that sows the seed and labours so bard - to bring it to perfection, v^ Ut/lcdru always right — the perfect purity of purpose, -^-'-^'^(^ be its results what they may, that marks all she says and does, is so refreshing^^so /\ inspiring^ after the deceit and trickery with ' which the world abounds at every step, that, were that her only attraction, she would be ^ ^<^'AJ ^^^3^ ^Z^iy^ ^/ ^:t,/^^-£'-^^t^ ^^^^ 252 TOM THORNTON. perfection in my eyes. Well, having put some fresh logs on the fire, drawn up the blinds a loop higher^to get a right light, -^ and sat herself down at length before the little round table — " Tom," said she, " you know how nicely I did those heads of Saint Bartholomew and the Dying Gla- diator, which you said you would have framed and hung in your dressing-room some day? Well, I have been thinking, Tom, of trying my strength as well as you — I with my pencil, you see, and you with your pen^^only think, if you could make a hit, and I could make a hit,^here would be a harvest. Nay, you may smile and shake your head/^we don't know what we can do till we try; so, now, put down that tiresome book, and turn round — I am going to take your portrait !" " My portrait ! - Qj^ if anything could aEe^ourTbrtune, that would, Blanche ! You are joking, though ?" ^ ^r-. y^ ^ /Z^>^ TOM THORNTON. 253 ^. " Never more serious, Tom, in my life — // j6ily just think, if I could but make a hit — /of you, TomuJpaihmii1r1 ]w inim nf twenty more immediately. There is Mowbray, you know, and Plumley, and O'Hara, and — / Strong^who is always having a Fronc ^ b - ^^4^^ daguejotype of himself, because he can't get a likeness to please him ; and the Wad- dlestems, and the Robinsons^vhose three boys are going to Australia ; and Alice y/ Faulkner, who m engaged to George Fleet- wood, who is going out with his regiment next April- and I don't know how many / J/ more^ So, now, push up your hair, and put yourself in a chair there^^and^if you are ^ very good and patient as a lamb, I will let you oif in an hour at furthest." What could be said ? I had pronounced unqualified praise of the Saint Bartholomew and the Dying Gladiator ; the purpose, too, was beautiful, and the idea of being the first essential element in its development^- A^ ^^^ ^ Cfi^^^-^^i^^>i^f A^^^^^^^ 254 e^ A^ '-.^^ ^^^^yt^^^i^-^^f^ y TOM THORNTON. was not without its charai. In fact, I felt the full force of the appeal ; and so, having given a graceful turn to my hair and collar, and put mjselfni a . bo coming position, down I sat, determined to give every assistance in my power towards an undertaking so flattering to my pride, so full of promise. " A little more to the left, if you please, a little more still — there, that will do beau- tifully. Stay, let me arrange your hair — how rough it is L*»^ you must put on your best i coat and cravat, Xomi when I come tothem^vy^ — there, theiu that is better : now, turn again rather more to the leftr— that will do, h^UT^ /^ -^ __^ — vy'y^ :1^ /and look at me / it is so delightful to have ^A^^— the portrait of any one you love looking at you, whichever way you turn, isn't it ? You don't like the collar turned down like Lord Byron, Tom !^Nor do I, it looks so lacka- daisical. Now, don't move for the world — look straight at me 2 you must not even ' y wink- -that will do : now you may wink if '^ ^ / TOM THORNTON. 255 you like. I can fancy how delighted George Fleetwood will be to have his likeness — he's a handsome young fellow, don't you think so ? — to give to Alice Faulkner be- fore he goes out. Ah, I see you are get- ting fidget ty -have patience a little longer, and I will let you go for to-day.''^ The sitting was over. " I had behaved beautifully — it would be a knock down likeness." « Might I see it ?" " Not at present, for the world ; perhaps to-morrow when the mouth -»- finished. and let us call," And now, go and " and ask^ Alice Faulkner to tea Ax t^o^-^x^ said Blanche, giving me a kiss of congratu lation, to-night." December 18. — Another sitting this morning — astonishing progress. No entrea- ties, however, could prevail — I must not look tiUte morrow ^;^- Alice Faulkner permitted^ / as a great favour, to have a peep — in rap- y 256 TOM THORNTON. -^ ^ -/ tures/ To commence sittings, privately, the moment I am dismissed. Strong, some- bow, got a hint ; and the Robinsons, and the Waddlesterns^all dying with impatience. Our parlour quite a little place of business/ // Blanche in high feather. Somebody, too- nobody knows who — having told somebody that I was writing a book, and somebody else having told everybody else^no end of inquiries what its name is to be j(^ what it is all about X^ how many volumes x when it will be ready. ^ Even the reputation of in- dustry is beneficial, and puts one on one's mettle. Sanguine just dropped in in great glee, too. One of the tw o livoo between Septi- "Q^^mus Sanguiney Esquire, and the Baronetcy/ ^dropping^and the great work making rapid strides. Everything looking promising. Yes, yes, my dearest Blanche,^no antidote to care like always having somethino- to do. ^ y^ / /H-^^c^^^ '^f-^ ^/a^^ TOM THORNTON. 257 As we sat chattino:,..^i*«wwikr over the breakfast^ I could not refrain, in the fulness y^ of my heart, from paying her a merited compliment on her discernment, which seemed to please her very much. " I am so glad, Tom," said she, " that you like my plan ; I thought you would, when you had something better to occupy your thoughts than unavailing regrets and jdoliH ^i^^^i^^^^^g^^^ 8iVe anticipations, which only kept you in a perpetual fret for no good. You see how happily we have passed the last few days, y and are just as well ofi^ as if we had sat moping and bewailing, ^^gd. building castles ^9^^ which were sure to tumble all to pieces, instead of setting to work in good earnest to make our own lawful little cot more safe, and snug, and weather tight. That is just how it is, Tom, that people are always complaining of this want and the other want — of this person's neglect, and the other person's ingratitude, because they /'*' i^'^^ y/?-'^ ^tg^ ^ ^ ^/yV^-^^ ^^^^^ ^^ y^^^^^ ' 258 TOM THORNTON. rely for theij»-*fitDfort and content on any- body but themselves." I acknowledged the full force of the prin- ciple. " Only look at some of our friends here," continued Blanche, " what dreadful lives they lead, Tom 'How they get through the day at all astonishes me ; for, as to any rational means of passing time, they appear g^^^^^^to me to have none. The ^binoono and^^^^^ y the Waddlesterns, for instance^never happy — y^ X — ^ - biit when they are promenading or pic- ^ J^L^^^/fe^ nicing or polkaing; and the^j^ancewells, Oyrt^'/A^ out every night or company at home, not even Sundays excepted — eating and drink- ^^^^^/^ing, e^ti okiag, - gambling, lounging and^vo - J^T^akLogft'om morning till night. — '^ ^'^" / were one universal holiday, and ^^^wv wisdonihow to make the most of Zf^ '^ " It was dreadful," I granted. " And that horrible Plumley anc too. They say that Plumley has 'Tf^t^^-^pV'^A^^ ^i^z^ ^^jC^^/-i^^ M. TOM THORNTON. 2d9 to bed sober, Tom, for five years-^^endrinks a bottle of brandy every day before dinner ; and O'Hara has not a shilling^hiiy nny hut^/^^/^^iPt^ what he gets by gambling. It is dreadful ! But look at them in the broad daylight — what wrecks ! Isn't there a cut about them would mark them out of a thousand — the brand of drunkard and gamester indelibly stamped on them? Do you know, Tom, there is something in that Plumley's look that always makes me shudder ? and when they have got you out with them, I am ^ all in a fever till you come home again/ ^ / ^ I am so afraid, Tom, they will lead you into / some terrible trouble some day. There is something so stealthy and fawning^about^ Plumley. I don't mind O'Hara so much, because he is a poor wretched gambler, and I know, Tom, you don't like gambling; but I have a horror of that Plumley. He has a black heart, Tom, beneath that flowered waistcoat, or I am very much mistaken .^ 260 TOM THORNTON. / •^So«r- cannot be too cautious, Tom y depend -— \ C^ on iy they play into each other's hands." " You need not fear for me, Blanche^^ / with such a mentor always at my elbow as. -|»^ / you, darlin^what harm can happen ?" "But I am not always at your elbow, Tom." X As she spoke^ the door opened/ and who ^ should make tlieir appearance, in high glee, but ^lara and Plumley tb^nnolvQQi z'/z 'pro- ^ pri\s jjersombus. END OF VOL. I. Darling & Son, Printers, 31, Leadenhall Street, London. ■b'p-- IS