Chapter V: Part 5

Octave Feuillet, born at Saint Lô, in France, on August 11,
1821, was the son of a Norman gentleman who regarded
literature as an ignoble profession. When Octave ran away to
Paris in order to pursue a literary career, his father refused
to help him, and for some years the young writer had a very
hard struggle. But on taking to novel-writing, Feuillet
quickly acquired fame and fortune. His "Romance of a Poor
Young Man" ("Le Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre"), which
appeared in 1858, made him the most popular author of the day.
Standing midway between the novelists of the romantic school
and the writers of the realistic movement, he combined a sense
of the poetry of life with a gift for analysing the finer
shades of feeling. The plot of the "Romance of a Poor Young
Man" is certainly extraordinary; but in the present case some
allowance must be made for the fact that the hero is induced
to accept the humble position in which he finds himself by his
old family lawyer, who secretly designs to marry him to the
daughter of his new employers. A scheme of this sort would not
Strike a French reader as improbable, for marriage in France
is often more a business arrangement than a love affair.
Feuillet spent the latter part of his life in retirement, and
died on December 29, 1890.

_I.--A Nobleman in Difficulties_

Here I am, then, in the situation that Lawyer Laubépin obtained for me. I am alone at last, thank goodness, sitting in a gloomy room in this old Breton castle, in which the former steward to the Laroque family used to live. My position is certainly very strange, but as Laubépin was discreet, and did not tell his clients that he was sending them a new steward in the person of the young Marquis of Champcey, perhaps I shall not find my post very difficult. I was afraid that the Laroques were a family of the vulgarly rich sort, like the dreadful persons who have bought my father's lands. Laroque is a picturesque figure in his old age, and though his widowed daughter-in-law is rather more commonplace, his grand-daughter, Marguerite Laroque, is a nobly beautiful girl.

If it were not for my accursed pride, I should now feel happier than I have ever felt since that day of disaster, misery, and shame when Laubépin told me that my poor dead father had lost his fortune in speculations, and left nothing but his title and his debts. Well, I have paid the debts, and if I can now only earn enough money to keep my little sister Hélène at school, I shall not grumble at my lot. I feel the loss of my friends, it is true. There is not a soul I can confide in, and I must find some outlet for the thoughts and feelings that oppress me; so I will keep this diary.

It will be at least a silent confidant, and perhaps when I am older I shall be able to read with a certain pleasurable interest its record of my singular adventures. No other man in France, on May 1, 1857, can have been transformed so suddenly, as by the wand of a witch, from a powerful and wealthy young nobleman of ancient lineage into a humble and despised domestic servant. Perhaps a good fairy will appear and restore me to my proper shape; but I wish she had appeared at dinner this evening. There were twenty guests, and it was the first time since the change of my fortunes that I took part in a society affair. Nobody spoke to me, except the pretty little governess of the family, Mlle. Hélouin; and we were placed at the end of the table. The position of honour was given to a young and brilliant nobleman, M. de Bévallan, whose estate joined that of the Laroque family. I gathered from Mlle. Hélouin that it was his ambition to unite the two estates by marrying Mlle. Marguerite Laroque. I was, therefore, surprised when the lovely heiress led her grandfather into the room when everybody was seated, placed him in a chair by Bévallan, and came and sat by my side.

"She can't," I thought to myself, "be much in love with her wooer," and I began to study her with a certain curiosity. Her fine, clear-cut features and large dark eyes attracted me; and by way of opening the conversation I spoke of the wildly beautiful scenery through which I had passed on my way to the castle. It was a bad beginning.

"I see," she said, with a singular expression of irony, "that you are a poet. You must talk about the forests and moorlands with Mlle. Hélouin, who also adores these things. For my part I do not love them."

"What is it, then, that you really love?" I said.

She gave me a supercilious look and said, in a hard voice, "Nothing, sir."

I must confess I was hurt. I could not see that I had done anything to lay myself open to so harsh an answer. No doubt I was only a servant. But why had she come and sat beside me if she did not want to talk? I was glad when the dinner was over and we went into the drawing-room. Madame Laroque, the widowed mother of Marguerite, began to ask M. Bévallan about the new opera in Paris; he was unable to reply, so, as I had seen the work in Italy before it was produced in France, I gave her a description of it. I am afraid I forgot myself with Madame Laroque--a fine-looking, cultivated woman of forty years of age. Flattered by the way in which she treated me entirely as her equal, I insensibly glided from theatrical topics to fashionable gossip, and just stopped in time in an anecdote about my tour in Russia. A few more words and she would have learnt that her humble steward, Maxime Odiot--as I am now called-- was a man with very aristocratic connections.

In order to hide my embarrassment, I moved towards the table where some of the guests were playing whist. This led to my committing a blunder which, I fear, may make my position a difficult one. Among the whist- players was a Mlle. de Porhoet-Gael, eighty-eight years of age and full of strange crotchets. The last descendant of the noblest of Breton families, she lived, so Madame Laroque told me, on an income of forty pounds a year, her fortune having been spent in vainly fighting for the succession to a great estate in Spain. She was talking about it to her partner when I came up.

"The estate belongs to me," she was saying. "My father told me so a hundred times, and the persons who are trying to take it from me have no more connection with my family than this handsome young gentleman has."

And she designated me with a look and a movement of her head. No doubt she did not mean to imply that because I was a steward I was of mean birth; but I was stung by her remark, and forgetting myself, I replied rather sharply, "You are mistaken, madam, in thinking that I am unrelated to your family."

"You will have to prove that to me, young man."

Confused and ashamed, I withdrew into the corner and tried to talk to Mlle. Hélouin about poetry and art, but at last, upset and distracted, I arose and walked out of the room. Mlle. de Porhoet followed me.

"Monsieur Odiot," she said, "would you mind seeing me home? My servant has not arrived, and I am growing too feeble now to walk without help."

Naturally, I went with her.

"What did you mean," she said, as we walked on together, "by claiming to be a relation of mine?"

"I hope," I replied very humbly, "that you will pardon a jest that--"

"A jest!" she interrupted. "Is a matter touching my honour a jest? I see; a remark which would be an insult if addressed to a man becomes only a jest when it is levelled at an old, unprotected woman."

After that, nothing was left to me, as a man of honour, but to entrust her with my secret. There had been several marriages between our families, and after listening with great interest to the story of my troubles, she became wonderfully kind in her manner to me.

"You must come and see me to-morrow, cousin," she said, when we parted. "My law-suit is going very badly and I should like you to go through all my papers, and see if you can discover any new documents in support of my claim. Do not despair, my dear, over your own misfortunes. I think I shall be able to help you."

_II.--Love and Jealousy_

I am afraid I lack the industry necessary for keeping a diary. It is now two months since I wrote the last entry. If I had made every night a brief note of the events of the day, I should now have a better view of my position. Has Mlle. de Porhoet betrayed my secret? There has certainly been a curious change in my relations with the Laroques. I fancy it began on the day when Marguerite and I met at last on an equal footing at Mlle. de Porhoet's house. The document which I had just then found may not be as important as we thought, but our common joy in what we considered was a discovery of tremendous value brought us closer together.

But I cannot understand Marguerite. Sometimes she still goes out of her way to be insulting towards me, and sometimes she treats me with a sweet frankness which has something sisterly in it. One day, for instance, she came to my window and asked me if I would go for a walk with her. "Bring your sketch-book, Monsieur Odiot," she called out gaily, "and I will take you to Merlin's Tomb in the Enchanted Valley."

As a matter of fact, the woods around the castle of the Laroques were the remains of the famous forest of Broceliande, and I had always been promising myself a long ramble through this region of romance, but I had never found time to explore it. I was now glad I had waited, for Marguerite was a charming guide. Never had I seen her so light-hearted. When we reached a great block of stone in the depth of the wood, under which the wizard Merlin is said to be imprisoned by Vivien, Marguerite made herself a garland of oak-leaves, and standing like a lovely priestess clad all in white against the Druidic monument, she asked me to make a sketch of her. With what joy did I paint the poetic vision before me! I think she was pleased with the drawing, but on our way back to the castle a foolish word of mine brought our friendship to an end. We came to a picturesque little lake, at the end of which was a waterfall, overgrown with brambles. In order to show what a good swimmer her dog was, Marguerite threw something in the current and told him to fetch it, but he got carried over the waterfall and caught in the whirlpool below.

"Come away! He is drowning--come away! I can't bear to see it!" cried Marguerite, seizing me by the arm. "No, do not attempt to save him. The pool is very dangerous."

I am a good swimmer, however, and with a little trouble I managed to rescue the dog.

"What madness!" she murmured. "You might have been drowned, and just for a dog!"

"It was yours," I answered in a low voice.

Her manner at once changed.

"You had better run home, Monsieur Odiot," she said very coldly, "or you will get a chill. Do not wait for me."

So I returned alone, and for some days Marguerite never spoke a word to me. What was still worse, M. Bévallan appeared at the castle, and she went for walks with him, leaving me in the company of Mlle. Hélouin. I am afraid that I became very friendly with the pretty governess. Nothing, however, that I ever said to her, or that she said to me, prepared me for the strange scene that happened to-night. As I was walking along the terrace, she came up and took my arm, and said, "Are you really my friend, Maxime?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then tell me the truth," she exclaimed. "Do you love me, or do you love Mademoiselle Marguerite?"

"Why do you bring in her name?" I said.

"Ah, you love her!" she cried fiercely; "or, rather, you love her fortune. But you shall never have it, Monsieur de Champcey. I know why you came here under a false name, and so shall she."

With a movement of anger she departed. I cannot continue here under suspicion of being a fortune-hunter, so I have written to Laubépin to obtain another situation for me.

_III.--Two on a Tower_

It is all over. Was it because she still only half believed the slanders spread against me that Marguerite again asked me to go for a walk with her? Oh, what an unfortunate wretch I am! We rode through the forest together to one of the most magnificent monuments in Brittany, the Castle of Elven. Finding the door unlocked, we tethered our horses in the deserted courtyard, and climbed up the narrow, winding staircase to the battlements. The sea of autumnal foliage below was bathed in the light of the setting sun, and for a long time we sat side by side in silence, gazing at the infinite distances.

"Come!" she said at last, in a low whisper, as the light died out of the sky. "It is finished!"

But on descending the dark staircase we found that the door of the keep was locked. No doubt the shepherd boy who looked after the castle had come and shut up the place while we were sitting, watching the sunset.

"Monsieur de Champcey," she said, in a cold, hard voice, "were there any scoundrels in your family before you?"

"Marguerite!" I cried.

"You paid that boy to lock us in," she exclaimed. "You think you will force me to marry you by compromising me in this manner. Do you think you will win my hand--and, what is more important to you still, my wretched wealth--by this trick? Rather than marry a scoundrel like you, I will shut myself up in a convent!"

Carried away by my feelings, I seized her two hands, and said, "Now listen, Marguerite. I love you, it is true. Never did man love more devotedly, yes, and more disinterestedly, than I do. But I swear that if I get out of this place alive I will never marry you until you are as poor as I am, or I as rich as you are. If you love me, as I think you do, fall on your knees and pray, for unless a miracle happens you will never see me again alive."

But a miracle did happen. I threw myself out of the window, and fell upon a branch of an oak-tree. It bent beneath my weight, and then broke; but it came so near the earth before breaking that if my left arm had not struck against the masonry I should have escaped uninjured. As it was, my arm was smashed, and I swooned away with the pain. When I came to, Marguerite was leaning out of the window, calling, "Maxime, speak to me! For the love of heaven, speak to me, and say you pardon me!"

I arose, saying, "I am not hurt. If you will only wait another hour, I will go home and get some one to let you out. Believe me, I will save your honour as I have saved my own."

Binding up my arm, I got on my horse, and galloped back to Laroque Castle. On the way I met Bévallan.

"Have you seen Mlle. Marguerite?" he said. "We are afraid she has got lost."

"I met her this afternoon," I replied. "She told me she was going for a ride to Elven Castle."

He rode off in the direction from which I had come, and when I returned from the doctor with my broken arm set and bandaged, Marguerite and Bévallan entered.

Hearing that I had had an accident, Madame Laroque came up late to-night to see me. Old Laroque has had a stroke of paralysis, she tells me, and she wishes to get the marriage contract between her daughter and Bévallan signed to-morrow. Laubépin is bringing the document.

_IV.---A Test Case_

I don't know why I take the trouble to go on with this diary, but having begun it I may as well finish it. Laubépin wanted me to go into the drawing-room to witness the signing of the marriage contract, but happily I was too ill to leave my bed; not only was my arm very painful, but I was suffering from the shock of the fall. What an hour of misery I passed before Mlle. de Porhoet-Gael appeared with the news of what had happened! Her sweet, kind old eyes were bright with joy.

"It is all over," she said. "Bévallan has gone, and young Hélouin has also been turned out of the house."

I started up with surprise.

"Yes," she continued, with a smile, "the contract has not been signed. Our friend Laubépin drew it up in such a way that the husband was not able to touch a penny of the wife's money. M. Bévallan objected to this; while he and his lawyer were arguing the matter with Laubépin, Marguerite rose up.

"'Throw the contract in the fire,' she said, 'and, mother, give this gentleman back the presents he sent to me.'

"Laubépin threw the deed in the flames, and Marguerite and her mother walked out of the room.

"'What is the meaning of this?' cried Bévallan.

"'I will tell you,' I answered. 'A certain young lady was afraid that you were merely a fortune-hunter. She wanted to be certain of it, and now she is so.'

"Thereupon I, too, left the room.

"But what is the matter with you, my dear boy? You are as pale as a corpse."

The fact was that the unexpected news aroused in me such a mixture of joyful and painful feelings that I fell back in a swoon. When I recovered, dear old Laubépin was standing by my bed.

"Will you not confide in me, my boy?" he said rather sadly. "Something, I can see, has happened which has made you miserable on the very day on which you should be full of joy. What is it?"

Moved by his sympathy, I gave him this diary to read, and poured out my very soul to him.

"It is useless for me," he said at last, "to conceal from you the fact that I sent you here with the design to marry you to Marguerite. Everything at first went as well as I could wish, and Madame Laroque was delighted with the match. You and Marguerite were made for each other, and you fell in love almost at first sight. But this affair at the Castle of Elven is something I had not reckoned on. To leap out of the window at the risk of breaking your neck was, my romantic young friend, a sufficient demonstration of your disinterestedness. You need not have taken a solemn oath never to marry Marguerite until you were as rich as she is. What can you do now? You cannot forswear yourself, and you cannot suddenly make an immense fortune."

"I must depart with you," I said very sorrowfully. "There is no other way."

"No, Maxime," he replied, "you are too unwell to move. Remain here for one month longer; then, if you do not hear from me, return to Paris."

It is now a week since he left me, and I have seen no one for the last seven days but the servant who waits upon me. He tells me that Laroque has died, and that Marguerite and her mother, who have been tending him night and day, have worn themselves out, and are now laid up with some sort of fever. Mlle. de Porhoet is also very ill, and not expected to live. Since I am well enough to walk over to Mlle. de Porhoet. I am told that she keeps asking to see me.

_V.--Two in a Garden_

The little maid who came to open the door was weeping, and as I came in I was surprised to hear the voice of Laubépin.

"It is Maxime, Marguerite," he said.

Had Marguerite also risen up from a bed of sickness to see Mlle. de Porhoet? I sprang up the stairs, and entered the room.

"My poor, dear boy!" said Mlle. de Porhoet, in a strange, broken voice.

She was lying in bed. Laubépin, a priest, and a doctor were standing on one side, and Marguerite and her mother were kneeling down in prayer on the other. I saw at once that she was at the point of death, and knelt down beside Marguerite. The poor dying woman smiled faintly, and groped for my hand and put it in Marguerite's, and then fell back on the pillow. She was dead.

Laubépin led me out of the room, and put a document in my hand. It was a will, and the ink on it was hardly dry. Mlle. de Porhoet had made me her heir.

"How good of her!" I said to Laubépin. "I shall treasure her testament as a mark of her love for me. I will settle her little estate on my sister. It will at least keep Hélène from having to go out into the world as a governess."

"And it will keep you, my friend, from having to go out into the world as a steward," said Laubépin, with a smile. "Don't you remember that document about the Spanish succession which you discovered and sent to me? We have won the law-suit, and you are the heir to an estate in Spain which will make you one of the richest men in France."

I went into the garden to think over my strange fortune. How long I sat there in the darkness I do not know. On rising up, I heard a faint sound beneath one of the trees, and a beloved form emerged from the foliage, and stood against the starry sky.

"Marguerite!" I cried, running up to her with outstretched arm.

She murmured my name, and as I clasped her her lips sought mine, and we poured our souls out in a kiss.

* * * * *

I have given Hélène half of my fortune. Marguerite is my wife, and I close these pages for ever, having nothing more to confide to them. It can be said of men, as it has been said of nations, "Happy are those that have no story."

* * * * *

HENRY FIELDING

Amelia

Henry Fielding was born at Sharpham Park, near Glastonbury,
England, April 12, 1707. His father, a grandson of the Earl of
Desmond, and great-grandson of the first Earl of Denbigh,
settled in England shortly after the battle of Ramillies as a
country squire. In due course, Fielding was sent to Eton, and
afterwards to Leyden, where he remained for two years studying
civil law. Financial difficulties, however, put a temporary
end to his intention of entering the Bar, and in 1727 he
solved the problem of a career by beginning to write for the
stage. During the next nine years some eighteen of his plays
were produced. In 1748 he was appointed a justice of peace for
Westminster, and his writings on police and crime are of
interest to this day. "Amelia" was published in 1751, when its
author was a magistrate at Bow Street. In a dedicatory letter,
Fielding explained that the book was "sincerely designed to
promote the cause of virtue, and to expose some of the most
glaring evils, as well public as private, which at present
infest the country." The licentiousness of wealthy "men about
town," the corruption of justice, the abuses of the prison
system, the lack of honour concerning marriage--these are some
of the "glaring evils" exposed with all the great novelist's
power in "Amelia." In the characters of Dr. Harrison and
Amelia herself, the virtuous man and woman are drawn so
clearly that they inevitably win the reader's sympathy.
"Amelia" does not equal the genius of "Tom Jones," but it is
remarkable for being so largely devoted to the adventures of a
married couple, instead of ending at marriage. Fielding died
on October 8, 1754.

_I.--The Inside of a Prison_

On the first of April, in the year--, the watchmen of a certain parish in Westminster brought several persons, whom they had apprehended the preceding night, before Jonathan Thrasher, Esq., one of the justices of the peace for that city.

Among the prisoners a young fellow, whose name was Booth, was charged with beating the watchman in the execution of his office, and breaking his lantern. The justice perceiving the criminal to be but shabbily dressed, was going to commit him without asking any further questions, but at the earnest request of the accused the worthy magistrate submitted to hear his defence.

The young man then alleged that as he was walking home to his lodgings he saw two men in the street cruelly beating a third, upon which he had stopped and endeavoured to assist the person who was so unequally attacked; that the watch came up during the affray, and took them all four into custody; that they were immediately carried to the round-house, where the two original assailants found means to make up the matter, and were discharged by the constable, a favour which he himself, having no money in his pocket, was unable to obtain. He utterly denied having assaulted any of the watchmen, and solemnly declared that he was offered his liberty at the price of half a crown.

Though the bare word of an offender can never be taken against the oath of his accuser, yet the magistrate might have employed some labour in cross-examining the watchman, or at least have given the defendant time to send for the other persons who were present at the affray; neither of which he did.

Booth and the poor man in whose defence he had been engaged were both dispatched to prison under a guard of watchmen.

Mr. Booth was no sooner arrived in the prison than a number of persons gathered around him, all demanding garnish. The master or keeper of the prison then acquainted him that it was the custom of the place for every prisoner, upon his first arrival there, to give something to the former prisoners to make them drink. This was what they called garnish. Mr. Booth answered that he would readily comply with this laudable custom, were it in his power; but that in reality he had not a shilling in his pocket, and, what was worse, he had not a shilling in the world. Upon which the keeper departed, and left poor Booth to the mercy of his companions, who, without loss of time, stripped him of his coat and hid it.

Mr. Booth was too weak to resist and too wise to complain of his usage. He summoned his philosophy to his assistance, and resolved to make himself as easy as possible under his present circumstances.

On the following day, Miss Matthews, an old acquaintance whom he had not seen for some years, was brought into the prison, and Booth was shortly afterwards invited to the room this lady had engaged. Miss Matthews, having told her story, requested Booth to do the same, and to this he acceded.

_II.--Captain Booth Tells His Story_

"From the first I was in love with Amelia; but my own fortune was so desperate, and hers was entirely dependent on her mother, a woman of violent passions, and very unlikely to consent to a match so highly contrary to the interest of her daughter, that I endeavoured to refrain from any proposal of love. I had nothing more than the poor provision of an ensign's commission to depend on, and the thought of leaving my Amelia to starve alone, deprived of her mother's help, was intolerable to me.

"In spite of this I could not keep from telling Amelia the state of my heart, and I soon found all that return of my affection which the tenderest lover can require. Against the opposition of Amelia's mother, Mrs. Harris, to our engagement, we had the support of that good man, Dr. Harrison, the rector; and at last Mrs. Harris yielded to the doctor, and we were married. There was an agreement that I should settle all my Amelia's fortune on her, except a certain sum, which was to be laid out in my advancement in the army, and shortly afterwards I was preferred to the rank of a lieutenant in my regiment, and ordered to Gibraltar. I noticed that Amelia's sister, Miss Betty, who had said many ill-natured things of our marriage, now again became my friend.

"At the siege of Gibraltar I was very badly wounded, and in this situation the image of my Amelia haunted me day and night. Two months and more I continued in a state of uncertainty; when one afternoon poor Atkinson, my servant, came running to my room. I asked him what was the matter, when Amelia herself rushed into the room, and ran hastily to me. She gently chided me for concealing my illness from her, saying, 'Oh, Mr. Booth! And do you think so little of your Amelia as to think I could or would survive you?' Amelia then informed me that she had received a letter from an unknown hand, acquainting her with my misfortune, and advising her, if she desired to see me more, to come directly to Gibraltar.

"From the time of Amelia's arrival nothing remarkable happened till my perfect recovery; and then the siege being at an end, and Amelia being in some sort of fever, the governor gave me leave to attend my wife to Montpelier, the air of which was judged to be most likely to restore her to health.

"A fellow-officer, Captain James, willingly lent me money, and, after an ample recovery at Montpelier, and a stay in Paris, we returned to England. It was in Paris we received a long letter from Dr. Harrison, enclosing £100, and containing the news that Mrs. Harris was dead, and had left her whole fortune to Miss Betty. So now it was that I was a married man with children, and the half-pay of a lieutenant.

"Dr. Harrison, at whose rectory we were staying, came to our assistance. He asked me if I had any prospect of going again into the army; if not, what scheme of life I proposed to myself.

"I told him that as I had no powerful friends, I could have but little expectations in a military way; that I was incapable of thinking of any other scheme, for I was without the necessary knowledge or experience, and was likewise destitute of money to set up with.

"The doctor, after a little hesitation, said he had been thinking on this subject, and proposed to me to turn farmer. At the same time he offered to let me his parsonage, which was then become vacant; he said it was a farm which required but little stock, and that little should not be wanting.

"I embraced this offer very eagerly, and Amelia received the news with the highest transports of joy. Thus, you see me degraded from my former rank in life; no longer Captain Booth, but Farmer Booth.

"For a year all went well; love, health, and tranquillity filled our lives. Then a heavy blow befell us, and we were robbed of our dear friend the doctor, who was chosen to attend the young lord, the son of the patron of the living, in his travels as a tutor.

"By this means I was bereft not only of the best companion in the world, but of the best counsellor, and in consequence of this loss I fell into many errors.

"The first of these was in enlarging my business by adding a farm of one hundred a year to the parsonage, in renting which I had also as bad a bargain as the doctor had before given me a good one. The consequence of which was that whereas at the end of the first year I was £80 to the good, at the end of the second I was nearly £40 to the bad.

"A second folly I was guilty of was in uniting families with the curate of the parish, who had just married. We had not, however, lived one month together before I plainly perceived the curate's wife had taken a great prejudice against my wife, though my Amelia had treated her with nothing but kindness, and, with the mischievous nature of envy, spread dislike against us.

"My greatest folly, however, was the purchase of an old coach. The farmers and their wives considered that the setting up of a coach was the elevating ourselves above them, and immediately began to declare war against us. The neighbouring little squires, too, were uneasy to see a poor renter become their equal in a matter in which they placed so much dignity, and began to hate me likewise.

"My neighbours now began to conspire against me. Whatever I bought, I was sure to buy dearer, and when I sold, I was obliged to sell cheaper than any other. In fact, they were all united; and while they every day committed trespasses on my lands with impunity, if any of my cattle escaped into their fields I was either forced to enter into a law-suit or to make amends for the damage sustained.

"The consequence of all this could be no other than ruin. Before the end of four years I became involved in debt to the extent of £300. My landlord seized my stock for rent, and, to avoid immediate confinement in prison, I was forced to leave the country.

"In this condition I arrived in town a week ago. I had just taken a lodging, and had written my dear Amelia word where she might find me; and that very evening, as I was returning from a coffee-house, because I endeavoured to assist the injured party in an affray, I was seized by the watch and committed here by a justice of the peace."

_III.--Amelia in London_

Miss Matthews, being greatly drawn to Captain Booth, procured his discharge by the expenditure of £20, and obtained her own release at the same time.

Amelia arrived in London to receive her husband in her arms. "For," said she, "your confinement was known all over the county, my sister having spread the news with a malicious joy; and so, not hearing from you, I hastened to town with our children."

Poor Booth, in spite of his release, was very cast down. Seeing tears in his eyes at the sight of his children, Amelia, embracing him with rapturous fondness, cried out, "My dear Billy, let nothing make you uneasy. Heaven will provide for us and these poor babes. Great fortunes are not necessary to happiness. Make yourself easy, my dear love, for you have a wife who will think herself happy with you, and endeavour to make you so, in any situation. Fear nothing, Billy; industry will always provide us a wholesome meal."

Booth, who was naturally of a sanguine temper, took the cue she had given him, but he could not help reproaching himself as the cause of all her wretchedness. This it was that enervated his heart and threw him into agonies, which all that profusion of heroic tenderness that the most excellent of women intended for his comfort served only to heighten and aggravate: as the more she rose in his admiration, the more she quickened the sense of his unworthiness.

His affairs did not prosper; in vain he solicited a commission in the army. With no great man to back him, and with his friend, Captain James (now a colonel, and in London), too taken up with his own affairs to exert any influence on behalf of Booth, it seemed as though no escape from misery was possible. The beautiful Amelia, always patient and cheerful, remained his comforter. And Atkinson, now a sergeant in the guards, was the devoted servant of both Amelia and her husband.

Then one morning, when Amelia was out, Booth was arrested for debt and carried to the bailiff's house in Gray's Inn Lane.

"Who has done this barbarous action?" cries Amelia, when the news is told her by Sergeant Atkinson.

"One I am ashamed to name," cries the sergeant; "indeed, I had always a very different opinion of him; but Dr. Harrison is the man who has done the deed."

"Dr. Harrison!" cries Amelia. "Well, then, there is an end of all goodness in the world. I will never have a good opinion of any human being more!"

The fact was that while the doctor was abroad he had received from the curate, and from a gentleman of the neighbourhood, accounts of Booth's doings very much to his disadvantage. On his return to the parish these accusations were confirmed by many witnesses, and the whole neighbourhood rang with several gross and scandalous lies, which were merely the inventions of Booth's enemies. Poisoned with all this malice, the doctor came to London, and calling at Booth's lodgings, when both the captain and Amelia were out, learnt from the servant-maid that the children had got a gold watch and several fine trinkets. These presents, indeed, had come from a certain noble lord, who hoped by these means to win Amelia's affection; but no suspicion of his evil desire had entered the innocent mind of Amelia.

The doctor had no doubt that these trinkets had been purchased by Amelia; and this account tallied so well with the ideas he had imbibed of Booth's extravagance in the country, that he firmly believed both the husband and wife to be the vainest, silliest and most unjust people alive.

But no sooner did the doctor hear that Booth was arrested than the wretched condition of his wife and children began to affect his mind. In this temper of mind he resolved to pay Amelia a second visit, and was on his way thither when Sergeant Atkinson met him, and made himself known to him.

The doctor received from Atkinson such an account of Booth and his family that he hastened at once to Amelia, and soon became satisfied concerning the trinkets which had given him so much uneasiness. Amelia likewise gave the doctor some satisfaction as to what he had heard of her husband's behaviour In the country, and assured him, upon her honour, that Booth could answer every complaint against his conduct, so that the doctor would find him an innocent, unfortunate man, the object of a good man's compassion, not of his anger or resentment.

This worthy clergyman, who was not desirous of finding proofs to condemn the captain, rejoiced heartily in every piece of evidence which tended to clear up the character of his friend, and gave a ready ear to all which Amelia said.

Induced, indeed, by the love he always had for that lady, whom he was wont to call his daughter, as well as by pity for her present condition, the doctor immediately endeavoured to comfort the afflicted, and then proceeded to accomplish the captain's release.

"So, captain," says the doctor, on arrival at the bailiff's house, "when last we met I believe that we neither of us expected to meet in such a place as this."

"Indeed, doctor," cries Booth, "I did not expect to have been sent hither by the gentleman who did me this favour."

"How so, sir!" said the doctor. "You were sent hither by some person, I suppose, to whom you were indebted. But you ought to be more surprised that the gentleman who sent you thither is come to release you."

_IV.--Fortune Smiles on Amelia_

Booth was again arrested some months later, and lodged in the bailiff's house. This time his creditor was a Captain Trent, who had lent him money, and promised him assistance in getting returned to the army. In reality, Trent was only seeking to ingratiate himself with Amelia, and meeting with no encouragement, took his revenge accordingly.

Amelia at once sought out Dr. Harrison, and told him what had occurred to her husband; and the doctor set forwards to the bailiff's to see what he could do for Booth.

The doctor had not got so much money in town as Booth's debt amounted to, and therefore he was forced to give bail to the action.

While the necessary forms were being made out, the bailiff, addressing himself to the doctor, said, "Sir, there is a man above in a dying condition that desires the favour of speaking to you. I believe he wants you to pray by him."

Without making any further inquiry, the doctor immediately went upstairs.

The sick man mentioned his name, and explained that he lived for many years in the town where the doctor resided, and that he used to write for the attorneys in those parts. He was anxious, he said, as he hoped for forgiveness, to make all the amends he could to some one he had injured, and to undo, if possible, the injury he had done.

The doctor commended this as a sincere repentance.

"You know, good doctor," the sick man resumed, "that Mrs. Harris, of our town, had two daughters--one now Mrs. Booth, and another. Before Mrs. Harris died, she made a will, and left all her fortune, except £1,000, to Mrs. Booth, to which will Mr. Murphy, the lawyer, myself, and another were witnesses. Mrs. Harris afterwards died suddenly, upon which it was contrived, by her other daughter and Mr. Murphy, to make a new will, in which Mrs. Booth had a legacy of £10, and all the rest was given to the other."

"Good heaven, how wonderful is thy providence!" cries the doctor. "Murphy, say you? Why, this Murphy is still my attorney."

Within a short time Murphy was arrested, and the sick man's depositions taken. Booth was released on the doctor's bail, and on the following morning Amelia learnt of the change in fortune that had befallen them.

Dr. Harrison himself broke the good news by reading the following paragraph from the newspaper.

"Yesterday, one Murphy, an eminent attorney-at-law, was committed to Newgate for the forgery of a will, under which an estate has been for many years detained from the right owner."

"Now," said the doctor, "in this paragraph there is something very remarkable, and that is that it is true. But now let us read the following note upon the words 'right owner.' 'The right owner of this estate is a young lady of the highest merit, whose maiden name was Harris, and who some time since was married to an idle fellow, one Lieutenant Booth; and the best historians assure us that letters from the elder sister of this lady, which manifestly prove the forgery and clear up the whole affair, are in the hands of an old parson, called Dr. Harrison.'"

"And is this really true?" cries Amelia.

"Yes, really and sincerely," cries the doctor, "the whole estate--for your mother left it you all; and it is as surely yours as if you were already in possession."

"Gracious heaven!" cries she, falling on her knees, "I thank you!" And then, starting up, she ran to her husband, and embracing him, cried, "My dear love, I wish you joy! It is upon yours and my children's account that I principally rejoice."

She then desired her children to be brought to her, whom she immediately caught in her arms; and having profusely cried over them, soon regained her usual temper and complexion.

Miss Harris, having received a letter from Amelia, informing her of the discovery and the danger in which she stood, immediately set out for France, carrying with her all her money, most of her clothes, and some few jewels.

About a week afterwards, Booth and Amelia, with their children, and Atkinson and his wife, all set forward together for Amelia's house, where they arrived amidst the acclamations of all the neighbours, and every public demonstration of joy.

Miss Harris lived for three years with a broken heart at Boulogne, where she received annually £50 from her sister; and then died in a most miserable manner.

Dr. Harrison is grown old in years and in honour, beloved and respected by all his parishioners and neighbours.

As to Booth and Amelia, fortune seems to have made them large amends for the tricks she played them in their youth. They have continued to enjoy an uninterrupted course of health and happiness. In about six weeks after Booth's first coming into the country, he went to London and paid all his debts, after which, and a stay of two days only, he returned into the country, and has never since been thirty miles from home.

Amelia is still the finest woman in England of her age; Booth himself often avers she is as handsome as ever. Nothing can equal the serenity of their lives.

Amelia declared the other day that she did not remember to have seen her husband out of humour these ten years!

* * * * *

Jonathan Wild

"Jonathan Wild," published in 1743, is in many respects
Fielding's most powerful piece of satire, surpassed only,
perhaps, by Thackeray's "Barry Lyndon." It can hardly be
called a novel, and still less a serious biography, though it
is founded on the real history of a notorious highway robber
and thief. The author disclaimed in his preface any attempt on
his part at authentic history or faithful portraiture.
"Roguery, and not a rogue is my subject," he wrote; adding,
that the ideas of goodness and greatness are too often
confounded together. "A man may be great without being good,
or good without being great." The story of "Jonathan Wild" is
really a bitter, satirical attack on what Fielding called "the
greatness which is totally devoid of goodness." He avowed it
his intention "to expose the character of this bombast
greatness," and no one can deny the success of his
achievement. Surely no story was ever written under more
desperate circumstances. The evils of poverty, which at this
period were at their height, were aggravated by the serious
illness of his wife, and his own sufferings from attacks of
gout. These troubles and others may well increase our
admiration for the genius which, in the face of all
difficulties, is shown in "Jonathan Wild."

_I.--Mr. Wild's Early Exploits_

Mr. Jonathan Wild, who was descended from a long line of great men, was born in 1665. His father followed the fortunes of Mr. Snap, who enjoyed a reputable office under the sheriff of London and Middlesex; and his mother was the daughter of Scragg Hollow, Esq., of Hockley-in-the-Hole. He was scarce settled at school before he gave marks of his lofty and aspiring temper, and was regarded by his schoolfellows with that deference which men generally pay to those superior geniuses who will exact it of them. If an orchard was to be robbed, Wild was consulted; and though he was himself seldom concerned in the execution of the design, yet was he always concerter of it, and treasurer of the booty, some little part of which he would now and then, with wonderful generosity, bestow on those who took it. He was generally very secret on these occasions; but if any offered to plunder of his own head without acquainting Master Wild, and making a deposit of the booty, he was sure to have an information against him lodged with the schoolmaster, and to be severely punished for his pains.

At the age of seventeen his father brought the young gentleman to town, where he resided with him till he was of an age to travel.

Men of great genius as easily discover one another as Freemasons can. It was therefore no wonder that the Count la Ruse--who was confined in Mr. Snap's house until the day when he should appear in court to answer a certain creditor--soon conceived an inclination to an intimacy with our young hero, whose vast abilities could not be concealed from one of the count's discernment; for though the latter was exceedingly expert at his cards, he was no match for Master Wild, who never failed to send him away from the table with less in his pocket than he brought to it. With so much ingenuity, indeed, could our young hero extract a purse, that his hands made frequent visits to the count's pocket before the latter had entertained any suspicion of him. But one night, when Wild imagined the count asleep, he made so unguarded an attack upon him that the other caught him in the act. However, he did not think proper to acquaint him with the discovery he had made, but only took care for the future to button his pockets and to pack the cards with double industry.

In reality, this detection recommended these two prigs to each other, for a wise man--that is to say, a rogue--considers a trick in life as a gamester doth a trick at play. It sets him on his guard, but he admires the dexterity of him who plays it.

When our two friends met the next morning, the count began to bewail the misfortune of his captivity, and the backwardness of friends to assist each other in their necessities.

Wild told him that bribery was the surest means of procuring his escape, and advised him to apply to the maid, telling him at the same time that as he had no money he must make it up with promises, which he would know how to put off.

The maid only consented to leave the door open when Wild, depositing a guinea in the girl's hands, declared that he himself would swear that he saw the count descending from the window by a pair of sheets.

Thus did our young hero not only lend his rhetoric, which few people care to do without a fee, but his money too, to procure liberty for his friend. At the same time it would be highly derogatory from the great character of Wild should the reader not understand that this was done because our hero had some interested view in the count's enlargement.

Intimacy and friendship subsisted between the count and Mr. Wild, and the latter, now dressed in good clothes, was introduced into the best company. They constantly frequented the assemblies, auctions, gaming- tables, and play-houses, and Wild passed for a gentleman of great fortune.

It was then that an accident occurred that obliged Wild to go abroad for seven years to his majesty's plantations in America; and there are such various accounts, one of which only can be true, of this accident that we shall pass them all over. It is enough that Wild went abroad, and stayed seven years.

_II.--An Example of Wild's Greatness_

The count was one night very successful at the gaming-table, where Wild, who was just returned from his travels, was then present; as was likewise a young gentleman whose name was Bob Bagshot, an acquaintance of Mr. Wild's. Taking, therefore, Mr. Bagshot aside, he advised him to provide himself with a case of pistols, and to attack the count on his way home.

This was accordingly executed, and the count obliged to surrender to savage force what he had in so genteel a manner taken at play. As one misfortune never comes alone, the count had hardly passed the examination of Mr. Bagshot when he fell into the hands of Mr. Snap, who carried him to his house.

Mr. Wild and Mr. Bagshot went together to the tavern, where Mr. Bagshot offered to share the booty. Having divided the money into two unequal heaps, and added a golden snuffbox to the lesser heap, he desired Mr. Wild to take his choice.

Mr. Wild immediately conveyed the larger share of the ready into his pocket, according to an excellent maxim of his--"First secure what share you can before you wrangle for the rest"; and then, turning to his companion, he asked him whether he intended to keep all that sum himself. "I grant you took it," Wild said; "but, pray, who proposed or counselled the taking of it? Can you say that you have done more than execute my scheme? The ploughman, the shepherd, the weaver, the builder, and the soldier work not for themselves, but others; they are contented with a poor pittance--the labourer's hire--and permit us, the great, to enjoy the fruits of their labours. Why, then, should the state of a prig differ from all others? Or why should you, who are the labourer only, the executor of my scheme, expect a share in the profit? Be advised, therefore; deliver the whole booty to me, and trust to my bounty for your reward."

Mr. Bagshot not being minded to yield to these arguments, Wild adopted a fiercer tone, and the other was glad to let him borrow a part of his share. So that Wild got three-fourths of the whole before taking leave of his companion.