Part 13

Now all this time, while Mr Thriven's creditors were in the "White Horse," he himself was in heaven; for Sharp and he having found all right at Cockenzie, returned, and sat down to finish the claret which had been forestalled by the attorney before setting out. They resolved upon consigning Mrs Grizel M'Whirter to the cold earth a day sooner than custom might have warranted; and the reason for this especial care was simply that Mr Samuel wished, with all the ardour inspired by the Bordeaux waters, to make a grand and glorious display of his honesty, by calling all his creditors together, and paying them principal and interest--twenty shillings in the pound. They even, at this early period, set about making a draft of the circular letter which was to announce the thrilling intelligence.

"Heavens! what a commotion this will produce among the trade!" said Samuel, as he threw himself back in his chair, and fixed his enchanted eye on Sharp's copy. "It will electrify them; and, sir, the editors of the newspapers are bound, as patrons of public virtue, to set it forth as an example to others, to induce them to do the same in time coming. And now, since we have discussed so much business and claret, we will retire to our beds; I to enjoy the satisfaction of having resolved on a noble action, and you the hope of making a few six-and-eightpences by the death of Grizel M'Whirter of Cockenzie."

"_A few!_" cried Sharp, in an attorney's heroics. "You will see, when you count them, I am not less honest or generous than yourself."

The friends thereupon separated, to enjoy in their beds the two pleasures incident to their peculiar situations.

At the end of the period--less by one day than the customary time of corpses being allowed to remain on the face of the earth--Mrs Grizel M'Whirter was buried; and as her will contained a specific assignation to the greater part of her money, the same was in a day or two afterwards got hold of by Mr Thriven, and out went the round of circulars to the creditors, announcing that on the following Thursday, Mr Thriven would be seated in his house, ready to pay all his creditors their debts, and requesting them to attend and bring with them their receipts. Among these circulars was one to Miss Angelina M'Falzen--the very woman he had promised, before he succeeded to Mrs Grizel M'Whirter's fortune, to make a wife of; a pretty plain proof that now, when he had become rich, he intended to shake off the devout spinster who had attempted to reform him by lending him the allegory of the Tinker of Elstow. The eventful day at length arrived, when Mr Thriven was to enjoy the great triumph he had panted for--namely to pay the creditors in full every farthing, with their own money; and at the hour appointed a considerable number arrived at his house, among whom not a few knew, as well as they did the contents of their own Bibles, the nefarious device of the haberdasher. When the creditors were seated--

"It ill becomes a man," said Mr Thriven, affecting a comely modesty--"it ill becomes one who resolves merely to do an act of ordinary justice, to take credit to himself for the possession of uncommon honesty. Therefore, I say, away with all egotistical assumption of principles, which ought to belong to a man, merely (as we say in trade), as part and parcel of humanity; for, were it a miracle to be honest, why should we not tolerate dishonesty, which yet is, by the voice of all good men, condemned and put down. The debts due to you I incurred, why then should I not pay them? It makes not a _nail_ of difference that I lost three-fourths of the amount thereof by fire; because, what had you to do with the fire? _You_ were not the incendiaries. No; the fault lay with me; I should have insured my stock, in gratitude for the credit with which you honoured me. It is for these reasons that I now disdain to take any credit to myself for coming thus cleverly forward to do you an act of justice, which the will of Heaven has put in my power, by the demise of that lamented woman, Mrs Grizel M'Whirter, and which you could by law have forced me to do, though, probably, not so soon as I now propose to do of my own free will and accord."

Mr Thriven paused, for a burst of applause; and Mr Bairnsfather, with a smile on his face, stood up.

"It is all very well," said he, glancing to his friends, "for Mr Thriven to pretend that no merit attaches to one who acts in the noble and generous way he has resolved to follow on this occasion. Every honest act deserves applause, were it for nothing else in the world than to keep up the credit of honesty. No doubt we might have compelled Mr Thriven to pay us out of the money to which he has succeeded, and to this extent we may admit his plea of no merit; but the readiness, if not precipitancy, he has exhibited on the measure, is not only in itself worthy of high commendation, but, by a reflex effect, it satisfies us all of that of which we probably were not very sceptical, that his failure was an honest one, and that he is not now making a display of paying us out of any other money than his own."

"Shall we not accord to these sentiments of our brother creditor?" said Mr Wrench, rising with great seriousness. "How seldom is it, in the ordinary affairs of life, that we find the true Mr Greatheart of the 'Pilgrim's Progress!' But when we do find him, shall we not say to him, let him have his reward--and what shall that reward be? Empty praise? No! Mr Thriven needs not that, because he has the voice of conscience sounding within him--far more musical, I deem, to the ear of honesty than the hollow notes of external applause. A piece of plate? Very good for praise-devouring politicians to place on the table when the clique is carousing and settling the affairs of the state, but altogether unsuitable for the gratification of meek, self-denied, retiring honesty. A book of morals? What say ye to that, friends? I throw it out merely as a hint."

"And I second the suggestion," said Mr Horner, "with the amendment, that there shall be an _inscription on a blank leaf_, setting forth in detail the merits of the individual; and where could we find a better than the allegory of the progress of the pilgrim, written by the tinker of Elstow?"

A round of applause, fully suitable to the appetite of Mr Samuel, followed Mr Horner's amendment. The process of payment commenced, and was completed to the satisfaction of all parties; and when the creditors went away, Mr Thriven sat down to consider the position in which he stood. He had got applause; but he did not well understand it. Above all, he could not comprehend the allusion to the book written by John Bunyan.

"Well," he said, as he took up the "Mercury," "it is beyond my comprehension; and, after all, the good people may only mean to present me with some suitable gift, in consideration of the act of justice I have this day done them. Let me see if there be any news." And he fell back in his chair in that delightful _langueur d'esprit_ to which a newspaper of all things is the most acceptable. "Why," he continued, as he still searched for some racy bit, "did not Sharp undertake to get a notice inserted, by way of an editor's advertisement of three lines, to immortalise me, and pave my way to the hand of Miss Clarinda Pott?" And he wrung the muscles of his face as if they had been a dish-clout filled with the humour of his bile. At length his eye stood in his head, his mouth opened, and he became what artists would call "a living picture." The part of the paper which produced this strange effect consisted of merely a few lines, to this import:--

"_New Light._--The matter which the fire in ----- Street failed to illumine has, we understand, been illustrated by no less an individual than John Bunyan, Tinker at Elstow. Everything may be reduced to an allegory; the world itself is an allegory; and this scrap of ours is nothing but an allegory."

Samuel laid down the paper.

"What can this mean?" said he. "If this be not an allegory, I know not what is."

"Ah, sir, you are a man this day to be envied," said Miss M'Falzen, who now entered. "You have proved yourself to be an honest man. I was sure of it; and you know, Samuel, when all deserted you, I stuck fast by you, and even gave the--the--excuse me, sir--the consent you asked of me, while you had no prospect before you in this bad world other than beggary."

"What consent, ma'am?" replied Mr Thriven, with a face that displayed no more curiosity than it did love.

"Bless me, Mr Thriven, do you forget?--Is it possible that you can have forgotten so _interesting_ an occasion?"

"I believe, by the by, ma'am, you have called for your debts," said Mr Thriven.

"Debt!" ejaculated the devout spinster. "Why should there be any debt between two people situated as we are. Why should not all claims be extinguished by the mixture of what Mr Sharp calls _the goods in communion_. If I take this money from you to-day, won't I be giving it back after the ceremony. True, my small fortune is now nothing to yours; yet I will remember with pleasure, and you will never surely forget, that all I had was at your service when you had lost all you had in the world; so, you see, my dear Samuel, if you have this day proved yourself to have a noble spirit, I am not behind you."

"What is the exact amount of your claim, Miss M'Falzen?" said Mr Thriven, with a determination to distance sentiment.

"And would you really pay it, cruel, cruel man?" said she, somewhat alarmed.

"Certainly, ma'am," replied he, dryly.

"Are you serious?" said she again, looking him full and searchingly in the face.

"Yes," answered he, more dryly than ever.

"Can it be possible that your sentiments towards me have undergone a change, Mr Thriven?" rejoined she. "Ah! I forgot. You are now a man of ten thousand pounds, and I have only one. The film is falling off my eyes. O deluded Angelina!"

"Then you will see the better to count the money I am to pay you," said he, attempting to laugh. "Fifty pounds, ma'am. Here it is; I will thank you for Mr Mercer's bill."

"Well, sir, since it has come to this, I will none of the money. Alas! this is the effect of John Bunyan's famous book. Good-day--good-day, Mr Samuel;" and the spinster, covering her face with her handkerchief, rushed out of the room.

CHAP. VII.--THE DENOUEMENT.

"Thus have I got quit of the spinster," said Mr Thriven, "and thus have I too got quit of my creditors. But how comes this? She also talks of Bunyan; everybody talks of Bunyan. But this paper? No, spite--spite--let them present me with an inscription on a blank leaf. It will do as well as a piece of plate. I will get the words of praise inserted in another newspaper, and then begin to act the gentleman in earnest on my ten thousand. I shall instantly engage a buggy with a bright bay; and a man-servant, with a stripe of silver lace round his hat, shall sit on my sinister side. Let them stare and point at me. They can only say, there rides an honest man, who failed, and paid his creditors twenty shillings the pound. Ho! here comes Sharp."

"What is the meaning of this?" said he, holding out the paper. "Some wretched joke of an editor who would take from me the honour intended for me by my creditors. I see by your face that you smell an action of damages."

"Joke!" echoed Sharp. "That copy of Bunyan which Miss M'Falzen was lending to Mrs Bairnsfather that day when we went to Cockenzie, is now in the hands of the procurator-fiscal."

"Oh, the devout maiden lends it to everybody," replied Samuel. "She will be to get the fiscal to reclaim sinners by it, rather than to punish them by the arm of the law."

"Is it possible, Mr Thriven, that you can thus make light of an affair that involves banishment?" said Sharp. "Did you really write on a blank leaf of that book the details of the profit you were to make of the burning?"

Samuel jumped at least three feet from the floor; and when he came down again, he muttered strange things, and did strange things, which no pen could describe, because they were unique, had no appropriate symbols in language, had never been muttered or done before since the beginning of the world, and, probably, will never be again. It might, however, have been gathered from his ravings, that he _had_ some recollection of having scribbled something about his failure, but that he thought it was in the blank leaf of a pocket-book, the which book he grasped and examined, but all was a dead blank. He then threw himself on a chair, and twisted himself into all possible shapes, cursing Miss Angelina M'Falzen, himself, his creditors, every one who had the smallest share in this tremendous revolution from wealth, hopes of a high match, buggy, servant with silver lace, even to disgrace, confiscation, and banishment.

"You are renowned for the quickness, loopiness, subtleness, of thy profession. Can you not assist me, Sharp? A man's scrawls are not evidence of themselves."

"But, with the testimony of Clossmuns, who has returned from Liverpool, they will be conclusive," replied the attorney, whose game now lay in Mr Samuel's misfortunes. "Such evidence never went before a jury since the time of the _regiam majestatem_.

"What then is to be done?" inquired Samuel.

"Fly! fly! and leave me a power of attorney to collect your moneys. There is two thousand of Grizel M'Whirter's fortune still to uplift--your stock in trade is to be disposed of--I will manage it beautifully for you, and, in spite of an outlawry, get the proceeds sent to you wheresoever you go."

"Dreadful relief!" ejaculated the other, "to fly one's country, and leave one's affairs in the hands of an attorney!"

"Better than banishment," replied Sharp, grinding his teeth as if sharp set for the quarry that lay before him. "What do you resolve on? Shall I write out the power of attorney, or will you wait till the officers are on you?" muttering to himself, in conclusion, "A few six-and-eight-pences! I'faith I have him now!"

"Then there is no alternative?" rejoined Samuel.

"None," replied Sharp. "I have it on good authority that the warrant against you was in the act of being written out, when I hurried here, as you find, to save you. Shall I prepare the commission?"

"Yes, yes! as quick as an ellwand that leaps three inches short of the yard."

And, while he continued in this extremity of his despair, Sharp set about writing out the factory--short and general--giving all powers of uplifting money, and reserving none. It was signed. In a few minutes more, Mr Thriven was in a post-chaise, driving on to a seaport in England. The news of the flight of the honest merchant, with all the circumstances, soon reached the ear of the devout spinster, even as she was weeping over the result of the interview she had had with her cruel lover. She wiped her eyes and repressed her sobs, and congratulated herself on the consequences of her devout labours. Mr Thriven was not heard of again; neither was his cash.

THE MAN-OF-WAR'S MAN.

In the calm clear evenings of June and July, when the heat of the day has been abated, it has been my custom to walk forth to brace my nerves after the cares and fatigues of the day. Pent up for these thirty years in one of the dingy shops of the Luckenbooths, I have toiled to gain wealth enough to enable me to exchange the chimes of St Giles' bells for the singing of the larks; but, alas! I fear my ears will be too hard, and my eyes too dim, ere that time come when I may seek to enjoy the melody of the songsters, or the verdure of their habitations. Gradually already have they been becoming less cheering to me than they were in those young sunny days of my apprenticeship, when I used to sally forth as soon as I had given the keys to my master. I have still, however, the impressions of memory; and this summer they are as vivid as when they were real perceptions. While sitting at my desk, I wander, in fond recollection, around Arthur Seat, and fondly think that such evenings in June may be yet for me as I have enjoyed them. Such is the folly of men of business. From the month I commenced for myself, the lark has been singing less sweetly, and my loved haunts have been becoming less and less engaging. Have the vocalists of these times degenerated, and the fields become aged? The change cannot be in me; I am still in my vigour, and a bachelor. Fifty-two is not an old man--so spoke the heart's wishes--yet this fact is otherwise. Since that period when I took the cares of the world upon my own shoulders, I have, in general, been lost to everything else around me. The incubus of the counter and desk mounts upon my shoulders, and whispers in my ears of bills and debts unpaid, or to pay; and immediately, in place of the visions of my youth, ledgers and slips of paper, spangled with columns of figures, occupy what were once the sad recesses of love. Thus hag-ridden, yet still in search of happiness, have I stalked over the loveliest of the lovely scenes that abound around Edinburgh, almost unconscious of where I have been. And what has been the reward of all my cares? I have accumulated three thousand pounds, and some properties that yield what some would call good interest; and the making of this has been the unmaking of the sensibilities of enjoyment, without which it is nothing.

Such were my reflections before I had reached the last stile next to Samson's Ribs. Early visions of Duddingston Loch had haunted me through the day; and hence I had sought again the scene that so sweetly combines the Alpine and champaign, as if they here met to embrace. I had passed up through the valley between the Craigs and Arthur Seat, and continued sauntering along the narrow road, like one cast forth by all the world, gloomy and dissatisfied--my head leaning forward, my eyes fixed vacantly upon the ground, and my hands at my back. Some maidens and their swains were dancing beneath at the Wells of Weary,[3] to the measure of their own "wood-notes wild." My heart was touched almost to tears. The demon that drove enjoyment from my walks fled, and a flood of tender recollections flowed in upon it. On that verdant spot, thirty-two years before, I had been as happy and as joyous as the group before me, dancing to the same heart-stirring air, with one I had loved with all the fervour of a youthful heart, until the chilling influence of what the world calls prudence damped my flame, but could not extinguish it. She was now the dispenser of happiness and comfort to another, and the mother of a lovely family--not so rich in what the world calls wealth; how much richer was she in peace and joy! I had for years kept her heart in suspense, until it sickened at my undecided courtship and shuffling delays. I know she loved me better than all the world beside, and would have consented to be mine, whatever had been my lot--faithful and kind to me, also a soother of my soul, in all conditions, she would have been. To riches I had sacrificed her and myself. Alas! I found now their heart-searing consolations. Again and again have I striven to persuade myself that I acted wisely in delaying our union. I at the time even took praise for vanquishing the warmth of my love, that we might feel less the delay. Alas! I knew not woman's heart. My coolness pained and piqued her; and while I was all-intent upon acquiring wealth which she was to enjoy with me, another was warming that heart which I had chilled. She was wed unknown to me. I met the marriage party in the church. What would I have given, to have been able to roll back the wheels of Time, and throw upon them all my hopes of wealth, with the curse which they deserved.

[Footnote 3: The Wells of Weary are now numbered with the things that were. The terminus of the Dalkeith and Edinburgh Railway tunnel, at the eastern end, has swept them away. They were the favourite resort, in the olden time, of the love-sick swains and maidens of the city. Many a soft tale of love was breathed there. It was a wild, sequestered spot--in our recollection like an oasis in a desert, rendered lovely by the neighbouring stillness and desolation.]

In this reverie I stumbled upon an artist. He was drawing the scene of my dreams. A few words passed. He resumed; and I gazed upon the happy group which he was ably sketching, till early recollections raised a sigh almost amounting to a groan. The stranger started, and inquired if I was unwell. The sincere and sympathising tone of his voice interested me, and I requested to have the pleasure of looking at his sketch.

"You are most welcome," he replied: "but it is a mere scratch. I will be enabled to do much better soon. I mean it for the foreground of a picture I am painting, sir. I am one of the most fortunate fellows in the world; I always get what I wish just at the moment I want it, or at least soon after it."

This speech struck me as a most singular one from the person who made it. He was apparently about thirty years of age, with an open, generous countenance, which, though not handsome, exhibited the glance of the eye and lofty brow that spoke intellect and feeling.

"I am no judge of painting or drawing further than of what gives me pleasure," said I; and I looked upon his sketch with a melancholy delight; for he had drawn the group as they really were--true to nature--and fancy enabled me to see, in one of the females, her I had lost. I spoke my praise in the warmth of my feelings; for I again enjoyed the scene so much, that it conquered my love of money, and I at once, and for the first time in my life, resolved to purchase a picture.

I looked from the sketch to the artist, to examine the man I was to deal with, that I might judge how to make my bargain; for, strong as my inclination was to have the picture, my mercantile habits were equally strong. His dress was much the worse for the service it had seen; and there was an appearance of penury about him that made me anticipate a good bargain.

"Do you paint for amusement only," said I, "or do you dispose of them?"

"I paint for fame and fortune, my good sir," said he; "but I am yet only a novice in the noble art, however long I may have been an admirer."

"Is your present work bespoke?" again said I.

"Oh no, sir," replied he; "but I will soon get it off my hands when it is finished; for I am, as I told you, a fortunate man."

"How much do you expect for it?"

"If I had as much money as purchase a frame for it," said he, "I might get five pounds; but, as that is not the case, I must take what I can get from a dealer--perhaps a pound, or less."

For the first time for many years, I felt the generous glow of doing good to a fellow-creature at the expense of my cash; but, if the truth will be told, it was the recollection of the good and gentle Helen that at this moment operated upon me.

"Well, sir, if you will sell me this sketch and the finished picture for two pounds, I will be the purchaser," said I.

"I accept your offer," was his reply, "and I feel grateful for your patronage, as I am yet unknown; but I feel confident I shall succeed at length in this my present aim at fame and fortune. The goddess has eluded me often, doubtless even when I was sure I held her in my grasp. But that is nothing. I was happy, as I am at present, in the pursuit; for all my life has been a series of anticipations supremely happy."