The Complete Prose Works of Martin Farquhar Tupper

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"When a disappointed man, intolerant of fortune," &c., &c., and it wound
up many stinging observations with this grateful climax following:

"We trust we have now said enough to prove that if a man will be
bold enough to 'depreciate censure,'--will attack what he is
pleased to consider abuses, however countenanced by high
authority--and will obtrude his literary eloquence into our solemn
courts of law, he deserves--what does he not deserve?--to be
addressed henceforth by a name suggestive at once of ignorance,
presumption, and conceit, as Mr. Henry Clements."

Now, will it be believed that a trivial error of the press mainly
conduced to occasion this hostility? Our poor author had been weak
enough to "deprecate censure" in his penny-wise humility, and the
printer had negatived his meaning as above: "_hinc illae lachrymae_." Oh,
but how the ragged tooth of calumny gnawed his very heart!

'_The Legal Recorder_' was another of those early unfavourables; being
as a matter of course adverse too, and not very disinterestedly either:
for it played the exalted part of pet puffer to a rival publisher, who
wanted no other reason for condemning this book of Mr. Clements than
that it came from the legal officina of an opponent in his trade. There
was another paper or two, but Clements felt so utterly disheartened that
he did not dare to look at them. I wish he had; they would have
comforted him, pouring balm upon his wounded pride by their kind and
cordial praises: but ill-luck ruled the hour, so he burnt them
forthwith, and lost much literary comforting.

To sauce up all this pleasantry with a smack of concreted pleasure
itself, the last and only remaining document upon the table was a civil
note from Mr. Wormwood, publisher and bookseller, enclosing the
following items with his compliments:

To 500 copies '_Doctrine of Defence_,' L124 3
To advertising ditto, 25 0
To 10 per cent. on sales, &c.
Supplied to author, 12 copies, &c.
Given to periodicals for review, 15 copies, &c.

Against all which was the solitary offset of "three copies sold;"
leaving as our Henry's _share_ of now certain loss a matter of eighty
pounds: which, between ourselves, was only a very little more than the
whole cost of that untoward publication. Mr. Wormwood hoped to hear from
Mr. Clements at his earliest convenience, as a certain sum was to be
made up on a certain day, and the book-trade never had been at a lower
ebb, and prompt payment would be esteemed a great accommodation,
and--all that stereotyped sort of thing.

Poor Clements--reviled author, ruined lawyer, almost reckless
wight--here was an extinguisher indeed to the morning's brilliant hopes!
What an overwhelming debt to that ill-used couple in their altered
circumstances! How entirely by his own strong effort had he swamped his
legal expectations! Just as a man who cannot swim splashes himself into
certain suffocation; whereas, if he would but lie quite still, he was
certain to have floated on as safe as cork.

Well: to cut a long story short, our unlucky author found that he must
pay, and pay forthwith, or incur a lawyer's bill for his debt to Mr.
Wormwood: so he gave up his Temple garret, sold his books, nicknacks,
and superfluous habiliments, added to the proceeds their forty pounds of
capital, and a neck-chain of Maria's; and, at tremendous sacrifices,
found himself once more out of danger, because out of debt. But it was a
bad prospect truly for the future--ay, and for the present too; a few
pounds left would soon be gone--and then dear Maria's confinement was
approaching, and a hundred wants and needs, little and great:
accordingly, they made all haste to get rid of their suburban dwelling
in the City Road, collected their few valuables remaining, and retreated
with all economical speed to a humble lodging in a cheap back street at
Islington.

That little parlor was a palace of love: in the midst of her deep
sorrow, sweet Maria never failed of her amiable charities--nay, she was
even cheerful, hopeful--happy, and rendering happy: a thousand times a
day had Henry cause to bless his "wedded angel." And, showing his love
by more than words, he resolutely set about another literary enterprise,
anonymous this time for very fear's sake; but Providence saw fit to
bless his efforts with success. He wrote a tragedy, a clever and a good
one too; though '_The Watchman_' did sneer about "modern Shakspeares,"
and '_The Corinthian_,' pouncing on some trifling fault, pounded it with
would-be giant force: nevertheless, for it was a famous English theme,
he luckily got them to accept it at the Haymarket, and '_Boadicea_' drew
full houses; so the author had his due ninth night, and pocketed,
instead of fame (for he grimly kept his secret) enough to enable him to
print his tragedy for private satisfaction; and that piece of vanity
accomplished, he still found himself seven pounds before-hand with the
world.

CHAPTER XI.

FRAUD CUTS HIS FINGERS WITH HIS OWN EDGED TOOLS.

Unpleasant as it is to feel obliged to be the usher of ill company, I
must now introduce to the fastidious public a brace of characters any
thing but reputable. It were possible indeed to slur them over with a
word; but I have deeper ends in view for a glance so superficial: we may
learn a lesson in charity, we may gain some schooling of the heart, even
from those "ladies-legatees."

Do you remember them, the supposititious nieces, aiders and abetters in
our stock-jobber's forged will? Two flashy, showy women, _not_ of easy
virtue, but of none at all--special intimates of John Dillaway, and the
genus of his like, and habitual frequenters of divers choice and
pleasant places of resort.

The reason of their introduction here is two-fold: first, they have to
play a part in our tale--a part of righteous retribution; and, secondly,
they have to instruct us incidentally in this lesson of true morals and
human charity--dread, denounce, and hate the sin, but feel a just
compassion for the sinner. Let us take the latter object first, and bear
with the brief epitome of facts which have blighted those unfortunates
to what they are.

Look at these two women, impudent brawlers, foul with vice: can there be
any excuses made for them, considered as distinct from their condition?
God knoweth: listen to their histories; and fear not that thy virtuous
glance will be harmed or misdirected, or a minute of thy precious time
ill-spent.

Anna Bates and Julia Manners (their latest _noms de guerre_ will serve
all nominative purposes as well as any other) had arrived at the same
lowest level of female degradation by very different downward roads.
Anna's father had been a country curate, unfortunate through life,
because utterly imprudent, and neither too wise a man nor too good a
one, or depend upon it his orphan could not have come to this: "Never
saw I the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread." But the
father died carelessly as he had lived--in debt, with all his little
affairs at sixes and sevens; and his widow with her budding daughter,
saving almost nothing from the wreck, set up for milliners at Hull. Then
did the mother pique herself upon playing her cards cleverly; for
gallant Captain Croker was quite smitten with the girl. Poor child--she
loved, listened, and was lost; a more systematic traitor of affection
never breathed than that fine man; so she left by night her soft
intriguing broken-spirited mother, followed her Lothario from barrack to
barrack, and at last--he flung her away! Who can wonder at the reckless
and dissolute result? Whom had she to care for her--whom had she to
love? She must live thus, or starve. Without credit, character, or hope,
or help, the friendless unprotected wretch was thrown upon the town.
When the last accounts are opened, oblivious General Croker will find an
ell-long score of crimes laid to his charge, whereof he little reckons
in his sear and yellow leaf. The trusting victim of seduction has a
legion of excuses for the wretched one she is.

Again; for another case whereon the better-favoured heart may ruminate
in charity. Miss Julia Manners had a totally different experience but
man can little judge how mainly the iron hand of circumstance confined
that life-long sinner to the ways and works of guilt. In the nervous
language of the Bible--(hear it, men and women, without shrinking from
the words)--that poor girl was "the seed of the adulterer and the
whore:" born in a brothel, amongst outcasts from a better mass of
life--brought up from the very cradle amid sounds and scenes of utter
vice (whereof we dare not think or speak one moment of the many years
she dwelt continuously among them)--educated solely as a profligate, and
ignorant alike of sin, righteousness, and a judgment to come--had she
then a chance of good, or one hopeful thought of being better than she
was? The water of holy baptism never bedewed that brow; the voice of
motherly counsel never touched those ears; her eyes were unskilled to
read the records of wisdom; her feet untutored to follow after holiness;
her heart unconscious of those evils which she never knew condemned; her
soul--she never heard or thought of one! Oh, ye well-born, well-bred, ye
kindly, carefully, prayerfully instructed daughters of innocence and
purity, pause, pause, ere your charity condemns: hate the sin, but love
the sinner: think it out further, for yourselves, in all those details
which I have not time to touch, skill to describe, nor courage to
encounter; think out as kindly as ye may this episode of just
indulgence; there is wisdom in this lesson of benevolence, and
after-sweetness too, though the earliest taste of it be bitter; think it
out; be humbler of your virtue, scarcely competent to err; be more
grateful to that Providence which hath filled your lot with good; and be
gentler-hearted, more generous-handed unto those whose daily life
is--all temptation.

Now, these two ladies (who extenuates their guilt, caviller? who
breathes one iota of excuse for their wicked manner of life? who does
not utterly denounce the foul and flagrant sin, whilst he leaves to a
secret-searching God the judgment of the sinner?)--these two ladies, I
say, had of late become very sore plagues to Mr. John Dillaway. They had
flared out their hush-money like duchesses, till the whole town rang
about their equipage and style; and now, that all was spent, they
pestered our stock-jobber for more. They came at an unlucky season, a
season of "ill luck!" such a miraculous run of it, as nothing could
explain to any rational mind but loaded dice, packed cards, contrivance
and conspiracy. Nevertheless, our worthy John went on staking, and
betting, and playing, resolute to break the bank, until it was no
wonder at all to any but his own shrewd genius, that he found himself
one feverish morning well nigh penniless. At such a moment then, called
our ladies-legatees, clamorous for hush-money.

As a matter most imperatively of course, not a farthing more should be
forthcoming, and many oaths avouched that stern determination. They
ought to be ashamed of themselves, after such an enormous bribe to
each--as if shame of any kind had part or lot in those feminine
accomplices: it was a sanguine thought of Mr. John Dillaway. But the
ladies were not ashamed, nor silenced, nor any thing like satisfied. So,
having thoroughly fatigued themselves with out-swearing and
out-threatening, our sneerful stock-jobber, they resolved upon exposing
him, come what might. For their own guilty part in that transaction of
Mrs. Jane Mackenzie's pseudo-will, good sooth, the wretched women had no
characters to lose, nor scarcely aught else on which one could set a
value. Danger and the trial would be an excitement to their pallid
spirits, possible transportation even seemed a ray of hope, since any
thing was better than the town; and in their sinful recklessness,
liberty or life itself was little higher looked on than a dice's stake.
Moreover, as to all manner of personal pains and penalties, there was
every chance of getting off scot-free, provided they lost no time, went
not one before the other, but doubly turned queen's evidence at once
against their worthy coadjutor and employer. In the hope, then, of
ruining him, if not of getting scathelessly off themselves, these
ladies-legatees mustered once more from the mazes of St. Giles's the
pack of competent Irish witnesses, collected whatever documentary or
other evidence looked likeliest to help their ends, and then one early
day presented themselves before the lord-mayor, eager to destroy at a
blow that pleasant Mr. Dillaway.

The proceedings were long, cautious, tedious, and secret: emissaries to
Belfast, Doctors' Commons, and the bank: the stamp office was stirred to
its foundations; and Canterbury staggered at the fraud. Thus within a
week the proper officials were in a condition to prosecute, and the
issue of immense examinations tended to that point of satisfaction, the
haling Mr. Dillaway to prison on the charge of having forged a will.

CHAPTER XII.

HEART'S CORE.

They were come into great want, poor Henry and Maria: they had not
wherewithal for daily sustenance. The few remaining trinkets, books,
clothes, and other available moveables had been gradually pledged away,
and to their full amount--at least, the pawnbroker said so. That unlucky
publication of the law book, so speedily condemned and heartlessly
ridiculed, had wrecked all Henry's possible prospects in the courts; and
as for help from friends--the casual friends of common life--he was too
proud to beg for that--too sensitive, too self-respectful. Relations he
had none, or next to none--that distant cousin of his mother's, the
Mac-something, whom he had never even seen, but who, nevertheless, had
acted as his guardian.

Much as he suspected Dillaway in the matter of that bitter breach of
trust, he had neither ready money to proceed against him, (nor, when he
came to think it over) any legal grounds at all to go upon; for, as we
have said before, even granting there should be evidence adduced of the
transfer of stock from the name of Clements to that of Dillaway, still
it was a notorious fact that the "Independent bank" had failed, whereto
the stock-broker could swear he had intrusted it. In short, shrewd Jack
had managed all that affair to admiration; and poor Clements was ruined
without hope, and defrauded without remedy.

Then, again, we already know how that Lady Dillaway was dead, so help
from her was simply impossible; and the miserable father Sir Thomas was
kept too closely up to the mark of resolute anger by slanderous John, to
give them any aid, if they applied to him; but, in truth, as to personal
application, Henry would not for pride, and Maria now could not, for her
near-at-hand motherly condition. Her frequent letters, as we may be
sure, were intercepted; and, even if Sir Thomas now and then yearned
after his lost child, it had become a matter of physical impossibility
to find out where she lived. Thus were they hopelessly sinking, day by
day, into all the bitter waves of want. Not but that Henry strived, as
we have seen, and shall yet see: still his endeavours had been very
nearly fruitless--and, perchance, till all available moveables had been
pawned outright, very feeble too. Now, however, that Maria, in her
sorrow and her need, must soon become a mother, the state of things grew
terrible indeed; their horizon was all over black with clouds.

No: not all over. There is light under the darkness, a growing light
that shall dispel the darkness; a precious light upon their souls, the
early dawn of Heaven's eternal day; God's final end in all their
troubles, the reaping-time of joy for their sowing-time of tears.

Without cant, affectation, or hypocrisy, there is but one panacea for
the bruised or broken heart, available alike in all times, all places,
and all circumstances: and he who knows not what that is, has more to
learn than I can teach him. That pure substantial comfort is born of
Heaven's hope, and faith in Heaven's wisdom; it is a solid confidence in
God's great love, but faintly shadowed out by all the charities of
earth. Human affections in their manifold varieties are little other
than an echo of that Voice, "Come unto me; Comfort ye, comfort ye; I
will be a Father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and my daughters; thy
Maker is thy Husband; he hath loved thee with an everlasting love; when
thou goest through the fire, I will be with thee, through the waters,
they shall not overflow thee; eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither
hath it entered into the mind of man to conceive the blessings which His
love hath laid in store for _thee_."

Heart's-ease in heart's-affliction--this they found in God; turning to
Him with all their hearts, and pouring out their hearts before Him, they
trusted in Him heartily for both worlds' good. Therefore did He give
them their heart's desire, satisfying all their mind: wherefore did they
love each other now with a newly-added plenitude of love, mutually in
reference to Him who loved them, and gave Himself for them: therefore
did they feel in their distresses more gladness at their hearts, than in
the days of luxury and affluence, the increase of their oil and their
wine.

For this is the great end of all calamities. God doth not willingly
afflict: trouble never cometh without an urgent cause; and though man in
his perverseness often misses all the prize of purity, whilst he pays
all the penalty of pain; still the motive that sent sorrow was the
same--O, that there were a better heart in them!

In many modes the heart of man is tried, as gold must be refined, by
many methods; and happiest is the heart, that, being tried by many,
comes purest out of all. If prosperity melts it as a flux, well; but
better too than well, if the acid of affliction afterwards eats away all
unseen impurities; whereas, to those with whom the world is in their
hearts, affluence only hardens, and penury embitters, and thus, though
burnt in many fires, their hearts are dross in all. Like those sullen
children in the market-place, they feel no sympathies with heaven or
with earth: unthankful in prosperity, unsoftened by adversity, well may
it be said of them, Hearts of stone, hearts of stone!

Not of such were Henry and Maria: naturally warm in affections and
generous in sympathies, it needed but the pilot's hand to steer their
hearts aright: the energies of life were there, both fresh and full,
lacking but direction heavenwards; and chastisement wisely interposed to
wean those yearning spirits from the brief and feverish pursuits of
unsatisfying life, to the rest and the rewards of an eternity. Then were
they wedded indeed, heart answering to heart; then were they strong
against all the ills of life, those hearts that were established by
grace; then spake they often one to another out of the abundance of
their hearts; and in spite of all their sorrows, they were happy, for
their hearts were right with God.

Let the grand idea suffice, unencumbered by the multitude of details.
Whatsoever things are true, honest and just; whatsoever things are pure,
lovely, or of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any
praise--believe of those twin hearts that God had given them all.
Patience, hope, humility; faith, tenderness, and charity; prayer, trust,
benevolence, and joy: this was the lot of the afflicted! It was good for
them that they had been in trouble; for they had gained from it a wealth
that is above the preciousness of rubies, deservedly dearer to their
hearts than the thousands of gold and silver.

What a contrast then was shown between God's kindness and man's
coldness! No one of their fellows seemed to give them any heed: but He
cared for them, and on Him they cast their cares. Former friends
appeared to stand aloof, self-dependent and unsympathizing; but God was
ever near, kindly bringing help in every extremity, which always seemed
at hand, yet ever kept away: smoothing the pillow of sickness,
comforting the troubled spirit, and treading down calamity and calumny
and care; as a conqueror conquering for them. So, they learned the
priceless wisdom which adversity would teach to all on whom she
frowneth; when earthly hopes are wrecked, to anchor fast on God; and if
affluence should ever come again, to aid the poor afflicted with
heartiness, beneficence, and home-taught sympathy.

CHAPTER XIII.

HOPE'S BIRTH TO INNOCENCE, AND HOPE'S DEATH TO FRAUD.

John Dillaway's sudden loss of property, his character exploded as a
monied man, and the strong probability of his turning out a felon, had a
great effect on the spirits of Sir Thomas. He had called upon his
promising son in prison, had found him very sulky, disinclined for
social intercourse, and any thing but filial; all he condescended to
growl, with a characteristic d---- or two interlarding his eloquence,
was this taunting speech:

"Well, governor, I may thank you and your counsels for this. Here's a
precious end to all my clever tricks of trade! I wish you joy of your
son, and of your daughter too, old man. Who wrote that letter? What, not
found out yet? and does she still starve for it? Who gained money as you
bade him--never mind how? And is now going to do honour to the family
all round the world, ey?--Ha, ha, ha!"

The poor unhappy father tottered away as quickly as he could, while yet
the brutal laughter of that unnatural son rang upon his ears. He was
quite miserable, let him turn which way he would. On 'Change the name
had been disgraced--posted up for scorn on the board of degradation: at
home, there was no pliant son and heir, to testify against Maria, and to
close the many portals of a wretched father's heart. He grew very
wretched--very mopy; determined upon cutting adrift shrewd Jack himself,
as a stigma on the name which had once held the mace of mayoralty; made
his will petulantly, for good and all, in favour of Stationer's hall,
and felt very like a man who had lived in vain. "Cut it down; why
cumbereth it the earth?"

Meanwhile, in those two opposite quarters of the world of London,
Newgate and Islington, Sir Thomas's two discarded children were bearing
in a different way their different privations. Poor Maria's hour of
peril had arrived; and amidst all those pains, dangers, and necessities,
a soft and smiling babe was born into the world; gladness filled their
hearts, and praise was on their tongues, when the happy father and
mother kissed that first-born son. It was a splendid boy, they said, and
should redeem his father's fortunes: there was hope in the future, let
the past be what it may; and this new bond of union to that happy
wedded pair made the present--one unclouded scene of gratitude and love.
Who shall sing of the humble ale-caudle, and those cheerful givings to
surrounding poor, scarcely poorer than themselves? Who shall record how
kind was Henry, how useful was the nurse, how liberal the doctor, how
sympathizing all? Who shall tell how tenderly did Providence step in
with another author's night of that same tragedy, and how other avenues
to literary gain stood wide open to industry and genius? It was
happiness all, happiness, and triumph: they were weathering the storm
famously, and had safely passed the breakers of False witness.

Amidst the other part of London sate a sullen fellow, quite alone, in
Newgate, looking for his trial on the morrow, and prophesying accurately
enough how some two days hence, he, John Dillaway, of Broker's alley,
son and heir of the richest stationer in Europe, was to appear in the
character of a convicted felon, and be probably condemned to
transportation for life. A pleasant retrospect was his, a pleasanter
aspect, and a pleasanter prospect; all was pleasure assuredly.

And the morrow duly came; with those implacable approvers, those
accurate Irish witnesses, those tell-tale documents, that prosecuting
crown and bank, that dogged jury, and that sentencing recorder: so then,
by a little after noon, to the scandal of Finsbury square, John Dillaway
discovered that the "wise man's trick or two in the money market" was
about to be rewarded with twenty-one years of transportation.

Of this interesting fact Henry Clements became acquainted by an
occasional peep into the public prints; and he perceived to his
astonishment, that the defrauded Mrs. Jane Mackenzie, of Ballyriggan,
near Belfast, could surely be none other than his mother's Ulster
cousin, the nominal guardian of his boyhood! To be sure, it mattered
little enough to him, for the old lady had never been much better than a
stranger to him, and at present appeared only in that useless character
to an expectant, a person despoiled of her money; nevertheless, of that
identical money, certain sanguine friends had heretofore given him
expectations in the event of her death, seeing that she had nobody to
leave it to, except himself and the public charities of the United
Kingdom: clearly, this cousin must have been the defrauded bank
annuitant, and he could not help feeling more desolate than ever; for
John Dillaway's evil influences had robbed him now of name, fame,
fortune, and what hope regards as much as any--expectations. Yet--must
not the bank of England bear the brunt of all this forgery, and account
for its stock to that innocent depositor? Old Mrs. Jane was sinking
into dotage, probably had plenty of other money, and scarcely seemed to
stir about the business; therefore, legitimately interested as Henry
indubitably was, he took upon him to write to his antiquated relative,
and in so doing managed to please her mightily: renewed whatever
interest she ever might have felt in him, enabled her to enforce her
just claim, and really stood a likelier chance than ever of coming in
for competency some day. However, for the present, all was penury still.
Clements had been too delicate for even a hint at his deplorable
condition: and his distant relative's good feeling, so providentially
renewed, served indeed to gild the future, but did not avail to
gingerbread the present. So they struggled on as well as they could:
both very thankful for the chance which had caused a coalition between
sensitiveness and interest; and Maria at least more anxious than ever
for a reconciliation with her father, now that all his ardent hopes had
been exploded in son John.