CHAPTER CVII.

A TALE OF SORROW.

"It was about thirty years ago that a poor but respectable and kind-hearted tradesman, of the name of Craddock, came up from Plymouth to London to receive a hundred pounds which had fallen to him through the death of a relative of whom he had not heard for years until he received the lawyer's letter announcing his decease and the legacy. Craddock was a linen-draper in a very small way at Plymouth: and though industrious, temperate, and obliging, he never had succeeded in doing any thing better than earning a mere living. He was about forty-five years of age at the time of which I am speaking, and had long been married to a woman as generous-souled as himself. They were childless; and, in spite of their poverty, they often regretted that they had no offspring to become the object of their affection, and to comfort them when old age should overtake them. Indeed, it appears that they had seriously thought of adopting some poor person's child: but circumstances of various kinds had opposed this plan; and they at last ceased to converse upon it—endeavouring to render themselves as happy as they could in each other's society. And happy, for that matter, they were too; for the mutual attachment which linked their hearts together, was firmly established; and, as they advanced in years, they seemed to become so necessary to each other, that when Craddock received the lawyer's letter summoning him to London, it was with the greatest difficulty his wife would allow him to set out alone. He however succeeded in making her understand that a hundred pounds did not constitute an independent fortune,—that it was absolutely necessary to carry on the shop,—and that therefore she must remain at home to manage it. Accordingly, the worthy dame tarried at Plymouth, and her husband came up to London by the stage—at that period a journey of no inconsiderable importance.

"It was the first time Mr. Craddock had ever been in the metropolis: but he did not stay a moment longer than his business absolutely compelled him, which was four or five days. The lawyer with whom he had to transact his little affair, was a kind and conscientious man—for there _are_ many good lawyers as well as bad ones;—and he hastened the business as much as possible. Accordingly, Mr. Craddock received his money in less than a week; and he instantly went to the Belle Sauvage on Ludgate Hill to take his place home again by the coach. There was only one inside-seat vacant by the stage that was to start in the evening; and Craddock secured it. He then returned to the little lodging where he had slept during his sojourn in London, and which was somewhere in the neighbourhood of Doctors' Commons. Having packed up his portmanteau, he shouldered it, and was wending his way to the Belle Sauvage, when his attention was drawn to a little boy who was sitting on a door-step in one of the narrow, secluded streets in that district. The child, who was very neatly dressed and about two years old, was crying bitterly. Craddock stopped and spoke kindly to him; and though the boy was too young to give any explanation of the cause of his grief, it was easy to divine that he had strayed from home, or been lost by a negligent servant. Two or three other persons stopped likewise; and some of the neighbours came out of their houses: but the boy was unknown to them. Craddock tried to console him; but the little fellow wept as if his heart would break. By accident the parish-beadle passed that way, and, on learning what was the matter, said, 'Oh! the best thing I can do, is to take the poor child to the workhouse.'—Now, the mere name of a workhouse was terrible to the ears of the kind-hearted Craddock; and, obeying the impulse of the moment, he exclaimed, 'No, no: not while I have a crust to give him, poor child!'—'Why don't you take him home with you, then?' demanded the beadle: 'the parish will be very glad to be quit of such a bargain as a lost child promises to be.'—'But I live at Plymouth,' returned honest John Craddock.—'Never mind if you live at the devil, so as you agree to take the child,' persisted the parochial authority.—'Well, I have not the least objection: on the contrary, I shall be delighted to do so,' said Craddock, his eyes filling with tears as the poor boy's grief became more heart-rending. 'I will give you my address; and if you hear any enquiries made by the parents of the child, you can let me know.'—'Very good,' exclaimed the beadle, as he received the card on which John Craddock's name, calling, and abode were printed in bold type. The worthy linen-draper then took up the boy in his arms, the beadle consenting to carry the portmanteau; and in this manner they proceeded to the Belle Sauvage, the kind looks, soothing tone, and fond caresses of Craddock having the effect of somewhat diminishing the little fellow's grief.

"The coach was just ready to start; and Craddock took his place, with the child upon his knees. The beadle renewed his promise to write in case he should hear any thing relative to the boy's parents; and the stage rolled out of the old inn yard. It was evening—the shops glared with light; and the scene, as well as the ride in the coach, amused the boy, so that his violent weeping ceased—but frequent sobs agitated his little chest, until at last he fell asleep in worthy John Craddock's arms. It was now for the first time that the linen-draper had leisure to reflect upon the step which he had taken; and it struck him that he had acted imprudently. He was taking away the child from the city to which he most probably belonged, and where he was alone likely to be found by his parents,—taking him away to a far distant town. But, on the other hand, he remembered the beadle's declaration that the lost child must be conveyed to the workhouse; and he likewise felt certain that should the little creature's parents make proper enquiries concerning their child, the parochial authority would know what explanation to give. Craddock therefore came to the conclusion that he had performed a Christian deed and an Englishman's duty; and, having thus set all scruples at rest, he began to reflect upon the pleasure which his wife would experience in receiving the foundling. For the child was a most interesting one—with curly flaxen hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a sweet complexion; and as he lay sleeping in Craddock's arms, and the lights of the shops in the outskirts of London, which the coach was then traversing, beamed through the window upon the boy's countenance, the worthy linen-draper thought that he had never seen a face so truly cherub-like. But tears came afresh into the worthy man's eyes—for he reflected that an afflicted father and a distracted mother might at that moment be calling upon heaven to restore them their lost child; and, as he bent down and kissed its cool and firm cheeks, on which the traces of weeping still remained, he murmured to himself, 'If thy parents never succeed in recovering thee, my boy, I will be as a father, and I know that my wife will be as a mother to thee!'—The other inside passengers admired the child greatly; but when honest John Craddock told them the story connected with his possession of the boy, they merely hem'd and coughed drily as if they thought him a very great fool for so burthening himself. Craddock understood what was passing in their minds; and he only hugged the child closer to his bosom.

"During the night, the little fellow frequently awoke, and cried for his papa and mamma; and the good linen-draper was indefatigable in his exertions to console and comfort him—uttering all possible kind things, and purchasing nice cakes for him at the way-side inns. Throughout the following day, too, Craddock was compelled to persevere in this affectionate and conciliatory treatment, which he, however, maintained with a good heart; and as the long, tedious journey of two hundred and sixteen miles drew towards a close, and evening was again drawing on, he had the satisfaction of observing that his little charge seemed to appreciate—or at least to understand his attentions. At last the coach entered the famous sea-port; and in a very short time Craddock was set down at his own door, the stage passing through the street in which he lived. You may suppose that his wife was greatly astonished when she perceived the present that the worthy linen-draper had brought her: but she was not many moments before she took the child in her arms, and covered it with kisses. Then how the kind-hearted dame wept when Craddock explained to her the manner in which he had become possessed of the boy; and as he spoke she pressed the little being all the closer and all the more fondly to her bosom. The social tea-table was spread, and the servant-girl was sent out to procure some cakes and other nice things for the boy; and then how he was petted and made much of—and how happy the good couple seemed when their attentions and caresses were rewarded with smiles!

"Several days passed, during which Craddock received no intelligence from the beadle who had promised to write to him in case of enquiries being instituted respecting the lost child:—weeks elapsed—and still no tidings! The idea—I had almost said the fear—which the worthy couple entertained that they might be compelled to part with the child just as they were getting fond of it, grew gradually fainter and fainter; and at length, when six months had passed and little Alexander (for so they called the boy) had grown not only reconciled to his condition, but appeared to have forgotten that it had ever been otherwise,—by the time six months had passed, I say, Mr. and Mrs. Craddock ceased to contemplate even the chance of being called upon to surrender their charge. Not but that those excellent people would have rejoiced, in one sense, to restore little Alexander to the arms of his parents; but in another sense they could not quench in their secret souls the fond hope that he might be left undisturbedly in their care. Thus time passed on: Craddock's business, which had only required a little capital to give it an impetus, exhibited every sign of improvement since the investment therein of the hundred pounds received in London; and Alexander throve apace.

"I shall now take a leap of twenty years, which brings us up to a date of only ten years ago; and at that time great alterations—but all for the better—had taken place in the circumstances of the Craddocks. Indeed, they had retired from business, having made a considerable fortune; and were settled in a handsome dwelling at a short distance from Plymouth—their native town. Craddock and his wife had, however, descended tolerably far into the vale of life, sixty-five winters having passed over their heads; but in Alexander—now a fine, tall, handsome young man of twenty-two—they had a source of real comfort and happiness. Though acquainted with the circumstance which had led to his adoption by Mr. and Mrs. Craddock, and, therefore, knowing well that they were not his real parents, his attachment to them was so great—his affection so sincere—and his gratitude so boundless, that he never once manifested any desire to quit them for the purpose of instituting enquiries relative to his birth. His constant and unwearied endeavour was to show himself deserving of all they had done for him,—the tender care they had taken of him in his infancy—the excellent education they had given him in his boyhood—and the affectionate consideration with which they treated him now that he was grown to man's estate; for in all respects did they regard him as their son, and in this light was he looked upon by their friends and dependants. In fact, nothing was wanting to complete the happiness of Alexander Craddock. He had become enamoured of a beautiful girl, the orphan daughter of an officer in the Navy, and who resided at Plymouth with an old aunt. Lucy Middleton had no fortune; but she possessed the invaluable treasures of amiability of disposition—a sweet temper—a kind heart—and those sterling qualities which fitted her for domesticity, and gave promise that she would prove an admirable housewife. Alexander loved her, and was loved in return; and his adopted parents gave their consent to the match. Accordingly, one fine Spring morning, when the heavens appeared as auspicious as the prospects of the youthful pair, the hands of Alexander Craddock and Lucy Middleton were united; and, after a six weeks' tour in Wales, they returned to Plymouth to take possession of a commodious and handsome dwelling, which the adopted father of the young man had furnished during their absence for their reception. A year passed away, at the expiration of which Lucy presented her husband with a lovely boy; but almost at the same time the family experienced a severe loss in the death of old Mr. Craddock, who was carried off in a moment by the lightning-stroke of apoplexy. Alexander was dreadfully grieved at this shocking occurrence—a feeling in which his excellent young wife largely shared; but they were compelled to restrain their sorrow as much as possible, in order to console the bereaved widow. Mrs. Craddock was, however, unable to bear up against this heavy affliction: the suddenness of its arrival and the awful manner in which her husband fell down dead at her feet, when as it were in the midst of a state of perfect health, gave her a shock which she never recovered. She was spirit-broken, and could not rally, in spite of the tender devotion and unwearied attentions shown her by Alexander and Lucy, as well as by the aunt of the latter. Thus was it that in less than six weeks from the sudden demise of Mr. Craddock, his affectionate relict was consigned to the same tomb which held his remains.

"When Alexander had so far recovered himself, after experiencing these cruel inroads upon his happiness, as to investigate the affairs of his late adopted parents, he found that he was left sole heir to the handsome fortune acquired by their honest industry: but, though the will and other papers were strictly correct and accurate in all points, he found that certain circumstances connected with his inheritance would compel him to repair to London, and probably retain him in the capital for some weeks. He was not sorry at the idea of quitting Plymouth for a time, his spirits having been deeply affected by the deaths of his adopted parents; and he found Lucy and her aunt, who now lived altogether with them, perfectly agreeable to shift their place of abode. It was accordingly about eight years ago that this family arrived in London, and took a house in a genteel but quiet neighbourhood. Alexander found his income, chiefly derived from funded property, to be seven hundred a-year; and on this he knew that he could live well, but not extravagantly. A natural curiosity—which was the more lively now that he had lost his adopted parents—prompted him to make certain enquiries in the district of Doctors' Commons, with the hope of solving the mystery of his birth. The only intelligence he gleaned, was, that the beadle who figured in the opening of the tale, had been dead just twenty-two years; and as Alexander was now twenty-four, he could calculate pretty accurately that the parochial authority alluded to must have been carried off by the hand of the destroyer within a few weeks, if not within even a very few days, from the date when he himself, as a young child, had fallen into the charge of Craddock. Beyond this fact Alexander could ascertain nothing at all calculated to assist in rolling away the veil of mystery which covered his parentage: none of the inhabitants in the street where Craddock had found him sitting on the door-step, remembered any thing of the loss of a child at the period named;—no tradition of the fact remained. Alexander felt somewhat disappointed with these unsuccessful results of his enquiries; but he possessed too many elements of happiness—too many substantial accessories to comfort and mental tranquillity—to remain long affected or dispirited by the apparent permanence of that mystery which enveloped his birth.

"Alexander was naturally of an active disposition, and abhorred a life of idleness. He had been married two years, and was the father of two children; and contemplating the probability of having a numerous offspring, he felt anxious to augment his worldly possessions. 'My adopted father,' he would reason with himself, 'carried on business until a late period of his life, and was happy in the occupation which it afforded him. Why should not I embark in some eligible and safe undertaking which will give me a few hours' employment every day and yield a profit at the same time?' The subject of his musings was communicated to his amiable wife and her aunt; and those ladies joyfully encouraged a spirit so praiseworthy and so indicative of steadiness and prudence. The matter had been under discussion one morning at the breakfast-table, when the daily newspaper was brought in; and an announcement, worded somewhat in this way, met Alexander's eyes:—'ELIGIBLE INVESTMENT.—Any gentleman having a few thousand pounds at his immediate disposal, and desirous to occupy a few leisure hours each day in a highly respectable and advantageous manner, is requested to apply to Edward Walkden, Solicitor, Bush Lane, Cannon Street.'—Alexander read this advertisement aloud; and the ladies agreed with him that the nature of it was tempting enough to prompt farther enquiry. Accordingly, the young man proceeded in the course of the morning to the address indicated, and found Mr. Walkden's establishment to be large and having every appearance of respectability as well as solidity. Half-a-dozen clerks were busily employed in the front office; and the shelves were covered with japanned tin cases, containing the papers of the most substantial clients. Upon being introduced into the lawyer's private office, Alexander found himself in the presence of a tall man, whose years were upwards of sixty, and whose countenance, once handsome, wore an expression of mingled mournfulness and severity. He was attired in a plain suit of black: his manners were cold and reserved; but there was a business-like air about him and his office, which augmented the good opinion already entertained by Alexander in respect to the lawyer and his establishment.

"Walkden was evidently a man of very few words; and therefore, when Alexander had explained the object of his visit, the information he sought was speedily given. 'I have a client,' said the lawyer, 'who has taken out a patent for a particular purpose; and he requires five or six thousand pounds to work it effectually. The person advancing the amount, will become an equal partner with the patentee, and will find a few hours of pleasant and agreeable occupation daily in superintending the commercial branch of the concern, while the patentee directs the manufacture of the article. There are the papers, sir: take them with you, and read them at your leisure.' Walkden handed the young man a bundle of documents tied round with red tape, and then bowed him out of the office. On his return home, Alexander examined the papers, and was highly delighted with the prospect which they opened to him. He felt convinced that an immense fortune was to be made: the thing was as clear as day-light! The patentee possessed the secret of effecting vast improvements in the manufacture of broad-cloths, which he undertook to produce not only of a superior quality, but likewise at a very reduced price. The calculations showed that large returns were certain to follow a comparatively small outlay, and that the business might be extended to a wonderful degree in proportion to the capital advanced to work upon. In a word, the whole affair was of the most roseate hue: Alexander, his wife, and her aunt were in raptures at the brilliant prospect thus fortunately opened to their contemplation; and it was resolved that he should lose no time in securing a share in so excellent an undertaking. Accordingly, on the following morning, he returned to Mr. Walkden, who received him with cold politeness, and requested his speedy decision in the matter—'as so promising a business had already attracted the notice of several capitalists, who were eager and willing to embark their funds.'—'And you will guarantee the respectability of your client, sir?' enquired Alexander.—'I have been established in this profession for upwards of thirty years, young man,' said the lawyer, almost sternly; 'and never have I allowed my office to be made the means of carrying out an illegitimate transaction. My client, Mr. Scudimore, is a man of integrity and honour; and whatever he promises, _that_ will he perform!'—'In this case, Mr. Walkden,' observed Alexander Craddock, 'the sooner I have an interview with Mr. Scudimore, the better.'—The lawyer made no farther observation, but furnished his visitor with the address of the patentee; and Alexander accordingly repaired to Mr. Scudimore's dwelling, which was situated somewhere near Finsbury Square.

"Mr. Scudimore was an elderly person—very well dressed—plausible in his discourse, and over-polite in his manners. In fact, he seemed to be the very reverse of his solicitor in respect to disposition; for he received Alexander as if he had known him all his life; and the young man found himself sitting at lunch, and on the best possible terms with his new friend, almost before he had time to look round him. Then, if the affair which thus brought them together, had looked well upon paper, it assumed so glorious an aspect, when described in the glowing language of Mr. Scudimore, that Alexander Craddock, generous, frank, and confiding as he naturally was, came to a complete understanding with the patentee ere he took his departure. On the following day Scudimore dined at his house; and the ladies were quite charmed with their new acquaintance. Matters progressed rapidly through the business-like attention which Walkden devoted to the affair; and in less than a fortnight the deeds of partnership between Alexander Craddock and James Scudimore were duly signed at the lawyer's office, in Bush Lane, Cannon Street. Immediately afterwards, Alexander sold out six thousand pounds, which he paid into a bank to the joint account of Craddock and Scudimore; and in the course of a few days the latter gentleman took his departure for a manufacturing town, where he was to hire premises and establish a factory without delay, Alexander remaining in London to prepare a warehouse to receive the goods. For some months all appeared to go on to the complete satisfaction of both parties: Scudimore wrote up the most pleasing accounts from the country; and at last he informed his young partner that the factory was in perfect readiness to commence operations. It however appeared that more money was required; and Alexander, after an interview with Walkden, threw a farther sum of four thousand pounds into the business, all the funds being completely at the disposal of Scudimore. But almost immediately after the advance of this second sum, the letters from the provincial town ceased. Several weeks passed away: no communications were received from Scudimore;—and Mr. Walkden appeared to be as astonished as Alexander himself. A visit to the banker created a vague suspicion in the mind of the young man that all was not right;—for though Scudimore had drawn out the first amount by means of a number of successive cheques, he had received the whole of the second advance on one draught, and almost immediately after it had been paid in. A little farther enquiry convinced Alexander that Walkden had presented all the cheques for payment at the bank. Without, however losing a moment by calling on the lawyer for an explanation, Alexander proceeded post-haste to the provincial town where he expected to find Scudimore; and there all his fears were speedily confirmed. No premises had been hired by any such person—no factory established in such a name: but Mr. Scudimore had resided at an hotel in the place for several months, and had taken his departure, no one knew whither, at a date which, on calculation, Alexander found to be precisely four days after he had paid the second sum into the banker's hands. No doubt now remained in his mind that he was the dupe of a designing villain; and he was convinced that Walkden was an accomplice. To London he returned without delay; and, on his arrival, he repaired direct to the lawyer's office. That professional gentleman received him with his usual cold and reserved politeness, affecting not even to notice the excitement under which the young man was labouring.

"'Your friend Mr. Scudimore, sir, is a villain!' exclaimed Alexander.—'Such language is intolerable in my office, sir,' said Walkden, in his chilling, phlegmatic manner.—'Intolerable or not, it is the only language I can use under such circumstances,' cried the young man. 'Scudimore has absconded with the whole sum of ten thousand pounds which I advanced in this swindling concern; and it was through you and your representations, sir, that I have been thus cruelly deceived and basely plundered.'—'Softly, Mr. Craddock, if you please,' observed the lawyer; 'because your language conveys an imputation which I repel with scorn and contempt. My character is too well established to be injured by the calumny of an obscure stranger. You requested me to give you Mr. Scudimore's address in the first instance: I did so; and it was with _him_ that you made all your arrangements. You then both came to me, informed me that every thing was settled between you, and employed me professionally to draw up certain deeds.'—'But you gave me the highest character of your friend Scudimore!' ejaculated Alexander.—'I spoke of him as I had always found him up to that hour when you questioned me,' said Walkden: 'but I never pretended to possess the power of prophesying that he would continue honest up to the day of his death!'—'Contemptible, vile sophistry!' exclaimed Alexander, his cheeks glowing with indignation. 'It is a base conspiracy to plunder me; and I will unmask you!'—'And supposing that I have incurred a chance of losing as much as yourself through this Mr. Scudimore?' said the lawyer, without losing his temper, but with a smile of malignant triumph on his lips.—'_You_ lose by him!' cried Alexander, in a tone of bitter irony: 'you knew him too well to trust him.'—'At all events I may have somewhat calculated upon _your_ joint responsibility,' observed Walkden, fixing his cold, grey eyes upon the young man whom these ominous words startled.—'What do you mean?' he demanded, his heart sinking within him.—'I mean,' answered Walkden, 'that I have discounted your acceptances to the amount of eight thousand pounds; that I have passed away those bills of exchange in the course of business; that when they fall due shortly, I shall be unable to take them up; and that the holder will therefore look to you for the payment of them?'—Alexander sank, speechless and powerless, into a seat as the whole scheme of villainy was thus fully developed to his horrified contemplation.—'As you were in partnership, and all the deeds establishing that partnership were drawn up in the regular way and strictly binding, Scudimore had not only a right to sign bills in your joint name,' proceeded the lawyer, 'but you cannot for an instant dispute your liability in respect to them.'—'Is it possible,' gasped Alexander, 'that I can have been so foolish and you so wicked? Oh! my poor wife—my beloved children, what will become of you, now that I am ruined by my own madness and this awful combination of villainies!'—'Mr. Craddock,' said Walkden, drawing himself up to his full height, while his iron features remained implacable and rigid, 'you must not allow your tongue a license in respect to me. Again I tell you that my character is too well established, and my reputation too substantially good, to be injured by false calumnies. Indeed, I am not at all clear that I have not some grounds to complain of conspiracy and villainy: for it certainly looks suspicious—most suspicious that your partner should obtain from me advances to the amount of eight thousand pounds, and then abscond. You would not come out of court with very clean hands, Mr. Craddock, I can tell you.'—'Wretch!' ejaculated the unhappy young man, now goaded to desperation: 'how dare you hint at any connivance on my part with the scoundrelism of your own friend—_you_ who presented at the bank all the drafts for the money which I was insane enough to lodge there!'—'I certainly received several sums on behalf of Mr. Scudimore, to whom I duly remitted them,' said the lawyer, still in that cold, reserved tone which so much aggravated the rage of the ruined Craddock. 'But we will now put an end to this interview, sir,' he added; 'as my time is precious.'—'Yes, I will leave you, treacherous miscreant that you are!' exclaimed Alexander; and rushing into the clerks' office, he vociferated with mad excitement, 'Gentlemen, if you wish to behold the greatest villian on the face of the earth, go and look at your master!'—He then hurried away, the victim of a mingled rage and grief which it would be impossible to describe.

"But how could he face his dear wife—her affectionate aunt—his much-loved children? '_Ruined—totally ruined_:' how awfully do these words sound upon the ears! A man, when alone in the world and with none dependent on him or his exertions, may murmur those words to himself with comparative calmness: but the individual who has a wife and children looking to him for every necessary of existence—ah! _he_ indeed feels his heart seared as with red-hot iron when his lips, expressing the conviction which circumstances force on his startled mind, frame the frightful words, '_Ruined—totally ruined!_' Miss Middleton (the aunt) and Lucy were already acquainted with the unpleasant nature of the suspicions which Scudimore's protracted silence had created in the mind of Alexander; and they were likewise aware of the object of his journey into the country. But they had yet to learn the fatal result of the enquiries which he had instituted; and it was still left for him to break to them the particulars of his interview with Walkden. On his return home, his anxiety and mental suffering were betrayed by his countenance,—for he was unskilled in the schools of duplicity, and knew not how to conceal a lacerated heart beneath a tranquil exterior. The ladies pressed him with questions: they saw that something dreadful had occurred—and they implored him not to keep them in suspense. He told them all,—told them how Scudimore had plundered him of ten thousand pounds—how he remained liable to Walkden for eight thousand more—and how the payment of this imminent liability would sweep away the whole of his fortune, leaving him a ruined man! Then, in that hour of bitter trial, he found how dear is woman as a 'ministering angel;'[50] and, having been comparatively soothed and tranquillised by the consolatory language of his Lucy and Miss Middleton, he proceeded to the office of his own solicitor, whom he resolved to consult relative to the posture of his affairs.

"The moment he had left the house, Lucy and Miss Middleton held a hasty council together. 'Do you think it would be imprudent or improper, my dear aunt,' asked the young wife, 'if I were to call upon this Mr. Walkden, and implore him not to press the payment of a debt which will deprive Alexander of all the resources that he might render available for the purpose of retrieving himself?'—'On the contrary, I approve of the step,' was the reply. 'Alexander says that Mr. Walkden was stern and severe; but then Alexander himself may have been hasty and indignant. After all, this Mr. Walkden has perhaps been duped, as well as your husband, by Scudimore.'—'I fear that this is not the case,' said Lucy: 'I am impressed with the conviction that the lawyer and Scudimore were in league together. Nevertheless, as we are entirely at Walkden's mercy, it would be unwise to irritate, but prudent to conciliate him.'—'Go, my dear child,' exclaimed the aunt; 'and may you succeed in softening the heart of this man who holds your dear husband in his iron grasp.'—Lucy accordingly attired herself in a simple and modest manner, and proceeded to the office of Mr. Walkden, who, happening to be disengaged at the time, immediately received her.

"'I have called, sir,' began Lucy, whose courage almost failed her when she found herself in the presence of a man of such stern, cold, and indeed forbidding aspect—for this was the first time she had ever seen him,—'I have called, sir,' she repeated, 'on behalf of my husband, whose ruin is certain unless you show him some degree of mercy.'—'Mr. Craddock behaved in a manner the most insulting, and dared to utter suspicions the must derogatory to my character, even in the presence of my clerks,' observed Walkden, in a tone so chilling that it seemed as if the breath which wafted those words to the young wife's ears, passed over the ice of the poles.—'But surely, sir,' urged Lucy, the tears trickling down her cheeks, 'you will make some allowances for the excited feelings of a young man just entering the world as it were, and so cruelly struck on its very threshold by the hand of misfortune? At least, sir, if not for his sake, I implore you for that of his innocent children to be lenient and merciful.'—'Law forms and ceremonies are not influenced by such considerations, madam,' said Mr. Walkden. 'At the same time, I have no objection to search the Commentaries; and if I there find leniency recommended in filing a declaration, or mercy enjoined in signing judgment, I have not the slightest objection to instruct my common-law clerk accordingly.'—Lucy stared at the attorney in wild bewilderment and uncertainty as he thus delivered himself in a measured tone of such frigidity that it seemed as if an automaton of ice were speaking; but at length she murmured, 'May I then hope, sir, that you will not press for the payment of this heavy debt when the bills become due?'—Walkden fixed his eyes upon the lovely and tearful countenance which was upturned so imploringly towards him; and at the instant he thought within himself that he had never before seen a female face of such surpassing beauty. Then his glance slowly and deliberately wandered from the faultless features to the contours of the well-formed bust, developed even by the plaits of the thick shawl which Lucy wore; and thence his survey was continued until his contemplation had embraced the wasp-like waist, and the flowing outlines of a symmetrical form, terminating in feet and ankles ravishingly modelled.—'You are doubtless much attached to your husband, madam?' he said, his tone becoming the least thing more tender—or rather losing one small degree of its cold severity.—'Attached to him, sir!' exclaimed Lucy, perfectly astonished at the question: 'I love—I worship him! He is the best of husbands and the best of fathers!'—'Then you would make _any_ sacrifice to restore him to peace of mind?' said Walkden, his voice becoming more tender still, and his demeanour gradually unbending from its stiff formality.—'Oh! yes,' cried the artless Lucy; '_any_ sacrifice would I make to see my Alexander happy as he was wont to be!'—'_Any_ sacrifice,' repeated the lawyer, now positively allowing his features to relax into a faint and significant smile, while his voice was lowered and changed into a tone of soft familiarity; 'consider what you say—_any sacrifice_! Well, then on that condition'—and he took her hand.—A light broke instantaneously upon the mind of Lucy; and, snatching back her hand as if from the maw of a wild beast, she started from her seat, uttered a cry of indignation and abhorrence, and disappeared from the office before the baffled and disconcerted lawyer had time to make an effort to detain her.

"Lucy's heart was still swelling with mingled resentment and anguish, when she reached her home; and Alexander who returned at the same time, saw in an instant that she was a prey to no ordinary emotions. Throwing herself into her husband's arms, Lucy burst into tears—her pent-up feelings no longer obeying the control of that restraint which she sought to impose upon them. Then, by dint of questioning, Alexander gleaned enough to convince him that his beloved wife had been flagrantly insulted by the villain who had already heaped such grievous wrongs upon his head. Maddened by this fresh injury, Alexander was about to rush from the house and inflict some dreadful chastisement upon the cold-blooded monster Walkden, when his wife and her aunt threw themselves at his feet, and implored him, with tears and impassioned entreaties, not to aggravate the perils and embarrassments of his position by involving himself in a quarrel with their enemy. Alexander was moved by the prayers of those whom he loved; and he faithfully promised them not to suffer his indignant feelings to master his prudence. When calmness and composure were somewhat restored, he proceeded to explain the result of the visit which he had just paid to his own solicitor. That gentleman had said to him, 'It is as clear as day-light that you are robbed by Walkden and Scudimore conjointly; but I really do not think that you could _prove_ a conspiracy in a criminal court. I should, however, decidedly advise you to resist the payment of the bills; and, as Walkden is tolerably sure to push the matter on to trial, the verdict of a jury in the civil case will enable us to judge how far we may hope to punish the scoundrel attorney in another manner.' Alexander had accordingly placed himself entirely in his solicitor's hands; and there rested the business for the present.

"But a serious change took place in the disposition and habits of Alexander Craddock. Smarting under the wrongs which he had received, he grew restless and unsettled—experienced less delight than he was wont to feel in the society of his wife and children—showed signs of irritability, and an impatience of the slightest contradiction, however trivial—and remained longer over his wine after dinner. Lucy beheld all this, and wept in secret: but when with Alexander, she redoubled her attentions, and sought every possible opportunity of proving her devotion. She implored him to give up the house they then occupied, and adopt a more economical mode of life; but his answers were at first evasive—then impatient—and at last so sharp and angry, that she was compelled, though with reluctance, to abandon the topic, at least for the present. To add to Lucy's grief, her aunt, who had so long fulfilled towards her the duties of a mother, was attacked with sudden indisposition, which increased with alarming rapidity, and carried her off in the course of a few days. Alexander manifested far less sorrow than Lucy had expected him to have shown; and this proof of an augmenting callousness on his part, pierced the heart of the amiable young lady to the very quick. But scarcely had the remains of Miss Middleton been consigned to the tomb, when a fresh misfortune occurred to increase the irritability of Alexander. The bills for eight thousand pounds fell due, and were dishonoured by him, in accordance with the advice of his solicitor. He was immediately after arrested: and, as he had resolved to defend the action, he paid into court the whole sum in dispute, a proceeding whereby he could alone save himself from remaining in prison until the trial. He had, however, gone through the ordeal of a spunging-house, and he considered himself disgraced; the irritability of his temper increased—he daily grew more attached to the bottle—and his affections towards his wife and children were evidently blunted. Oh! how ramified and vast are the evil effects of the villainy of one man towards another,—striking not only the individual victim, but rebounding and reacting on his wife, his children, and his friends!

"Lucy again revived the expression of her wish that a cheaper dwelling should be taken and a more economical style of living adopted. But Alexander would not listen to the proposal. He declared his certainty of gaining the suit and of recovering his money from the court—a result, he said, which would enable him to employ his funds in some legitimate commercial enterprise. On this subject he spoke so confidently, that Lucy entertained the most sanguine hopes of beholding happiness restored beneath a roof where naught save happiness had once prevailed; and it was but with little apprehension that she marked the arrival of the day fixed for the trial. The most able counsel had been retained on both sides; and the cause excited immense interest. Walkden had been established for years, and bore an excellent character: indeed, none of his friends or clients could for a moment believe that he was an accomplice of the villain Scudimore. The whole question, as presented to the cognizance of the tribunal, was whether Mr. Walkden had given value for the bills, and was a _bona fide_ holder of securities which he had legitimately and honourably discounted in the course of business. The evidence he adduced to establish these points was certainly of a nature likely to prove most convincing to a jury, though Alexander knew full well that Walkden had suborned the grossest perjury on the part of his clerks and the other persons whom he put forward as witnesses. Nevertheless, the verdict was in Walkden's favour; and Alexander returned home a prey to the liveliest grief and the most bitter resentment. Lucy did all that woman's goodness and ingenuity could suggest to console him; but the excitement of his feelings gained upon him with such overwhelming violence and rapidity, that he grew delirious, and a brain-fever supervened. The best medical advice was procured for him by the almost heart-broken Lucy; but weeks and weeks passed away without enabling the physicians to pronounce him beyond the reach of danger. During that period he had many lucid intervals, on which occasions he recognised his wife and children—embraced them tenderly—wept over them—implored heaven to bless them—and then, in the bitterness of overwhelming reminiscences, desired them to look upon him as one who was dead,—his excitement relapsing into delirium again. Poor Lucy! seldom was it that she reposed her aching head upon a pillow, throughout the period of her beloved husband's illness—and never until completely crushed with the fatigue of long vigils and the burthen of a grief beneath which she herself was sinking. At length—just as her pecuniary resources began to fail, and the want of funds excited alarms which augmented her afflictions—Alexander's malady took a sudden turn which filled her mind with the most joyous hope; and when the delirium had altogether passed away, his manner was so kind and gentle—his language so endearing and affectionate—and his temper so entirely devoid of irritability, that Lucy's heart became elate with the most cheering aspirations and delightful visions. Alexander spoke of his misfortunes with calmness and resignation; and said, 'Our property is all swept away, dearest; but I am young, and shall soon be strong and active again; and then I will work to obtain a livelihood for us all. And who knows, my beloved Lucy, but that the bread of honest though perhaps severe toil, may not prove the sweetest we shall have ever eaten?'—Then, when his wife heard him discourse in this manner, she would throw herself into his arms, and thank him—yes, thank him fervently for becoming a consoler in his turn.

"The fond pair had been conversing in this style one afternoon—the first day on which Alexander was enabled to walk down stairs to the parlour without assistance,—and their children were playing in a corner of the apartment, when the door was suddenly and violently opened, and two or three coarse-looking fellows unceremoniously made their appearance. Their mission was soon explained. The money paid into court had only just covered the amount of the bills of exchange which had formed the ground of action; and Alexander was now arrested by Walkden for the costs, which had been taxed at a hundred and odd pounds. The unfortunate young couple had not the money; and Lucy had already made away with their plate, jewellery, and other valuables in order to provide her husband with every comfort and luxury in his illness. The furniture was worth more than the amount of the costs: but arrears of rent were due to the landlord. Lucy implored the bailiffs, with tears in her eyes, not to remove Alexander for a few days, when he might have recovered the shock of this new and unforeseen blow; but they were inexorable, intimating pretty plainly that they were instructed to show no leniency of any kind. She, however, by dint of entreaties—actually going down upon her knees to the officers—succeeded in inducing them to wait while she repaired to his own solicitor. But this gentleman was unable to assist her to the amount she required: he nevertheless manifested the kindest and most respectful sympathy towards her, giving her a few guineas for immediate necessities, and promising to incur the expense of the measures necessary to enable her husband to remove next day from a lock-up house to the King's Bench. It was some consolation to the almost heart-broken young lady, to find that Alexander possessed at least one friend in the world; but even this faint and poor gleam of solace vanished, and gave way to the keenest apprehensions, when on her return she found her husband a prey to all that fearful excitement which had proved the forerunner of his late dangerous malady.

"What was to be done? There seemed but one alternative; and this she was determined, in her affectionate solicitude and zeal, to adopt without the knowledge of Alexander. Indeed, he scarcely appeared to be aware of what was going on; but raved, talked wildly, and menaced and wept by turns in the presence of the officers who surrounded him. Away sped Lucy to Bush Lane; and a second time did she enter the establishment of that individual who had brought such rapid—such signal—such unredeemable ruin on the heads of a once happy family. Walkden received her in his private office, and coldly desired her to be seated, a smile of infernal triumph relaxing his stern and usually rigid features; while his eyes scanned the wasted, but still touchingly beautiful and deeply interesting countenance of that afflicted young lady. Lucy was for some minutes so overcome by the intensity of her feelings, that she was unable to utter a word; and when she did speak, it was a mere gasping forth of disjointed sentences, broken by frequent sobs of convulsing agony. The lawyer bent over her, like Satan whispering to a desperate creature the terms on which wealth and power might be purchased,—bent over that crushed, much-enduring, and amiable young wife, and murmured in her ears _his_ terms of mercy towards her husband. She rose and looked at him in amazement and horror. Was he a human being, or a veritable fiend? His cold, grey eyes sank not beneath the reproachful and indignant glance of that outraged lady; and a smile of demoniac triumph again played upon his lip. Doubtless he thought that her anger was only momentary, and that the sternness of necessity would force her to a compliance with his will. But he knew not the mind of Lucy. 'Villain! monster!' she exclaimed: 'has your infamy no bounds?' and she fled from the presence of the cold-blooded scoundrel as if the atmosphere which he breathed were fraught with the plague.

"With what a heavy heart did she return home—that home from which her husband must now be dragged immediately and before her eyes,—a home which, perhaps, would not long remain so for herself and children. But suddenly, and as if by divine inspiration, she remembered that all her courage was now required to enable her to bear up against her afflictions for the sake of Alexander—for the sake of her offspring;—and it is astonishing how, in the midst of the deepest sorrows, woman can ofttimes display an energy of which the stronger sex is altogether incapable. And so it now was with Lucy Craddock. She even succeeded in comforting her husband and soothing his excitement, by reminding him that the more he appeared to be crushed, the greater would be the delight of his savage and unrelenting enemy. This species of remonstrance, so kindly—so gently administered, had the desired effect; and Alexander, animated with a spirit of endurance, and fortified by the example of his admirable wife, rose if possible superior to his misfortunes, and proceeded with a feeling of proud resignation to the lock-up-house. Thence on the ensuing day he was removed to the King's Bench: and it was here that I first formed his acquaintance, when he entered the prison six years ago.

"Immediately after his arrival, his spirits gave way rapidly; and it was necessary for his wife to take up her abode with him altogether. She accordingly disposed of the furniture in their house, paid the landlord and the few other small creditors, and brought her children over to the small cheerless chamber in which her husband was lying on a bed of sickness. Thus was this once happy family—like so many, many others, reduced from a state of comfort, and even affluence, to poverty and a prison-room. Heaven only knows what misery—what privations they had undergone, when it was first whispered to me by a char-woman that the Craddocks seemed to be in great distress. I was then a little better off than I am now; and I immediately repaired to their room, inventing some excuse for my intrusion. Oh! what a scene of destitution—what a heart-rending spectacle met my eyes! The furniture which the Craddocks had hired, had been all removed away in consequence of their inability to pay for its use: Alexander, pale and emaciated, was sitting upon a trunk; the two children, thin and wasted, were crying for food; and the poor, heart-rent Lucy was looking over a few things in a hatbox, evidently with a view to select the most likely articles to be received by the pawnbroker—while her scalding tears fell fast upon her hands as she turned over the only relics left of a wardrobe once extensive and elegant. It went to my very soul to contemplate that scene! I shall not pause to explain all the particulars which rendered me intimate with the Craddocks: suffice it to say, that they accepted my assistance, and that in a few hours their chamber once again wore an aspect of such comfort as the restitution of the furniture and a well supplied table could possibly afford in a prison. I did not learn their history immediately—nor all its details at once: portions of it were communicated by degrees—some of the particulars oozed out incidentally—and the feelings and sentiments experienced by the sufferers in the various phases of their eventful tale, transpired from time to time,—until at length I gleaned all those facts which I have now related to you. But by far the most terrible portion of the history of the Craddocks is yet to come."

Prout paused for a few moments, and then enquired of Frank Curtis if he were wearied of the narrative. The young gentleman assured him that, so far from being tired of the story, he was deeply interested in its progress; whereupon the Chancery prisoner proceeded in the following manner.

Footnote 50:

O woman in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made;— When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!

WALTER SCOTT.

And such is woman's love—the secret power That turns the darkest to the brightest hour; That smothes the wrinkles care has learned to plough, And wipes the trace of anguish from the brow! And Oh! if spite of war and wasting pain, Feelings so noble—so divine remain, Where were the brighter star to cheer our gloom, Make heaven of earth, and triumph o'er the tomb!

UNIVERSITY PRIZE POEM.