CHAPTER THE SECOND. (continued 2)

"There had been a mistake! The bankrupt departed from the court without a blemish on his character. He had been indiscreet in entering heedlessly upon so large an undertaking, and must pay dearly for that in discretion. He was strictly liable and bound to pay what he had acknowledged with his hand to be a lawful debt. There was no help for him. The young man was worthy of commiseration, and his creditors should show him mercy." This was the verdict of the commissioner, spoken in the ears of one who was a stranger to mercy, and who had vowed to show me none. Guilt, however, attached to my good name no longer, and I smiled at his malignity. It was too soon to smile. The secret of all my difficulty was now explained. Trading upon a false capital, to an extravagant extent beyond the real one—draining my exchequer of its resources to pay an ever-recurring interest, whilst the principal was but a fiction in the estate, it was no wonder that I became hemmed in by claims impossible to meet, and that the services of Mr Gilbert were so soon in requisition. In giving to Mr Gilbert a power over the firm, I acted according to my ideas of justice. When I was impoverished, he furnished me with the means of keeping up the credit of the house. But for him it must have fallen. I believed that I was solvent. Why should I hesitate to make this man secure? But it is for this preference, which rendered my uncle's dividend comparatively nothing, that I have been followed through my life with rancour and malevolence unparalleled. Mark me, sir; the mistake, as it was called—the vital error—was a deliberate fraud committed by my uncle at the outset.

He had withdrawn this heavy sum of money at the beginning—he had resolved to keep me for my life his servant and his slave—to feast upon the dropping sweat of my exhausted mind—to convert my heart's blood into gold, which was his god. He hated me for my conduct towards him in my boyhood, which he had neither forgotten nor forgiven; and his detestation gave zest to his hellish desire of accumulating wealth at any cost. Had I applied to him, had I entered into new engagements with him, given to him the securities which, from a notion of right, I had presented to Gilbert—had I made over to the fiend soul as well as body, I might still have retained his friendship, still been permitted to labour and to toil for his aggrandizement and ease. It was Gilbert himself who revealed to me his patron's villany. It was time for the vultures to quarrel when they could not both fatten on my prostrate carcass; but they were bound together by the dark doings of years, and it was only by imperfect hints and innuendoes that I was made aware of their treachery. If proofs existed to convict my uncle, Gilbert could not afford to produce them. The price was life, or something short of it; but I heard enough for satisfaction. Although I was deprived of everything that I possessed, my mind recovered its buoyancy, and my spirit, after the first shock, grew sanguine. I had been proclaimed an innocent and injured man, and my beloved Anna was at my side smiling and rejoicing. In our overthrow, she beheld only the dark storm of morning, that sometimes ushers in the glorious noon and golden sunset. I spoke of the past with anger; she reverted to it with the chastened sorrow of a repentant angel. I looked to the future with distrust and apprehension, she, with a bright, abiding confidence. Never had she appeared so happy, so contented—never had the smile remained so constant to her cheek, so unalloyed with touch of care, as when we stood houseless and homeless in the world, and nothing but her fortitude and love were left me to rely upon. My first care after my dismission into life again, was to obtain my certificate from my creditors, and with almost all of them I was successful. The exceptions were my uncle, and three individuals—his creatures, and willing instruments of torture. They were sufficient to brand me with disgrace, and to affix for ever to my name that mark of infamy which an after life of virtue shall never wash away or hide. UNCERTIFICATED BANKRUPT was the badge I carried with me. From this period my decline was rapid and unequivocal. A creditor, who had not proved his debt upon the estate, hearing tell of my defenceless situation, cast me forthwith into prison. I will not tell you of the sufferings we endured during a two years' cruel incarceration. Starvation and its horrors came gradually upon us. Application upon application was made to my uncle; entreaties for nothing more than justice; and my poor meek Anna was turned with contumely from his doors. After years of privation, a glimmering of light stole in upon us, to be soon extinguished. I obtained temporary employment in a school far away from the scenes of my misery, and hither my evil fortune followed me. The schoolmaster was an ignorant, gross man. He gained my services for a song, and he treated me with disrespect in consequence. I had been with him about six months when some silver spoons were stolen from his house. The thief escaped detection; but the master received an anonymous communication, containing a false history of my life, with a true statement of my unfortunate position. He at once charged me with the crime of being an uncertificated bankrupt. I confessed to it, and the very day I was dragged before a magistrate on suspicion of felony. I was acquitted, it is true, for want of evidence; but what could acquit me—what could release me from the super-added stigma? An uncertificated bankrupt, and a suspected felon! Alas! the charity of man will not look further than the surface of things, and is it not secretly pleased to find there, rather an excuse for neglect, than a reason for exertion? Excited almost to madness by privation and want, and unable to get assistance from a human being, I visited my uncle. I could not see my wife and children drooping and sinking day by day, and not make one great struggle for their rescue. I resolved to accost him with meekness and humility—yes, to fall upon my knees and kiss the dust before him, so that he would fill their famished mouths. He would not see me. I watched for him in the street, and there addressed him. He reviled me—cast me off—provoked me to exasperation, and finally gave me into custody for an attempt upon his life. Again I was taken to the magistrate, but not again discharged so easily. My character and previous offences were exhibited. The magistrate, serious with judicial sorrow, looked upon me as you would turn an eye towards a reptile that defiles the earth. I appealed to him, and in a loud and animated voice proclaimed my grievances. It was suggested that I was a lunatic, and whilst the justice committed me to hard labour, he benevolently promised that the prison surgeon should visit me, and pronounce upon my fitness for Saint Luke's. It was during my temporary confinement for this offence, that I was seized with the illness from which I have never since been free. For three years I was unable to work for my family, and by the end of that period we were sunk into the lowest depths. My Anna sickened likewise; but as long as she was able she laboured for our support. We have been hunted and driven from place to place, and the little which we have been able to earn in our wanderings, has hardly kept us alive. Twice have I stolen a loaf of bread to appease the children's hunger. What could I do? I could not bear to see their languid glassy eyes, and hear their little voices imploring for the food—God knows, I could not let them die before my face—I could not be their murderer—I could not—"

"Stay, Mr Warton," said I, interrupting the narrator, "I have heard enough. Spare me for the present. Your statements must be corroborated. This is all I ask. Leave the rest to me."

If the reader has perused, with painful interest, the account that I have laid before him, let me gratify him with the intelligence that I have accomplished for this unfortunate family all that I could wish. Warton's account of himself was strengthened and confirmed by the strict enquiry which I set on foot immediately. He was, as he asserted, an innocent and injured man. Satisfied of this, I transmitted to the worthy judge, who had been moved by the man's misfortunes, a faithful history of his life. I was not disappointed here. It was that functionary who obtained for Warton the situation which he at present fills—and for his children the education which they are now receiving. Nor was this his first exertion on their behalf. It was he who furnished them with clothing on the night of the criminal's discharge. They are restored to happiness, to comfort, and to health. The moderate ambition of the faithful Anna is realized, and my vision is a vision no longer.

Reader, I have nothing more to add. I have told you a simple tale and a true one. It is for you to say whether it shall be—useless and uninstructive.

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