Читать книгу: «Ten Thousand a-Year. Volume 3»

CHAPTER I

There had not been a contested election at Yatton, till the present one between Mr. Delamere and Mr. Titmouse, for a long series of years; its two members having been, till then, owing to the smallness of the constituency, their comparative unanimity of political sentiment, and the dominant influence of the Yatton family, returned, pretty nearly, as a matter of course. When, therefore, quiet little Yatton (for such it was, albeit politically enlarged by the new Act) became the scene of so sudden and hot a contest as that which I am going to describe, and under such novel and exciting circumstances, it seemed in a manner quite beside itself. The walls were everywhere covered with glaring placards—red, blue, green, yellow, white, purple—judiciously designed to stimulate the electors into a calm and intelligent exercise of their important functions. Here are the inscriptions upon a few of them:—

"Vote for Titmouse, the Man of the People!"

"Titmouse and Civil and Religious Liberty!"

"Titmouse and Cheap Ale!"

"Titmouse and Purity of Election!"

"Titmouse and Negro Emancipation!"

"Vote for Titmouse and No Mistake!"

"Titmouse and Quarterly Parliaments, Vote by Ballot, and Universal Suffrage!"

['Twas thus that the name of my little friend, like that of many others of his species, was attached to great public questions, somewhat after the manner of a kettle tied to a dog's tail!]

But others were to be met with of a more elaborate and impressive character.

"Electors of Yatton!! Be not deceived!!! The enemy is among you! Do you wish to reap the full fruits of the glorious boon lately conferred on you? Rush to the poll, and Vote for Titmouse. Do you wish to see them torn from your grasp by a selfish and arrogant aristocracy? Get a pair of handcuffs, and go and vote for—Mr. Delamere!!!!

"Quære. If a certain Boroughmongering Peer should command his son to vote for the REPEAL of the Great Bill which enfranchised the inhabitants of Grilston, Succombe, and Warkleigh—would not that son obey him? How would this be, Mr. Delamere?"

'Twas not, to give the devil his due, Mr. Titmouse's fault that his placards did not contain many vulgar personalities against his opponent; but owing entirely to Mr. Gammon's want of the requisite wit and spirit. That gentleman felt, in fact, that such a candidate as Mr. Delamere afforded but few salient points of attack, in respect either of his person, his position in society, or his conduct. He also, by the way, had his placards:—

"Vote for Delamere!"

"Delamere and Independence!"

"Vote for Delamere the Farmer's Friend!"

"Delamere and the Constitution in Church and State!"

Both the candidates established their headquarters at Grilston; Mr. Delamere at the "Hare and Hounds" Inn, Mr. Titmouse at the "Woodlouse." Over the bow-window of the former streamed a noble blue banner, with an emblazonment of the Bible and Crown, and the words, "Church, King, and Constitution—Old England forever!" Over the latter hung an immense yellow banner, with three stars, thus:—

(being the, "Three Polar Stars" spoken of in Mr. Titmouse's Address,) and the words—"Peace! Retrenchment!! Reform!!!" in immense gilt letters. The walls and windows of each were, moreover, covered with varicolored placards—but I shall not weary the reader by attempting to describe in detail the humors of a country election, which have employed, already, thousands of able and graphic pens and pencils. Surely, what else are they than the sticks and straws which float along the eddying and roughened surface? The whole mass of water is moving along; and our object should be rather to discover its depth, force, and direction. Principles are in conflict; the fate of the nation is, in a measure, involved in a popular election. Such matters as I have alluded to, are but the laughable devices resorted to, in order to delude the grinning vulgar, and disguise the movements of those calm and calculating persons who are playing the deep game of politics. Under cover of a ludicrous hubbub, might be observed, for instance, in this little borough—subject to certain petty local disturbing forces—a deadly struggle for ascendency between the monarchical and the democratical principle; between rampant innovation and obstinate immobility; between the wealthy few and the many poor; between property and ability. If anything like this were the case, how many of the electors—new or old—of Yatton—(who may perhaps be compared to chessmen in the hands of long-headed players)—knew any more about the matter than a private soldier at Waterloo thought of, comprehended, or appreciated, the complicated and mighty schemes of a Wellington or Napoleon, whose bidding he was doing, or of the prodigious consequences attached to the success or failure of either? Some people talk vehemently about the "paramount necessity for educating the lower classes." It is, indeed, of incalculable importance that they should be instructed; but is it not of still greater importance that the UPPER CLASSES should be instructed, if only on account of their being the holders of that PROPERTY, in greater or less proportions, with its inseparable power and influence, which, directly or indirectly, determines all the movements of the state? Could universal suffrage be supposed to exist consistently with the preservation of social order—of society—it would still be impossible to extirpate or effectually to counteract the influence of property, in whose hands soever it might be placed. Pluck out of the vilest of the bellowing bullies surrounding the hustings, him (of course a non-elector) most conspicuous for his insolence and brutality; imagine him suddenly or gradually become the owner of a great, or a small property, with the influence it gives him over customers, tenants, dependents: do you suppose that he will not at once, either gently or roughly, according to his temper, begin to exercise his power, (that which is so dear to the heart of man,) by dictating the exercise of the elective franchise on behalf of those political opinions which he may happen to favor? Is not THIS the man to instruct, and the better in proportion to the extent of his real influence? Except in those brief and horrid intervals of social convulsion, in which [Greek: dika kai panta palin strepetai], however popularized and extended may apparently be the system of electing parliamentary representatives, those who really return members to Parliament will—whether themselves actually electors or not, and whether directly or indirectly—be the holders of property, in villages, in towns, in cities, in boroughs and counties. The influence of property is, in truth, inevitable as that of gravitation: and losing sight of this, people may split their heads in vain, and chatter till the arrival of the Greek kalends, about extending farther and farther the elective franchise, shortening Parliaments, and voting by ballot. Whether it ought to be so, signifies little, when we know that it is, and will be so:—but now it is time to return to the Yatton election; and if I be but this once forgiven, I will not diverge again in a hurry from the main course of events.

Lord De la Zouch, who resided some eight or ten miles from Yatton, soon discovered, as also did sundry other able and experienced electioneering friends, taking an interest in his son's success, that the movements of the enemy were directed by a strong and skilful hand; and which never could be that of—Mr. Titmouse. However slight and faint may be the hopes of success with which a man enters into an interesting and important undertaking, they very soon begin to increase and brighten with eager action; and it was so with Lord De la Zouch. He was not long in tracing the powerful, but cautiously concealed agency of our friend Mr. Gammon. One or two such dangerous and artful snares were detected by the watchful and practised eyes of his Lordship and his friends, just in time to prevent Delamere from being seriously compromised, as satisfied them that good Mr. Parkinson, with all his bustle, energy, and heartiness, was dreadfully overmatched by his astute opponent, Mr. Gammon; and that in the hands of Mr. Parkinson, the contest would become, so far as Delamere was concerned, a painful and ridiculous farce. A council of war, therefore, was called at Fotheringham Castle; the result of which was an express being sent off to London, to bring down immediately a first-rate electioneering agent—Mr. Crafty—and place in his hands the entire management of Mr. Delamere's cause. Mr. Crafty was between forty and forty-five years old. His figure, of middle height, was very spare. He was always dressed in a plain suit of black, with white neckerchief, and no shirt-collar; yet no one that knew the world could mistake him for a dissenting minister!—He was very calm and phlegmatic in his manner and movements—there was not a particle of passion or feeling in his composition. He was a mere thinking machine, in exquisite order. He was of marvellous few words. His face was thin and angular. His chin and temples formed an isosceles triangle; his chin being very peaked, and his forehead broad. His hair was dark, and cut almost as close as that of a foot-soldier—and this it was which helped to give his countenance that expression, both quaint and unaffected, which, once observed, was not likely to be soon forgotten. His eye was blue, and intensely cold and bright—his complexion fresh; he had no whiskers; there was a touch of sarcasm about the corners of his mouth. Everything about him bespoke a man cold, cautious, acute, matter-of-fact. "Business" was written all over his face. He had devoted himself to electioneering tactics; and he might be said to have reduced them, indeed, to a science. No one could say whether he was of Whig or Tory politics; my impression is, that he cared not a straw for either.—This, then, was the man who was to be pitted against Gammon: and these two gentlemen may perhaps be looked upon as the real players, whose backers were—Delamere and Titmouse.

Mr. Crafty soon made his appearance at Yatton; and seemed, in a manner, to have dropped into Mr. Delamere's committee-room from the clouds. His presence did not appear quite unexpected; yet no one seemed to know why, whence, or at whose instance he had come. He never went near Fotheringham, nor ever mentioned the name of its noble owner, who (between ourselves) contemplated the accession of Crafty with feelings of calm exultation and confidence. Mr. Delamere's "committee" was instantly disbanded, and no new one named. In fact, there was to be none at all; and Mr. Titmouse's friends were, for a while, led to believe that the enemy were already beginning to beat a retreat. A quiet banker at Grilston, and a hard-headed land-surveyor and agent of the same place, were alone apparently taken into Mr. Crafty's confidence. Mr. Parkinson, even, was sent to the right about; and his rising pique and anger were suddenly quelled by the steadfast and significant look with which Mr. Crafty observed, in dismissing him—"It won't do." Adjoining, and opening into the large room in which, till Mr. Crafty's arrival, Mr. Delamere's committee had been sitting, was a very small one; and in it Mr. Crafty established his headquarters. He came, accompanied—though no one for a while knew it—by three of his familiars; right trusty persons, in sooth! One of them always sat on a chair, at the outside of the door leading into Mr. Crafty's room, over which he kept guard as a sentinel. The other two disposed themselves according to orders. Mr. Gammon soon felt the presence of his secret and formidable opponent, in the total change—the quiet system—that became all of a sudden apparent in the enemy's tactics: his watchful eye and quick perception detected, here and there, the faint vanishing traces of a sly and stealthy foot—the evidences of experienced skill; and one morning early he caught a glimpse of Mr. Crafty, (with whose name and fame he was familiar,) and returned home with a grave consciousness that the contest had become one exceedingly serious; that—so to speak—he must instantly spread out every stitch of canvas to overtake the enemy. In short, he made up his mind for mischief, as soon as he gave Lord De la Zouch credit for being resolved to win; and felt the necessity for acting with equal caution and decision. During that day he obtained an advance from a neighboring banker of two thousand pounds, on the security of a deposit of a portion of the title-deeds of the Yatton property. He had, indeed, occasion for great resources, personal as well as pecuniary; for instance—he had reason to believe that the enemy had already penetrated to his stronghold, the Quaint Club at Grilston, (for that was the name of the club into which the one hundred and nine new voters at Grilston had formed themselves.) Though Gammon had agreed, after much negotiation, to buy them at the very liberal sum of ten pounds a-head, he had reason, shortly after the arrival of Mr. Crafty, to believe that they had been tampered with; for, as he was late one evening moodily walking up to the Hall, he overtook, in the park, a man whose person he did not at first recognize in the darkness, but whose fearfully significant motions soon insured him recognition. It was, in fact, the man who had hitherto treated with him on behalf of the Quaint Club; one Benjamin Bran, (commonly called Ben Bran,) a squat, bow-legged baker of Grilston. He uttered not a word, nor did Mr. Gammon; but, on being recognized, simply held up to that gentleman his two outstretched hands, twice, with a significant and inquiring look. Gammon gazed at him for a moment with fury; and muttering—"to-morrow—here—same hour!" hurried on to the Hall in a state of the utmost perplexity and alarm. The dilemma in which he felt himself, kept him awake half the night! When once, indeed, you come to this sort of work, you are apt to give your opponent credit for deeper manœuvring than you can at the time fully appreciate; and the fate of the battle may soon be rendered really doubtful. Then, everything—inclusive of serious consequences, extending far beyond the mere result of the election—depends upon the skill, temper, and experience of the real and responsible directors of the election. Was Ben Bran's appearance a move on the part of Crafty? Had that gentleman bought him over and converted him into a spy—was he now playing the traitor? Or was the purse of Titmouse to be bonâ fide measured against that of Lord De la Zouch? That would be dreadful! Gammon felt (to compare him for a moment to an animal with which he had some kindred qualities) much like a cat on a very high wall, topped with broken glass, afraid to stir in any direction, and yet unable to continue where he was. While the two candidates, attended by their sounding bands, and civil and smiling friends, were making their public demonstrations and canvassing the electors, as if thereby they exercised the slightest possible influence over one single voter on either side; as I have already intimated, the battle was being fought by two calm and crafty heads, in two snug and quiet little rooms in Grilston—one at the Hare and Hounds, the other at the Woodlouse Inn; of course, I mean Mr. Crafty, and Mr. Gammon. The former within a very few hours saw that the issue of the struggle lay with the Quaint Club; and from one of his trusty emissaries—a man whom no one ever saw in communication with him, who was a mere stranger in Grilston, indifferent as to the result of the election, but delighting in its frolics; who was peculiarly apt to get sooner drunk than any one he drank with—Mr. Crafty ascertained, that though the enlightened members of the Quaint Club had certainly formed a predilection for the principles of Mr. Titmouse, yet they possessed a candor which disposed them to hear all that might be advanced in favor of the principles of his opponent.

Mr. Crafty's first step was to ascertain what had been already done or attempted on behalf of Mr. Delamere, and also of Mr. Titmouse; then the exact number of the voters, whom he carefully classified. He found that there were exactly four hundred who might be expected to poll; the new electors amounting in number to one hundred and sixty, the old ones to two hundred and forty, and principally scot-and-lot voters. In due time he ascertained, that of the former class only thirty-six could be relied upon for Mr. Delamere. The tenants of the Yatton property within the borough amounted to one hundred and fifteen. They had been canvassed by Mr. Delamere and his friends with great delicacy; and twenty-three of them had voluntarily pledged themselves to vote for him, and risk all consequences; intimating that they hated and despised their new landlord as much as they had loved their old one, whose principles they understood to be those of Mr. Delamere. Then there remained a class of "accessibles," (to adopt the significant language of Mr. Crafty,) in number one hundred and twenty-five. These were persons principally resident in and near Yatton, subject undoubtedly to strong and direct influence on the part of Mr. Titmouse, but still not absolutely at his command. Of these no fewer than seventy had pledged themselves in favor of Mr. Delamere; and, in short, thus stood Mr. Crafty's calculations as to the probable force on both sides:—

Now, of the class of accessibles, twenty remained yet unpledged, and open to conviction; and, moreover, both parties had good ground for believing that they would all be convinced one way—i. e. towards either Mr. Titmouse or Mr. Delamere. Now, if the Quaint Club could be in any way detached from Mr. Titmouse, it would leave him with a majority of seventeen, only, over Mr. Delamere; and then, if by any means the twenty accessibles could be secured for Mr. Delamere, he would be placed in a majority of three over his opponent. Whichever way they went, however, it was plain that the Quaint Club held the election in their own hands, and intended to keep it so. Gammon's calculations differed but slightly from those of Crafty; and thenceforth both directed their best energies towards the same point, the Quaint Club—going on all the while with undiminished vigor and assiduity with their canvass, as the best mode of diverting attention from their important movements, and satisfying the public that the only weapons with which the fight was to be won were—bows, smiles, civil speeches, placards, squibs, banners, and bands of music. Mr. Crafty had received a splendid sum for his services from Lord De la Zouch; but on the first distinct and peremptory intimation from his Lordship, being conveyed to him through Mr. Delamere, that there was to be, bonâ fide, no bribery—and that the only funds placed at his disposal were those sufficient for the legitimate expenses of the election—he smiled rather bitterly, and sent off a secret express to Fotheringham, to ascertain for what his services had been engaged—since what was the use of going to Waterloo without powder?—The answer he received was laconic enough, and verbatim as follows:—

"No intimidation; no treating; no bribery; manœuvre as skilfully as you can; and watch the enemy night and day, so that the close of the poll may not be the close of the election, nor the victor there, the sitting member."

To the novel, arduous, and cheerless duty, defined by this despatch from headquarters, Mr. Crafty immediately addressed all his energies; and, after carefully reconnoitring his position, unpromising as it was, he did not despair of success. All his own voters had been gained, upon the whole, fairly. The thirty-six new ones had been undoubtedly under considerable influence, of an almost inevitable kind indeed—inasmuch as they consisted of persons principally employed in the way of business by Lord De la Zouch, and by many of his friends and neighbors, all of whom were of his Lordship's way of political thinking. Every one of the twenty-three tenants had given a spontaneous and cordial promise; and the seventy "accessibles" had been gained, after a very earnest and persevering canvass, by Mr. Delamere, in company with others who had a pretty decisive, but still a legitimate influence over them. The remaining twenty might, possibly, though not probably, be secured by equally unobjectionable means. That being the state of things with Delamere, how stood matters with Mr. Titmouse? First and foremost, the Quaint Club had been bought at ten pounds a-head, by Gammon—that was all certain. Crafty would also have bought them like a flock of sheep, had he been allowed, and would have managed matters most effectually and secretly; yet not more so than he found Mr. Gammon had succeeded in doing; at all events, as far as that gentleman himself, personally, was concerned. In fact, he had foiled Mr. Crafty, when that astute person looked about in search of legal evidence of what had been done. Still, however, he did not despair of being able to perform a series manœuvres which should secure one of the ends he most wished, in respect even of the Quaint Club. With equal good intentions, but actuated by a zeal that was not according to knowledge, some of Mr. Gammon's coadjutors had not imitated his circumspection. Quite unknown to him, one or two of them had most fearfully committed him, themselves, and Mr. Titmouse; giving Mr. Gammon such accounts of their doings as should serve only to secure his applause for their tact and success. Before Mr. Crafty, however, they stood detected as blundering novices in the art of electioneering. A small tinker and brazier at Warkleigh had received, with a wink, ten pounds from a member of Mr. Titmouse's committee! in payment of an old outstanding account—Heaven save the mark!—delivered in by him, three years before, for mending pots, kettles, and sauce-pans, in the time of—the Aubreys! The wife of a tailor at Grilston received the same sum for a fine tomcat, which was a natural curiosity, since it could wink each eye separately and successively. A third worthy and independent voter was reminded that he had lent the applicant for his vote ten pounds several years before, and which that gentleman now took shame to himself, as he paid the amount, for having so long allowed to remain unpaid. Mr. Barnabas Bloodsuck, with superior astuteness, gave three pounds a-piece to three little boys, sons of a voter, whose workshop overlooked Messrs. Bloodsucks' back offices, on condition that they would desist from their trick of standing and putting their thumbs to their noses and extending their fingers towards him, as he sat in his office, and which had really become an insupportable nuisance. Here was, therefore, a valuable consideration for the payment, and bribery was out of the question! Such are samples of the ingenious devices which had been resorted to, in order to secure some thirty or forty votes! In short, Mr. Crafty caught them tripping in at least eleven clear, unquestionable cases of bribery, each supported by unimpeachable evidence, and each sufficing to avoid the election, to disqualify Mr. Titmouse from sitting in that Parliament for Yatton, and to subject both him and his agents to a ruinous amount of penalties. Then, again, there were clear indications either of a disposition to set at defiance the stringent provisions of the law against TREATING, or of an ignorance of their existence. And as for freedom of election, scarcely ten of his tenants gave him a willing vote, or otherwise than upon compulsion, and after threats of raised rents or expulsion from farms. Tied as were Mr. Crafty's hands, the Quaint Club became a perfect eyesore to him. He found means, however, to open a secret and confidential communication with them, and resolved to hold out to them dazzling but indistinct hopes of pecuniary advantage from the regions of Fotheringham. His emissary soon got hold of the redoubtable Ben Bran, who, truth to say, had long been on the look-out for indications of the desired sort, from the other side. As Bran was late one evening walking slowly alone along the high-road leading to York, he was accosted by a genteel-looking person, who spoke in a low tone, and whom Bran now recollected to have seen, or spoken to, before. "Can you tell me where lies the gold mine?" said the stranger; "at Fotheringham, or Yatton?"—and the speaker looked round, apprehensive of being overheard. Ben pricked up his ears, and soon got into conversation with the mysterious stranger; in the course of which the latter threw out, in a very significant manner, that "a certain peer could never be supposed to send a certain near relative into the field, in order that that relative might be beaten, … and especially for want of a few pounds; and besides, my friend, when only …—eh?—…—the other side"–

"Why, who are you? Where do you come from?" inquired Ben, with a violent start.

"Dropped out of the—moon," was the quiet and smiling answer.

"Then I must say they know a precious deal," replied Ben, after a troubled pause, "up there, of what's going on down here."

"To be sure, everything; everything!"… Here the stranger told Ben the precise sum which the club had received from Mr. Gammon.

"Are we both—gentlemen?" inquired the stranger, earnestly.

"Y—e—e—s, I hope so, sir," replied Ben Bran, hesitatingly.

"And men of business—men of our word?"

"Honor among thieves—ay, ay," answered Ben, in a still lower tone, and very eagerly.

"Then let you and me meet alone, this time to-morrow, at Darkling Edge; and by that time, do you see, turn this over in your mind," here the stranger twice held up both his hands, with outstretched thumbs and fingers. "Sure we understand each other?" he added. Ben nodded, and they were presently out of sight of each other. The stranger immediately pulled off his green spectacles, and also a pair of gray whiskers, and put both of them into his pocket. If any one attempted to dog him, he must have been led a pretty round! 'Twas in consequence of this interview that Ben made the application to Gammon, which had so disturbed him, and which has been already described. And to return to our friend: what was he to do? On entering the library at the Hall, he opened a secret drawer in his desk, and took out a thin slip of paper which he had deposited there that morning, it having been then received by him from town, marked "Private and Confidential," and franked "Blossom and Box." 'Twas but a line, and written in a bold hand, but in evident haste; for it had in fact been penned by Lord Blossom and Box while he was sitting in the Court of Chancery. This is a copy of it:—

"The election must be won. You will hear from E– by this post. Don't address any note to me.

"B. and B."

With this great man, Lord Chancellor Blossom and Box, when plain Mr. Quicksilver, Mr. Gammon had had a pretty familiar acquaintance, as the reader may easily suppose; and had a natural desire to acquit himself creditably in the eyes of so distinguished and powerful a personage. Gammon had volunteered an assurance to his Lordship, shortly before leaving town, that the election was safe, and in his (Gammon's) hands; guess, then, his chagrin and fury at finding the systematic and determined opposition which had suddenly sprung up against him; and the intensity of his desire to defeat it. And the more anxious he was on this score, the more vividly he perceived the necessity of acting with a caution which should insure real ultimate success, instead of a mere noisy and temporary triumph, which should be afterwards converted into most galling, disgraceful, and public defeat. The more that Gammon reflected on the sudden but determined manner in which Lord De la Zouch had entered into the contest, the more confident he became that his Lordship had an important ultimate object to secure; and that he had at command immense means of every description, Gammon but too well knew, in common with all the world. Was, for instance, Mr. Crafty brought down, at an enormous expense, for nothing? What the deuce were the Quaint Club about? Was ever anything so monstrous heard of—ten pounds a man actually received—the bargain finally struck—and now their original demand suddenly and peremptorily doubled? Venal miscreants! Were his miscreants! Were his opponents really outbidding him, or laying a deep plan for entrapping him into an act of wholesale bribery? In short, were the Quaint Club now actuated by avarice, or by treachery? Again and again did he go over his list of promises; having marked the favorable, hostile, neutral, doubtful, from a table as accurately compiled and classified as that of Mr. Crafty. Like his wily and practised opponent, also, Gammon intrusted his principal movements to scarce a soul of those who were engaged with him; fearing, indeed, though then with no definite grounds, that Messrs. Mudflint, Woodlouse, Centipede, Bloodsuck, and Going Gone, were already too deep in the secrets of the election. According to his calculations, supposing all his promises to stand, Titmouse was, independently of the Quaint Club, and some eighteen or twenty others whom he had set down as "to be had"—only twenty-five a-head of Delamere; thus making a difference of eight only between Gammon's reckoning, and that of Crafty. Of course, therefore, that cursed Quaint Club had it all their own way; and how to jockey them, was a problem which well-nigh split his head. He gave Lord De la Zouch credit for doing all that he—Gammon—would do, to win the election; and believed him, therefore, capable of buying over any number of the club, to turn king's evidence against their original benefactor. The Bloodsucks assured him that the club were all good men and true—stanch—game to the backbone; but Gammon had obtained some information as to the political sentiments of several of the members, before they had acquired the new franchise, and become banded into so sudden and formidable a confederacy, which led him to speculate rather apprehensively on the effects which might follow any bold and skilful scheme resorted to by his enemies. Now, as far as the club were concerned, its members were all quiet respectable men, who made the affair a dry matter of business. They justly looked on each of the candidates as equally worthy of the honor they coveted of representing the borough, and considered that things would always go on right, at headquarters—i. e. that the country would be properly governed—without the least reference to the quality or complexion of the House of Commons. They saw the desperate and unceasing fight among their betters for the loaves and fishes; and imitated their example, with reference to the crumbs and fragments. First they divided themselves, as near as their number would admit of, into tens, giving one to the odd nine, equally with each body of ten, and thus produced a body of eleven representatives. These eleven, again, in the presence of the whole club, chose five of their number for the purpose of conducting the negotiations between the club and the two candidates; and these five again selected one of themselves—Ben Bran—to be the direct medium of communication: the actual state of the market never went beyond the first body of eleven; and in the exercise of an exquisite dexterity, Mr. Crafty had contrived to inspire these eleven, through their deputy and mouthpiece, Bran, with a determination to exact fifteen pounds per head more from Titmouse, before recording their votes in his favor: and this untoward state of things was duly intimated to Gammon, by Ben Bran, by silently outstretching both hands, and then one hand. That would make a total of two thousand seven hundred and twenty-five pounds disbursed among that accursed Quaint Club alone!—thought Gammon with a shudder: and suppose they should even then turn tail upon him, seduced by the splendid temptations of Lord De la Zouch? Just to conceive the possibility, for one moment, of Mr. Benjamin Bran having been bought over to betray all his companions, and Gammon and his party also, into the hands of Lord De la Zouch? Saith the immortal author of Hudibras—

Finer and finer was Mr. Mudflint becoming every moment as he warmed with his subject—but unfortunately his audience was beginning very unequivocally to intimate that they were quite satisfied with what they had already heard. A cry, for instance, issued from the crowd—"the rest of my discoorse next Sunday!"—for they knew that they were being kept all this while from one of their greatest favorites, Mr. Going Gone, who had also himself been latterly rather frequently and significantly winking his eye at those before him, and shrugging his shoulders. Mr. Mudflint, therefore, with feelings of vivid vexation, pique, and envy, concluded rather abruptly by proposing Tittlebat Titmouse, Esquire, of Yatton, as a fit and proper person to represent them in Parliament. Up went hats into the air, and shouts of the most joyous and enthusiastic description rent the air for several minutes. Then took off his hat the jolly Mr. Going Gone—a signal for roars of laughter, and cries of coarse and droll welcome, in expectancy of fun. Nor were they disappointed. He kept them in good-humor and fits of laughter during the whole of his "Address;" and though destitute of any pretence to refinement, I must at the same time say, that there were to be detected in it no traces of ill-nature. He concluded by seconding the nomination of Mr. Titmouse, amid tumultuous cheers; and after waiting for some few minutes, in order that they might subside, Mr. Gold took off his hat, and essayed to address the crowd. Now he really was, what he looked, an old man of unaffected and very great good-humor, and a benevolence which was extensive, and systematic. He had only the week before distributed soup, blankets, coals, and potatoes to two hundred poor families in the borough, even as he had done at that period of the year, for the preceding quarter of a century. No tale of distress, indeed, was ever told him in vain, unless palpably fictitious and fraudulent. The moment that his bare head, scantily covered with gray hairs, was visible, there arose, at a given signal from Mr. Barnabas Bloodsuck, a dreadful hissing, hooting, and groaning from all parts of the crowd. If he appeared disposed to persevere in addressing the two or three persons immediately around him, that only infuriated the mob against the poor old man, who bore it all, however, with great good-humor and fortitude. But it was in vain. After some twenty minutes spent in useless efforts to make himself audible, he concluded in mere dumb show, by proposing the Honorable Geoffrey Lovel Delamere, at the mention of whose name there again arose a perfect tempest of howling, hissing, groaning, and hooting. Then Mr. Milnthorpe came forward, determined not to be "put down." He was a very tall and powerfully built man; bold and determined, with a prodigious power of voice, and the heart of a lion. "Now, lads, I'm ready to try which can tire the other out first!" he shouted in a truly stentorian voice, heard over all their uproar, which it redoubled. How vain the attempt! How ridiculous the challenge! Confident of his lungs, he smiled good-humoredly at the hissing and bellowing mass before him, and for nearly half an hour persevered in his attempts to make himself heard. At length, however, without his having in the slightest degree succeeded, his pertinacity began to irritate the crowd who, in fact, felt themselves being bullied; and that no crowd, that ever I saw, or heard of, can bear for one instant; and what is one against so many? Hundreds of fists were held up and shaken at him. A missile of some sort or another was flung at him, though it missed him; and then the returning officer advised him to desist from his attempts, lest mischief should ensue; on which he shouted at the top of his voice, "I second Mr. Delamere!" and, amid immense groaning and hissing, replaced his hat on his head, thereby owning himself vanquished; which the mob also perceiving, they burst into loud and long-continued laughter.

"Now, Mr. Titmouse!" said the returning officer, addressing that gentleman: who on hearing the words, turned as white as a sheet, and felt very much disposed to be sick. He pulled out of his coat-pocket a well-worn little roll of paper, on which was the speech which Mr. Gammon had prepared for him, as I have already intimated; and with a shaking hand he unrolled it, casting at its contents a glance—momentary and despairing. What then would that little fool have given for memory, voice, and manner enough to "speak the speech that had been set down for him!" He cast a dismal look over his shoulder at Mr. Gammon, and took off his hat—Sir Harkaway clapping him on the back, exclaiming, "Now for't, lad—have at 'em, and away—never fear!" The moment that he stood bareheaded, and prepared to address the writhing mass of faces before him, he was greeted with a prodigious shout, while hats were some of them waved, and others flung into the air. It was, indeed, several minutes before the uproar abated in the least. With fearful rapidity, however, every species of noise and interruption ceased—and a deadly silence prevailed. The sea of eager excited faces—all turned towards him—was a spectacle which might for a moment have shaken the nerves of even a man—had he been "unaccustomed to public speaking." The speech, which—brief and simple though it was—he had never been able to make his own, even after copying it out half-a-dozen times, and trying to learn it off for an hour or two daily during the preceding fortnight, he had now utterly forgotten; and he would have given a hundred pounds to retire at once from the contest, or sink unperceived under the floor of the hustings.

"Begin! begin!" whispered Gammon, earnestly.

"Ya—a—s—but—what shall I say?" stammered Titmouse.

"Your speech"—answered Gammon, impatiently.

"I—I—'pon my—soul—I've—forgot every word of it!"

"Then read it," said Gammon, in a furious whisper—

"Good God, you'll be hissed off the hustings!—Read from the paper, do you hear!" he added, almost gnashing his teeth.

Matters having come to this fearful issue, "Gentlemen," commenced Mr. Titmouse, faintly–

"Hear him! Hear, hear!—Hush!—Sh! sh!" cried the impatient and expectant crowd.

Now, I happen to have a short-hand writer's notes of every word uttered by Mr. Titmouse, together with an account of the reception it met with: and I shall here give the reader, first, Mr. Titmouse's real, and secondly, Mr. Titmouse's supposed speech, as it appeared two days afterwards in the columns of the Yorkshire Stingo.

[And so on for a column more; in the course of which there were really so many flattering allusions to the opening speech of the proposer of Titmouse, that it has often occurred to me as probable, that the "Reverend" Mr. Mudflint had supplied the above report of Mr. Titmouse's speech.]

CHAPTER II

Mr. Titmouse, on concluding, made a great number of very profound bows, and replaced his hat upon his head, amid prolonged and enthusiastic cheering, which, on Mr. Delamere's essaying to address the crowd, was suddenly converted into a perfect hurricane of hissing; like as we now and then find a shower of rain suddenly change into hail. Mr. Delamere stood the pitiless pelting of the storm with calmness, resolution, and good-humor. Ten minutes had elapsed, and he had not been allowed to utter one syllable audible to any one beyond four or five feet from him. Every fresh effort he made to speak caused a renewal of the uproar, and many very offensive and opprobrious epithets were applied to him. Surely this was disgraceful, disgusting! What had he done to deserve such treatment? Had he been guilty of offering some gross indignity and outrage to every person present, individually, could he have fared worse than he did? He had conducted his canvass with scrupulous and exemplary honor and integrity—with the utmost courtesy to all parties, whether adverse or favorable. He was surely not deficient in those qualities of head and of heart—of personal appearance, even, which usually secure man favor with his fellows. Who could lay anything to his charge—except that he had ventured to solicit the suffrages of the electors of Yatton, in competition with Mr. Titmouse? If men of a determined character and of princely means have to calculate upon such brutal usage as this, can those who sanction or perpetrate it wonder at bribery and other undue means being resorted to, in absolute self-defence? Is it meant to deter any one from coming forward that has not a forehead of brass, leathern lungs, and heart of marble? After upwards of a quarter of an hour had been thus consumed, without Mr. Delamere's having been permitted to utter two consecutive sentences, though he stood up against it patiently and gallantly, the returning officer, who had often appealed to them in vain, earnestly besought Mr. Titmouse to use his influence with the crowd, in order to secure Mr. Delamere a moment's hearing.

"'Pon my life—I—eh?" quoth Titmouse. "A likely thing! He'd do it for me, wouldn't he? Every man for himself—all fair at an election, eh, Gammon?"

"Do it, sir!" whispered Gammon, indignantly—"do it, and instantly—or you deserve to be kicked off the hustings!" Titmouse, on this, took off his hat with a very bad grace, and addressing the crowd, said—"I—I—suppose you'll hear what he's got to say for himself, gents"–But all was in vain; "Off! off! No!—Go home!—ah!—ah!—a—a—a—h!–St!—St!—Get away home with you, you young boroughmonger!—a—a—h!" came in louder and fiercer tones from the mob. Yet Mr. Delamere did not like to give up without another and a desperate effort to catch the ear of the mob; but while he was in the act of raising his right hand, and exclaiming—"Gentlemen, only a word or two—I pledge my honor that I will not keep you three minutes"—some miscreant from the body of the crowd aimed at him a stone, not a very large one to be sure, yet flung with very considerable force, and hitting him just about the centre of the upper lip, which it cut open. He instantly turned pale, and applied to the wound his white pocket-handkerchief, which was speedily saturated with blood. Still the gallant young fellow stood his ground with firmness, and the smile which he endeavored to assume, it was enough to have brought tears into one's eyes to witness. The instant that Gammon had seen the stone take effect, he rushed over towards where Mr. Delamere stood amid his agitated friends, who were dissuading him from persevering in his attempt to address the crowd?—

"You are severely hurt, sir!" exclaimed Gammon, with much agitation, taking off his hat with an air of earnest and respectful sympathy. Then he turned with an air of excitement towards the mob, who seemed shocked into silence by the incident which had taken place, and were uttering increasing cries of "Shame! shame!"

"Shame?—shame, shame, indeed, gentlemen"—he exclaimed vehemently—"Where is that atrocious miscreant? In the name of Mr. Titmouse, who is too much agitated to address you himself, I conjure you to secure that abominable ruffian, and let him be brought to justice! If not, Mr. Titmouse protests solemnly that he will withdraw from the election."

"Bravo, Titmouse! bravo! Spoke like a man!" exclaimed several voices. A desperate struggle was soon perceived about that quarter where the man who flung the stone must have been standing; he had been seized, and being in a trice most severely handled, a couple of men almost throttled him with the tightness of their grasp round his neck—these too the very men who had encouraged him to perpetrate the outrage!—and, amid a shower of kicks and blows, he was hauled off, and deposited, half dead, in the cage.

"Three cheers for Delamere!" cried a voice from the crowd; and never had a more vehement shout issued from them, than in response to that summons.

"Delamere! Delamere!—Hear him!—Speak out!—Delamere! Delamere!" cried a great number of voices, of people growing more and more excited as they beheld his handkerchief becoming suffused with blood. But he was not in a condition then to respond to their call. He was suffering really not a little pain; and, moreover, his feelings had for a moment—just for a moment—given way, when he adverted to the possibility that Lady De la Zouch might have witnessed the outrage, or received exaggerated accounts of it. Mr. St. Aubyn, however, stood forward in Mr. Delamere's stead—and in a very touching and judicious but brief address, roused the feelings of the crowd to a high pitch of sympathy for Mr. Delamere, who stood beside him, hat in hand—vehemently, and at length successfully, struggling to repress his rising emotions. If only one out of a hundred of those present had had a vote, this stone's throw might have changed the fate of the election!—No other candidate having been proposed, the returning officer then proceeded to call for a show of hands; on which a very great number were held up in favor of Mr. Titmouse; but when Mr. Delamere's name was called, it really seemed as if every one present had extended both his hands!—there could be no mistake, no room for doubt. Titmouse turned as pale as a sheet, and gazed with an expression of ludicrous consternation at Gammon, who also looked, in common indeed with his whole party, not a little disconcerted. The returning officer, having procured silence, declared that the choice of the electors had fallen upon Mr. Delamere; on which a tremendous cheering followed, which lasted for several minutes; and, luckily recollecting the utter nullity of a show of hands as a test or evidence, either way, of the result of the election,¹ Mr. Gammon directed Mudflint formally to demand a poll on behalf of Mr. Titmouse; on which the returning officer announced that the poll would take place at eight o'clock the next morning; and thereupon the day's proceedings closed. Mr. Delamere, in a very few words, returned thanks to the electors for the honor which they had conferred upon him, and entreated them to go early to the poll. He and his friends then left the hustings. His procession quickly formed; his band struck up with extraordinary energy and spirit—"See the Conquering Hero comes!" but the rolling of the drums, the clashing of cymbals, the rich deep tones of the bassoons, trombones, and French horns, and clear and lively notes of flute and clarionet, were quite overpowered by the acclamations of the crowd which attended them to his committee-room. Sir Percival Pickering, throwing open the window, addressed a word or two to the dense crowd; and then, having given three lusty cheers, they withdrew. A glass of wine and water quickly refreshed the spirits of Mr. Delamere, and a surgeon having arrived, found it necessary to dress the wound with much care, for the cut was severe; in fact, the upper lip was partially laid open; and he declared it highly imprudent for Mr. Delamere to attempt to make his appearance out of doors on the morrow. As for Mr. Crafty, as soon as he heard what had taken place, he uttered, as he felt bound to do, a few casual expressions of sympathy; but what passed through his mind, as he resumed his seat before his papers, was—"What a pity that all those fellows had not had votes, and that the poll had not commenced instanter!" The truly unexpected issue of the day's proceedings, while it elevated the spirits of all Mr. Delamere's friends, produced only one effect upon the imperturbable Mr. Crafty; he strongly suspected that the other side would probably be resorting during the night to measures of a desperate and unscrupulous description, in order to counteract the unfavorable impression calculated to be effected by the defeat of Mr. Titmouse at the show of hands. As for that gentleman, by the way, he became very insolent towards Gammon on reaching the committee-room, and protested, with fury in his face, that it had all been brought about by Mr. Gammon's "cursed officious meddling with Mr. Titmouse's name before the mob after the stone had been thrown;" on hearing which, "Go on to the Hall, sir, dine, and get drunk if you choose," said Gammon, bitterly and peremptorily; "I shall remain here all night. Powerful as are your energies, they require relaxation after the fatigues of the day!" and with a very decisive, but not violent degree of force, Titmouse was urged, in a twinkling, into the outer committee-room. Mr. Gammon had, indeed, as much serious work before him that night as Mr. Crafty, and prepared for secret and decisive action every whit as calmly and effectively as he. Mr. Crafty's arrangements were admirable. During the day he had parcelled out the borough into a number of small departments, each of which he committed to some steady and resolute friend of Mr. Delamere, who was to look after every elector in his division about whom there was any ground for fear, in respect either of apprehended abduction, or of treachery. These gentlemen were to be relieved at intervals; and from one to the other of them, perpetually, were the personal agents of Crafty to go their rounds, in order to see that all was right, and carry intelligence to headquarters. Then others were intrusted with the ticklish and tiresome duty of watching the movements of the enemy in quarters where Crafty had sure information of intended operations during the night. Complete arrangements had been made, also, for bringing up voters to the poll at the exact times, and in the numbers, and in the manner, which might on the morrow be determined on by Mr. Crafty. Names were noted down of those to whom the bribery oath was to be administered. Prudent as were these precautions, they did not entirely prevent the mischief against which they had been levelled. As the night wore on, evidence was, from time to time, brought in to Mr. Crafty that the enemy were at work at, their expected tricks; e.g.—

"Jacob Joliffe is missing. Wife says she knows nothing about him. Inquire."

"Send at least a couple of men to watch Peter Jiggins, or he'll be out of the way when he's wanted."

"Haste—haste. G. Atkins and Adam Hutton, both safe ten minutes ago, are off; enticed out into a postchaise—gone towards York—(Half-past eleven.")

"Send some one to the Jolly Snobs to watch the treating going on. Most important. Mr. Titmouse has been there, and drunk a glass of rum with them."

Then more mysterious missives made their appearance from Mr. Crafty's own familiars.

"Q.C.S.H.O.—12."—(i.e. "The Quaint Club still holds out.—Twelve o'clock.")

"Q.C.G.W.—½ past 1."—(i.e. "The Quaint Club are going wrong.—Half-past one o'clock.")

"S.B.; G.O. ☛ ☛  +  ☛ ☛ H. ¼ to 2."—(i.e. "I have seen Bran. Gammon offers ten pounds, in addition to the ten pounds already given.—They hesitate.—A quarter to two o'clock.")

"3/heard & S. B. & M. w. B. O. Q. C.—12—3."—(i.e. "Three of our people have just overheard and seen Bloodsuck and Mudflint, with Bran, offering the Quaint Club twelve pounds.—Three o'clock.")

"Q. C. G. R. w. Y. & C. T. T. Y. M.S. I.—4."—(i.e. "The Quaint Club are getting restive with you, and coming to terms with Titmouse. You must stir instantly.—Four o'clock.")

"ΔΔ ☛ ; 10 m. 4."—These last mysterious symbols caused Mr. Crafty instantly to bestir himself, He changed color a little, and went into the adjoining room. The meaning of the communication was—"Great danger to both parties."

In the adjoining room, where two candles were burning down in their very sockets, and the fire nearly out, were some four or five trusty friends of Mr. Delamere—gentlemen who had placed themselves entirely at Mr. Crafty's disposal throughout the night. When he entered, they were all nearly asleep, or at least dozing. Beckoning two of them into his own room, he instructed one to go and plant himself openly—nay, as conspicuously as possible—near the door of Mr. Titmouse's committee-room, so as not to fail of being recognized, by any one leaving or entering it, as a well-known friend of Mr. Delamere's; in fact, Mr. Titmouse's friends were to discover that their motions were watched. The other he instructed to act similarly opposite the door of a small house in a narrow court—the residence, in fact, of Ben Bran, where all the night's negotiations with the Quaint Club had been carried on. Immediately afterwards, Mr. Crafty felt it his duty, as between man and man, to warn his opponent of the mortal peril in which he was placed; and, in his anxiety for fair play, found means to convey the following note into the committee-room where Mr. Gammon and one or two others were sitting:—

"Take care!! You are deceived! betrayed! Q. C. is sold out and out to the Blues!! And part of the bargain, that B. B. shall betray you into bribery in the presence of witnesses—not one man of the club safe; this have just learned from the wife of one of them. From a well-wishing friend, but obligated to vote (against his conscience) for the Blues.

"P.S.—Lord D. in the town (quite private) with lots of the needful, and doing business sharply."

While Mr. Gammon and his companions were canvassing this letter, in came the two gentlemen who had been watched, in the way I have stated, from Ben Bran's house to Mr. Titmouse's committee-room, pale and agitated, with intelligence of that fact. Though hereat Gammon's color deserted his cheek, he affected to treat the matter very lightly, and laughed at the idea of being deluded by such boy's play. If Lord De la Zouch—said he—had hired Crafty only to play tricks like these, he might as well have saved the trouble and expense. Here a slight bustle was heard at the door; and the hostler made his appearance, saying that a man had just given him a document which he produced to Mr. Gammon; who, taking from the hostler a dirty and ill-folded paper, read as follows:—

"To Squire Titmous. you Are All Wrong. the Blues is wide Awake All Night and nos all, Lord Dillysoush about with One hundred Spies; And look Out for traiters in the Camp. A friend or Enemy as you Will, but loving Fair Play."

"Poh!" exclaimed Gammon, flinging it on the table contemptuously.

Now, I may as well mention here, that about nine o'clock in the evening, Mr. Parkinson had brought to Crafty sure intelligence that a very zealous and influential person, who was entirely in the confidence of the enemy, had come to him a little while before, and candidly disclosed the very melancholy position of his—the aforesaid communicant's—financial affairs; and Mr. Parkinson happened to be in a condition to verify the truth of the man's statement, that there was a writ out against him for £250; and that, unless he could meet it, he would have to quit the county before daybreak, and his very promising prospects in business would be utterly ruined. Mr. Parkinson knew these matters professionally; and, in short, Crafty was given to understand, that so disgusted was Mr. M'Do'em—the gentleman in question—with Whig principles (his inexorable creditor being a Whig) and practices, such as the bribery, treating, and corruption at that moment going on, that—his conscience pricked him—and—ahem!—the poor penitent was ready to make all the amends in his power by discovering villany to its intended victims. Crafty, having felt the ground pretty safe underneath him, took upon himself to say, that Mr. M'Do'em need be under no further apprehension as to his pecuniary liabilities; but, in the mean while, he would certainly wish for a little evidence of the bona fides of his present conduct.

"Come," quoth M'Do'em, after receiving a pregnant wink from Mr. Crafty—"send some one whom you can rely upon with me immediately, to do as I bid him—and let him report to you what he shall actually see."

No sooner said than done. A trusty managing clerk of Mr. Parkinson's forthwith accompanied M'Do'em on a secret expedition....

They stood at a window with a broken pane. 'T was a small ill-furnished kitchen, and in the corner, close to the fire, sat smoking a middle-aged man, wearing a dirty brown paper cap. Opposite to him sat two persons, in very earnest conversation with him. They were Mr. Mudflint and Mr. Bloodsuck, junior.

"Come, come, that's decidedly unreasonable," quoth the former.

"No, sir, it a'n't. I'm an independent man!—It quite cut me to the heart, I 'sure you, sir, to see Mr. Delamere so dreadfully used—my good missus, that's in bed, says to me—says she"–

"But what had Mr. Titmouse to do with it, you know?" said Mudflint, taking out of his pocket a bit of crumpled paper, at which the man he addressed gazed listlessly, shook his head, and exclaimed, "No, it won't do——He didn't desarve such treatment, poor young gentleman." (Here Bloodsuck and Mudflint whispered—and the latter, with a very bad grace, produced a second bit of crumpled paper.)

"That's something like"—said the man, rather more good-humoredly. "Is't sartain Mr. Titmouse had nothing to do with it?"

"To be sure not!—Now, mind, by a quarter past eight—eh?" inquired Mudflint, very anxiously, and somewhat sullenly.

"I'm a man of my word—no one can say I ever broke it in earnest; and as for a straightforward bit o' business like this, I say, I'm your man—so here's my hand."…

"Don't that look rather like business?" inquired M'Do'em, in a whisper, after they had lightly stepped away.—"But come along!"…

After another similar scene, the two returned to the Hare and Hounds, and the matter was satisfactorily settled between Crafty and M'Do'em—one hundred down, and the rest on the morning after the election. He was to poll for Titmouse, and that, too, early in the day; and be as conspicuous and active as possible in his exertions in behalf of that gentleman—to appear, in short, one of his most stanch and confidential supporters. Whether Lord De la Zouch or his son would have sanctioned such conduct as this, had they had an inkling of it, I leave to the reader to conjecture: but Crafty was easy about the matter—'t was only, in his opinion, "manœuvring;" and all weapons are fair against a burglar or highwayman; all devices against a swindler. M'Do'em gave Crafty a list of nine voters at Grilston who had received five pounds a-piece; and enabled him to discover a case of wholesale treating, brought home to one of the leading members of Mr. Titmouse's committee. Well, this worthy capped all his honorable services by hurrying in to Gammon, some quarter of an hour after he had received the second anonymous letter, and with a perfect appearance of consternation, after carefully shutting the door and eying the window, faltered that all was going wrong—that traitors were in the camp; that Lord De la Zouch had bought every man of the Quaint Club two days before at thirty pounds a-head! half already paid down, the rest to be paid on the morning of the fifteenth day after Parliament should have met—(M'Do'em said he did not know what that meant, but Gammon was more influenced and alarmed by it than by anything else that had happened;) that Ben Bran was playing false, having received a large sum—though how much M'Do'em had not yet learned—as head-money from Lord De la Zouch; and that, if one single farthing were after that moment paid or promised to any single member of the club, either by Mr. Titmouse, or any one on his behalf, they were all delivered, bound hand and foot, into the power of Lord De la Zouch, and at his mercy. That so daring and yet artful was Lord De la Zouch, that his agents had attempted to tamper with even HIM, M'Do'em! but so as to afford him not the least hold of them. Moreover, he knew a fellow-townsman who would, despite all his promises to the Liberal candidate, poll for Delamere; but nothing should induce him, M'Do'em, to disclose the name of that person, on account of the peculiar way in which he, M'Do'em, had come to know the fact. On hearing all this, Gammon calmly made up his mind for the worst; and immediately resolved to close all further negotiations with the Quaint Club. To have acted otherwise would have been mere madness, and courting destruction. The more he reflected on the exorbitant demand of the Quaint Club—and so suddenly exorbitant, and enforced by such an impudent sort of quiet pertinacity—the more he saw to corroborate—had that occurred to him as necessary—the alarming intelligence of M'Do'em. Mr. Gammon concealed much of his emotion; but he ground his teeth together with the effort. Towards six o'clock, there was a room full of the friends and agents of Titmouse; to whom Gammon, despite all that had happened, and which was known only to four or five of those present, gave a highly encouraging account of the day's prospects, but impressed upon them all, with infinite energy, the necessity for caution and activity. A great effort was to be made to head the poll from the first, in order at once to do away with the prestige of the show of hands; "and the friends of Mr. Titmouse" (i. e. the ten pounds' worth of mob) were to be in attendance round the polling-booth at seven o'clock, and remain there the rest of the day, in order, by their presence; to encourage and protect (!) the voters of Mr. Titmouse. This and one or two other matters having been thus arranged, Mr. Gammon, who was completely exhausted with his long labor, retired to a bedroom, and directed that he should without fail be called in one hour's time. As he threw himself on the bed, with his clothes on, and extinguished his candle, he had at least the consolation of reflecting, that nine of the enemy's stanchest voters were safely stowed away, (as he imagined,) and that seven or eight of the accessibles, pledged to Mr. Delamere, had promised to reconsider the matter.

If Gammon had taken the precaution of packing the front of the polling-booth in the way I have mentioned, Mr. Crafty had not overlooked the necessity of securing efficient protection for his voters; and between seven and eight o'clock no fewer than between four and five hundred stout yeomen, tenants of Lord De la Zouch and others of the surrounding nobility and gentry, made their appearance in the town, and insinuated themselves into the rapidly accumulating crowd: many of them, however, remaining at large, at the command of Mr. Delamere's committee, in order, when necessary, to secure safe access to the poll for those who might require such assistance. It was strongly urged upon Mr. Crafty to bring up a strong body of voters at the commencement, in order to head the polling at the end of the first hour. "Not the least occasion for it," said Crafty, quietly—"I don't care a straw for it: in a small borough no end can be gained, where the voters are so few in number that every man's vote is secured long beforehand to a dead certainty. There's no prestige to be gained or supported. No. Bring up first all the distant and most uncertain voters—the timid, the feeble, the wavering; secure them early while you have time and opportunity. Again, for the first few hours poll languidly; it may render the enemy over-easy. You may perhaps make a sham rush of about twenty or thirty between twelve and one o'clock, to give them the idea that you are doing your very best. Then fall off, poll a man now and then only, and see what they will do, how they are playing off their men. If you can hang back till late in the day, then direct, very secretly and cautiously, the bribery oath and the questions to be put to each of the enemy's men as they come up; and, while you are thus picking them off, pour in your own voters before the opposite party is aware of your game, and the hour for closing the poll may perhaps arrive while some dozen or so of their men are unpolled. But above all, gentlemen," said Crafty, "every one to his own work only. One thing, at a time, throughout the day; which is quite long enough for all you have to do. Don't hang back in order to bring up several voters at once; if you have one ready, take him up instanter, and have done with him. Don't give yourselves the least concern about ascertaining the numbers that have polled, but only those that have yet to be polled; the returns I will look after. Let those stand behind the check-clerks, who are best acquainted with the names, persons, and circumstances of the voters who come up, and can detect imposture of any sort before the vote is recorded, and the mischief done. The scoundrel may be thus easily kept off the poll-books, whom it may cost you a thousand pounds hereafter to attempt to remove, in vain."

CHAPTER III

The injuries which Titmouse had received in his encounter with the waterman—I mean principally his black eye—prevented him from making his appearance in public, or at Lord Dreddlington's, or in the House, for several days after he had recovered from the bilious attack of which I have spoken. His non-attendance at the House, however, signified little, since both parties had been so thoroughly exhausted by their late trial of strength, as to require for some time rest and quietness, to enable them to resume the public business of the country. As soon as his eye was fairly convalescent, the first place to which he ventured out was his new residence in Park Lane, which having been taken for him, under the superintendence of the Earl of Dreddlington and Mr. Gammon, some month or two before, was now rapidly being furnished, in order to be in readiness to receive his lady and himself, immediately after his marriage—his Parliamentary duties not admitting of a prolonged absence from town. The former event had, as usual, been already prematurely announced in the newspapers several times as on the eve of taking place. The courtship went on very easily and smoothly. Neither of them seemed anxious for the other's society, though they contrived to evince, in the presence of others, a decent degree of gratification at meeting each other. He did all which he was instructed it was necessary for a man of fashion to do. He attended her and the earl to the opera repeatedly, as also to other places of fashionable resort: he had danced with her occasionally; but, to tell the truth, it was only at the vehement instance of the earl her father, that she ever consented to stand up with one whose person, whose carriage, whose motions were so unutterably vulgar and ridiculous as those of Mr. Titmouse, who was yet her affianced husband. He had made her several times rather expensive presents of jewelry, and would have purchased for her a great stock of clothing, (of which he justly considered himself an excellent judge,) if she would have permitted it. He had, moreover, been a constant guest at the earl's table, where he was under greater restraint than anywhere else. Of such indiscretions and eccentricities as I have just been recording, they knew, or were properly supposed to know, nothing. 'T was not for them to have their eyes upon him while sowing his wild oats—so thought the earl; who, however, had frequent occasion for congratulating himself in respect of Mr. Titmouse's political celebrity, and also of the marks of distinction conferred upon him in the literary and scientific world, of which the earl was himself so distinguished an ornament. Titmouse had presented copies, gorgeously bound, of Dr. Gander's Treatise on Lightness, both to the earl and the Lady Cecilia; and the very flattering dedication to Titmouse, by Dr. Gander, really operated not a little in his favor with his future lady. What effect might have been produced upon her Ladyship, had she been apprised of the fact, that the aforesaid dedication had appeared in only a hundred copies, having been cancelled directly Dr. Gander had ascertained the futility of his expectations from Titmouse, I do not know; but I believe she never was informed of that circumstance. As far as his dress went, she had contrived, through the interference of the earl and of Mr. Gammon, (for whom she had conceived a singular respect,) to abate a little of its fantastic absurdity, its execrable vulgarity. Nothing, however, seemed capable of effecting any material change in the man, although his continued intercourse with refined society could hardly fail to produce some advantageous alteration in his manners. As for anything further, Tittlebat Titmouse remained the same vulgar, heartless, presumptuous, ignorant creature he had ever been. Though I perceive in the Lady Cecilia no qualities to excite our respect or affection, I pity her from my very soul when I contemplate her coming union with Titmouse. One thing I know, that as soon as ever she had bound herself irrevocably to him, she began to think of at least fifty men whom she had ever spurned, but whom now she would have welcomed with all the ardor and affection of which her cold nature was susceptible. As she had never been conspicuous for animation, vivacity, or energy, the gloom which more and more frequently overshadowed her, whenever her thoughts turned towards Titmouse, attracted scarce any one's attention. There were those, however, who could have spoken of her mental disquietude at the approach of her cheerless nuptials—I mean her maid Annette and Miss Macspleuchan. To say that she loathed the bare idea of her union with Titmouse—of his person, manners, and character—would not perhaps be exactly correct, since she had not the requisite strength of character; but she contemplated her future lord with mingled feelings of apprehension, dislike, and disgust. She generally fled for support to the comfortable notion of "fate," which had assigned her such a husband. Heaven had denied poor Lady Cecilia all power of contemplating the future; of anticipating consequences; of reflecting upon the step she was about to take. Miss Macspleuchan, however, did so for her; but, being placed in a situation of great delicacy and difficulty, acted with cautious reserve whenever the subject was mentioned. Lady Cecilia had not vouchsafed to consult her before her Ladyship had finally committed herself to Titmouse; and, after that, interference was useless and unwarrantable.

Lady Cecilia late one afternoon entered her dressing-room pale and dispirited, as had been latterly her wont; and, with a deep sigh, sank into her easy-chair. Annette, on her Ladyship's entrance, was leaning against the window frame, reading a book, which she immediately closed and laid down. "What are you reading there?" inquired Lady Cecilia, languidly.

"Oh, nothing particular, my Lady!" replied Annette, coloring a little; "it was only the prayer-book. I was looking at the marriage-service, my Lady. I wanted to see what it was that your Ladyship has to say"–

"It's not very amusing, Annette. I think it very dull and stupid—and you might have been better employed!"

"La, my Lady—now I should have thought it quite interesting, if I had been in your La'ship's situation!"

"Well, what is it that they expect me to repeat?"

"Oh! I'll read it, my Lady—here it is," replied Annette, and read as follows:—

"Then shall the priest say unto the woman, 'N, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together, after God's ordinance, in the holy state of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, serve him, love, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?'

"The woman shall answer, 'I will.'"

"Well—it's only a form, you know, Annette—and I dare say no one ever gives it a thought," said Lady Cecilia, struggling to suppress a sigh.

"Then," continued Annette, "your La'ship will have to say a good deal after the parson—but I beg your La'ship's pardon—it's (in your case) the bishop. Here it is:

"'I, N, take thee, M, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish'"–

"Yes, yes—I hear," interrupted Lady Cecilia, faintly, turning pale; "I know it all; that will do, Annette" —

"There's only a word more, my Lady:—

"'And obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.'

"All this your La'ship says, with your right hand holding Mr. Titmouse's."

Here a visible tremor passed through Lady Cecilia. "You may leave me alone, Annette, a little while," said she; "I don't feel quite well."

"La, my Lady, a'n't your La'ship late, already? Your La'ship knows how early her Grace dines ever since her illness."

"There's plenty of time; I'll ring for you when I want you. And—stay—you may as well leave your prayer-book with me for a moment—it will amuse me to look in it." Annette did as she was bid; and the next moment her melancholy mistress was alone. She did not, however, open the book she had asked for, but fell into a revery, which was disturbed some time afterwards, only by her maid tapping at the door; and who, on entering, told her that she had not one moment to lose; that his Lordship had been dressed for some time. On this her Ladyship rose, and commenced her toilet with a very deep sigh.

"Your La'ship, I suppose, wears your gold-colored satin? it matches so well with the pearls," said Annette, going to the jewel-case.

"I sha'n't wear any pearls to-day."

"Oh! my Lady! not that beautiful spray of Mr. Titmouse's? Your La'ship does look so well in it!"

"I sha'n't wear anything of Mr. Tit—I mean," she added, coloring, "I sha'n't wear anything in my hair to-day!"

Many and anxious, it may be easily believed, had been the conferences and negotiations between the earl, Mr. Gammon, and Mr. Titmouse, with reference to the state of his property, and the settlement to be made on Lady Cecilia. It appeared that the extent of the encumbrances on the Yatton property was £35,000, and which Gammon had many ways of accounting for, without disclosing the amount of plunder which had fallen to the share of the firm—or rather to the senior partner. The interest on this sum (viz. £1,750) would reduce Mr. Titmouse's present income to £8,250 per annum; but Gammon pledged himself that the rental of the estates could, with the greatest ease, be raised to £12,000, and that measures, in fact, were already in progress to effect so desirable a result. Then there was a sum of £20,000 due to Mr. Titmouse from Mr. Aubrey, on account of the mesne profits, £10,000 of which was guaranteed by Lord De la Zouch, and would very shortly become payable with interest; and the remaining £10,000 could be at any time called in. The sum finally determined upon, as a settlement upon Lady Cecilia, was £3,000 a-year—surely a very substantial "consideration" for the "faithful promise" to be, by-and-by, made by her at the altar—and which, moreover, she conceived she had a prospect of having entirely to herself—really "for her separate use, exempt from the control, debts, and engagements of her said intended husband." I am sorry to say that Lady Cecilia clung to the prospect of an almost immediate separation; which, she learned from several confidential friends, some of whom were qualified, by personal experience, to offer an opinion, was a very easy matter, becoming daily more frequent on the ground of incompatibility of temper. A faint hint of the kind which she had once dropped to Miss Macspleuchan, was received in such a manner as prevented Lady Cecilia from ever repeating it. As for the earl, her father, I cannot say that he did not observe a depression of spirits in his daughter, increasing with the increasing proximity of her marriage. Since, however, he had entirely reconciled himself to it—and was delighted at the approaching long-coveted reunion of the family interests—he did not think of her having any real objection to the arrangements. As for her lowness of spirits, and nervousness, doubtless—his Lordship considered—every woman on the point of being married, experienced similar feelings. She herself, indeed, seldom if ever named the matter to her father in such a way as to occasion him uneasiness. In short, the affair seemed to be going on just as it ought to do; and even had it assumed an untoward aspect, circumstances had arisen which would have prevented the earl from giving his wonted attention to what in any degree concerned his daughter. In the first place, on his Lordship's party coming into power, to his infinite amazement his old post of Lord High Steward was filled up by some one else! So also was the office of Lord President of the Council; and so, moreover, was every other official post; and that, too, without any apology to the offended peer, or explanation of such a phenomenon as his entire exclusion from office. The Premier had, in fact, never once thought of his Lordship while forming his administration; and on being subsequently remonstrated with by a venerable peer, a common friend of the Premier and Lord Dreddlington, the Premier very calmly and blandly expressed his regret that Lord Dreddlington had not given him notice of his being still—"even in his advanced years"—disposed to hold office; and trusted that he should yet be able, and before any long time should have elapsed, to avail himself of the very valuable services "of my Lord Dreddlington." This was all that he could get from the courteous but marble-hearted Premier; and, for a long while, the earl could think of only one mode of soothing his wounded feelings—viz. going about to his friends, and demonstrating that the new Lord Steward and the new Lord President were every day displaying their unfitness for office; and that the only error committed by the Premier, in the difficult and responsible task of forming a government, was that of selecting two such individuals as he had appointed to those distinguished posts. He was also greatly comforted and supported, at this period of vexation and disappointment, by the manly and indignant sympathy of—Mr. Gammon, who had succeeded in gaining a prodigious ascendency over the earl, who, on the sudden death of his own solicitor, old Mr. Pounce, adopted Gammon in his stead; and infinitely rejoiced his Lordship was, to have thus secured the services of one who possessed an intellect at once so practical, masterly, and energetic; who had formed so high an estimate of his Lordship's powers; and whom his Lordship's condescending familiarity never for one moment caused to lose sight of the vast distance and difference between them. He appeared, moreover, to act between Titmouse and the earl with the scrupulous candor and fidelity of a high-minded person, consciously placed in a situation of peculiar delicacy and responsibility. At the least, he seemed exceedingly anxious to secure Lady Cecilia's interests; and varied—or appeared to vary—the arrangements, according to every suggestion of his Lordship. The earl was satisfied that Gammon was disposed to make Titmouse go much farther than of his own accord he would have felt disposed to go, towards meeting the earl's wishes in the matter of the settlements;—in fact, Gammon evinced, in the earl's opinion, great anxiety to place her Ladyship in that position to which her high pretensions so justly entitled her.

But this was not the only mode by which he augmented and secured his influence over the weak old peer. Not only had Gammon, in the manner pointed out in a previous portion of this history, diminished the drain upon his Lordship's income, which had so long existed in the shape of interest upon money lent him on mortgage, (and which embarrassments, by the way, had all arisen from his foolish state and extravagance when Lord High Steward;) not only, I say, had Gammon done all this, but infinitely more;—he had enabled his Lordship, as it were, "to strike a blow in a new hemisphere," and at once evince his fitness for the conduct of important and complicated affairs of business, acquire an indefinite augmentation of fortune, and also great influence and popularity.

England, about the time I am speaking of, was smitten with a sort of mercantile madness—which showed itself in the shape of a monstrous passion for Joint-stock Companies. John Bull all of a sudden took it into his head, that no commercial undertaking of the least importance could any longer be carried on by means of individual energy, capital, and enterprise. A glimmering of this great truth he discovered that he had had, from the first moment that a private partnership had been adopted; and it was only to follow out the principle—to convert a private into a public partnership, and call it a "Joint-stock Company." This bright idea of John's produced prompt and prodigious results—a hundred joint stock companies

"Rose like an exhalation,"

in the metropolis alone, within one twelvemonth's time. But then came the question, upon what were these grand combined forces to operate? Undertakings of commensurate magnitude must be projected—and so it was. It really mattered not a straw how wild and ludicrously impracticable was a project—it had but to be started, and announced, to call forth moneyed people among all classes, all making haste to be rich—and ready to back the speculation, even to the last penny they had in the world; pouring out their capital with a recklessness, of which the lamentable results may prevent their recurrence. Any voluble visionary who was unluckily able to reach the ear of one or two persons in the city, could expand his crotchet into a "company" with as little effort as an idiot could blow out a soap-bubble. For instance: one wiseacre (who surely ought never to have been at large) conceived a plan for creating ARTIFICIAL RAIN at an hour's notice, over any extent of country short of a circle of three miles in diameter; a second, for conveying MILK to every house in the metropolis in the same way as water is at present conveyed—viz. by pipes, supplied by an immense reservoir of milk to be established at Islington, and into which a million of cows were to be milked night and morning; a third, for converting saw-dust into solid wood; and a fourth, for surrounding the metropolis with a wall twenty feet in thickness, and fifty in height. Within three days of each of these hopeful speculations being announced, there were as many completely organized joint-stock companies established to carry them into effect. Superb offices were engaged in the city; Patrons, Presidents, Vice-Presidents; Trustees, Chairmen, Directors; Secretaries, Actuaries, Architects, Auditors; Bankers, Standing Counsel, Engineers, Surveyors, and Solicitors, appointed: and the names of all these functionaries forthwith blazed in dazzling array at the head of a "Prospectus," which set forth the advantages of the undertaking with such seductive eloquence as no man could resist; and within a week's time there was not a share to be had in the market. Into affairs of this description, Mr. Gammon, who soon saw the profit to be made out of them, if skilfully worked, plunged with the energy and excitement of a gamester. He drew in Mr. Quirk after him; and, as they could together command the ears of several enterprising capitalists in the city, they soon had their hands full of business, and launched two or three very brilliant speculations. Mr. Gammon himself drew up their "Prospectuses," and in a style which must have tempted the very devil himself (had he seen them) into venturing half his capital in the undertaking!—One was a scheme for providing the metropolis with a constant supply of salt water by means of a canal cut from the vicinity of the Nore, and carried nearly all round London, so as to afford the citizens throughout the year the luxury of sea-bathing. Another was of a still more extraordinary and interesting description—for carrying into effect a discovery, by means of which, ships of all kinds and sizes could be furnished with the means, by one and the same process—and that remarkably simple, cheap, and convenient—of obtaining pure fresh water from the SEA, and converting the salt or brine thrown off in the operation, instanter into gunpowder! The reality of this amazing discovery was decisively ascertained by three of the greatest chemists in England; a patent was taken out, and a company formed for immediately working the patent. This undertaking was the first that Gammon brought under the notice of the Earl of Dreddlington, whom he so completely dazzled by his description, both of the signal service to be conferred upon the country, and the princely revenue to be derived from it to those early entering into the speculation, that his Lordship intimated rather an anxious wish to be connected with it.

"Good gracious, sir!" said his Lordship, with an air of wonder—"to what a pitch is science advancing! When will human ingenuity end? Sir, I doubt not that one of these days everything will be found out!"

"Certainly—I feel the full force of your Lordship's very striking observation," replied Gammon, who had listened to him with an air of delighted deference.

"Sir, this is a truly astonishing discovery! Yet, I give you my honor, sir, I have often thought that something of the kind was very desirable, as far as the obtaining fresh water from salt water was concerned, and have wondered whether it could ever be practicable: but I protest the latter part of the discovery—the conversion of the brine into gunpowder—is—is—sir, I say it is—astounding; it is more; it is very interesting, in a picturesque, and important in a patriotic point of view. Only think, sir, of our vessels gathering gunpowder and fresh water from the sea they are sailing over. Sir, the discoverer deserves a subsidy! This must in due time be brought before Parliament." His Lordship got quite excited; and Gammon, watching his opportunity, intimated the pride and pleasure it would give him to make his Lordship the patron of the gigantic undertaking in question.

"Sir—sir—you do me—infinite honor," quoth the earl, quite flustered by the suddenness of the proposal.

"As there will be, of course, your Lordship sees, several great capitalists concerned, I must, for form's sake, consult them before any step is taken; but I flatter myself, my Lord, that there can be but one opinion, when I name to them the possibility of our being honored with your Lordship's name and influence."

The earl listened to this with a stately bow and a gratified smile; and on the ensuing day received a formal communication from Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, soliciting his Lordship to become the patron of the undertaking—which he most graciously acceded to; and was easily prevailed upon to secure several other highly distinguished names among his friends, who were profoundly ignorant of business, in all its departments, but delighted to figure before the public, as the patrons of so great and laudable an enterprise. Out went forthwith, all over the country, the advertisements and prospectuses of the new company, and which could boast such commanding names as cast most of its sister companies into the shade—e. g. "The Right Honorable the Earl of Dreddlington, G.C.B., F.C.S., F.P.S., &c. &c."—"The Most Noble the Duke of Tantallan, K.T., &c. &c."—"The Most Honorable the Marquis of Marmalade, &c. &c. &c." The capital to be one million, in ten thousand shares of one hundred pounds each. Lord Dreddlington was presented with a hundred shares, as a mark of respect and gratitude from the leading shareholders; moreover, his Lordship took two hundred shares besides, and prevailed on various of his friends to do the same. In less than three weeks' time the shares had risen to £40 premium—[i.e. my lady readers will understand, each share for which his Lordship was supposed to have given, or to be liable to be called upon for £100, he could at any moment dispose of for £140]—and then Mr. Gammon so represented matters to his Lordship, as to induce him to part with his shares, which he found no difficulty in doing—and thereby realized a clear profit of £12,000. This seemed to the earl rather the effect of magic than of an everyday mercantile adventure. His respect for Gammon rose with everything he heard of that gentleman, or saw him do; and his Lordship allowed himself to be implicitly guided by him in all things. Under his advice, accordingly, the earl became interested in several other similar speculations, which so occupied his thoughts as almost to obliterate his sense of ministerial injustice. Several of his friends cautioned him, now and then, against committing himself to such novel and extensive speculations, in which he might incur, he was reminded, dangerous liabilities; but his magnificent reception of such interference, soon caused their discontinuance. The earl felt himself safe in the hands of Mr. Gammon, forming an equal and a very high estimate of his ability and integrity.

His Lordship's attention having been thus directed to such matters—to the mercantile interests of this great country—he soon began to take a vast interest in the discussion of such subjects in the House, greatly to the surprise and edification of many of his brother peers. Absorbing, however, as were these and similar occupations, they were almost altogether suspended as soon as a day—and that not a distant one—had been fixed upon for the marriage of the Lady Cecilia with Mr. Titmouse. From that moment, the old man could scarcely bear her out of his presence; following and watching all her movements with a peculiar, though still a stately, solicitude and tenderness. Frequent, earnest, and dignified, were his interviews with Titmouse—his representations as to the invaluable treasure that was about to be intrusted to him in the Lady Cecilia—the last direct representative of the most ancient noble family in the kingdom. Innumerable were his Lordship's directions to him concerning his future conduct, both in public and private life; intimating, in a manner at once impressive and affectionate, that the eyes of the country would be thenceforward fixed upon him, as son-in-law of the Earl of Dreddlington. His Lordship, moreover—pocketing the affront he had received at the hands of the Ministry—made a very strenuous and nearly a successful effort to procure for his destined son-in-law a vacant lordship of the Treasury. The Premier was really beginning to consider the subject, when Mr. O'Gibbet extinguished all the aspiring hopes of poor Lord Dreddlington, by applying for the vacant office for Mr. Och Hubbaboo, an early friend of Mr. O'Gibbet; and who having failed in business, and been unable to re-establish himself, had come into the House of Commons to repair his shattered fortunes. I need hardly say, that within a day or two, Mr. Hubbaboo was made a lord of the Treasury; and thereby were very nearly alienated from Ministers two stanch and enlightened supporters—to wit, the Earl of Dreddlington and Mr. Titmouse.

Early in the forenoon of Tuesday the 1st of April 18—, there were indications in the neighborhood of Lord Dreddlington's house in Grosvenor Square, that an aristocratic wedding was about to be celebrated. Lady Cecilia's bridemaids, and one or two other ladies, the Duke and Duchess of Tantallan, and a few other persons of distinction, who were to accompany the party to church, made their appearance about eleven o'clock; and shortly afterwards dashed up Mr. Titmouse's cab, in which sat that gentleman, enveloped in a magnificent green cloak, designed to conceal from vulgar observation the full splendor of his personal appearance. He had been engaged at his toilet since five o'clock that morning; and the results were not unworthy of the pains which had been taken to secure them. He wore a light-blue body coat, with velvet collar; tight black pantaloons tying round his ankles; gossamer white silk stockings, and dress-shoes, with small gold buckles. His shirt was of snowy whiteness, and there glittered in the centre of it a very superb diamond brooch. He had two waistcoats, the under one a sky-blue satin, (only the roll visible,) the outer one of white satin, richly embroidered. A burnished gold guard-chain was disposed very gracefully over the exterior of his outer waistcoat. His hair was parted down the middle, and curled forward towards each temple, giving his countenance a very bold and striking expression. He wore white kid gloves, a glossy new hat, and held in his hand his agate-headed ebony cane. Though he tried to look at his ease, his face was rather pale, and his manner a little flurried. As for the bride—she had slept scarcely a quarter of an hour the whole night; and a glimpse at her countenance, in the glass, convinced her of the necessity of yielding to Annette's suggestions, and rouging a little. Her eyes told of the sleepless and agitated night she had passed; and while dressing, she was twice forced to drink a little sal volatile and water. She was cold, and trembled. When at length she had completed her toilet, what a figure did her glass present to her! The dress—rich white satin—a long and beautiful blonde lace veil—and a delicate wreath of orange blossoms, was that of a bride, certainly; but was the haggard countenance that of a bride? Miss Macspleuchan burst into tears at the sight. When, attended by her bridemaids and Miss Macspleuchan, she made her appearance in the drawing-room, the Earl of Dreddlington approached her, and saluted her with silent tenderness. Then Titmouse came up, very pale, but with a would-be familiar air—"Hope you're quite well, dearest, this happy day," said he, and kissed her gloved hand. She made him no reply; stepped back, and sank upon the sofa; and presently the carriages were announced to be in readiness. The earl led her down, followed by her two bridemaids, and entered the first carriage, which then drove off to St. George's Church; Titmouse and the rest of the party immediately following. The ceremony was to be performed by the Bishop of Barnard Castle, an old friend, and indeed a distant relation of Lord Dreddlington's. Methinks I now see his portly and commanding figure, standing at the altar, with the little distinguished party before him; and hear his clear, sonorous voice reading the marriage-service. Titmouse was pale and flushed by turns, and looked frightened—behaving, however, with more sedateness than I should have expected. Lady Cecilia leaned, when she could, against the rails; and repeated her few allotted words in a voice scarcely audible. When Titmouse fixed the ring upon her finger, she trembled and shed tears—averting her face from him, and at length concealing it entirely in her pocket-handkerchief. She looked, indeed, the image of misery. The Earl of Dreddlington maintained a countenance of rigid solemnity. At length the all-important ceremony came to a close; the necessary entries and signatures were made in the vestry, to which the wedding party followed the bishop; and then Mr. Titmouse, taking HIS WIFE'S arm within his own, led her out to the private door, where stood waiting for them the earl's chariot. He handed her into it, and popped in after her—a little crowd standing round to catch a glimpse of the distinguished bride and bridegroom; and they drove rapidly homeward. He sat in one corner, and she in the other; each so occupied with their own thoughts, that they uttered scarcely two words all the way.

CHAPTER IV

The object which Gammon had originally proposed to himself, and unwaveringly fixed his eye upon amid all the mazy tortuosities of his course, since taking up the cause of Tittlebat Titmouse, was his own permanent establishment in the upper sphere of society; conscious that, above all, could he but once emerge into political life, his energies would insure him speedy distinction. With an independent income of £2,000 a-year, he felt that he should be standing on sure ground. But even above and beyond this, there was one dazzling object of his hopes and wishes, which, unattained, would, on several accounts, render all others comparatively valueless—a union with Miss Aubrey. His heart fluttered within him at the bare notion of such an event. What effect would be produced upon that beautiful, that pure, high-minded, but haughty creature—for haughty to him had Kate Aubrey ever appeared—by a knowledge that he, Gammon, possessed the means—Bah! accursed Titmouse!—thought Gammon, his cheek suddenly blanching as he recollected that through him those means no longer existed.—Stay!—Unless, indeed—…—which would, however, be all but impossible—perilous in the extreme! Absorbed with these reflections, he started on being accosted by the footman of the Earl of Dreddlington; who, observing Gammon, had ordered his carriage to draw up, to enable his Lordship to speak to him. It was the end of Oxford Street nearest to the City.

"Sir—Mr. Gammon—good-day, sir!"—commenced the earl, with a slight appearance of disappointment, and even displeasure, "pray, has anything unfortunate happened"–

"Unfortunate! I beg your Lordship's pardon"–interrupted Gammon, coloring visibly, and gazing with surprise at the earl.

"You do not generally, Mr. Gammon, forget your appointments. The marquis, I, and the gentlemen of the Direction, have been waiting for you in vain at the office for a whole hour."

"Good Heavens! my Lord—I am confounded!" said Gammon, suddenly recollecting the engagement he had made with the earl: "I have forgotten everything in a sudden fit of indisposition, with which I have been seized at the house of a client at Bayswater. I can but apologize, my Lord"–

"Sir, say no more; your looks are more than sufficient; and I beg that you will do me the honor to accept a seat in my carriage, and tell me whither you will be driven. I'm at your service, Mr. Gammon, for at least an hour; longer than that I cannot say, as I have to be at the House; you remember our two bills have to be forwarded a stage"–

Since his Lordship was as peremptory as politeness would permit him to be, in got Gammon, and named The Gunpowder and Freshwater Company's Offices, in Lothbury, in the hopes of finding yet some of the gentlemen whom he had so sadly disappointed; and thither, having turned his horses' heads, drove the coachman.

"Sir," said the earl, after much inquiry into the nature of Gammon's recent indisposition, "by the way, what can be the meaning of my Lord Tadpole's opposition to the second reading of our bill, No. 2?"

"We offered his Lordship no shares, my Lord—that is the secret. I saw him a few days ago, and he sounded me upon the subject; but—I'm sure your Lordship will understand—in a company such as ours, my Lord"–

"Sir, I quite comprehend you, and I applaud your vigilant discrimination. Sir, in affairs of this description, in order to secure the confidence of the public, it is a matter of the last importance that none but men of the highest—by the way, Mr. Gammon, how are the Golden Egg shares? Would you advise me to sell"–

"Hold, my Lord, a little longer. We are going, in a few days' time, to publish some important information concerning the prospects of the undertaking, of the most brilliant character, and which cannot fail to raise the value of the shares, and then will be the time to sell! Has your Lordship signed the deed yet?"

"Sir, I signed it last Saturday, in company with my Lord Marmalade. I should not like to part with my interest in the company, you see—Mr. Gammon—hastily; but I am in your hands"–

"My Lord, I am ever watchful of your Lordship's interests."

"By the way, will you dine with me to-morrow? We shall be quite alone, and I am very anxious to obtain an accurate account of the present state of Mr. Titmouse's property; for, to tell you the truth, I have heard of one or two little matters that occasion me some uneasiness."

"Can anything be more unfortunate, my Lord? I am engaged out to dinner for the next three days—if indeed I shall be well enough to go to any of them," said Gammon, with an agitation which could have escaped the observation of few persons except the Earl of Dreddlington.

"Sir—I exceedingly regret to hear it; let me trust that some day next week I shall be more fortunate. There are several matters on which I am desirous of consulting you. When did you last see Mr. Titmouse?"

"Let me see, my Lord—I—don't think I've seen him since Monday last, when I casually met him in one of the committee-rooms of the House of Commons, where, by the way, he seems a pretty frequent attendant."

"I'm glad to hear it," replied the earl, somewhat gravely; and, as Gammon imagined, with a slight expression of surprise, or even distrust. Gammon therefore fancied that the earl had received recent intelligence of some of the wild pranks of his hopeful son-in-law, and wished to make inquiries concerning them of Gammon

"Will you, sir,—by the way—have the goodness to write at your earliest convenience to General Epaulette's solicitors, and tell them I wish to pay off immediately £12,000 of his mortgage? Oblige me, sir, by attending to this matter without delay; for I met the general the other day at dinner—and—I might possibly have been mistaken, sir—but I fancied he looked at me as if he wished me to feel myself his debtor. Do you understand me, sir? It annoyed me; and I wish to get out of his hands as soon as possible."

"Rely upon it, my Lord, it shall be attended to this very day," replied Gammon, scarcely able—troubled though he was—to suppress a smile at the increasing symptoms of purse-pride in the earl, whose long-empty coffers were being so rapidly and unexpectedly replenished by the various enterprises into which, under Gammon's auspices, his Lordship had entered with equal energy and sagacity. While the earl was speaking, the carriage drew up at the door of the company's office, and Gammon alighted. The earl, however, finding that all the gentlemen whom he had left there, had quitted, drove off westward, at a smart pace, and reached the House in time for the matters which he had mentioned to Mr. Gammon. That gentleman soon dropped the languid demeanor he had worn in Lord Dreddlington's presence, and addressed himself with energy and decision to a great number of important and difficult matters demanding his attention—principally connected with several of the public companies in which he was interested—and one of which, in particular, required the greatest possible care and tact, in order to prevent its bursting—prematurely. He had also to get through a considerable arrear of professional affairs, and to write several letters on the private business of Lord Dreddlington, and of Mr. Titmouse—respectively. Nay, he had one or two still more urgent calls upon his attention. First came the action against himself for £4,000 penalties, for bribery, arising out of the Yatton election, and as to which he had received, that afternoon, a very gloomy "opinion" from Mr. Lynx, who was "advising" him on his defence. Much in the same plight, also, were Messrs. Bloodsuck, Mudflint, and Woodlouse, for whom Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap were defending similar actions; and who were worried out of their lives by daily letters from their terror-stricken clients, as to the state, progress, and prospects of the several causes in which they were so deeply interested. All these actions were being pressed forward by the plaintiffs with a view to trial at the ensuing York assizes; had been made, by the plaintiffs, special juries; and, infinitely to Gammon's vexation and alarm, he had found, on hurrying to retain Mr. Subtle, that he, Mr. Sterling, and Mr. Crystal, had been already retained for the plaintiffs! Lastly, he was dreadfully teased by an action of seduction, which had, a few days before, been brought against Mr. Titmouse; and which Gammon, finding it to be a very bad case, was making great efforts to compromise. To each and every of these matters, he gave the attention that was due—and, about seven o'clock, having finished his labors for the day, repaired, a good deal exhausted, to his chambers at Thavies' Inn. After a slight repast, he proceeded to draw up confidential "instructions" for Mr. Frankpledge, to frame the deeds necessary to carry into effect his contemplated arrangement with Titmouse. That did not take him long; and having sealed up his packet, and addressed it, he threw himself down on the sofa, and gave himself up to anxious meditation, for he was aware that he was now, as it were, touching the very crisis of his fortunes. Again, again, and again he recurred to the incident of the day—the destruction of his documents by Titmouse; and cursed his own inconceivable stupidity, even aloud. Yet he could not avoid indulging at the same time in secret pride and exultation at the presence of mind which he had displayed—the successful skill with which he had encountered so sudden, singular, and serious an emergency. But what would be the effect of the destruction of those documents, upon certain secret arrangements of his connected with Titmouse's recovery of the Yatton property? This was a question which occasioned Gammon great perplexity and apprehension. Then, as to Gammon's rent-charge of £2,000 per annum on the Yatton estates—he bethought himself, with no little uneasiness, of some expressions concerning Titmouse's property, let fall by the earl that day: and if his Lordship should persevere in his determination to become minutely acquainted with the state of Titmouse's property, how could the new and heavy encumbrance about to be laid upon it, possibly escape discovery? and if it did, how was it to be accounted for, or supported? Confound it! It seemed as if fate were bent upon urging on a catastrophe!

"Shall I," thought Gammon, "wait till I am challenged on the subject, and then fire my shot, and bring his Lordship down from the tight-rope? Then, however, I cannot but appear to have known the thing from the very beginning; and who knows what liabilities, civil or criminal—of fraud or conspiracy—may be attached to what I have done! Shall I wait for a convenient, though early opportunity, and rush, with dismay and confusion, into the earl's presence, as with a discovery only just made? By Heaven! but the thing wears already a very ugly appearance. If it come out, what an uproar will be in the world! The lightning will fall on my head first, unless I take care. The discovery will doubtless kill Lord Dreddlington; and as for his daughter, it may overturn the little reason she has!"

Passing from this subject, Gammon surveyed his other relations with the earl, which were becoming daily more involved and critical. He had seduced his Lordship into various mercantile speculations, such as had already placed him in a very questionable point of view, as taking deliberate, systematic advantage of the raging mania for bubble companies. In fact, Gammon had, by his skilful but not very scrupulous manœuvring, already put into Lord Dreddlington's pocket some forty thousand pounds, and at the same time involved his Lordship in liabilities which he never dreamed of, and even Gammon himself had not contemplated. Then he warmed with his apparent proximity to Parliament, (to that part of Titmouse's bargain Gammon resolved to hold him to the very letter,) which he was sure of entering on the very next election. By that time he would have realized a sum, through his connection with the various companies, which, even independently of the income to be derived thereafter from the Yatton property, would render him so far independent as to warrant him in dissolving partnership with Messrs. Quirk and Snap, and quitting at least the practice of the profession.

Mr. Gammon was a man of very powerful mind, possessing energies of the highest order, and for the development and display of which he felt, and fretted when he felt, his present position in society afforded him no scope whatever, till at least he had entered upon that series of bold but well-conceived plans and purposes with which he has been represented as occupied, since the time when he first became the secret master of the fortunes of Titmouse. His ambition was boundless, and he felt within himself a capacity for the management of political affairs of no ordinary magnitude, could he but force himself into the regions where his energies and qualifications could be discovered and appreciated. Indeed, I will undertake to say, that, had Gammon only been a GOOD man, he would, in all probability, have become a great one. But, to proceed with the matters which were then occupying his busy brain. There was yet one upon which all his thoughts settled with a sort of agitating interest—his connection with the Aubreys; and whenever that name occurred to his thoughts, one beauteous image rose before him like that of an angel—I mean Miss Aubrey. She was the first object that had ever excited in him any, the faintest, semblance of the passion of love—that love, I mean, which is in a manner purified and sublimated from all grossness or sensuality by a due appreciation of intellectual and moral excellence. When he dwelt upon the character of Miss Aubrey, and for a moment realized the possibility of a union with her, he felt, as it were, elevated above himself. Then her person was very beautiful; and there was a certain bewitching something about her manners, which Gammon could only feel, not describe; in short, his passion for her had risen to a most extraordinary pitch of intensity, and became a sort of infatuation. In spite of all that had happened at Yatton, he had contrived to continue, and was at that moment, on terms of considerable intimacy with the Aubreys; and had, moreover, been all the while so watchful over himself as to have given none of them any reason to suspect the state of his feelings towards Miss Aubrey; and, on the other hand, nothing had ever transpired to give him the slightest inkling of the state of matters between Miss Aubrey and Delamere—with the exception of one solitary circumstance which had at the moment excited his suspicions—Mr. Delamere's contesting the borough of Yatton. Though he had watched for it, however, nothing had afterwards occurred calculated to confirm his apprehensions. He had taken infinite pains to keep a good name in Vivian Street, with great art representing, from time to time, his disgust for the conduct and character of Titmouse, and the reluctance with which he discharged his professional duty towards that gentleman. He made a point of alluding to the "gross and malignant insult" which had been offered at the hustings to the venerable Vicar of Yatton, and which, he said, was a sudden suggestion of Mr. Titmouse's, and carried into effect by "that vile Unitarian parson, Mudflint," in defiance of Mr. Gammon's wishes to the contrary. He represented himself as still haunted by the mild, reproachful look with which Dr. Tatham had regarded him, as though he had been the author of the insult. The account which appeared in the True Blue of his indignant interference on the occasion of Mr. Delamere's being struck on the hustings, was calculated, as Mr. Gammon conceived, to corroborate his representations, and aid the impression he was so anxious to produce. For the same reason, Mr. Gammon, whenever he had been at Yatton, had acted with great caution and secrecy, so as to give no cause of offence to Dr. Tatham; to whom he from time to time complained, in confidence, of those very acts of Mr. Titmouse which had been dictated to him by Mr. Gammon. Thus reasoned Mr. Gammon; but it would indeed have been singular had he succeeded as he desired and expected. He lost sight of the proverbial influence of one's wishes over one's belief. In imagining that he had concealed from the Aubreys all the unfavorable features of his conduct, was he not, in some degree, exhibiting the folly of the bird, which, thrusting its head only into the bush, imagines that it has thereby concealed its whole body?

The Aubreys knew amply sufficient to warrant a general dislike and distrust of Mr. Gammon; but there existed grave reasons for avoiding any line of conduct which Gammon might choose to consider offensive. Mr. Aubrey justly regarded him as standing, at present, alone between him and some of his most serious liabilities. If Gammon, to accomplish objects to them undiscoverable, wore a mask—why challenge his enmity by attempting to tear off that mask? Mr. Aubrey governed his movements, therefore, with a prudent caution; and though, after the election, and the infamous decision of the election committee, Gammon was received at Vivian Street—whither he went with no little anxiety and trepidation—it was with a visibly increased coolness and reserve, but still with studious courtesy; and beyond that distinct but delicate line, none of them ever advanced a hair's-breadth, which Gammon observed with frequent and heavy misgivings. But he felt that something must at length be done, or attempted, to carry into effect his fond wishes with reference to Miss Aubrey. Months had elapsed, and their relative position seemed totally unchanged since the first evening that his manœuvre had procured him a brief introduction to Mrs. Aubrey's drawing-room. In fact, he considered that the time had arrived for making known, in some way or another, the state of his feelings to Miss Aubrey; and after long deliberation, he resolved to do so without loss of time, and, moreover, personally. He had a fearful suspicion that he should be—at all events at first—unsuccessful; and now that, having taken his determination, he passed in rapid review all their intercourse, he perceived less and less ground for being sanguine; for he felt that Miss Aubrey's manner towards him had been throughout more cold and guarded than that of either Mr. or Mrs. Aubrey. Like a prudent general contemplating the contingencies of an important expedition, and calculating his means of encountering them, Gammon considered—persuasion failing—what means of compulsion had he? He came, at length, finally to the conclusion, that his resources were most available at that moment; and, moreover, that his circumstances required an immediate move.

The very next day, about ten o'clock, he sallied forth from his chambers, and bent his steps towards Vivian Street, intending to keep watch for at least a couple of hours, with a view to ascertaining whether Mrs. Aubrey's going out unaccompanied by Miss Aubrey would afford him an opportunity of seeing Miss Aubrey, alone and undisturbed; reasonably reckoning on the absence of Mr. Aubrey at the Temple, whither he knew he always went about half-past nine o'clock. That day, however, Mr. Gammon watched in vain; during the time that he stayed, only the servants and the children quitted the door. The next day he walked deliberately close past the house; was that brilliant and tasteful performance of the piano, hers? Again, however, he was unsuccessful. On the third day, from a safe distance, he beheld both Mrs. and Miss Aubrey, accompanied by a female servant and the children, quit the house, and walk in the direction of the Park, whither—but at a great distance—he followed their movements with a beating heart. On a subsequent occasion, he saw Miss Aubrey leave the house, accompanied only by little Charles, and he instantly turned his steps despondingly eastward. How little did either of those fair beings dream of the strict watch thus kept upon their every movement! Two days afterwards, however, Gammon's perseverance was rewarded; for shortly after eleven o'clock, he beheld Mrs. Aubrey, accompanied by the two children, quit the house, and turn towards the Park. Gammon's heart began to beat hard. Though he never cared much for dress, his appearance on the present occasion afforded indications of some little attention to it; and he appeared simply a well-dressed gentleman, in a dark-blue buttoned surtout, with velvet collar, and plain black stock, as, after a moment's somewhat flurried pause, he knocked and rang at Mr. Aubrey's door.

"Is Mr. Aubrey within?" he inquired of the very pretty and respectable-looking maid-servant, who presently answered his summons.

"No, sir; he is never here after"–

"Perhaps Mrs. Aubrey"–

"No, sir; there is only Miss Aubrey at home; my mistress and the children are gone out into the Park, and Miss Aubrey is writing letters, or she would have gone with my mistress."

"Perhaps—I could see Miss Aubrey for a moment?" inquired Gammon, with as matter-of-fact an air as he could assume.

"Certainly, sir—she is in the drawing-room. Will you walk up-stairs?" said the girl, who of course knew him well, as not an infrequent visitor at the house. So she led the way up-stairs, he following, and with somewhat fading color.

"Mr. Gammon!" he presently heard, as he stood on the landing, echoed in the rich and soft voice of Miss Aubrey, who seemed to speak in a tone of great surprise, in answer to the servant's announcement. "Why, Fanny, did you not say that neither your master nor mistress was at home?" Gammon next heard hastily asked in a lower tone by Miss Aubrey, and his countenance fell a little; for there was a tone of displeasure, or chagrin, in her voice, especially as she added, "You should have said that I was engaged! However, show him in, Fanny;" and the next moment Mr. Gammon found himself bowing his way towards Miss Aubrey, with whom, for the first time in his life, he found himself alone.

She was sitting writing at her desk, before which stood, in a small flower-glass, a beautiful moss-rose. There was a little air of negligence in the arrangement of her hair, and her light morning costume displayed her figure to infinite advantage. There was really something inexpressibly lovely in her whole appearance, seen, though she was, at that moment, by Gammon, through the faint mist of displeasure which she had thrown around herself.

"Good-morning, Mr. Gammon," she commenced, rising a little from her chair; and sinking again into it, slightly turned it towards him, gazing at him with some curiosity.

"May I venture to hope, madam, that I am not intruding upon you?" said he, seating himself in the chair nearest to him.

"My brother always leaves at half-past nine; is he not at the Temple to-day, Mr. Gammon?" she added a little eagerly—for the first time observing something unusual in the expression of his countenance.

"I really don't know—madam,—in fact, I have not been there to-day; I thought it better, perhaps"–He paused for a second.

"I sincerely trust, Mr. Gammon," interrupted Miss Aubrey, slightly changing color, and looking with great anxiety at her visitor—"that nothing unpleasant—nothing unfortunate—has happened: do, pray, Mr. Gammon!" she continued earnestly, turning her chair full towards him—"for Heaven's sake, tell me!"

"I assure you, madam, upon my honor, that nothing whatever unpleasant has happened, that I know of, since last we met."

"Oh dear—I was getting so alarmed!" said she, with a faint sigh, her white hand hastily putting back the curls which were clustering rather more luxuriantly than usual over her cheek.

"Certainly, madam, you have no occasion to be alarmed; I have, however, an errand—one to me, at least, of inexpressible importance," he commenced, and in a lower key than that in which he had previously spoken; and there was a peculiarity in his manner which quite riveted Miss Aubrey's eye upon his expressive—and now, she saw plainly, agitated countenance. What can possibly be the matter? thought she, as she made a courteous but somewhat formal inclination towards him, and said something about "begging him to proceed."

"I hope, madam, that, comparatively few as have been my opportunities of becoming acquainted with it, I may venture to express, without offence, my profound appreciation of your superior character."

"Really, sir," interrupted Miss Aubrey, very anxiously—"you are not candid with me. I am now certain that you have some unpleasant communication to make! Do, I entreat of you, Mr. Gammon, give me credit for a little presence of mind and firmness; let me know the worst, and be prepared to break it to my brother and sister." Gammon seemed unable to bear her bright blue eyes fixed upon his own, which he directed to the floor, while his cheek flushed. Then he looked again at her; and with an eye which explained all, and drove away the bloom from her cheek, while it also suspended, for a moment, her breathing.

"Oh, forgive me for an instant—for one moment bear with me, Miss Aubrey!" continued Gammon, in a voice of low and thrilling pathos—"this interview agitates me almost to death; it is that which for a thousand hours of intense—absorbing—agonizing doubts and fears, I have been looking forward to!" Miss Aubrey sat perfectly silent and motionless, gazing intently at him, with blanched cheek: he might have been addressing a Grecian statue. "And now—now that it has at last arrived—when I feel as if I were breathing a new—a maddening atmosphere, occasioned by your presence—by the sight of your surpassing loveliness"–

"Gracious Heaven, sir! what can you mean!" at length interrupted Miss Aubrey, with a slight start—at the same time slipping her chair a little farther from Mr. Gammon. "I declare, sir, I do not in the least understand you," she continued with much energy; but her increasing paleness showed the effect which his extraordinary conduct had produced upon her. She made a strong and successful effort, however, to recover her self-possession.

"I perceive, madam, that you are agitated"–

"I am, sir! Astonished!—Shocked!—I could not have imagined"–

"Madam! madam! at the risk of being deemed unkind—cruel—if I die for it, I cannot resist telling you that I reverence—I love you to a degree"–

"Oh, Heavens!" murmured Miss Aubrey, still gazing with an air of amazement at him. Several times she thought of rising to ring the bell, and at once get rid of so astounding an interruption and intrusion; but for several reasons she abstained from doing so, as long as possible.

"It would be ridiculous, sir," said she, at length, with sudden spirit and dignity, "to affect ignorance of your meaning and intentions; but may I venture to ask what conduct of mine—what single act of mine—or word—or look—has ever induced you to imagine—for one moment to indulge so insane"–

"Alas, madam, that which you could not conceal or control—your incomparable excellence—your beauty—loveliness—Madam! madam! the mere sight of your transcendent charms—my soul sank prostrate before you the first moment that I ever saw you"–

All this was uttered by Gammon in a very low tone, and with passionate fervor of manner. Miss Aubrey trembled visibly, and had grown very cold. A little vinaigrette stood beside her—and its stinging stimulating powers were infinitely serviceable, and at length aided her in making head against her rebellious feelings.

"I certainly ought to feel flattered, sir," said she, rapidly recovering herself—"by the high terms in which you are pleased to speak of me—of one who has not the slightest claim upon your good opinion. I really cannot conceive what conduct of mine can have led you to imagine that such an—an—application—as this could be successful—or received otherwise than with astonishment—and, if persisted in—displeasure, Mr. Gammon." This she said in her natural manner, and very pointedly.

"Miss Aubrey—permit me"–said Mr. Gammon, passionately.

"I cannot, sir—I have heard already too much; and I am sure, that when a lady requests a gentleman to desist from conduct which pains and shocks her—sir," she added hastily and peremptorily—"I beg you will at once desist from addressing me in so very improper a strain and manner!"

"Indulge my agonized feelings for one moment, Miss Aubrey," said Gammon, with desperate energy—"alas! I had suspected—I had feared—that our respective positions in society would lead you to despise so comparatively humble and obscure a person in point of station and circumstances"–

"Sir!" exclaimed Kate, magnificently, drawing up her figure to its utmost height—her manner almost petrifying Gammon, whose last words she had most unaccountably imagined, at the moment, to amount to a bitter sarcastic allusion to their fallen fortunes, and diminished personal consequence in society; but she was quickly undeceived, as he proceeded fervently—"Yes, madam—your birth—your family connections—your transcendent mental and personal qualities, shining all the brighter in the gloom of adversity"–

"I—I—I beg your pardon, sir—I misunderstood you," said Kate, discovering her error, and coloring violently—"but it is even more painful to me to listen to the language you are addressing to me. Since you urge me to it, I beg you to understand, sir, that if by what you have been saying to me, I am to gather that you are making me an offer of your addresses—I decline them at once, most peremptorily, as a thing quite out of the question." The tone and manner in which this was said—the determination and hauteur perceptible in her striking and expressive features—blighted all the nascent hopes of Gammon; who turned perfectly pale, and looked the very image of misery and despair. The workings of his strongly marked features told of the agony of his feelings. Neither he nor Miss Aubrey spoke for a few moments. "Alas! madam," at length he inquired in a tremulous voice, "am I presumptuous, if I intimate a fear—which I dare hardly own to myself even—that I am too late—that there is some more fortunate"–Miss Aubrey blushed scarlet.

"I am at a loss to know to what, in particular, you are alluding, Mr. Gammon?" he interrupted anxiously.

"I will not at present say more on the subject; I devoutly hope my negotiations may be successful, and that the affair may not for many months, or even years, be forced upon your attention! Still, were I to do so, one effect, at least, it would have—to satisfy you of my honorable and disinterested motives in the offer which I presumed to make Miss Aubrey."

"Well, sir," replied Mr. Aubrey, with a melancholy air, and sighing deeply, "I can only place my trust in Providence—and I do. I have suffered much already; and if it be the will of Heaven that I should suffer more, I hope it will be proved that I have not suffered already—in vain!"

"Mr. Aubrey," said Gammon, gazing at him with a brightening eye, "my very soul owns the sublime presence of VIRTUE, in your person! It is exalting—it is ennobling—merely to be permitted to witness so heroic an example of constancy as you exhibit!"—He paused, and for some moments there was silence—"You do not distrust me, Mr. Aubrey?" said Gammon, at length, with a confident air.

"No, Mr. Gammon!" replied Mr. Aubrey, eying him steadfastly. "I'm not aware that I ever had any reason for doing so."

Shortly afterwards he took his departure; and as he bent his steps slowly, and with thoughtful air, towards the Temple, he saw one or two things, on his own part, during his interview with Gammon, to regret—namely, his sternness and pride; but nothing on the part of Gammon, that had not been admirable. Could Mr. Aubrey, however, but have seen the satanic smile which settled upon Mr. Gammon's features, as soon as, after cordially shaking his hand, he calmly shut the door upon Mr. Aubrey, it might have occasioned some few misgivings as to Mr. Gammon's sincerity. He resumed his seat, and meditated upon their recent interview. Almost the first glance which he had caught of Mr. Aubrey's countenance, and the very first tones of his voice which had fallen on Gammon's ear, had inspired him with a deadly animosity against poor Aubrey, whose pride Gammon resolved to trample upon and crush into the dust. He was acquainted with the state of Aubrey's little finances, almost to a pound; for Aubrey had, under the circumstances, felt it even a duty to be frank with him upon that subject. He turned over in his mind, with great anxiety, the matter of the two promissory notes for five thousand pounds each, which he held in his hands, and which would be the best mode of setting into motion, but with the hands of another, those two dreadful instruments of torture and oppression—which, judiciously applied, might have the effect of humbling the pride and breaking the determination of Aubrey and of his sister. Long he considered the subject, in every point of view; and at length—"Ay, that will do!" said he to himself aloud; sighed, smiled, and gently tapped his fingers upon his ample forehead. Shortly afterwards, having ordered his laundress to take away the breakfast things, he took pen, ink, and paper, and sketched off the following draft of a letter, to be copied by Mr. Quirk, and signed in the name of the firm, and sent, Gammon finally determined, early in the ensuing week:—

"Saffron Hill, 9th July 18—.

"Dear Sir,—Owing to a most serious and unexpected pecuniary outlay which we are called upon to make, we feel ourselves compelled to avail ourselves of whatever resources lie within our reach. Having been disappointed in several quarters, we are obliged to remind you of the heavy balance we have against you of £1,446, 14s. 6d. You must be aware of the length of time during which it has been standing; and trust you will forgive us if we at length apprise you that it is absolutely impossible for us to allow of any more delay. Unless, therefore, the whole of the above balance, or at least £1,000 of it, be paid within three days of the date hereof, we regret to inform you we have finally made up our minds to let the law take its usual course. We feel the less hesitation in saying thus much, because we are persuaded that, with a little exertion, you might long ago have liquidated this heavy balance, or the greater part thereof." (Mr. Gammon wrote as nearly in the peculiar style of Mr. Quirk as he could.)

"In writing thus, Messrs. Quirk and Snap feel it only due to their partner, Mr. Gammon, to add that he is no party to this application. Messrs. Q. and S. have felt, however, in making it, that the interests of the firm have already suffered long enough, through their deference to the personal wishes and feelings of one of the members of the firm; and but for whom, their heavy balance would have been called for long ago, and, no doubt, in due course discharged.

"We regret being unable to vary or depart from the determination above expressed; and most sincerely hope your resources are of that nature that we shall be spared the unpleasantness of commencing legal proceedings.

"And we remain, dear sir,

"Yours most respectfully,

Quirk, Gammon, & Snap.

"Charles Aubrey, Esquire,

"Vivian Street."

Exactly on the seventh day from that on which Mr. Gammon had made his ill-omened advances towards Miss Aubrey, did the above dreadful and heartless letter reach its destination—being delivered into Mr. Aubrey's hands while he was intently perusing a very heavy set of papers, which, at his request, Mr. Weasel had allowed him to take home. The painful scene which ensued I shall spare the reader—only mentioning that poor Miss Aubrey became almost frantic, treating herself as the sole occasion of this disaster. That very morning, at breakfast, had he been talking of selling out, of their precious remnant in the funds, the sum of £105, to enable him to become a pupil with Mr. Crystal, at the suggestion of the Attorney-General.

What was to be done in this fearful emergency none of them knew—except consenting to an immediate sale of all their plate, books, and furniture. Their affliction, indeed, knew no bounds. Even Mr. Aubrey, though for a long time he bore up heroically, was at length overcome by the agonies of the dear beings whose ruin was involved in his own.

Had not Gammon been prompt in his vengeance? So thought they all.

What was to be done? A word will suffice to explain Mr. Aubrey's position fully. It will be recollected, that about a twelvemonth before, he had been left in possession of a balance of £1,063, after paying the sum of £4,000 to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, Messrs. Runnington, and Mr. Parkinson, in the way which has been already mentioned. Since then, by his incessant exertions, he had realized the sum of £150 by his contributions to literary journals; and, by means of a severe and systematic economy, this sum, together with about £200 taken from his store of £1,063, had sufficed to cover their whole year's expenditure. 'Twas impossible to carry economy farther than they did, without, poor souls, positive injury to their health, and stinting the little children, as Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey often said to each other when alone, with tears and sighs of anguish.

Alas! misfortune followed him like a bloodhound, let him turn his steps whithersoever he might! Naturally anxious to make the most of his little store of £1,063, so long as any considerable portion of it could be spared from their immediate personal necessities, he looked about in all directions for some safe and profitable investment, which might produce him a little more income than could be derived from the funds. He cautiously avoided having the slightest, connection with any of the innumerable joint-stock speculations then afloat, and of which he saw distinctly the mischievous and ruinous tendency; and this, moreover, in spite of the artful occasional representations of Mr. Gammon. Having consulted his banker, and also a member of the House of Commons—one of the city members—a man of immense wealth, and great mercantile experience and sagacity, and with whom he had been intimate while in the House—confirmed by their approval, and also that of Mr. Weasel and Messrs. Runnington, all of whom poor Aubrey anxiously consulted concerning the disposal of this his little ALL; about six weeks after the period of his settlement with Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, he invested five hundred pounds in the purchase of a particular foreign stock. Safe and promising as it appeared, however, at the very moment when it was in the highest repute, with capitalists of all descriptions both at home and abroad—from scarce any assignable reason, but forming one of the many unaccountable instances of fluctuation to which property of that kind is proverbially liable—Aubrey had hardly held his scrip for a month, when—alas!—to his dismay, he found the stock falling—falling—falling; down, down, down, it went, till his scrip was so much waste paper! His loss was irretrievable. The wealthy member whom he had consulted, lost nearly one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, and was driven to the very verge of ruin. Mr. Weasel even—caution personified, in dealing with the little accumulation of his hard earnings—lost upwards of a thousand pounds; and Mr. Runnington, about double that sum. It required a great stretch of fortitude on the part of Mr. Aubrey to sustain this severe and sudden blow with anything like equanimity.—You should have seen and heard Mrs. Aubrey and Miss Aubrey, on that occasion, in order fully to appreciate the rich and melting tenderness of woman's love, sympathy, and fortitude.

This catastrophe—for surely such it was—had left him about £350 only in the funds, and in his banker's hands a little balance of some fifty or sixty pounds to meet his current expenses. The above amount, at the time when Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's letter reached him, had been necessarily diminished to about £290; which was positively all the money he had in the world, to save himself, and those dependent on him, from absolute destitution. Yet he was now peremptorily called upon, within three days' time, to pay the sum of £1,446, 14s. 6d.

He hurried off, early the next morning, in consternation, to Messrs. Runnington. Mr. Runnington, with a heavy heart and a gloomy countenance, set off instantly, alone, to the office of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap. He saw Mr. Gammon, who told him, with a well-dissembled air of disgust, to go in to Mr. Quirk, or Mr. Snap. He did so, and found them inexorable. Mr. Quirk doggedly told Mr. Runnington that he had been out of pocket long enough, and would not be fooled by one of his own partners any longer. Mr. Runnington quitted them, fairly at his wits' end; and, on his return, told Mr. Aubrey, whom he had left at his office, that he had done, and could do, "nothing with the vultures of Saffron Hill." Mr. Runnington felt that his unhappy client, Mr. Aubrey, was far too critically situated with respect to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, to admit of his threatening, on Mr. Aubrey's behalf, to refer their exorbitant and monstrous bill to taxation. He knew not, in fact, what suggestion to offer—what scheme to devise—to extricate Mr. Aubrey from his present dreadful dilemma. As for applying for pecuniary assistance from friends, Mr. Aubrey's soul revolted at the bare thought. What—borrow! Overwhelmed as he already was, it would be indeed grossly unprincipled! Was not one alone of his generous friends at that moment under a liability on his behalf of more than ten thousand pounds! No; with gloomy composure he felt that, at last, his hour was come; that a prison wall must soon intervene between him—poor broken-hearted soul!—and the dear beloved beings from whom, as yet, he had never been once separated—no! not for one moment deprived of blessed intercourse and communion with them—his wife—Kate—his unconscious little children–

Kate, however, got desperate; and, unknown to her brother, though with the full privity of his weeping wife, wrote off a long—a heart-rending letter to good old Lady Stratton, whose god-daughter she was, telling her everything. Kate sat up half the night writing that letter, and it was blistered with her tears. She took it very early in the morning, herself, to the post-office, and she and Mrs. Aubrey awaited the issue with the most trembling and fearful solicitude.

I have hardly heart to recount the events which followed upon poor Kate's adventure; but they form a striking exemplification of the mysterious manner in which frequently Providence, for its own awful and wise purposes, sees fit to accumulate troubles and sorrows upon the virtuous.

Old Lady Stratton had been for some months in very feeble health, and the receipt of Kate's letter occasioned her infinite distress. It will be remembered that she had long before effected a policy of insurance upon her life for £15,000, always intending to bequeath it as a little portion to poor Kate. She had many months—in fact, nearly a year and a half before—given the necessary instructions to her solicitor, good Mr. Parkinson of Grilston, for making her will, so as to carry into effect her kind intentions towards Kate; bequeathing also legacies of £500 a-piece to each of Mr. Aubrey's little children. How it came to pass, however, I scarcely know—except by referring it to that sad superstitious weakness which makes people often procrastinate the execution of so all-important an instrument as a will; but at the time when Kate's letter arrived, that will had not been executed, but still lay at Mr. Parkinson's office. Feeling greatly indisposed, however, shortly after she had received Miss Aubrey's letter, she sent off an express for Mr. Parkinson to attend with her will; and a few minutes afterwards her attendants found it necessary to send off another express for her physician, Dr. Goddart. Before drawing a check for the sum of £700, or £800, which she intended instantly to place at Mr. Aubrey's disposal, she awaited Mr. Parkinson's return, that he—who managed all her affairs—might inform her of the exact balance then at her banker's. He was absent from Grilston when the express arrived; but he was followed, and about seven o'clock that evening entered Lady Stratton's residence, carrying with him her will, ready prepared for execution. His chief clerk also accompanied him, lest, by any possibility, a witness should be wanting. The countenances of the domestics warned him that there was not one moment to be lost; and he hastened at once into Lady Stratton's bedchamber. There she lay, venerable old lady, propped up by pillows—her long white hair partially visible from under her cap. A hasty whisper from Dr. Goddart apprised him of the very critical situation of Lady Stratton. Writing materials stood ready prepared in the room against Mr. Parkinson's arrival. She recognized him on his passing the foot of the bed, and in a feeble voice whispered—"My will!—my will!"

[Oh, hasten! delay not an instant, Mr. Parkinson! If you did but know what depends on your movements—could you but at this moment—oh me!—could you but catch a glimpse of the scene passing in Vivian Street!—Give her the pen, Mr. Parkinson—guide her hand—place it upon the paper.]

But it was too late. Before the pen could be placed within her fingers, those fingers had become incapable of holding it—for Lady Stratton at that moment experienced the paralytic seizure which Dr. Goddart had been dreading for three or four hours before. Alas, alas! 't was all useless: pen, ink, and paper were removed. She lingered till about nine o'clock the next morning, when, in the presence of Mr. Parkinson, who had not quitted the room for one instant, death released the venerable sufferer. She had thus died intestate; and her next of kin became entitled to her property—which consisted of personalty only. Had this event happened but two years before, Mr. Aubrey and Kate would have been Lady Stratton's only next of kin: but now—alas!—Mr. Titmouse was also one of her next of kin, and entitled, as such, to a THIRD of all that which had been destined to the Aubreys alone!—In what a position were the Aubreys now placed? Titmouse would directly insist on his right to administer, in preference to Aubrey—and would succeed in establishing his right; for was he not equally near of kin, and moreover the creditor, to a very large extent, of Mr. Aubrey—who was, besides, utterly insolvent? What, then, would be the consequences of this move on the part of Titmouse? He would get into his possession all the property of Lady Stratton—and though not entitled to withhold payment to Mr. Aubrey and his sister of the shares due to them, he might interpose many obstacles in the way of their recovering, and avail himself of their insisting upon their rights, as a pretext for his insisting on his rights against Mr. Aubrey, even to the uttermost extremity!—All these, and many other similar considerations, passed quickly in review before the troubled mind of Mr. Parkinson. His fears were soon realized by events. Before the venerable deceased had been laid in Yatton churchyard, not far from her, beloved friend, Mrs. Aubrey, who had preceded her by a few months only, Mr. Parkinson received a letter from Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, as the solicitors of Mr. Titmouse, giving him formal notice of the title of their client, and requesting Mr. Parkinson to lose no time in making an inventory of the effects of her Ladyship, to whom Mr. Titmouse intended to administer immediately. Mr. Gammon himself went down, and arrived the day after the funeral. Guess his delighted astonishment on discovering the windfall which had come to his client, Mr. Titmouse, in the policy of £15,000, the existence of which they had, of course, never dreamed of!

But there was another discovery, which occasioned him not a little excitement, as his flushed cheek and suspended breath testified—alas! poor Aubrey's BOND for £2,000, with interest at five per cent!—an instrument which poor Lady Stratton, having always intended to destroy, latterly imagined that she had actually done so. It had, however, got accidentally mingled with other papers, which had found their way, in the ordinary course, to Mr. Parkinson, and who was himself ignorant of its existence, since it lay folded in a letter addressed to Lady Stratton, till it turned up while he was sorting the papers, in obedience to the request of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap. He turned pale and red by turns as he held the accursed document in his fingers; probably, thought he, no one on earth but himself knew of its existence; and—and—he knew what the deceased would have done—but his sense of duty prevailed! Of course the party entitled to sue for the principal money secured by it, together with all arrears of interest which might be due upon it, was now Mr. Tittlebat Titmouse!

–Surely it is hard to imagine a more dismal and wanton freak of fortune than this—as far, at least, as concerned poor Kate Aubrey.

CHAPTER V

"Fly! Fly!—For God's sake fly! Lose not one moment of the precious respite which, by incredible efforts, I have contrived to secure you—a respite of but a few hours—and wrung from heartlessness and rapacity. In justice, much injured man! to yourself—to all you hold dear upon earth—to the precious interests intrusted to your keeping, and involved in your destruction—again I say Fly! Quit the country, if it be but for never so short a time, till you or your friends shall have succeeded in arranging your disordered affairs. Regard this hasty and perhaps incoherent note, in what light you please—but I tell you it comes, in sacred confidence, from a firm and inalienable friend, whose present desperate exertions in your behalf you will one day perhaps be able to appreciate. Once more I conjure you to fly!—From other and greater dangers than you at present apprehend. I see the rack preparing for you!—Will you stay to be tortured?—and in the presence of the incomparable beings who—but my feelings overpower me! Indeed, Mr. Aubrey, if you disregard this intimation through weak fears as to its writer's sincerity, or a far weaker, and a wild, notion of Quixotic honor and heroism—remember, in the moment of being overwhelmed, this note—and then do justice to its writer.—Your faithful, unhappy, distrusted friend,

"O. G.

"P.S.—For God's sake burn, or otherwise destroy, this letter, as soon as you shall have read it."

Such was the letter which got into Mr. Aubrey's hands just as the time which had been fixed by Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, for payment of their bill, was expiring, and which occasioned him, as may be easily imagined, dreadful disquietude. It had found him in a state of the deepest depression—but yet vigorously striving to preserve, in the presence of his wife and sister, a semblance of composure and cheerfulness. More to pacify them than to satisfy himself, he had walked about town during the two preceding days till nearly dropping with exhaustion, in fruitless quest of those who might be disposed to advance him a thousand pounds on his own personal security, and on terms he scarce cared how exorbitant, to free him, at all events for a while, from his present exigency. All had been, however, in vain—indeed he had had no hopes from the first. And what was then to be done? His soul seemed dying away within him. At times he almost lost all consciousness of his situation, and of what was passing around him. It appeared to be the will of Heaven that his misfortunes should press him down, as it were, by inches into the dust, and crush him. Those there were, he well knew, who needed but to be apprised of his circumstances, to step forward and generously relieve him from his difficulties. But where was all that to end? What real good could it serve? Awfully involved as he was already—one, alone, of his friends being at that moment under a liability which must be discharged within a few months, of nearly eleven thousand pounds—was he to place others in a similar situation? What earthly prospect had he of ever repaying them? Lamentable as was his position, his soul recoiled from the bare thought. But then came before his anguished eye, his wife—his sister—his children; and he flung himself, in an ecstasy, on his knees, remaining long prostrate—and, for a while, the heaven that was over his head seemed to be brass, and the earth that was under him, iron. His heart might be wrung, however, and his spirit heavy and darkened; but no extent or depth of misery could cause him to forget those principles of honor and integrity by which all his life had been regulated. He resolved, therefore, to submit to the stroke apparently impending over him, with calmness, as to inevitable ruin; nor would he hear of any further applications to his friends, which, indeed, he felt would be only encouragement to those who held him in thraldom, to renew their exactions, when they found each succeeding pressure successful. Poor Kate had told him, as soon as her letter had been put into the post, with trembling apprehension as to the consequences, of her application to Lady Stratton; but did she think her fond broken-hearted brother could chide her? He looked at her for a moment, with quivering lip and eyes blinded with tears—and then wrung her hand, simply expressing a hope, that, since the step had been taken, it might be, in some measure at least, successful.

Mr. Gammon's letter, as I have already intimated, filled Mr. Aubrey with inexpressible alarm. Again and again he read it over with increasing agitation, and at the same time uncertain as to its true character and import—as to the real motive and object of its writer. Was he guilty of the duplicity which Mrs. Aubrey and Kate so vehemently imputed to him? Was he actuated by revenge? Or was he, as represented by Mr. Quirk's letter, overpowered by his partners, and still sincere in his wishes to shield Mr. Aubrey from their rapacity? Or was Mr. Gammon suggesting flight only as a snare? Was Mr. Aubrey to be seduced into an act warranting them in proceeding to instant extremities against him? What could be the other matters so darkly alluded to in the letter? Were they the two promissory notes of five thousand pounds each, which he had deposited with Mr. Gammon, who at length was peremptorily required by Mr. Titmouse to surrender them up, and permit them to be put in suit? They were payable on demand—he shuddered! Might it be, that Titmouse was desperately in want of money, and had therefore overpowered the scruples of Gammon, and disregarded the sacred pledge under which he assured Titmouse the notes had been given? Mr. Aubrey rejoiced that Mr. Gammon's letter had been placed in his hands by the servant when alone in his study, whither he had gone to write a note to Mr. Runnington; and resolved not to apprise Mrs. Aubrey and Kate of its arrival. The fourth day after the receipt of Messrs. Quirk and Snap's letter had now elapsed. Mr. Aubrey did not venture to quit the house. All of them were, as may well be imagined, in a state of pitiable distress, and agitation, and suspense. Thus also passed the fifth day—still the blow descended not. Was the arm extended to inflict it, held back, still, by Mr. Gammon continuing thus the "incredible efforts" spoken of in his note?

The sixth morning dawned on the wretched family. They all rose at a somewhat earlier hour than usual. They could scarce touch the spare and simple breakfast spread before them, nor enjoy—nay, they could hardly bear—the prattle and gambols of the lively little ones, Charles and Agnes, whom at length they despatched back again to the nursery; for they were, in the highest possible state of excitement and anxiety, awaiting the arrival of the postman—this being the first morning on which they could, in the ordinary course, receive a letter from Lady Stratton in answer to that of Kate. 'T was now a little past ten. The breakfast things had been removed; and on hearing the agitating though long-expected rat-tat of the postman a few doors down the street, Mrs. Aubrey and Kate started to the window. Their hearts beat violently when their eye at length caught sight of him, with his arm full of letters, knocking at the door opposite. Oh, had he a letter for them? How long were their opposite neighbors in answering his summons, and in paying the postage! Then he stood for nearly a minute laughing with a servant in the adjoining area—intolerable indeed was all this, to the agitated beings who were thus panting for his arrival! Presently he glanced at the packet in his hand, and taking one of the letters from it, crossed the street, making for their door.

"Heavens! He has a letter!" cried Miss Aubrey, excitedly—"I sha'n't wait for Fanny!" and, flying to the front door, plucked it open the instant after the postman had knocked. He touched his hat on seeing, instead of a servant, the beautiful but agitated lady, who stretched forth her hand and took the letter, exclaiming, "Fanny will pay you"—but in an instant her cheek was blanched, and she nearly fell to the floor, at sight of the black border, the black seal, and the handwriting, which she did not at the instant recognize. For a moment or two she seemed to have lost the power of speech or motion; but presently her trembling limbs bore her into the parlor. "Oh! Charles—Agnes—I feel as if I were going to die—look"—she faltered, sinking into the nearest chair, while Mr. Aubrey, with much agitation, took the ominous-looking letter which she extended towards him. 'T was from Mr. Parkinson; and told the news of Lady Stratton's death, and the lamentable circumstances attending it; that—as the reader has heard—she had died intestate—and that Mr. Titmouse had, as next of kin, become entitled to administration to her effects. All this disastrous intelligence was conveyed in a very few hurried lines. "Oh, my God!" exclaimed Mr. Aubrey, on having glanced over them. His color fled, and he pressed his hand against his forehead. "She is dead!" said he, in a low tone, at the same time giving Kate the letter, and hastening to Mrs. Aubrey, who seemed nearly fainting. Each had uttered a faint scream on hearing his words. Mrs. Aubrey swooned in his arms —and Kate sat like a statue, without even glancing at the fatal letter which she held in her hand, but gazing in a sort of stupor at her brother. She was unable to rise to Mrs. Aubrey's assistance—of whose state, indeed, she appeared, from her vacant eye, to be hardly aware. At length a slight sigh announced the returning consciousness of Mrs. Aubrey; and at the same time Miss Aubrey, with a manifestly desperate effort, regained her consciousness, and with a cheek white as the paper at which she was looking, read it over.

"This is very—very—dreadful—Heaven is forsaking us!" at length she murmured, gazing wofully at her brother and sister.

"Say not so—but rather God's will be done," faltered Mr. Aubrey, his voice and his countenance evincing the depth of his affliction. "God help us!" he added in a tone which at length, thrilling through the overcharged heart of his sister, caused her to weep bitterly; and if ever there was a mournful scene, it was that which ensued, ere this doomed family, slowly recovering from the first stunning effects of the shock which they had just received, had become aware of the full extent of their misery. They had ever felt towards Lady Stratton—who, as has been already said, had been poor Kate's godmother—as towards a parent; and their affection had been doubled after the death of Mrs. Aubrey. Now she was gone; she who would have stood for a little while at least between them and ruin, was gone! And by an inscrutable and awful Providence, that which she had sacredly destined to them, and made great sacrifices to secure to them—and which would have effectually shielded them from the cruelty and rapacity of their enemies—had been diverted from them, into the coffers of the most selfish and worthless of mankind—who seemed, indeed, as if he had been called into existence only to effect their ruin; even, as it were, the messenger of Satan to buffet them! At length, however, the first natural transports of their grief having subsided, their stricken hearts returned to their allegiance towards Heaven; and Mr. Aubrey, whose constancy at once strengthened and encouraged his partners in affliction, with many expressions of sincere and confident piety and resignation reminded them that they were in the hands of God, who intended all earthly suffering—however unaccountable—however harsh and apparently undeserved its infliction—to contribute infallibly to the ultimate benefit of His children. And he reminded them, on that melancholy occasion, of the example afforded by one whose griefs had far transcended theirs—the patriarch Job; on whom were suddenly—and to him apparently without any reason or motive, except the infliction of evil—accumulated almost every species of misfortune which could befall humanity. The sudden and total loss of his substance, and of all his servants, he appears to have borne with fortitude. At length, however, was announced to him the loss of all his sons and daughters–

CHAPTER VI

At the earliest moment at which Mr. Aubrey could, without suspicion, extricate himself from the embraces of his overjoyed wife, sister, and children, on his return to Vivian Street, he withdrew to his study, in order—professedly—to despatch some letters; but really to peruse the paper which had been given to him by Mr. Runnington, with such ominous significance. His eye soon caught the words "Ex parte Titmouse"—and he glanced over the above report of the proceedings, with exceeding agitation. He read it over twice or thrice, and felt really sick at heart.

"Oh, unfathomable Gammon!" he exclaimed at length, aloud, laying down the paper, and sinking into his chair. "Surely I am the weakest, or you the subtlest of mankind!" He turned over in his thoughts everything that he could recollect of Gammon's conduct, from the first moment that they had met. He felt completely baffled and bewildered. Again he perused the report of the proceedings in the King's Bench—and would have again relapsed into thought; but his eye happened to alight on two or three notes lying on his table, where they had been placed by Fanny, having come in his absence. He opened the first listlessly, not knowing the handwriting; but, on unfolding it, he started violently on recognizing that of Gammon, within; and with mingled wonder and fear, read as follows:—

"Thavies' Inn.

"Dear Sir,—Heaven only knows when or where these hasty lines will find you. I am forced to address them to Vivian Street, being in total ignorance of your intended movements. If you have not taken my advice, and withdrawn from the kingdom, I know not what grievous indignity may not have befallen you. You may have been torn from your family, and now incarcerated in prison, the victim of a most cruel and inveterate rapacity. My conscience bears me witness that I can say—I can do—no more for you. I am grossly misrepresented—I am insulted, by having base and sinister motives attributed to me, for my conduct towards you—for my anxious and repeated interference on your behalf. In the Morning Growl of to-day you will probably see—if you have not already seen—the report of some proceedings against me, yesterday, in the Court of King's Bench. It may apprise you of the last desperate stand I have made for you. It is with bitter regret—it is with a feeling of deep indignation, that I tell you I am unable to fulfil my solemn, my deliberate, my repeated promise to you concerning the two promissory notes which you deposited with me, in implicit reliance on my honor. Alas! you must prepare for the worst! Mr. Titmouse and his new adviser can have, of course, but one object in requiring the surrender of the two promissory notes, which I have already been compelled to give up, under peril of an attachment for contempt of court. I have strained, God knows! every nerve on your behalf; have all but fatally quarrelled with Mr. Titmouse, and with my partners; and I stand in some measure compromised, by the recent proceedings, before the profession and the public—and all in vain! Yet, once more—if you are not blinded and infatuated beyond all example or belief—I implore you, in the name of Heaven—by every consideration that should influence a man of honor and of feeling—fly!—lose not a second after reading these lines, (which I entreat you to destroy when read,) or that second may involve your ruin—and the ruin of all connected with you! Believe me, your distressed—your unalterable friend,

"O. G."

Mr. Aubrey laid down this letter; and sinking back again into his chair, yielded for some moments to an impulse very nearly akin to despair. "Oh God!" he exclaimed, pressing his hand against his aching forehead—"to what hast Thou destined us, Thy wretched creatures!—I am forbidden to believe—I cannot—I will not believe—that Thou hast made us only to torment us; yet, alas! my spirit is at length drooping under these accumulated evils!—Oh God! oh God! I am blind. Give me sight, to discern Thy will concerning me!—Oh give me not up to despair! Break not the bruised reed! Quench not the smoking flax!—What is to become of me? Is this man Thy messenger of evil to me? Is he the subtle and vindictive fiend I fear him to be? What can be his object—his motive—for resorting to such tortuous and complicated scheming against us as must be his if he be playing the hypocrite?—or is he really what he represents himself? And am I guilty of groundless distrust—of gross ingratitude?—What shall I think, what can I do? Oh my God, preserve my senses to me—my understanding! My brain seems reeling! My perceptions are becoming disturbed!—Perhaps this very night the frightful scene of the morning may be acted over again! again my bleeding heart be torn from those it loves—to whom Thou hast united it!"—A deep sigh, or rather groan, burst from him; and leaning over the table, he buried his face in his hands, and remained for some time in that posture.

"What am I to do?" he presently inquired, rising, and walking to and fro. "Fly—he says! Were I weak and unprincipled enough to do so, should I not, in all human probability, fall into the deepest pit he has dug for me?—but be that as it may—fly I will not! Never! Never! Those dear—those precious beings in yonder room"—his heart thrilled within him—"may weep for me, but shall never BLUSH for me!"

"Why—how horrid is my position!" he presently exclaimed to himself! "Ten thousand pounds and upwards, must either I pay, or Lord De la Zouch for me, within a few months;—here is a second ten thousand pounds, with nearly five hundred pounds of interest; I have been to-day arrested for nearly fifteen hundred pounds; and this man Titmouse holds my bond for two thousand pounds more, and interest! Is it, then, Thy will, O God! that I am to sink beneath my troubles? Am I to perish from Thy sight? To be crushed beneath Thy displeasure?—Or merciful Father!—wilt Thou save me, when there is none other to help?"

Calmness seemed stealing insensibly over his troubled spirits; his agitated feelings sank gradually into an indescribable and wonderful repose; in that dismal moment of extreme suffering, his soul became blessedly sensible of its relationship to God;—that he was not the miserable victim of chance—as the busy spirit of darkness incessantly whispered in his ear—but in the hands of the Father of the spirits of all flesh, who listened, in his behalf, to the pleading of One touched with the feeling of our infirmities—who was in all points tempted, even as we are. His fainting soul felt sustained by the grace for which it had sought; the oil and balm of a sound scriptural consolation were poured into his wounds. Before his quickened eye arose many bright figures of those who had gloriously overcome the fiercest assaults of the Evil One, resisting even unto death:—he felt for a moment compassed about by a great cloud of witnesses to the mercy and goodness of God. Oh, in that moment, how, wonderfully little seemed the sorrows which had before appeared so great! He felt, in a manner, at once humbled and exalted. Invisible support clung to his confident soul—as if he were surrounded by the arm of Him who will not suffer us to be tempted above what we are able; but will, with the temptation, also make a way to escape, that we may be able to bear it. He sank silently upon his knees; and with clasped hands, and his face raised towards heaven, with profound contrition of spirit, yet with firm faith, besought the mercy which God has promised to those who thus will ask for it. Thus occupied, he did not perceive the door gently opened, and by Mrs. Aubrey—who, closing it hastily after her, flung her arm round his neck, sinking down beside him, and in a low, fond voice, exclaimed—"Oh, my own love! My own Charles! My poor, oppressed, persecuted, heart-broken husband! Pray for me—me also!" He gently returned her embrace, looking at her unutterable things; and after they had remained thus for a few moments, they arose. He gazed at her with unspeakable tenderness, and a countenance full of serenity and resignation. He gently soothed her agitated feelings, and succeeded in communicating to her a measure of the composure which he experienced himself. Before they had quitted that little room, he had even apprised her faithfully of the peril which momentarily menaced them; and again the cold waters gushed over her soul. At length, however, she had recovered her self-possession sufficiently to return to the room she had quitted, and instantly blanched Miss Aubrey's cheek by communicating the new terrors which threatened them.

Just as they were finishing dinner—a mere mockery, however, of a meal—a double knock at the door occasioned them all not a little agitation; but, as the event proved, needlessly, since it announced the arrival of only their kind, experienced friend, Mr. Runnington—who evidently felt infinitely relieved at finding that Mrs. Aubrey and Miss Aubrey had been made acquainted by Mr. Aubrey with the additional source of apprehension afforded by the report of the preceding day's doings in the King's Bench. Mr. Runnington felt assured that within twenty-four hours' time, proceedings would be taken against Mr. Aubrey; whom, however, he reminded, that as in the former, so in the anticipated case, the extent of his immediate anxiety would be the finding bail for so very serious an amount; but that difficulty surmounted, he would be safe from personal annoyance and apprehension till the ensuing November. Mr. Aubrey then apprised Mr. Runnington of the death of Lady Stratton, and the grievous events connected with it, amid the tears and sobs of Mrs. Aubrey and Kate. Though he said but little, his countenance showed how much he was shocked by the intelligence. "Never in my experience," at length he observed, "a thirty-six years' experience in the profession, have I heard of, or met with, such a case of complicated misfortune as yours! 'But it is,' as the old proverb has it, 'a long lane that has no turning.' We must trust, my dear sir, to the chapter of accidents."

"Oh, Mr. Runnington!" interrupted Aubrey, with animation, "there is no such thing!—It is the order of Providence!"

They then entered into a long conversation; in the course of which—"If our fears—our worst fears—be confirmed," observed Runnington, "and they venture to put in suit these two notes—then they will have thrown down the gauntlet. I'll take it up—and there's no knowing what may happen when we come to close quarters. First and foremost, I'll tax away every farthing of the alleged 'balance' of their monstrous bill—ay, I'll stake my reputation on it, that I leave them not a shilling; but, on the contrary, prove that you have already greatly overpaid them."

"Alas! have I not, however, pledged myself to Mr. Gammon not to do so?" interrupted Aubrey.

"Pshaw!—Forgive me, but this is absurd. Indeed, Mr. Aubrey, it is really out-heroding Herod! All is fair against adversaries such as these! Besides, if you must be so scrupulous and fastidious—and I honor you for it—there's another way of putting it, which I fancy settles the matter. By Mr. Titmouse putting these bills in suit, Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's promise to you is not performed—it is broken; and so there is an end of yours, which is dependent upon the performance of theirs."

"That is only on the supposition that they are playing me false—whereas the proceedings yesterday in court, especially when coupled with Mr. Gammon's letters to me"–

"All hollow! hollow!" replied Mr. Runnington, shaking his head.—"False and hypocritical! Who could trust to Gammon? This fellow Titmouse, whom they are doubtless fleecing daily, is, in all probability, desperately driven for ready money; and they have allowed him to get hold of these two bills, after a sham resistance on the part of Gammon, in order to call forward your friends to the rescue—that's their game, depend upon it!" Mr. Aubrey fired at the bare thought. "Yet I must own I am at a loss to discover what motive or object Mr. Gammon can have for going so far out of his way to secure your good opinion, or for wrapping himself in so impenetrable a disguise. He is a very, very deep devil, that Gammon; and, depend upon it, has some sinister purpose to effect, which you will by-and-by discover!" Mr. Aubrey then, for the first time, acquainted Mr. Runnington with Gammon's recent proposals to Miss Aubrey, at which Mr. Runnington seemed for some moments struck dumb with astonishment.

"I presume," at length said he, turning with a brief and sad smile towards Miss Aubrey, whose reddening cheek betokened the interest she felt in the conversation—"I presume, Miss Aubrey, there is no chance of our seeing you pass into—Mrs. Gammon?"

"I should rather think not, Mr. Runnington," she replied with sufficient loftiness of manner; "and I am quite at a loss, to conceive what could possibly have put such a thing into his head."

"Certainly, Mr. Runnington," said Aubrey, "I can undertake to say that my sister never gave him any encouragement."

"Encouragement?—Horrid man!" exclaimed Miss Aubrey, with great vivacity. "I could never bear him—you know it, Charles—so do you, Agnes!" Mr. Runnington made no further observations on the subject, though his thoughts were very busy; he was satisfied that he was beginning to discover a clew to much of Gammon's conduct—for that that gentleman was acting with profound duplicity, Mr. Runnington entertained no doubt whatever; and he resolved to watch his every motion connected with Mr. Aubrey closely.

"What will be the earliest period;" inquired Mr. Aubrey, "at which Mr. Titmouse, if so disposed, can put in suit my bond given to the late Lady Stratton?"

"As soon as he has obtained the grant of letters of administration, which cannot take place till the end of fourteen days from her Ladyship's death—that being one difference, as you are aware, between the powers of an executor and an administrator." Mr. Aubrey sighed; and made no reply; while Mr. Runnington looked at him for some moments in silence, as if doubting whether to mention something which had occurred to him. At length—"Of course, Mr. Aubrey," he commenced, "one does not like to raise groundless hopes or fears; but, do you know, I am by no means free from doubts as to the reality of Lady Stratton's intestacy—whether the draft of her proposed will, brought to her by Mr. Parkinson, could not be admitted to probate. Very—very nice questions, as you must be aware, often arise out of cases like these! Since seeing you this morning, I have written off to Mr. Parkinson for full and accurate information on the point; and if I get a satisfactory answer, with your consent I will certainly lodge a caveat against the grant of titles of administration. That would indeed checkmate them! But I have very slight hopes indeed of receiving such an answer as one could wish," added Mr. Runnington, fearful of exciting fruitless expectations. Shortly afterwards, Miss Aubrey, who had appeared for some little time laboring under considerable excitement, addressing her brother, said with evident embarrassment—"Charles, I am very anxious to mention something that has occurred to me of a very singular nature—if you think I am at liberty to do so; and I shall first ask you and Mr. Runnington, whether, under the circumstances, you consider me entitled to disclose what I allude to."

"Kate, Kate!—what is this?—What do you mean? You quite alarm me!" inquired her brother, with an amazed air.

"Suppose Mr. Gammon, on the occasion of his calling upon me, which has been recently mentioned, volunteered a statement of a very, very extraordinary description—one that has ever since quite haunted me, day and night. Mind, Charles—I say that, in the first instance, he volunteered it, only expressing an earnest wish that I should mention it to no one; on which I said I should make no promise, but act as I might think proper; and after my saying this, he made the communication I allude to. Should I be at liberty," continued Miss Aubrey, eagerly and anxiously, "now to disclose what he told me? I am dying to do it, if I may, honorably."

"My dear Kate, I really fear you are wandering—that you are overcome with the sufferings you have gone through to-day," said her brother, tenderly, and with infinite concern.

"Indeed, Charles, I am not," she answered with great earnestness.

"Then I am of opinion that you may most certainly mention anything so communicated to you—I have no doubt, Kate."

"Nor I, Miss Aubrey," added Mr. Runnington, eagerly; "nay, I go farther—with a man like him, I think it is your duty to disclose anything he may have said to you."

Miss Aubrey paused for a few moments, and then mentioned the singular circumstance with which the reader is already acquainted; namely, Mr. Gammon's distinct and solemn assurance to her, that he possessed the power of restoring her brother to the possession of Yatton; and that, too, by legal and honorable means; and that, if she would but promise to receive him as her suitor, he would pledge himself to replace them all at Yatton before claiming the performance of that promise.

Mr. Aubrey, Mrs. Aubrey, and Mr. Runnington, all listened to this strange story in silence, and gazed in astonishment at the beautiful and excited speaker.

"Forgive me, dear madam," said Mr. Runnington, at length, exchanging an incredulous glance with her brother, "if I—I—express a doubt whether you may not be laboring under a complete misconception"–

"'T is impossible, Kate!" added her brother; but he knew, at the same time, his sister's strong sense; and all doubt vanished both from his mind and that of Mr. Runnington on her calmly and distinctly repeating what she had just said—giving even the very expressions made use of by Mr. Gammon, and which, she said, they might easily believe had made a very deep impression on her mind.

"It's inconceivable!" exclaimed her brother, after a long pause.

"It's an audacious and cruel falsehood, in my opinion," said Mr. Runnington: and all again were silent. Then he hastily ran his mind's eye over the main points in the late proceedings by which Mr. Aubrey had been ejected from Yatton. "Either," he continued after a pause, "he is a gross liar, or is laboring under insanity—or there has been shocking, atrocious villany practised against you. If he be in his senses, and be speaking the truth—gracious Heaven! he must have brought forward a series of perjured witnesses at the trial."

"Did he drop any hint, Kate, as to the means by which he could bring about such a result?" inquired her brother, after a long pause, during which he too had been, like Mr. Runnington, reflecting on the course of proof by which the case of Titmouse had been supported.

"No—not the remotest; of that I am certain. I observed that particularly; though shortly afterwards, I was so overcome by what he had said, and also by the manner in which he said it, that I fainted. Mr. Gammon must have carried me to the sofa; for when I revived, I was lying there—though, when I felt myself losing my consciousness, I was standing near the window, which I had risen to open."

"It's the most amazing thing I ever heard in my life, I protest!" exclaimed Mr. Runnington, thoughtfully; while Mr. Aubrey rose from his chair, and walked a few steps to and fro, obviously laboring under much excitement.

"Kate, Kate!" said he, rather vehemently, "you should have told me this the instant that you next saw me!"

"For Heaven's sake, be calm, dearest Charles!" cried Mrs. Aubrey, herself not a little agitated by the extraordinary intelligence just communicated by Kate, for the first time, even to her. Poor Kate, on seeing the way in which her communication had been received, heartily regretted having mentioned the matter.

"This will require very great consideration, Mr. Aubrey, to know how to deal with it, and with Gammon," said Mr. Runnington. "I am inclined to think, at present, that he would hardly have ventured upon so outrageous a piece of folly, as making such a representation as this, had there been no foundation for it in fact; and yet, I am quite astonished that a man so acute, so signally self-possessed, should have so committed himself—he must have been under some great excitement at the moment."

"He certainly was, or at least seemed, a good deal agitated while he was with me," quoth Kate, coloring a little.

"That is highly probable, Miss Aubrey," replied Mr. Runnington, with a faint smile. "It must have appeared to him as one of the most likely occurrences, that Miss Aubrey should mention to you, Mr. Aubrey, so extraordinary a circumstance! It is very, very difficult to imagine Mr. Gammon thrown off his guard on any occasion." Then ensued an anxious and prolonged conversation on the subject, in which many conjectures were made, but without leading to any satisfactory issue. Quite a new light, however, seemed now thrown upon all his past acts, and the whole tenor of his conduct. They read over his last two notes with new and deep interest, on the supposition that while writing them, he was conscious of possessing the power which he had represented. All was mystery. Then was discussed the question, as to the propriety of either Mr. Runnington or Mr. Aubrey applying to Mr. Gammon upon the subject—a step which was, however, postponed for future and more mature consideration. Another thing suggested itself to Mr. Aubrey, but he kept it to himself:—should he forthwith apprise Mr. Gammon of the fact that Kate was absolutely engaged to Mr. Delamere, and so at once and forever extinguish all hope on the part of Mr. Gammon?

The evening, however, was now advancing, and Mr. Runnington pressed upon Mr. Aubrey the object which he had chiefly had in view in calling—viz. to prevail on Mrs. Aubrey and himself to accompany him immediately to his country house, which lay in the direction of Richmond, at about six miles' distance from town; and where, for a brief interval, they might enjoy a respite from the frightful suspense and danger to which they were at present exposed in Vivian Street. Mrs. Aubrey and Kate most earnestly seconded the kind importunities of Mr. Runnington; and after considerable hesitation Mr. Aubrey consented. It was accordingly arranged that, Mr. Runnington's carriage not being in town, he should return, within an hour, with a glass-coach; and that, during the ensuing day, Mrs. Runnington should drive to town for the purpose of bringing back with her Miss Aubrey, and little Charles and Agnes. This having been determined upon, Mr. Runnington quitted them, promising to return within an hour, when he hoped to find them ready to start, and equipped for a several days' sojourn. As soon as he had left the house, Mr. Aubrey's scruples began to revive; it appeared to him, that though it might be for a short time only, still it was, in effect, an absconding from his creditors: and there is no knowing but that his fastidious misgivings, his delicate sense of rectitude, might have led him after all to send off Mrs. Aubrey alone, when, poor soul! he was spared the trial by an incident which occurred about half an hour after Mr. Runnington's departure. Mrs. Aubrey was sitting in the parlor in travelling dress, fondling little Agnes, and talking earnestly to Kate about the management of the two children, and other matters; while Mr. Aubrey, also ready to start, was in the study selecting a book or two to take with him, when a heavy single knock at the door, unaccompanied by the sound of coach-wheels, nearly paralyzed all three of them. Suffice it to say, that within a few minutes' time the wretched and almost heart-broken Aubrey was a second time in custody, and at the suit of Tittlebat Titmouse, Esq., M. P., for the principal sum of ten thousand pounds, and interest for twelve months, at the rate of five pounds per centum per annum. The agonizing scene which ensued I shall leave entirely to the reader's imagination—observing only, that the two minions of the law into whose hands Aubrey had now fallen, seemed totally indifferent to the anguish they witnessed. The chief was a well-known sheriff's officer—one Vice; short, fat, bloated; deeply pitted with the small-pox; close-cut black hair, almost as coarse as that of a hog; while the expression of his features was at once callous and insolent. Aubrey perceived at a glance that he had no consideration or mercy to expect at the hands of such a man as this; and the follower very much resembled his master.

"You're my prisoner, sir," said Vice, walking up to Aubrey, and with an air of matter-of-fact brutality taking hold of his collar with one hand, while in the other he held out his warrant. "If you like to clap a great-coat on, as it's getting late, you may; but the sooner you're off out of the way of all this here noise, the better—I should say."

"For God's sake wait for a few minutes—I have a friend coming," said Aubrey, his wife clinging to his arm.

"D–d if I wait a moment, that's flat!" quoth Vice, glancing at the two boxes in the passage, and guessing from them, and the travelling dress of Mrs. Aubrey, that he had arrived just in the very nick of time to prevent an escape.

"For the love of Heaven, stay only five minutes!" cried Kate, passionately wringing her hands—but she might as well have addressed a blacksmith's anvil as either of the men who were now masters of her doomed brother's person.

"'Tis useless, Kate—'tis in vain, my love!" said he, with a melancholy air; and turning to Vice, who, with his companion, stood at only a few inches' distance from him—"perhaps you will allow me to write down the address of the place you are taking me to?" he inquired somewhat sternly.

"Write away then, and make haste; for, write or not write, you're off in two minutes' time!"

Mr. Aubrey hastily wrote down in pencil, for Mr. Runnington, "Vice—Squeezum Court, Carey Street, Lincoln's-Inn Fields;" and then, having hastily drawn on his great-coat, without taking with him even a change of linen, (for Vice would seem to have got the idea of a rescue into his head, and was, besides, anxious to run not the least risk with a ten thousand pounds' debtor), tore himself from the frenzied embrace of his wife and sister, and quitted the house. Vice had refused even to let his man go in quest of a hackney-coach, or to wait while Fanny ran for one; and the moment they had got into the street, the cries of Mrs. Aubrey and Kate yet ringing in Mr. Aubrey's ears, Vice put his arm with rough familiarity into that of Mr. Aubrey, directing his follower to do the same; and in this style they hurried Mr. Aubrey along the whole of the distance between Vivian Street and Squeezum Court; he uttering not one single word—but his heart almost bursting. Vice had received his instructions from Mr. Spitfire, who was a very dashing practitioner; and perfectly well knowing the value of every day towards the close of term, had got his affidavit of debt prepared and ready sworn, and everything in readiness, even before the rule had been made absolute against Mr. Gammon. As the two captors and their prize—a gentleman between two ruffians—passed at a smart pace along the streets, they attracted considerable attention; now and then, even a little crowd would follow them for half the length of the street. Once Mr. Aubrey caught the words—"Poor fellow! Forgery, no doubt—he's a dead man in a month!"¹⁰

Vice's lock-up was, though similar in its general appearance, yet of a much inferior description to that of Grab. It was smaller and meaner. They reached it a little after eight o'clock.

"Are you for the parlor, or the common room?" inquired Vice, as soon as they had entered the house.

"Which you please," replied Aubrey, quickly and gloomily.

"P'r'aps you 'd better show the gemman up-stairs," said the follower, hesitatingly, to his master.

"You pay extra up-stairs," quoth Vice; "which shall it be?"

"I have no money, sir, to spare—I know the extortionating practices which "–

"Oh, come along then!" replied Vice, insolently; and in a minute or two Mr. Aubrey found himself in a tolerably large, but low room, at the back of the house, lit by three or four candles. There were some ten or twelve persons in it, who were smoking, drinking, reading the newspapers, playing at cards, dice, pitchfarthing, and so forth. All seemed in good spirits, and suspended for a moment their various occupations to scrutinize the newcomer—on whom the door was in a twinkling closed and locked.

"Now, sir, just in time to cut in," said a thin pale man—his breath redolent of the stench of gin—stepping briskly up to him from a table at which he and two others had just begun to play a rubber. "Now, sir," he continued in a confident tone, running the edges of the cards rapidly through his fingers with the air of an adept, and then proffering the pack to Mr. Aubrey.

"I do not play," replied Aubrey, in a low tone.

"Better take a card—drive dull care away; you'll be devilish dull here without play of some sort!"

"I do not play, sir—I certainly shall not," repeated Mr. Aubrey, somewhat peremptorily.

"Only half-crown points—can't hurt you," he continued flippantly; till Mr. Aubrey walked from him with an air of disgust towards another part of the room.

"You're a liar!" said one of two men playing at drafts to the other, a dispute having arisen about the game, as Mr. Aubrey passed them.

"You're a cheat!" was the answer; on which the man so addressed suddenly and violently flung a half-empty tumbler of brandy and water at the other; it took effect on the forehead of his companion, who fell stunned from his chair, his forehead, which had been cut open, bleeding profusely. On this there was a general rush towards the spot. In the midst of this sickening scene the door was opened by Vice.

"Hollo—what's the matter?" said he, locking the door after him, and coming up to the group round the fallen and miserable man who had been struck.

"Who did it?" cried he, fiercely, on catching sight of the prostrate man.

CHAPTER VII

The sudden and unexpected rebuff encountered by Mr. Gammon, in the Vulture Insurance Company's refusal to pay the policy on the late Lady Stratton's life, was calculated seriously to embarrass his complicated movements. He foresaw the protracted and harassing course of litigation into which he should be driven, before he could compel them to liquidate so heavy a claim; and a glimpse of which, by way of anticipation, has been afforded to the reader; but, with all his long-headedness—his habitual contemplation of the probable and possible effects and consequences of whatever event happened to him—this refusal of the directors to pay the policy was attended with results which defied his calculations—results of such a description, and of such signal importance, as will perhaps surprise the reader, and serve to illustrate, in a striking manner, the controlling agency which is at work in the conduct of human affairs—an agency to which the principles of Mr. Gammon denied an existence. Nor was this the only trouble—the only reverse—which about this period occurred to him; and not a little perplexed was he to account for such a sudden confluence of adverse circumstances as he by-and-by experienced, when he found the truth of the King of Denmark's observation,—

 
"When sorrows come—they come not single spies,
But IN BATTALIONS."¹¹
 

On applying at Doctor's Commons, in the ordinary way, for a grant, to Mr. Titmouse, of Letters of Administration to Lady Stratton, Mr. Gammon discovered the existence of a little document, for which he certainly was not entirely unprepared, but which, nevertheless, somewhat disconcerted him: principally on account of the additional plea it would afford the Vulture Company for resisting payment of the policy. How, indeed, could they be expected to pay a sum of such magnitude, to a person whose title to receive it was disputed by another claimant? The document alluded to was a CAVEAT, and ran thus:—

"Let nothing be done in the goods of Dame Mary Stratton, late of Warkleigh, in the parish of Warkleigh, in the county of York, deceased, unknown to Obadiah Pounce, proctor for John Thomas, having interest."

Now, the reader will observe that this "John Thomas" is, like the "John Doe" of the common lawyers, a mere man of straw; so that this peremptory, but mysterious mandate, would afford an inquirer no information as to either the name of the party intending to resist the grant of administration, or the grounds of such resistance. Mr. Gammon, however, very naturally concluded that the move was made on the behalf of Mr. Aubrey, and that the ground of his opposition was the alleged will of Lady Stratton. To be prepared for such an encounter when the time arrived, he had noted down, very carefully, the important admissions which had been made to him by Mr. Parkinson; and having, for a while, disposed of this affair, he betook himself to the great conspiracy case which I have already mentioned; and, in bringing which to a successful issue, he unquestionably exhibited great ability, and deserved the compliments paid him on the occasion by the counsel, whose labors he had, by his lucid arrangement, materially abbreviated and lightened. This matter also over, and fairly off his mind, he addressed himself to an affair, then pending, of great importance to himself personally—viz. a certain cause of Wigley v. Gammon; which, together with the three other special jury causes in which the same person was plaintiff, was to come on for trial at York early in the second week of the assizes, which were to commence within a few days' time. As already intimated, Mr. Subtle had been retained for the plaintiff in all the actions, together with Mr. Sterling and Mr. Crystal; and, as Mr. Quicksilver had become Lord Blossom and Box, Mr. Gammon was sorely perplexed for a leader—his junior, of course, being Mr. Lynx. He had retained a Mr. Wilmington to lead for the other three defendants—a man of undoubted ability, experienced, acute, dexterous, witty, and eloquent, and exceedingly well qualified to conduct such a case as Mr. Gammon's: but that gentleman got exceedingly nervous about the matter as the day of battle drew near—and, at length, resolved on taking down special Sir Charles Wolstenholme. Now, I do not see why he should have thought it necessary to go to so enormous an expense when such able assistance could have been had upon the circuit—but, however, down went that eminent personage. Their consultation was gloomy; Sir Charles acknowledging that he felt great apprehension as to the result, from the witnesses who were likely to be produced on the other side.

"It's a pity that we haven't the Yatton election committee to deal with, Mr. Gammon!" said Sir Charles, with a sly sarcastic smile. "We've rather a different tribunal to go before now—eh?"

Mr. Gammon smiled—how miserably!—shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders. "We manage these matters rather differently in a court of law!" continued Sir Charles, with a fearful significance!

When the important morning of the trial arrived, there was a special jury sworn, consisting of gentlemen of the county—of integrity and independence—above all suspicion. Mr. Subtle opened a shockingly clear and strong case, to be sure; and what was worse, he proved it, and so as to carry conviction to the minds of all in court. Sir Charles felt his opponent's case to be impregnable; and, in spite of several acute and severe cross-examinations, and a masterly speech, the stern and upright judge who tried the cause, summed up dead against the defendant, with many grave remarks on the profligate and systematic manner in which it appeared that the offences had been committed. After a brief consultation, the jury returned into court with a verdict for the plaintiff, in the sum of £2,500; that is, for five penalties of £500!¹² A similar result ensued in each of the two following cases of Wigley v. Mudflint, and Wigley v. Bloodsuck; both of whom seemed completely stupefied at an issue so totally different from that which they had been led to expect, by the very different view of things which had been taken by the election committee. As for Mudflint, from what quarter under heaven he was to get the means of satisfying that truly diabolical verdict, he could not conjecture; and his face became several shades sallower as soon as he had heard his doom pronounced; but Bloodsuck, who had turned quite white, whispered in his ear, that of course Mr. Titmouse would see them harmless–

"Oh Lord!" however, muttered Mudflint, in a cold perspiration—"I should like to hear Mr. Gammon recommending him to do so, under circumstances!"

Poor Woodlouse was more fortunate—somehow or another he contrived to creep and wriggle out of the danger! Whether from his utter insignificance, or from the circumstance of the destructive verdicts against Gammon, Mudflint, and Bloodsuck having satiated the avenger, I know not; but the case was not pressed very strongly against him, and the jury took a most merciful view of the evidence. But alas! what a shock this gave to the Liberal cause in Yatton! How were the mighty fallen! As soon after this melancholy result as Messrs. Mudflint and Bloodsuck had recovered their presence of mind sufficiently to discuss the matter together, they were clearly of opinion—were those brethren in distress—that Mr. Titmouse was bound, both in law and honor, to indemnify them against the consequences of acts done solely on his behalf, and at his implied request. They made the thing very clear, indeed, to Mr. Gammon, who listened to them with marked interest and attention, and undertook "to endeavor to convince" Mr. Titmouse of the justice of their claims; secretly resolving, also, not to lose sight of his own: nay, in fact, he made sure of satisfying Mr. Titmouse on that score. But the personal liability which, in the first instance, he had thus incurred, to an extent of upwards of £3,000, supposing him, by any accident, to fail in recouping himself out of the assets of Mr. Titmouse, was not the only unfortunate consequence of this serious miscarriage. Such a verdict as had passed against Mr. Gammon places a man in a very awkward and—if one may use the word—nasty position before the public, and renders it rather difficult for him to set himself right again. 'T is really a serious thing to stand convicted of the offence of bribery; it makes a man look very sheepish indeed, ever after, especially in political life. 'T is such a beam in a man's own eye, to be pulled out before he can see the mote in his neighbor's!—and Mr. Gammon felt this. Then again, he had received a pledge from a very eminent member of the government, to be performed in the event of his being able to secure the seat for Yatton on a general election, (which was considered not unlikely to happen within a few months;) but this accursed verdict was likely to prove an insurmountable obstacle in the way of his advancement; and his chagrin and vexation may be easily imagined. He conceived a wonderful hatred of the supposed instigator of these unprincipled and vindictive proceedings, Lord De la Zouch—who seemed to have put them up like four birds to be shot at, and brought down, one by one, as his Lordship chose! As soon as these four melancholy causes above mentioned were over—Gammon considering himself bound, on the score of bare decency, to remain till his fellow-sufferers had been disposed of—he went off to Yatton, to see how matters were going on there.

Alas! what a state of things existed there! Good old Yatton, and all about it, seemed wofully changed for the worse, since the departure of the excellent Aubreys and the accession of Mr. Titmouse. The local superintendence of his interests had been intrusted by Gammon to the Messrs. Bloodsuck; who had found their business, in consequence, so much increasing, as to require the establishment of Mr. Barnabas Bloodsuck at Yatton, while his father remained at Grilston; their partnership, however, continuing. He had, accordingly, run up a thin slip of a place at the end of the village farthest from the park gates, and within a few yards of the house in which old Blind Bess had ended her days. He was the first attorney that had ever lived in Yatton. There was a particularly impudent and priggish air about his residence. The door was painted a staring mahogany color, and bore a bright brass plate, with the words—"Messrs. Bloodsuck & Son, Attorneys and Solicitors"—words which shot terror into the heart of many a passer-by, especially the tenants of Mr. Titmouse. At the moment, for instance, of Mr. Gammon's arrival at Yatton, on the present occasion, actions for rent, and other matters, were actually pending against fourteen of the poorer tenants!! 'T was all up with them, as soon as the Messrs. Bloodsuck were fairly fastened upon them. Let them be a day or two in arrear with their rent, a cognovit, or warrant of attorney—for the sake of the costs it produced—was instantly proposed; and, if the expensive security were demurred to by the poor souls, by that night's post went up instructions to town for writs to be sent down by return! If some of the more resolute questioned the propriety of a distress made upon them with cruel precipitancy, they found themselves immediately involved in a replevin suit, from whose expensive intricacies they were at length glad to escape, terrified, on any terms. Then actions of trespass, and so forth, were commenced upon the most frivolous pretexts. Old and convenient rights of way were suddenly disputed, and made the subjects of expensive lawsuits. Many of the former quiet inhabitants of the village had been forced out of it, their places being supplied by persons of a very different description; and a bad state of feeling, chiefly arising out of political rancor, had, for instance, just given rise to three actions—two of assault and one of slander—from that once peaceful little village, and which had been tried at those very assizes! Poor Miss Aubrey's village school, alas! had been transmogrified into a chapel for Mr. Mudflint, where he rallied round him every Sunday an excited throng of ignorant and disaffected people, and regaled them with seditious and blasphemous harangues. 'T would have made your hair stand on end to hear the language in which he spoke of the sacred mysteries of the Christian religion—it would have filled you with disgust and indignation to hear his attacks upon the Church of England and its ministers, and in particular upon dear little exemplary unoffending old Dr. Tatham, whom he described as "battening upon cant, hypocrisy, and extortion." Strange and melancholy to relate, this novel mode of procedure on the part of Mr. Mudflint for a while succeeded. In vain did the white-haired and learned vicar preach his very best sermons, and in his very best manner—he beheld his church thinning, while the chapel of Mr. Mudflint was filled. And, as he went about the village in the zealous, and vigilant, and affectionate discharge of his pastoral duties, he perceived symptoms, now and then, of a grievously altered manner towards him, on the part of those who had once hailed his approach and his ministrations with a kind of joyful reverence and cordiality. Mudflint had also, in furtherance of his purpose of bitter hostility, in concert with his worthy coadjutors the Bloodsucks, stirred up two or three persons in the parish to resist the doctor's claim to tithe, and to offer harassing obstructions to the collecting of it. In justice to the Church, and to his successors, he could not permit his rights to be thus questioned and denied with impunity—and thus, to his sore grief, the worthy old vicar found himself, for the first time in his life, involved in a couple of lawsuits, which he feared, even if he won them, would ruin him. It may be imagined that Mudflint's discomfiture at the assizes was calculated to send him, like a scotched snake, writhing, hissing, and snapping, through the village, at all that came in his way. It is possible that Mr. Gammon was not so fully apprised of all these doings, as is now the reader; yet he saw and heard enough to lead him to suspect that things were going a little too far. He took, however, no steps towards effecting an abatement or discontinuance of them. Just at present, moreover, he was peculiarly reluctant to interfere with any of the proceedings of the Messrs. Bloodsuck, and confined himself to receiving their report as to some arrangements which he had desired them to carry into effect. In the first place, he did not disclose the existence of his heavy and newly created rent-charge, but gave them to understand that Mr. Titmouse's circumstances were such as to make it requisite to extract as much from the property as could possibly be obtained, by raising the rents—by effecting a further mortgage upon the property, and by a sale of all the timber that was fit for felling. It was found necessary to look out for new tenants to one or two of the largest farms on the estate, as the old tenants declared themselves unable to sustain the exorbitant rents which they were called upon to pay; so orders were given to advertise for tenants, in the county, and other newspapers. Then Mr. Gammon went all over the estate, to view the condition of the timber, attended by the sullen and reluctant wood-bailiff, who, though he retained his situation, mortally hated his new master, and all connected with him. Very little timber was, according to his account, fit for felling! Having looked into these various matters, Mr. Gammon took his departure for town, glad to escape, though for never so brief an interval, the importunities of Messrs. Mudflint and Bloodsuck, on the subject of the late verdicts against them, and which he pledged himself to represent in a proper way to Mr. Titmouse. On arriving in town, he lost no time in waiting upon the great man to whom he looked for the political advancement after which his soul pined. He was received with manifest coolness, evidently occasioned by the position in which he had been placed by the verdict in the action for the bribery penalties. What the great man objected to, be it understood, was not Mr. Gammon's having bribed, but having done it in such a way as to admit of detection! On solemnly assuring his patron, however, that the verdict was entirely against evidence, and that Sir Charles Wolstenholme was, in the next term, going to move for a rule to set aside the verdict on that ground, and also on several other grounds, and that, by such means, the cause could be, at the very least, "hung up" for heaven only knew how long to come—till, in short, people had forgotten all about it—the clouds slowly disappeared from the great man's brow, especially on his being assured that Gammon's return for Yatton, on the next vacancy, was a matter of absolute certainty. Then he gave Mr. Gammon certain assurances which flushed his cheek with delight and triumph—delight and triumph inspired by a conviction that his deeply-laid schemes, his comprehensive plans, were, despite a few minor and temporary checks and reverses, being crowned with success. It was true that his advances towards Miss Aubrey appeared to have been hopelessly repelled; but he resolved to wait till the time should have arrived for bringing other reserved forces into the field—by the aid of which he yet hoped to make an equally unexpected and decisive demonstration.

The more immediate object of his anxieties, was to conceal as far as possible his connection with the various joint-stock speculations, into which he had entered with a wild and feverish eagerness to realize a rapid fortune. He had already withdrawn from one or two with which he had been only for a brief time, and secretly, connected—not, however, until he had realized no inconsiderable sum by his judicious but somewhat unscrupulous operations. He was also anxious, if practicable, to extricate Lord Dreddlington, at the proper conjuncture, with as little damage as possible to his Lordship's fortune or character: for his Lordship's countenance and good offices were becoming of greater consequence to Mr. Gammon than ever. It was true that he possessed information—I mean that concerning Titmouse's birth and true position—which he considered would, whenever he thought fit to avail himself of it, give him an absolute mastery over the unhappy peer for the rest of his life; but he felt that it would be a critical and dreadful experiment, and not to be attempted but in the very last resort. He would sometimes gaze at the unconscious earl, and speculate in a sort of revery upon the possible effects attending the dreaded disclosure, till he would give a sort of inward start as he realized the fearful and irretrievable extent to which he had committed himself. He shuddered also to think that he was, moreover, in a measure, at the mercy of Titmouse himself—who, in some mad moment of drunkenness or desperation, or of pique or revenge, might disclose the fatal secret, and precipitate upon him, when least prepared for them, all its long-dreaded consequences. The slender faculties of Lord Dreddlington had been for months in a state of novel and grateful excitement, through the occupation afforded them by his connection with the fashionable modes of commercial enterprise—joint-stock companies, the fortunate members of which got rich they scarcely knew how. It seemed as though certain persons had but to acquire a nominal interest in some great transaction of this sort, to find it pouring wealth into their coffers, as if by magic; and it was thus that Lord Dreddlington, among others, found himself quietly realizing very considerable sums of money, without apparent risk or exertion—his movements being skilfully guided by Gammon, and one or two others, who, while they treated him as a mere instrument to aid in effecting their own purposes in deluding the public, yet contrived to impress him with the flattering notion that he was, in a masterly manner, directing their course of procedure, and richly entitled to their deference and gratitude. 'T was, indeed, ecstasy to poor old Lord Dreddlington to behold his name, from time to time, glittering in the van—himself figuring away as a chief patron—a prime mover—in some vast and lucrative undertaking, which, almost from the first moment of its projection, attracted the notice and confidence of the moneyed classes, and became productive to its originators! Many attempts were made by his brother peers, and those who once had considerable influence over him, to open his eyes to the very questionable nature of the concerns to which he was so freely lending the sanction of his name and personal interference; but his pride and obstinacy caused him to turn a deaf ear to their suggestions; and the skilful and delicious flatteries of Mr. Gammon and others, seconded by the substantial fruits of his fancied skill and energy, urged him on from step to step, till he became one of the most active and constant in his interference with the concerns of one or two great speculations, such as have been mentioned in a former part of this history, and from which he looked forward to realizing, at no very distant day, the most resplendent results. Never, in fact, had one man obtained over another a more complete mastery, than had Mr. Gammon over the Earl of Dreddlington; at whose exclusive table he was a frequent guest, and thereby obtained opportunities of acquiring the good-will of one or two other persons of the earl's intellectual status and calibre.

His Lordship was sitting in his library (his table covered with letters and papers) one morning, with a newspaper—the Morning Growl—lying in his lap, and a certain portion of the aforesaid newspaper he had read over several times with exquisite satisfaction. He had, late on the preceding evening, returned from his seat in Hertfordshire, whither he had been suddenly called on business, early in the morning; so that it was not until the time at which he is now presented to the reader, that his Lordship had had an opportunity of perusing what was now affording him such gratification; viz. a brief, but highly flattering report of a splendid whitebait dinner which had been given to him the day before at Blackwall, by a party of some thirty gentlemen, who were, inter nos, most adroit and successful traders upon that inexhaustible capital, public credulity, as founders, managers, and directors, of various popular joint-stock companies; and the progress of which, in public estimation, had been materially accelerated by the countenance of so distinguished a nobleman as the Right Hon. the Earl of Dreddlington, G. C. B., &c. &c. &c.¹³ When his Lordship's carriage—containing himself, in evening dress, and wearing his red ribbon, and one or two foreign orders, and also his son-in-law, the member for Yatton, who was dressed in the highest style of fashionable elegance—drew up opposite the doorway of the hotel, he was received, on alighting, by several of those who had assembled to do him honor, in the same sort of flattering and reverential manner which you may conceive would be exhibited by a party of great East India directors, on the occasion of their giving a banquet to a newly-appointed Governor-General of India! Covers had been laid for thirty-five, and the entertainment was in all respects of the most sumptuous description—every way worthy of the entertainers and their distinguished guest. Not far from the earl sat Mr. Gammon. Methinks I see now his gentlemanly figure—his dark-blue coat, white waistcoat, and simple black stock—his calm smile, his keen watchful eye, his well-developed forehead, suggesting to you a capability of the highest kind of intellectual action. There was a subdued cheerfulness in his manner, which was bland and fascinating as ever; and towards the great man of the day, he exhibited such a marked air of deference as was, indeed, to the object of it, most delicious and seductive. The earl soon mounted into the seventh heaven of delight; he had never experienced anything of this sort before; he felt glorified—for such qualities were attributed to him in the after-dinner speeches, as even he had not before imagined the existence of in himself; his ears were ravished with the sound of his own praises. He was infinitely more intoxicated by the magnificent compliments which he received, than by the very unusual, but still not excessive, quantity of champagne which he had half unconsciously taken during dinner; the combined effect of them being to produce a state of delightful excitement which he had never known before. Mr. Titmouse, M. P., also came in for his share of laudation, and made—said the report in the Morning Growl—a brief but very spirited speech, in return for the compliment of his health being proposed. At length, it being time to think of returning to town, his Lordship withdrew, Sir Sharper Bubble, (the chairman,) and others, attending him bareheaded to his carriage, which, his Lordship and Titmouse having entered, drove off amid the bows and courteous inclinations of the gentlemen standing upon and around the steps. Titmouse almost immediately fell asleep, overpowered by the prodigious quantity of wine which he had swallowed; and thus left the earl, who was himself in a much more buoyant humor than was usual with him, to revel in the recollection of the homage which he had been receiving. Now, this was the affair, of which a very flourishing though brief account (privately paid for by the gentleman who sent it) appeared in the Morning Growl, with a most magnificent speech of his Lordship's about free trade, and the expansive principles of commercial enterprise, and so forth: 't was true, that the earl had no recollection of having either meditated the delivery of any such speech, or of having actually delivered it—but he might have done so for all that, and possibly did. He read over the whole account several times, as I have already said; and at the moment of his being presented to the reader, sitting in his easy-chair, and with the newspaper in his lap, he was in a very delightful state of feeling. He secretly owned to himself that he was not entirely undeserving of the compliments which had been paid to him. Considerably advanced though he was in life, he was consciously developing energies commensurate with the exigencies which called for their display—energies which had long lain dormant for want of such opportunities. What practical tact and judgment he felt conscious of exhibiting, while directing the experienced energies of mercantile men and capitalists! How proud and delighted was he at the share he was taking in steering the commercial enterprise of the country into proper quarters, and to proper objects; and, moreover, while he was thus benefiting his country, he was also sensibly augmenting his own private revenue. In his place in the House of Lords, also, he displayed a wonderful energy, and manifested surprising interest in all mercantile questions started there. He was, consequently, nominated one of a committee (into the appointment of which he and one or two others like him had teased and worried their Lordships) to inquire into the best mode of facilitating the formation, and extending the operations, of Joint-Stock Companies; and asked at least four times as many questions of the witnesses called before them, as any other member of the committee. He also began to feel still loftier aspirations. His Lordship was not without hopes that the declining health of Sir Miserable Muddle, the president of the Board of Trade, would soon open a prospect for his Lordship's accession to office, as the successor of that enlightened statesman; feeling conscious that the mercantile part of the community would look with great approbation upon so satisfactory an appointment, and that thereby the king's government would be materially strengthened. As for matter of a more directly business character, I may mention that his Lordship was taking active measures towards organizing a company for the purchase of the Isle of Dogs, and working the invaluable mines of copper, lead, and coal which lay underneath. These and other matters fully occupied his Lordship's attention, and kept him from morning to night in a pleasurable state of excitement and activity. Still he had his drawbacks. The inexorable premier continued to turn a deaf ear to all his solicitations for a marquisate—till he began to entertain the notion of transferring his support to the opposition; and, in fact, he resolved upon doing so, if another session should have elapsed without his receiving the legitimate reward of his steadfast adherence to the Liberal cause. Then again he became more and more sensible that Lady Cecilia was not happy in her union with Mr. Titmouse, and that his conduct was not calculated to make her so; in fact, his Lordship began to suspect that there was a total incompatibility of tempers and dispositions, which would inevitably force on a separation—under existing circumstances a painful step, and evidently unadvisable. His Lordship's numerous inquiries of Mr. Gammon as to the state of Mr. Titmouse's property, met occasionally with unsatisfactory, and (as any one of clearer head than his Lordship would have seen) most inconsistent answers. Mr. Titmouse's extravagant expenditure was a matter of notoriety; the earl himself had been once or twice compelled to come forward, in order to assist in relieving his son-in-law's house from executions; and he repeatedly reasoned and remonstrated with Mr. Titmouse on the impropriety of many parts of his conduct—Titmouse generally acknowledging, with much appearance of compunction and sincerity, that the earl had too much ground for complaint, and protesting that he meant to change altogether one of these days. Indeed, matters would soon have been brought to a crisis between the earl and Titmouse, had not the former been so constantly immersed in business, as to prevent his mind from dwelling upon the various instances of Titmouse's misconduct which from time to time came under his notice. The condition of Lady Cecilia was one which gave the earl anxiety and interest. She was enceinte; and the prospect which this afforded the earl, of the family honors continuing in a course of direct descent, gave him unspeakable satisfaction. Thus is it, in short, that no one's cup is destitute of some ingredients of bitterness or of happiness; that the wheat and the tares—happiness and anxiety—grow up together. The above will suffice to indicate the course taken by his Lordship's thoughts on the present occasion. He sat back in his chair in a sort of revery; having laid down his paper, and placed his gold spectacles on the little stand beside him, where lay also his massive old gold repeater. The Morning Growl of that morning was very late, owing to the arrival of foreign news; but it was brought in to his Lordship just as he was beginning to open his letters. These his Lordship laid aside for a moment, in order to skim over the contents of his paper; on which he had not been long engaged, before his eye lit upon a paragraph which gave him a dreadful shock, blanching his cheek, and throwing him into an universal tremor. He read it over several times, almost doubting whether he could be reading correctly. It is possible that the experienced reader may not be taken as much by surprise as was the Earl of Dreddlington; but the intelligence conveyed by the paragraph in question was simply this—that the Artificial Rain Company had, so to speak, suddenly evaporated!—and that this result had been precipitated by the astounding discovery in the City, in the preceding afternoon, that the managing director of the Company had bolted with all the available funds of the society—and who should this be but the gentleman who had presided so ably the evening but one before, over the Blackwall dinner to his Lordship, viz. Sir Sharper Bubble!!! The plain fact was, that that worthy had at that very time completed all arrangements necessary for taking the very decisive step on which he had determined; and within an hour's time of handing the Earl of Dreddlington to his carriage, in the way that has been described, had slipped into a boat moored by the water side, and got safely on board a fine brig bound for America, just as she was hauling up anchor, and spreading forth her canvas before a strong steady west wind, which was at that moment bearing him, under the name of Mr. Snooks, rapidly away from the artificial and unsatisfactory state of things which prevailed in the Old World, to a new one, where he hoped there would not exist such impediments in the way of extended commercial enterprise. As soon as the earl had a little recovered from the agitation into which this announcement had thrown him, he hastily rang his bell, and ordered his carriage to be got instantly in readiness. Having put the newspaper into his pocket, he was soon on his way, at a great speed, towards the Poultry, in the City, where was the office of the Company, with the faintest glimmer of a hope that there might be some mistake about the matter. Ordering his servant to let him out the instant that the carriage drew up, the earl, not allowing his servant to anticipate him, got down and rang the bell, the outer door being closed, although it was now twelve o'clock. The words "Artificial Rain Company" still shone in gilt letters half a foot long, on the green blind of the window. But all was—still—deserted—dry as Gideon's fleece! An old woman presently answered his summons. She said she believed the business was given up; and there had been a good many gentlemen inquiring about it—that he was welcome to go in—but there was nobody in except her and a little child. With an air of inconceivable agitation, his Lordship went into the lower offices. All was silent; no clerks, no servants, no porters or messengers; no books, or prospectuses, or writing materials. "I've just given everything a good dusting, sir," said she to the earl, at the same wiping off a little dust with the corner of her apron, which had escaped her. Then the earl went up-stairs into the "Board Room." There, also, all was silent and deserted, and very clean and in good order. There was the green baize-covered table, at which he had often sat, presiding over the enlightened deliberations of the directors! The earl gazed in silent stupor about him.

"What! in the papers already? Is it about that wretch Titmouse?" she inquired with a languid air of disgust.

"No, indeed, Lady Cecilia, Mr. Titmouse has nothing to do with it," replied Gammon, with a slight inward spasm; and, just as he had succeeded in giving her to understand the cause to which he chose to refer the earl's illness, carriage-wheels were heard, followed in a second or two by a tremendous thundering at the door, which made even Gammon almost start from his chair, and threw Lady Cecilia into a second swoon. It was providential, perhaps, that it had that effect; for had she gone to the windows, and seen her insensible father, with care and difficulty, lifted out of his carriage—his shirt-collar, and a white neck-handkerchief, thrown round his shoulders, partially crimsoned; and in that way, amid a little crowd which had suddenly gathered round, carried into the house, and borne up-stairs to his bed-chamber—it might have had a very serious effect, indeed, upon her Ladyship. Gammon stepped for an instant to the window—he saw the poor old peer in the state I have described, and the sight blanched his cheeks. Leaving her Ladyship in the hands of Miss Macspleuchan, and her attendants, he followed into the earl's bedroom; and was a little relieved, some quarter of an hour afterwards, at finding, that, though the earl was much exhausted with the fatigue of removal, he was in a much more satisfactory state than could have been anticipated. As his Lordship's own physician (who had been summoned instantly on the earl's arrival home) intimated that a little repose was essential to his Lordship, and that no one should remain in the room whose services were not indispensable, Gammon took his departure, after an anxious inquiry as to Lady Cecilia—intending to return before night, personally to ascertain the state of the earl and her Ladyship.

A mighty sigh escaped from the oppressed bosom of Gammon, as soon as, having quitted the house, he found himself in the street alone. He walked for some minutes straight on, irresolute as to whether he should direct his steps—to his own chambers, to the office in Hatton Garden, or to Mr. Titmouse's residence in Park Lane. At length he determined on returning, in the first instance, to his own chambers, and bent his steps accordingly; his mind so absorbed in thought, that he scarcely saw any one he met or passed. Here was a state of things, thought he, which he had brought about! And what must be his own course now? For a moment or two he was in a state of feeling which we may compare to that of a person who, with ignorant curiosity, has set into motion the machinery of some prodigious engine, which it required but a touch to effect—and then stands suddenly paralyzed—bewildered—confounded at the complicated movements going on all around him, and perhaps the alarming noises accompanying them—not daring to move a hair's-breadth in any direction for fear of destruction. He soon, however, recovered himself, and began very seriously to contemplate the perilous position in which he now found himself placed.

Here was Lord Dreddlington, in the first place, involved to a most alarming extent of liability in respect of his connection with one of the bubble companies, into an alliance with which it was Gammon alone who had seduced him. But he quickly lost sight of that, as a very light matter compared with what had subsequently happened, and the prodigious consequences to which it might possibly lead—and that, too, immediately.

This crisis had been precipitated by an accident—an occurrence which he felt that no man could have foreseen or calculated upon. Certainly it might all be traced to his own oversight in leaving the conveyance of his rent-charge—so all-important a document—upon his table, though for only a minute or two's absence; for he had not quitted his chambers more than five minutes before he had re-entered them, finding the Earl of Dreddlington there—of all persons in the world the very last whom Gammon would have wished to be aware of the existence of such an instrument. Who could have imagined—calculated on such an occurrence? Never before had the earl visited him at his own private residence; and to have come just precisely at the very moment—and yet, thought Gammon, almost starting back a step or two—when one came to think of it—what was more likely than that, on seeing the paragraph in the morning paper, his Lordship should have done the very thing he had, and driven down to Mr. Gammon for an explanation? Bah! thought Mr. Gammon, and stamped his foot on the pavement.

[Ay, Satan, it was a very slippery trick indeed, which you had played this acute friend of yours.]

"But the thing is done; and what am I now to do? What can I do? First of all, there's Titmouse—where is that little miscreant at this moment? Will he follow his wife to Grosvenor Square? Will the earl have recovered, before I can see Titmouse, sufficiently to recollect what has happened? Will they allow him to be admitted into the sick-chamber? Suppose his presence should remind the earl of what he has this day heard? Suppose he should recover his senses—what course will he take? Will he acquaint his daughter that she is married to a vulgar bastard—oh, frightful!—she and he the two proudest persons, perhaps, living! Will they spurn him from them with loathing and horror?—expose the little impostor to the world?—and take God knows what steps against me, for the share I have had in the matter?—Oh, impossible!—inconceivable! They can never blazon their own degradation to the world! Or will Lord Dreddlington have discretion and self-command sufficient to keep the blighting secret to himself? Will he rest satisfied with my statement, or insist on conclusive proof and corroboration? Will he call for vouchers—ah!" here he ground his teeth together, for he recollected the trick which Titmouse had played him in destroying the precious documents already spoken of. "If the little wretch do not hear of what has happened from any one else, shall I tell him that I have communicated his secret to Lord Dreddlington? Fancy him and his wife meeting after they know all!—or him and the earl! Suppose the earl should die—and without having disclosed this secret to any one? Oh, oh! what a godsend would that be! All straight then, to the end of the chapter!—How near it was this morning!—If I had but suffered those two boobies to wrangle together till it was too late!"—A little color came into Mr. Gammon's cheek at this point—as if he felt that perhaps he was then going a trifle too far in entertaining such very—decisive—wishes and regrets: still he could not dismiss the reflection; nay, what was more probable than that so desperate a shock, suffered by a man of his advanced years, might be only the precursor of a second and fatal fit of apoplexy?—Dr. Bailey had expressed some fears of that sort to-day, recollected Gammon!

If Mr. Gammon had seen the watchful eyes at that moment settled upon him, by two persons who were approaching him, and who passed him unobserved; and could have dreamed of the errand which had brought those two persons into that part of the town—it might have set his busy brain upon quite a new track of harassing conjecture and apprehension. But he was far too intently occupied with his thoughts to notice any one, as he walked slowly down Holborn; and some five minutes afterwards, having got to within a hundred yards of Saffron Hill, he was startled out of his meditations by hearing a voice calling out his name—and looking towards the middle of the street, whence the sound came, beheld Mr. Titmouse, beckoning to him eagerly, out of a hackney-coach, which was slowly driving up Holborn, and at Titmouse's bidding drew up to the curb-stone.

"Oh—I say! Mr. Gammon!—'pon my life—here's a precious mess!—Such a devil of a row!"—commenced Titmouse, alarmedly, speaking in a low voice through the coach window.

"What, sir?" inquired Gammon, sternly.

"Why, eh? heard of it? Lady Cicely"–

"I have heard of it, sir," replied Gammon, gloomily—"and I have, in my turn, something of far greater consequence to tell you.—Let the coachman turn back and drive you to my chambers, where I will meet you in a quarter of an hour's time."

"Oh Lord! Won't you get in and tell me now?—Do, Mr. Gam"–

"No, sir!" replied Gammon, almost fiercely, and walked away, leaving Titmouse in a pretty fright.

"Now, shall I tell him, or not?" thought Gammon: and after some minutes' anxious consideration, determined upon doing so—and on threatening him, that if he did not change his courses, so far as money went, he—Gammon—would instantly blast him, by exposure of his real character and circumstances to the whole world. What might be the actual extent of his embarrassments, Gammon knew not, nor was he aware of the fact, that Titmouse was at that moment getting into the hands of swindling money-lenders. In point of dress and manners, he was the same that he had ever been, since fortune had given him the means of dressing according to his fancy, and the fashion; but any one looking at his face, could see in the slightly bloodshot eye, its jaded expression, and the puffy appearance of his face, the results of systematic excess and debauchery. When Gammon joined him at his chambers, and told him the events of the day, Titmouse exhibited affright, that to any other beholder than one so troubled as Gammon, would have appeared ludicrous; but as that gentleman's object was to subdue and terrify his companion into an implicit submission to his will, he dismissed him for the day, simply enjoining him to keep away from Grosvenor Square and Park Lane till an early hour in the ensuing morning—by which time events, which might have happened in the interval, might determine the course which Gammon should dictate to Titmouse. At that time Gammon was strongly inclined to insist on Titmouse's going to the Continent for a little while, to be out of harm's way; but, in fact, he felt dreadfully embarrassed to know how to dispose of Titmouse—regarding him with feelings somewhat, perhaps, akin to those with which Frankenstein beheld his monster.

CHAPTER VIII

But to return to Lord Dreddlington. The remedies resorted to so speedily after his seizure at Mr. Gammon's chambers, had most materially counteracted the effects of the terrible shock which he had sustained, and which, but for such interference, would in all probability have proved fatal in its consequences. Shortly after his removal to his own house, he sank into tranquil and safe sleep, which continued, with a few interruptions, for several hours—during which his brain recovered itself, in a considerable measure, from the sudden and temporary pressure which it had experienced. Towards seven o'clock in the evening, there were sitting, on one side of the bed Miss Macspleuchan, and on the other the Lady Cecilia—who also had rallied from the shock which she had sustained, and now, occasionally shedding tears, sat gazing in melancholy silence at the countenance of her father. She was certainly a miserable young woman,—was Lady Cecilia,—ignorant though she might be of the real extent of disaster consequent upon her alliance with Titmouse, whom she had long hated and despised, on all occasions avoiding his company. Their almost total estrangement was quite notorious in society!

His Lordship's physician had quitted the chamber for a few minutes, to make arrangements for continuing with him during the night; and neither Miss Macspleuchan nor Lady Cecilia had spoken for some time. At length the earl, who had become rather restless, faintly muttered at intervals to himself the words—

"Bubble—villain—Blackwall"–

"You see," whispered Miss Macspleuchan, "what he's thinking of. He dined with those people, you know." Lady Cecilia nodded in silence. Presently his Lordship resumed—

"Account closed!—Call on Mr. Gammon—Is Mr. Gammon at home?"–

The current of his recollections had now brought him to the point of danger; and after pausing for a moment, a troubled expression came over his face—he was evidently realizing the commencement of the terrible scene in Mr. Gammon's room—then he seemed to have lost the train of his thoughts for a while, as his features slowly resumed their previous placidity; but the troubled aspect presently returned: his lips were suddenly compressed, and his brow corrugated, as if with the emotion of anger or indignation.

"Monstrous! Two thousand pounds?" He spoke these words in a much stronger voice than those preceding.

"Oh, dear!—I should have thought his Lordship had lost much more than that," whispered Miss Macspleuchan, in a low tone.

"Insist!—Titmouse—Titmouse"—his lips slightly quivered, and he paused for a while. "Shocking! What will she"–an expression of agony came over his face.

"Poor papa! He's evidently heard it all!" whispered Lady Cecilia, faintly.

"Hush!" exclaimed Miss Macspleuchan, raising her finger to her lips—adding presently, "if he goes on in this way, I shall go and bring in Dr. Whittington."

"Cecilia!—Cecilia!"—continued the earl; and suddenly opening his eyes, gazed forward, and then on each side, with a dull confused stare. Then he closed them, muttering—"I certainly thought Mr. Gammon was here!" Shortly afterwards he opened them again; and his head being inclined towards the side where Lady Cecilia was sitting, they fell upon, and seemed to be arrested by her countenance. After gazing at her for some moments very, very sorrowfully, he again closed his eyes, murmuring—"Poor Cecilia!"

"I really think, my dear, you 'd better leave the room," faltered Miss Macspleuchan; imagining, from the state of her own feelings, that those of Lady Cecilia would be overpowering her—for nothing could be more soul-touching than the tone in which the earl had last spoken.

"No; he's asleep again," replied Lady Cecilia, calmly,—and for a quarter of an hour all was again silent. Then the earl sighed; and opening his eyes, looked full at Lady Cecilia, and with a more natural expression.

"Kiss me, Cecilia," said he, gently; and raising both his arms a little, while she leaned forward and kissed his forehead, he very feebly placed them round her, but they almost immediately sank on the bed again, as if he had not strength to keep them extended.

"We will live together, Cecilia, again," murmured the earl.

"Dear papa, don't distress yourself; if you do, I really must go away from you."

"No, no; you must not, Cecilia," murmured the earl, sadly and faintly, and shaking his head.

"Have you seen him to-day?" he presently asked with a little more energy, as if he were becoming more and more thoroughly awake, and aware of his position; and there was a marked difference in the expression of his eye—partly perplexed, partly alarmed.

"No, papa—I left the moment it happened, and came here; and have been here ever since. Do, dear papa, be calm!" added Lady Cecilia, with perfect composure.

"There!—I am gone blind again," exclaimed the earl, suddenly, and raised his trembling hands to his eyes.

"So you knew it all?" said he, presently, tremulously removing his hands, and looking up, as if the momentary obscuration of his sight had ceased.

"Oh yes, papa, of course! How could I help it? Try to go to sleep again, dear papa." There was a faint dash of petulance in her manner.

They were at terrible cross purposes.

His eye remained fixed steadily on that of his daughter. "Is it not horrible, Cecilia?" said he, with a shudder.

"Dear papa, I don't know what you mean," replied Cecilia, quite startled by the tone of his voice, and the look of his eye. There was nothing wild or unnatural about it. The eye seemed that of a man in his full senses, but horrified by some frightful recollection or other.

"I thought it would have killed her," he muttered, closing his eyes, while a faint flush came over his face, but that of Lady Cecilia turned deadly pale.

"Don't speak again, dear," whispered Miss Macspleuchan, herself a little startled by the earl's manner—"he's wandering—he'll go to sleep presently."

"Yes, in my grave, madam," replied the earl, solemnly, in a hollow tone—at the same time turning towards Miss Macspleuchan an eye which suddenly blanched her face—"but even there I shall not forget!" She gazed at him in silence, and apprehensively, trembling from head to foot.

There ensued a pause of a minute or two.

"Oh, Cecilia!" said the earl, presently, shaking his head, and looking at her with the same terrible expression which had so startled her before—"that I had first followed you to your grave!"

"My dear papa, you are only dreaming!"

"No, I am not. Oh! how can you, Cecilia, be so calm here, when you know that you have married a"–

Lady Cecilia glanced hurriedly at Miss Macspleuchan, who, having risen a little from her chair, was leaning forward in an agitated manner, and straining her ear to catch every word—

"What are you talking about, papa?" gasped Lady Cecilia, while her face became of a deadly whiteness.

"Why, I thought you knew it all," said the earl, sustained and stimulated by the intensity of his feelings—"that this Titmouse—is—Mr. Gammon has acknowledged all—an infamous impostor—an illegitimate"–

Miss Macspleuchan, with a faint shriek, rang the bell at the bed-head violently; but before she or any one else could reach her, Lady Cecilia had fallen heavily on the floor, where she lay unconsciously, her maid falling down over her as she rushed into the room, alarmed by the sudden and violent ringing of the bell. All was confusion and horror. Lady Cecilia was instantly carried out insensible; the earl was found to have been seized with a second fit of apoplexy. Dr. Bailey was quickly in attendance, followed soon after by an eminent accoucheur, whom it had been found necessary to send for, Lady Cecilia's illness having assumed the most alarming character conceivable. When Miss Macspleuchan had in some measure recovered from her distraction, she despatched a servant to implore the instant attendance of the Duke and Duchess of Tantallan, unable to bear the overwhelming horror occasioned to her by the statement of the Earl of Dreddlington; and which, whether so astounding and frightful a statement was founded in fact or not, and only a delusion of the earl's, was likely to have given the unfortunate Lady Cecilia her death-blow.

Both the duke and duchess—the nearest relatives of the earl then in London (the duke being his brother-in-law)—were, within half an hour, at Lord Dreddlington's and made acquainted with the fearful occasion of what had happened. The duke and duchess were quite as proud and haughty people as Lord Dreddlington; but the duke was a little—and only a little—the earl's superior in point of understanding. When first told of the earl's disclosure, he was told as if it were an ascertained fact; and his horror knew no bounds. But when he came to inquire into the matter, and found that it rested on no other foundation than the distempered wanderings of a man whose brain was at the time laboring under the effects of an apoplectic seizure, he began to feel a great relief; especially when Miss Macspleuchan could mention no single circumstance corroboratory of so amazing and frightful a representation. At her suggestion, the duke, unable to render any personal service to the earl, who was in the hands of the physicians, hurried home again, and sent off a special messenger to Mr. Gammon, whose address Miss Macspleuchan had given him, with the following note:—

"The Duke of Tantallan presents his compliments to Mr. Gammon, and most earnestly begs that he will, without a moment's delay, favor the duke with a call in Portman Square, on business of the last importance.

     "Portman Square,

Wednesday Evening, 9 o'clock."

A huge servant of the duke's—with powdered hair, silver epaulettes, dark crimson coat, and white breeches, having altogether a most splendid appearance—created something like a sensation in the immediate neighborhood of Thavies' Inn, by inquiring, with a very impatient and excited air, for "Thavies' Inn," and a "gentleman of the name of Gammon" who was very naturally supposed to be honored by some special and direct communication from the king, or at least some member of the royal family. Gammon himself, who was in the act of opening his door to go out and make his promised call of inquiry in Grosvenor Square—was flustered for a moment, on finding himself stepping into the arms of such an imposing personage; who said, as he gave him the letter, on finding him to be Mr. Gammon—"From the Duke of Tantallan, sir. His Grace, I believe, expects you immediately, sir."

Mr. Gammon hastily opened the letter, and having glanced at the contents—"Give my compliments to his Grace, and say I will attend him immediately," said he. The man withdrew, and Gammon returned into his chamber, and sat for a few moments in the darkness—he having just before put out his lamp. He burst into a cold sweat—"What's in the wind now!" said he to himself. "Ah, why did I not ask the fellow?"—and starting from his seat, he rushed down-stairs, and succeeded in calling back the duke's servant just as he was turning out of the inn—"Do you happen to have been into Grosvenor Square to-day?—And do you know how the Earl of Dreddlington is?" inquired Gammon, anxiously.

"Yes, sir; his Lordship, and the Lady Cecilia Titmouse, are both dangerously ill. I believe his Lordship, sir, has had a stroke—they say it's the second he's had to-day—and her Ladyship is taken in labor, and is in a shocking bad way, sir. The duke and duchess were sent for in a dreadful hurry about an hour ago."

"Dear! I'm sorry to hear it! Thank you," replied Gammon, hastily turning away a face which he felt must have gone of a ghastly paleness.

"It may be only to inquire about the Artificial Rain Company"—said Gammon to himself, as, having procured a light, he poured himself out a large glassful of brandy, and drank it off, to overcome a little sense of faintness which he felt coming rapidly over him. "The duke is a shareholder, I think. Not at all unlikely!—And as for Lady Cecilia's illness—nothing so extraordinary about it—when one considers her situation—and the shock occasioned by the earl's sudden and alarming illness. But I must take a decided course, one way or another, with the duke!—Suppose the earl has disclosed the affair to Lady Cecilia—and it has got to the duke's ears?—Good heavens! how is one to deal with it? Suppose I were to affect total ignorance about the matter—and swear that it is altogether a delusion on the part of the earl?—That would be rather a bold stroke, too!—Suppose the earl to die of this bout—ah! then there 's an end of the thing, and all's well, provided I can manage Titmouse!—A second fit of apoplexy within twelve hours—that looks well—humph!—If the earl have mentioned the affair—and distinctly and intelligibly—how far has he gone?—Did he name the rent-charge?—Ah!—well, and suppose he did? What's easier than also to deny that altogether? But suppose Titmouse should be tampered with, and pressed about the business? Perdition!—all is lost!—Yet they would hardly like to defy me, and trumpet the thing abroad!—Then there's the other course—to own that I am in possession of the fatal secret—that I became so only recently; avow the reason of my taking the rent-charge; and insist upon retaining it, as the condition of my secrecy? That also is a bold stroke: both are bold!—Yet one of them I must choose!—Then, suppose the earl to recover: he will never be the same man he was—that I find is always the case—his mind, such as it is, will go nearly altogether!—But if he recover only a glimmering even of sense—egad! 't will require a little nerve, too, to deny the thing to his face, and swear that the whole thing is the delusion of a brain disordered by previous fright!—And suppose Lady Cecilia dies?—and leaves no issue?—and then Lord Dreddlington follows her—by Heaven, this hideous little devil becomes Lord Drelincourt at once!!"

This was the way in which Mr. Gammon turned the thing over in his disturbed mind, as he walked rapidly towards Portman Square; and by the time that he had reached the duke's house, he had finally determined on the course he should pursue. Though his face was rather pale, he was perfectly self-possessed and firm, at the moment of his being shown into the library, where the duke was walking about, impatient for his arrival.

"Gracious God, sir!"—commenced the duke, in a low tone, with much agitation of manner, the moment that the servant had closed the door behind him—"what is all this horrible news we hear about Mr. Titmouse?"

"Horrible news—about Mr. Titmouse?" echoed Gammon, amazedly—"pardon me—I don't understand your Grace! If you allude to the two executions, which I'm sorry to hear"–

"Pho, sir! you are trifling! Believe me, this is a very awful moment to all persons involved in what has taken place!" replied the duke, his voice quivering with emotion.

"Your Grace will excuse me, but I really cannot comprehend you!"–

"You soon shall, sir! I tell you, it may be a matter of infinite moment to yourself personally, Mr. Gammon!"

"What does your Grace mean?" inquired Gammon, respectfully, but firmly—and throwing an expression of still greater amazement into his face.

"Mean, sir? By–! that you have killed my Lord Dreddlington and the Lady Cecilia," cried the duke, in a very violent manner.

"I wait to hear, as soon as your Grace may condescend to explain," said Gammon, calmly.

"Explain, sir? Why, I have already told and explained everything!" replied the choleric duke, who imagined that he really had done so.

"Your Grace has told—has explained nothing whatever," said Gammon.

"Why, sir—I mean, what 's this horrible story you've been telling my Lord Dreddlington about Mr. Titmouse being—in plain English, sir—A BASTARD?"

If the duke had struck at Gammon, the latter could not have started back more suddenly and violently than he did on hearing his Grace utter the last words; and he remained gazing at the duke with a face full of horror and bewilderment. The spectacle which he presented arrested the duke's increasing excitement. He stared open-mouthed at Gammon, presently adding—"Why sir, are we both—are we all—mad? or dreaming? or what has come to us?"

"I think," replied Gammon, a little recovering from the sort of stupor into which the duke's words had apparently thrown him, "it is I who have a better title than your Grace to ask the question!—I tell Lord Dreddlington that Mr. Titmouse is a bastard! Why, I can hardly credit my ears! Does my Lord Dreddlington say that I have told him so?"

"He does, sir!" replied the duke, fiercely.

"And what else may his Lordship have said concerning me?" inquired Gammon, with a sort of hopeless smile.

"By Heaven, sir, you mustn't treat this matter lightly!" said the duke, impetuously, approaching him suddenly.

"May I ask your Grace whether this is the matter mentioned in your Grace's note, as of the"–

"It is, sir! it is!—and it's killed my Lord Dreddlington—and also the Lady Cecilia!"

"What!" cried Gammon, starting and exhibiting increasing amazement—"does her Ladyship, too, say that I have told her so?"

"Yes, sir; she does!"

"What, Lady Cecilia?" echoed Gammon, really confounded.

"Well, sir—I think she did"–

"Think, your Grace!" interrupted Gammon, bitterly and reproachfully.

"Well, sir—certainly the fact is, I may be mistaken as to that matter. I was not present; but, at all events, my Lord Dreddlington certainly says you told him—and he's told Lady Cecilia—and it's killing her—it is, sir!—By heavens, sir, I expect hourly to hear of both of their deaths!—and I beg to ask you, sir, once for all, have you ever made any such statement to my Lord Dreddlington?"

"Not a syllable—never a breath of the sort in all my life!" replied Gammon, boldly, and rather sharply, as if indignant at being pressed about anything so absurd.

"What!—nothing of the sort? or to that effect?" exclaimed the duke, with mingled amazement and incredulity.

"Certainly—certainly not!—But let me ask, in my turn, is the fact so? Does your Grace mean to say that"–

"No, sir," interrupted the duke, but not speaking in his former confident tone—"but my Lord Dreddlington does!"

"Oh, impossible! impossible!" cried Gammon, with an incredulous air—"Only consider for one moment—how could the fact possibly be so and I not know it! Why, I am familiar with every step of his pedigree!" The duke drummed vehemently with his finger on the table, and stared at Gammon with the air of a man suddenly and completely nonplussed.

"Why, Mr. Gammon, then my Lord Dreddlington must have completely lost his senses! He declares that you told him that such was the fact!—When and where, may I ask, did you first see him to-day?"

"About half-past eleven or twelve o'clock, when he called at my chambers in a state of the greatest agitation and excitement, occasioned by the announcement in this morning's paper of the sudden blow-up of the Artificial"–

"Good Heaven! why, is that gone?" interrupted his Grace, eagerly and alarmedly, starting up from his seat—"When? why? how?—By Heaven, it's enough to turn any one's head!"

"Indeed it is, your Grace. My Lord Dreddlington was the first from whom I heard anything on the subject."

"It's very odd I didn't see the paragraph! Where was it? In the Morning Growl?" continued the duke, with much agitation.

"It was, your Grace—it stated that Sir Sharper Bubble had suddenly absconded, with all the funds of"–

"Oh, the villain! oh, the villain!—But why do you make such scoundrels chairmen, and treasurers, and so forth? How must the loss be made good? You really don't look sharp enough after people whom you put into such situations! Who the deuce is this fellow—this Sir Bubble Sharper, or whatever he is called—eh?"

"He was greatly respected in the City, or would not have been in the position he was. Who could have suspected it?"

"And is the thing quite blown up? All gone?"

"Yes. I fear it is, indeed!" replied Gammon, shrugging his shoulders and sighing.