Newspaper Page Text
WJIIHM HfHMH am
TEiniS, $2,00 PRR ANNUM, IN ADVANCE.
i!)ri§iiinl
Kor (lie Southern Literary Gazette.
L<> V E.
! \TRA< T from an unpublished story.
I.
I. Lift. w , t- love’s sad limit,—did we hail
jiiu-cour in the luture—could we deem
I'li.it Ih-jx- were not immortal, and the wail
\\Yiv endless that deplores our baffled
dream.
The gay design of youth—the golden scheme
That makes the young heart tingle with de
light
Dow t-dious were our joys—how sad the
gleam,
Treacherous and lowly, of Love’s doubtful
bright,
An imp of malice born, that lures and leaves
in night.
11.
[j,,vv few of all who love can know reward !
The doubts, the cares of life—the sad mis
take
it phrenzied passions—feeling’s bann’d and
barr’d —
Hopes baffled, —truest heart’s that yet must
break,
Beneath those social forms which ever make
Slaves of their masters —these, and much be
side,
That doom us, uuforsaken to forsake,
jlav well persuade us to forswear our pride,
Turn hopeless from earth’s hopes, and pray for
happier guide.
111.
And Love that’s pure and holy can,in Heaven,
llupe only,—for it seldom finds below
\h, t altar for the flame, unwisely given,
Unless prepared in other realms to glow—
Realms of the happy, where sweet flowers
may blow’,
Unspotted by the budworm at their birth, —
Where,by unfailing instinct, love may know
Its fellow, nor deluded as on earth
Yield all its sacred faith to mate of little worth
IV.
Ah! think you of two young and yearning
hearts,
Long-loving but denied ; —one, lowly born
In peasant's shed, wdth genius that imparts
Pride to the humblest, and to home forlorn
Brings feelings that defies the petty scorn
Os social grandeur. He hath raised his eye
la worship—feels his heart by passions torn,
Yam-seeking one whom princely state lifts
high,
A creature doom’d at birth to soulless sover
eignity !
V.
She loves the homage that he brings—she
hears
His song with rapture—to his accent bends,
Wti.eh, at his parting, still employs her ears,
Her musings prompts, her solitude attends,
Most sweet of counsellors, most sure of
friends ;
Ah’ yet to be denied, when all is shown, —
Sundered by tyrant law that still offends
batust nature, from a tie the dearest knowm,
Heine doomed to longings vain, still hopeless,
still alone.
VI.
> ich are the two, that in our moonlight strain,
Commune for sorrow. Tenderly endow’d
Both hearts, and b eathing forth their passionate
pain
With little heed of censure from the crowd ;
No longer in her birth and station proud,
Th e queenly mistress of more hearts than his :
He claiming more than jealous eyes allowed )
Blind with the dreams of his deceitful bliss,
Ami reckless of the storm that threats his hap
piness.
VII.
■L. vainly would they tell us of the power,
Love holds o’er human heart, who never
knew
L fearful spells of his triumphant hour,
I he wild, blind fervor of his spirit, true.
But to one pule, as winds that never blew
lo oilier: —while, above him, shining lone,
Ihe single star implores him to pursue,—
Ail thought's o’erborne, all feelings merged in
one,
Le maddens as he flies, and maddening, flies
undone.
VIII.
I'. is not love that, idly, day by day
1 an string loose fancies in capricious mood,
1 orturing conceit, and with a wanton play,—
A pastime, not a passion, still pursued—
I lucks the gay idiot flowers that flaunt the
wood,
A I wah fantastic chaplet, strung at ease,
11 ' r floral knots, at noon day loves to brood ;
A tiispering loose carols to the vagrant breeze,
carving, labour dull, rude letters on the
trees. •
IV.
Rethinks the heart that truly wakes in love,
! no such vagrant fancy takes delight;
‘'Her laith his spirit fain would prove,
‘ n A nobler things are present to his sight.
kings that he strains for, though beyond his
height ;
*•’ ‘Bought from childish folly sets he free,
LtiOgs i t w j t i, worship to that altar bright,
“" I(: a something holy doth he see,
~lt teaches to his heart love’s pure divinity.
X.
“ his soul's first idol, and he dwells,
’ a'e er his place in common worldly ways,
\ 1 * rom all in spirit, ’neath the spells,
* But Wake his dream o’ nights, his thought
o’ days,
ac h its offering of devotion pays.
*****
■' lN Example for Lawyers.—Alex
-1 11 Hamilton was once applied to as
!i ''i by a man having the guardian-
i H, t several orphans, who would, on
v “ l] g of age, succeed to a large and
‘table estate, of which there was a
0i ‘ 1 ‘ial defect in the title-deeds, known
’ L> their guardian, who wanted to
” 1 title vested in himself. Hamil-
J, 11 down the faithless executor’s
t a e, hent, and then said to him—“Set
jj, i h these unhappy infants honour
, ’. v Bo the last cent, or I will hunt you
i vi, - Vour s kin like a hare.” The ad
’ Was strictly followed, and the man
1,1 gave it was an ornament to the
a| iand to the age he lived in.
a MMi mm. mem to umtmm, m ms m swam, m to emm whimis.
(T'ljc itorij iT'dftr.
From Chamber,* Edinburgh Journal.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A POLICE OFFICER.
THE WIDOW,
In the winter of 1833 I was hurried
ly, and, as 1 at the time could not help
thinking, precipitately despatched to
Guernsey, one of the largest of the
islands which dot the British Channel,
in quest of a gentleman of, till then,
high character on the Stock Exchange,
who, it was alleged, had absconded with
a very large sum of money intrusted
to him for investment by a Baronet of
considerable influence in official quar
ters. From certain circumstances, it
was surmised that Guernsey would be
his first hiding place, and I was obliged
to post all the way to Weymouth in
oder to save the mail packet, which
left that place on the Saturday evening,
or night rather, with the Channel-Island
mails. Mr. had gone, it was con
jectured, by way of Southampton. My
search, promptly and zealously as I was
aided by the Guernsey authorities,
proving vain, I determined on going on
to Jersey, when a letter arrived by post
informing me that the person of whom
1 was in pursuit had either not intended
to defraud his client, or that his heart
had failed him at the threshold of crime.
A few hours after 1 had left London he
had reappeared, it seems, in his count
ing-house, after having a few minutes
previously effected the investment of
the money in accordance with his
client's instructions, and was now,
through his attorney, threatening the
accuser and all his aiders and abettors
with the agreeable processes that in
England usually follow sharply at the
heels ot such rash and hasty proceed
ings.
My mission over, I proposed to re
trace my steps immediately ; hut un
fortunately found myself detained in
the island for nearly a week by the hur
ricane-weather which suddenly set in,
rendering it impossible for the mail or
other steam packets to cross the Chan
nel during its continuance. Time limp
ed slowly and heavily away ; and fre
quently, in my impatience to be gone,
1 walked down to the black pier, and
strained my eyes in the direction in
which the steamer from Jersey should
appear. Almost every time 1 did so l
encountered two persons, who, I could
see, were even more impatient to be
gone than myself, and probably. I
thought, with much more reason. They
were a widow lady, not certainly more
than thirty years of age, and her son,
a fine curly haired boy, about eight or
nine years old, whose natural lightheart
edness appeared to be checked, subdued,
by the deep grief and sadness which
trembled in his mother’s fine expres
sive eyes, and shrouded her pale but
handsome face. He held her by the
hand : often clasping it with both his
tiny ones, and looking up to her as she
turned despondingly away from the va
cant roadstead and raging waters, with
a half-frightened, half-wondering expres
sion, of anxious love, which would fre
quently cause his mother to bend down,
and hurriedly strive to kiss away the
sorrowful alarm depicted in the child’s
face. These two beings strangely in
terested me ; chiefly, perhaps, because,
in my compelled idleness, 1 had little
else except the obstinate and angry
weather to engage my attention or oc
cupy my thoughts. There was an un
mistakable air of “ better days” about
the widow—a grace of manner which
her somewhat faded and unseasonable
raiment rendered but the more striking
and apparent. Iler countenance, one
perceived at the first glance, was of re
markable comeliness; and upon one
occasion that I had an opportunity of
observing it, 1 was satisfied that, under
happier influences’ than now appeared
to overshadow her, those pale, inter
esting features would light up into beau
ty as brilliant as it was refined and in
tellectual.
This introduces another walking mys
tery, which, for want of something bet
ter to do, 1 was conjuring out of my
fellow watchers on the pier. He was
a stoutish, strongly-set man of forty
years of age, perhaps scarcely so much,
showily dressed in new glossy clothes;
French varnished boots, thin soled
enough, winter as it was, for a draw
ing-room ; hat of the latest gent fash
ion; a variegated satin cravat, fastened
by two enormous-headed gold pins,
connected with a chain, and a heavy
gold chain fastened from his watch
waistcoat-pocket over his neck. The
complexion of his face was a cadaverous
white, liberally sprinkled and relieved
with gin and brandy blossoms, whilst
the coarseness of his not over-clean
hands was with singular taste set off
and displayed by some half-dozen glit
tering rings. 1 felt a growing convic
tion, especially on noticing a sudden
change in the usual cunning, impudent,
leering expression of his eyes, as he
caught me looking at him with some
earnestness, that I had somewhere had
the hononr of a previous introduction
to him. That he had not been, lately
at all events, used to such resplendent
habiliments as he now sported, was
abundantly evident from his numerous
smirking self-surveys as he strutted
jauntily along, and frequent stoppings
before shops that, having mirrors in
their windows, afforded a more com
plete view of his charming person. —
This creature 1 was convinced was in
some way or other connected, or at any
rate acquainted with the young and
graceful widow. He was constantly
dogging her steps; and I noticed with
surprise and some little irritation, that
his vulgar bow was faintly returned by
the lady as they passed each other; and
that her recognition of him, slight and
distant as it was, was not unfrequently
accompanied by ablush, whether arising
from a pleasurable emotion or the re
verse I could not for some time deter
mine. There is a mystery about blushes,
I was, and am quite aware, not easily
penetrable, more especially about those
of widows. I was soon enlighted upon
that point. One day, when she hap-
pened to be standing alone upon the
pier—her little boy was gazing through
a telescope I had borrowed of the land
lord of the hotel where 1 lodged—he
approached, and before she was well
aware of his intention, took her hand,
uttering at the same time, it seemed,
some words of compliment. It was
then I observed her features literally
flash with a vividness of expression
which revealed a beauty I had not be
fore imagined she possessed. The fel
low absolutely recoiled before the con
centrated scorn which flushed her pale
features, and the indignant gesture with
which she withdrew her hand from the
contamination of his touch. As he
turned confusedly and hastily away,
his eyes encountered mine, and he mut
tered some unintelligible sentencs du
ring which the widow and her son left
the spot.
“ The lady,” said I, as soon as she
was out of hearing, “seems in a cold bit
ter humour this morning; not unlike
the weather.”
“ Yes, Mr. Wat I beg pardon,
Mr. What’s-your-name, I would say ?”
“ Waters, as 1 perceive you know
quite well. Mv recollection of you is
not so distinct. 1 have no remembrance
of the fashionable clothes and brilliant
jewelry, none whatever; hut the re
markable countenance I have seen.”
“1 dare say you have Waters,” he re
plied reassuming his insolent, swagger
ing air. “ 1 practice at the old Bailey;
and 1 have several times seen you there,
not, as now, in the masquerade of a gen
tleman, but with a number on your col
lar.”
1 was silly enough to fed annoyed
for a moment at the fellow’s stupid sar
casm, and turned angrily away.
“ There, don’t fly into a passion,”
continued he, with an exulting chuckle.
“ I have no wish to be ill friends with
so smart a hand as you are. What do
you say to a glass or two of wine, if
only to keep this confounded wind out
of our stomachs ? It’s cheap enough
here.”
1 hesitated a few seconds and then
said, “ 1 have no great objection ; but
first, whom have 1 the honour of ad
dressing ?”
“Mr. Gates. W illiam Gates, Esquire ,
attorney at-law.”
“Gates! Not the Gates, I hope, in the
late Bryant affair ?”
“ Well—yes: but allow me to say,
Waters, that the observations of the
judge on that matter, and the conse
quent proceedings, were quite unjusti
fiable ; and I was strongly advised to
petition the House on the subject; but
1 forbore, perhaps unwisely.”
“ From consideration chiefly, I dare
say, for the age and infirmities of his
lordship, and his numerous family ?”
“ Come, come,” rejoined Gates, with
a laugh ; “don’t poke fun in that way.
The truth is, I get on quite as well with
out as with the certificate. 1 transact
business now for Mr. Everard Preston:
you understand ?”
“ Perfectly. 1 now remember where
I have seen you. But how is it your
dress has become so suddenly changed?
A few weeks ago, it was nothing like so
magnificent ?”
“True, my dear boy, true: quite
right. 1 saw you observed that. First
rate, isn’t it ? Every article genuine.
Bond and Regent Street, 1 assure you,”
he added scanning himself complacent
ly over. I nodded approval, and he
went on —“You see 1 have had a wind
fall ; a piece of remarkable luck ; and
so I thought I would escape out of the
dingy, smoky village, and air myself for
a few days in the Channel.”
“ A delightful time of the year for
such a purpose truly. Rather say you
came to improve your acquaintance
with the lady yonder, who, 1 dare say,
will not prove ultimately inflexible?”
“ Perhaps you are right —a little at
least you may be, about the edges.—
But here we are ; what do you take—
port ?”
“ That as soon as anything else.”
Mr. Gates was, as he said, constitu
tionally thirsty, and although it was
still early in the day, drank with great
relish and industry. As he grew flush
ed and rosy, and I therefore imagined
communicative, I said, “ Well now,
tell me who and what is that lady ?”
The reply was a significant compound
gesture, comprising a wink of his left
eye and the tap of a fore-finger upon the
right side of his nose. I wait but the
pantomimic action remained uninter
preted by words.
“ Not rich, apparently ?’
“ Poor as Job.”
“An imprudent marriage,probably?”
“ Guess again, and I’ll take odds
you’ll guess wrong; but suppose, as
variety is charming, we change the sub
ject. W hat is your opinion now of the
prospects of the ministry ?”
I saw that it was useless attempting
to extract any information from so cun
ning a rascal; and hastily excusing my
self, I rose, abruptly took my leave,
more and more puzzled to account for
the evident connection, in some way
or other, of so fair and elegant a wo
man with a low attorney, struck oflfthe
rolls for fraudulent misconduct, and
now acting in the name of a person
scarcely less disreputable than himself.
On emerging from the tavern, 1 found
that the wind had not only sensibly
abated, hut had become more favoura
hie to the packet’s leaving Jersey, and
that early the next morning we might
reasonably hope to embark for Wey
mouth. It turned out as we anticipated.
The same boat which took me off the
roads conveyed also the widow—Mrs.
Grey, I saw by the cards on her mo
dest luggage —and her son. Gates
followed a few minutes aftewards, and
we were soon on our stormy voyage
homewards.
The passage was a very rough, un
pleasant one, and I saw little of the pas
sengers in whom, in spite of myself, as
it were, I continued to feel so strong an
interest, till the steamer was moored
alongside the Weymouth quay, and
we stood together for a brief space,
awaiting the scrutiny and questionings
of the officers of the customs. I bowed
adieu as I stepped from the paddle-box
CHARLESTON. SATURDAY, SEPT. 28, 1850.
to the shore, and thought, with a feel
ing of regret, that in all probability I
should never see either of them again.
I was mistaken, for on arriving early
the next morning to take possession of
the outside place booked for me by the
coach to London through Southampton,
I found Mrs. Grey and her son already
seated on the roof. Gates came hur
riedly a few minutes afterwards, and
esconced himslf snugly inside. The day
was bitterly cold, and the widow and
hersomewhatdelicate-looking hoy were
but poorly clad for such inclement
weather, The coachman and myself,
however, contrived to force some rough,
stout cloaks upon their acceptance,
which sufficed pretty well during the
day ; but as night came on rainy and
tempestuous, as well as dark and bleak,
I felt that they must be in some way
or other got inside, where Gates was
the only passenger. Yet so distant, so
frigidly courteous was Mrs. Grey, that
1 was at a loss how to manage it. Gates,
I saw, was enjoying himself hugely to
his own satisfaction. At every stage he
swallowed a large glass of brandy and
water, and I observed that he cast
more and more audaciously triumphant
glances towards Mrs. Grey. Once her
eye, though studiously 1 thought avert
ed from him, caught his, and a deep
blush, in which fear, timidity, and aver
sion seemed strangely mingled, swept
over her face. What could it mean?
It was, however, useless to worry my
selt further with profitless conjectures,
and I descended from the roof to hold
a private parley with the coachman.—
A reasonable bargain was soon struck;
he went to Mrs. Grey and proposed to
her, as there was plenty of room to
spare, that she and her son should ride
inside.
“It will make no difference in the
fare,” he added, “and it’s bitter cold out
here for a lady.”
“Thank you,” replied the widow, after
a few moment’s hesitation ; “ we shall
do very well here.”
I guessed the cause of her refusal,
and hastened to add, “ You had better,
1 think, accept the coachman’s proposal;
the night-weather will be dreadful, and
even 1, a man, must take refuge inside.”
She looked at me with a sort of grate
ful curiosity, and then accepted, with
many thanks, the coachman’s offer.
When we alighted at the Regent
Circus, London, 1 looked anxiously hut
vainly round for someone in attendance
to receive and greet the widow and her
son. She did not seem to expect any
one, hut stood gazing vacantly, yet
sadly at the noisy’, glaring, hurrying
scene around her, her child’s hand clasp
ed in hers with an unconsciously tight
ening grasp, whilst her luggage was re
moved from the roof of the coach.—
Gates stood near, as if in expectation
that his services must now, however
unwillingly, he accepted by Mrs. Grey.
1 approached her,and said somewhat hur
riedly, “If, as I apprehend, madam, you
are a stranger in London, and conse
quently’ in need of temporary lodgings,
you will, 1 think, do well to apply to
the person whose address I have writ
ten on this card. It is close by. lie
knows me, and on your mentioning my
name, will treat you with every con
sideration. lam a police officer ; here
is my address ; and any assistance in
my power shall, in any case,” and I
glanced at Gates, “ be freely rendered
to you. 1 then hastened off, and my
wife an hour afterwards was even more
anxious and interested for the myste
rious widow and her son than myself.
About six weeks had glided away,
and the remembrance of fellow-passen
gers from Guernsey was rapidly fading
into indistinctness, when a visit from
Roberts, to whose lodgings I had recom
mended Mrs. Grey, brought them once
more painfully before me. That the
widow was poor I was not suprised to
hear; hut that a person so utterly des
titute of resources and friends, as she
appeared from Robert’s account to be,
should have sought the huge wilder
ness of London, seemed marvelous.
Iler few trinkets, and nearly all her
scanty wardrobe, Roberts more than
suspected, were at the pawnbroker’s.
The rent of the lodgings had not been
paid for the last month, and he believed
that for some time past they had not
had a sufficiency of food, and were noiv
in a state of literal starvation! Still she
was cold and distant as ever, complain
ed not, though daily becoming paler,
thinner, weaker.
“ Does Gates the attorney visit her?”
I asked.
“ No—she would not see him, but
letters from him are almost daily re
ceived.”
Roberts, who was a widower, wished
my wife to see her: he was seriously
apprehensive of some tragical result;
and this, apart from considerations of
humanity, could not be permitted for
his own sake to occur in his house. I
acquiesced; and Emily hurriedly equip
ed herself, and set off with Roberts to
Sherrard Street, Hay market.
On arriving at home, Roberts, to his
own and my wife’s astonishment, found
Gates there in a state of exuberant sat
isfaction. He was waiting to pay any
claim Roberts had upon Mrs. Grey, to
whom, the ex-attorney exultingly an
nounced, he was to be married on the
following Thursday. Roberts scarcely
believing his ears, hastened up to the
first floor, to ascertain if Mrs. Grey
had really given authority to Gates to
act for her. He tapped at the door,
and a faint voice bidding him enter, he
saw at once what had happened.
Mrs. Grey, pale as marble, her eyes
flashing with almost insane excitemant,
was standing by a table, upon which a
large tray had been placed covered with
soups, jellies, and other delicacies, evi
dently just brought in from a tavern,
eagerly watching her son partake of the
first food he had tasted for two whole
days ! Roberts saw clearly how it was,
and stammering a foolish excuse of
having tapped at the wrong door, has
tened away. She had at last deter
mined to sacrifice herself to save her
child’s life! Emily, as she related
what she had seen and heard, wep
with passionate grief and I was scarcely
less excited : the union of Mrs. Grey
with such a man seemed like the profa
nation of a pure and holy shrine. Then
Gates was, spite of his windfall, as he
called it, essentially a needy man ! Be
sides —and this was the impenetrable
mystery of the affair—what induce
ment, what motive could induce a mer
cenary wretch like Gates to unite him
self in marriage with poverty—with
destitution ? The notion of his being
influenced by sentiment of any kind
was, I felt, absurd. The more I reflect
ed on the matter, the more convinced 1
became that there was some villainous
scheme in process of accomplishment
by Gates, and I determined to make at
least one resolute effort to arrive at a
solution of the perplexing riddle. The
next day, having a few hours to spare,
the thought struck me that I would call
on Mrs. Grey myself. I accordingly
proceeded towirds her residence, and
in Coventry btreet happened to meet
Jackson, a brother officer, who, I was
‘aware from a few inquiries 1 had pre
viously made, knew something of
Gates’s past history and present posi
tion. After circumstantially relating
the whole matter, 1 asked him if he
could possibly guess what the fellow’s
object could be in contracting such a
marriage ?
“ Object!’ replied Jackson ; “why,
money, of course: what else? He
has by some means become aware that
the lady is entitled to property, and he
is scheming to get possion of it as her
husband.”
“My own conviction ? Yet the dif
ficulty of getting at any proof seems in
surmountable.”
“Just so. And by the way, Gates
is certainly in high feather just now,
however acquire I. Not only himself,
but I ’i vers.his head clerk as he calls him
self, has cast his old greasy skin, and
appears quite spruce and shining. And
—now I remember—what did you say
was the lady’s name ?”
“ Grey.”
“ Grey ! Ah, then I suppose it can
have nothing to do with it! It was a
person of the name of Welton or Skel
ton that called on us a month or two
ago about Gates.”
“VV hat was the nature of the com
munication ?”
“ 1 can hardly tell you : the charge
was so loosely made, and hurriedly
withdrawn. Skelton—yes, it was Skel
ton—he resides in pretty good style at
Knightsbridge—called, and said that
Gates had stolen a cheque or draft for
five hundred pounds, and other articles
sent through him to some house in the
city, of which 1 think he said the prin
cipal was dead. He was advised to ap
ply through a solicitor to a magistrate,
and went away, we supposed for that
purpose; but about three hours after
wards he returned, and in a hurried,
flurried sort of way said he had been
mistaken, and that he withdrew every
charge he had made against Mr. Gates.”
“ Very odd.”
“ Yes : hut I don’t see how it can he
in any way connected with this Mrs.
Grey’s affairs. Still, do you think it
would he of any use to sound Rivers?
1 know the fellow well, and where I
should he pretty sure to find him this
evening.”
It was arranged he should do so, and
1 proceeded on to Sherrard Street.—
Mrs. Grey was alone in the front apart
ment on the ground-floor, and received
me with much politeness. She had, 1
saw been weeping; her eyes were
swollen and bloodshot; and she was
deadly pale ; hut I looked in vain for
any indication of that utter desolation
which a woman like her condemned to
such a sacrifice, might naturally he dis
posed to feel. 1 felt greatly embar
rassed as to how to begin ; but at
length I plunged boldly into the matter;
assured her she was cruelly deceived
by Gates, who was in no condition to
provide for her and her son in even
tolerable comfort: and I was convinced
he had no other than a mercenary and
detestable motive in seeking marriage
with her. Mrs. Grey heard me in so
totally unmoved a manner, and the feel
ing that 1 was really meddling with
things that did not at all concern me,
grew upon me so rapidly, as I spoke to
that unanswering countenance, that by
the time 1 had finished my eloquent
harangue, I was in a perfect fever of
embarrassment and confusion, and very
heartily wished myself out of the place.
To my further bewilderment, Mrs.
Grey, when 1 had quite concluded, in
formed me —in consideration, she said,
of the courtesies l had shown her when
we were fellow-travellers—that she was
perfectly aware Mr. Gates’s motive in
marrying her was purely a mercenary
one; and her own in consenting to the
union, except as regarded her son, was,
she admitted scarcely better. She ad
ded—riddle upon riddles! —that she
knew also t hat Mr. Gates was very poor
—insolvent, she understood.
I rose mechanically to my feet, with
a confused notion swimming in my head
that both of us at all events could not
be in our right senses. This feeling
must have been visible upon my face,
for Mrs. Grey added with a half-smile,
“You cannot reconcile these apparent
contradictions; he patient; you will
perfectly comprehend them before long.
But as i wish not to stand too low in
your estimation I must tell you that
Mr. Gates is to subscribe a written
agreement that we separate the instant
the ceremony has been performed.—
But for that undertaking, 1 would have
suffered any extremity, death itself,
rather than have consented to marry
him ?”
Still confused, stunned as it were, by
what I had heard, my hand was on the
handle of the door to let myself out,
when a thought arose in my mind. “Is
it possible, Mrs. Grey,” I said, “ that
you can have been deceived into a be
lief that such a promise, however for
mally laid down, is of the slightest legal
value? —that the law recognizes, or
would enforce, an instrument to render
nugatory the solemn obligation you
will, after signing it, make ‘to love,
honour, obey and cherish your hus
band ?’ ” I had found the right chord
at last. Mrs. Grey, as I spoke, became
deadly pale ; and had she not caught at
one of the heavy chairs, she would have
been unable to support herself.
“Do I understand you to say,” she
faintly and brokenly gasped, “that such
;m agreement as I have indicated, duly
sealed and and witnessed, could not be
summarily enforced by a magistrate?”
“ Certainly it could not, my dear
madam, and well Gates knows it to he
so; and lam greatly mistaken in the
man, if, once the irrevocable ceremony
over, he would not be the first to deride
your credulity.”
“ If that he so,” exclaimed the unfor
tunate lady with passionate despair, “1
am indeed ruined—lost! Oh my dar
ling boy, would that you and I were
sleeping in your father’s quiet grave !”
“ Say not so, I exclaimed with emo
tion, for I was afflicted by her distress.
“ Honor me with your confidence, and
all may yet be well.”
After much entreaty, she despairing
ly complied. The substance of her
story, which was broken by frequent
outbursts of grief and lamentations,
was as follows:—She was the only child
of a London merchant, Mr. Walton, we
will call him, who had lived beyond
his means, and failed ruinously to an
immense amount. Ilis spirits and
health were broken by this event, which
he survived only a few months. It hap
pened that about the time of the bank
ruptcy she had become acquainted with
Mr. J onn Grey, the only son of an emi
nent East India merchant, hut a man
of penurious disposition and habits.
“ Mr. Ezekiel Grey ?”
The same. They became attached
to each other, deeply so ; and knowing
that to solicit the elder Grey’s consent
to their union would be tantamount to
a sentence of immediate separation and
estrangement, they unwisely, thought
lessly, married about ten months after
Mr. Walton’s death, without the elder
Grey’s knowledge. Gates, an attorney,
then in apparently lair circumstances
with whom young Mr. Grey had be
come acquainted, and Anne Crawford,
Maria Walton’s servant, were the wit
nesses of the ceremony, which after due
publication of banns, was celebrated in
St. Giles’ Church. The young couple,
after the marriage, lived in the strictest
poverty, the wife meagrely supported
by the pocket money allowance of Mr.
Ezekiel Grey to his son. Thus pain
fully elapsed nine years of life, when,
about twelve months previous to the
present time, Mr. Grey determined to
send his son to Bombay, in order to the
arrangement of some complicated claims
on a house of agency there. It was de
cided that, during her husband’s absence,
Mrs. John Grey should reside in Guern
sey, partly with a view to economy,
and partly for the change of air, which
it was said their son required—Mr.
Gates to be the. medium through which
money and letters were to reach the
wife. Mr. Ezekiel Grey died some
what suddenly about four months after
his son’s departure from England and
Mrs. Grey had been in momentary ex
pectation of the arrival of her husband,
when Gates came to Guernsey, and an
nounced his death at Bombay, just as
he was preparing for the voyage to
England ! The manner of Gates was
strange and insolent; and he plainly
intimated that without his assistance
both herself and child would be beg
gars ; and that assistance he audacious
ly declared he would only afford at the
price of marriage ! Mrs. Grey, over
whelmed with grief for the loss of a
husband by whom she had been as con
stantly, as tenderly beloved, and dizzy
with ill defined apprehension, started
at once for London. A copy of the
will of Mr. Ezekiel Grey had been pro
cured, by which in effect he devised all
his estate, real and personal, to his son;
hut in the event of Mr. John Grey
dying unmarried, or without lawful is
sue, it went to his wife’s nephew Mr.
Skelton
“Skelton of Knightsbrige?”
Yes ; in case of Mr. John Grey mar
rying, Skelton was to be paid an imme
diate legacy of five thousand pounds.
So far, then, as fin-tune went, the widow
and her son seemed amply provided
for. So Mrs. Grey thought till she had
another interview with Gates, who un
blushingly told her that unless she con
sented to marry him, he would not
prove, though he had abundant means
of doing so, that the person she had
married at St. Giles’ Church was the
son of Ezekiel Grey, the eminent mer
chant ! “ The name,” said the scoun
drel, “will not help you; there are
plenty of John Greys on that register ;
and as for Anne Crawford, she has been
long since dead.” Mrs. Grey next call
ed ou Mr. Skelton, and was turned out
of the house as an imposter; and final
ly, having parted with everything upon
which she could raise money, and Gates
reiterating his offer, or demand rather
accompanied by the proposal of an im
mediate separation, she had consented.
“Courage, madam !” I exclaimed, at
the end of her narrative of which the
above is the substance—and 1 spoke in
a tone of joyous confidence which, more
than my word*, reassured her: “I al
ready see glimpses of daylight through
this maze of villany. Gates has play
ed a desperate game, certainly, but one
which we shall, you may rely on it,
easily baffle.” A knock at the door in
terrupted me. I peered through the
blind and saw that it was Gates. “ Si
lence —secrecy !” 1 emphatically urg
ee in a low voice, and with my finger
on my lip, and left the room before the
street door could be answered; and by
my friend Roberts’ contrivance, I was
in a few minutes afterward in the
street, all the time unobserved by the
intruder.
The next day early Jackson called on
me. He had seen Rivers, but he seem
ed to know nothing, except, indeed,
that it was quite true Gates had re
ceived a five hundred pound draft from
a house in India, which he (Rivers) had
got notes for at the Bank of England.
There were also in the same parcel a
gold watch, he knew, and some jewelry,
but from whom it all came, he (Rivers)
was ignorant. Nothing but that had
THIRD VOLUME-NO. U WHOLE NO 122.
Jackson been able to discover.
“ Call you that nothing ?” said I,
starting up, and hastily swallowing my
last cup of coffee. “It is enough, at
all events, to transport William Gates,
Esquire!”
I had to wait that morning on special
business on the commissioner ; and af
ter the business upon which I had been
summoned had been despatched, I re
lated the ease of Grey versus Gates as
clearly and succinctly as I could. He
listened with great attention, and in
about a quarter of an hour I left him
with as clear and unmistakable a path
before me as it was possible to desire.
1 was passing down the stairs when I
was re-summoned.
“You quite understand, Waters,
that Skelton is not for a moment to be
lost sight of till his deposition has been
taken ?”
“ Certainly, sir.”
“ That will do then.”
Arrived at home. I despatched my
wife in a cab for Airs. Grey. She soon
arrived, and as much as was necessary
of our plan confided to her. Mr. Gates
had pressed her earnestly that the cere
mony should take place on the follow
ing morning. By my directions she
now wrote, although her trembling fin
gers made an almost unintelligible
scrawl of it, that as it was to he, she
agreed to his proposition, and should
expect him an nine o’clock.
Two hours afterwards, Jackson and
1, having previously watched the gen
tleman home, knocked at Mr. Skelton’s
house, Knightsbridge, and requested to
see him. At that very moment, he
came out of a side-room, and was pro
ceeding up stairs.
“ Mr. Skelton,” said I, stepping for
ward, “I must have a private interview
with you !” He was in an instant as
pale as a corpse, and shaking like an
aspen —such miserable cowards does an
evil conscience make man—and totter
ingly led the way, without speaking to
a small library.
“ You know me, Mr. Skelton, and
doubtless guess the meaning of my er
rand.”
He stammered out a denial, which
his trembling accents and ashy counte
nance emphatically denied.
“ You and Gates of the Minories
are engaged in a felonious conspiracy
to deprive Mrs. Grey and her infant
son of their property and their inheri
tance !”
Had he been struck by a cannon-shot,
lie could not have fallen more sudden
ly and helplessly upon the couch close
to which he was standing.
“ My God !” he exclaimed, “what is
this?”
Perceiving he was quite sufficiently
frightened, I said, “ There is no wish
on MVs. Grey’s part to treat you harsh
ly, so that you aid us in convicting
Gates. For this purpose you must at
once give the number of the notes
Gates obtained for the cheque, and
also the letter in which the agent at
Bombay announces its transmission
thro’ Gates.”
“ Yes—yes ?” he stammered, rising,
and going to a secretarie. “ There is
the letter.”
I glanced over it. “ I am glad to
find,” I said, “ that you did not know
by this letter that the money and other
articles here enumerated had been sent
by the dying husband to his wife thro’
Gates.”
“ I most solemnly assure you I did
not!” he eagerly replied, “ until—un
til”—
“ Air. Gates informed you of it, and
seduced you to conspire with him. He
has been playing a double game.—
Whilst amusing you, he proposes mar
rying Airs. Grey to-morrow morning !”
“Is it possible ? But I supected”—
“No doubt. In the mean time you
will, if you please, accompany us.—
There is every desire to spare you.” I
added, seeing him hesitate; “but our
orders are peremptory.” With a very
ill grace Air. Skelton complied, and we
were rapidly driven oft’.
The next morning Jackson, Skelton
and myself, were in Sherrard Street be
fore daybreak. Airs. Grey was already
up, and at eight o’clock we sat down
with her and her son to an excellent
breakfast. She was charmingly dress
ed in the wedding garments which Gates
had purchased with her stolen money,
and 1 almost felt it in my heart to pity
the unfortunate bridegroom, rascal as
he was, about to be disappointed of such
a bride and such a fortune ! It was
very necessary that she should be so
arrayed, for, as we had thought quite
probable, Rivers called a few minutes
past eight with a present of jewelry,
and the bride’s appearance must have
completely disarmed any suspicion
which his master might have enter
tained.
Breakfast was over: Airs. Grey, with
her son, was seated on a couch in the
front room, and we were lying perdu in
the next apartment, separated only by
folding doors, when a coach drew up
before the house; a bridegroom’s im
patient summons thundered at the door;
and presently forth stepped Air. Gates,
resplendently attired, followed by his
man Rivers, who was, it appeared, to
give the bride away. Air. Gates en
tered the presence of beautiful Airs.
Grey in immense triumph. He ap
proached her with the profoundest gal
lantry ; and was about to speak, when
Jackson and I, who had been seduous
ly watching through the chink of the
slightly-opened doors, advanced into
the room, followed by Air. Skelton.—
Ilis attitude of terror and suprise was
one of the most natural performances
1 ever witnessed. He turned instinct
ively as if to flee. Aly grasp was in an
instant on his collar.
“ The game is up, my good Air.
Gates: I arrest you for felony !”
“ Felony !”
“ Ay, truly. For stealing a gold
watch, diamond pin, and a cheque for
five hundred pounds, sent through you
to this ladv.”
All his insolent swagger vanished in
an instant, and the abject scoundrel
threw himself at Mrs. Grey’s feet, and
absolutely howled for mercy.
“ I will do anything,’* he gaspingly
protested ; “ anything you require, so
that you will save me from these men!”
“ Where is Crawford ?” I asked, de
sirous of taking immediate, but not, I
hope, unfair advantage of the rascal s
terror ; “she who witnessed this lady’s
marriage ?”
“At Deamington, Warwickshire,’ he
replied.
“ Very good. Now, Mrs. Grey, if
you will leave us, I shall be obliged.—
We must search this gentleman, and
perhaps ” She vanished in an in
stant ; her gentleness of disposition
was, 1 saw, rapidly mastering all re
sentment. 1 carried the watch we took
out of Gate’s pocket to her, and she
instantly recognized it to be her hus
band’s. A fifty and a twenty-pound
bank-note corresponding to the num
ber on our list, we extricated from the
disappointed bridegroom’s pocket-book.
“ And now, sir, if you please,” said
I, “ we will adjourn to your lodgings.”
A savage scowl was his only reply, not
at all discomposing to me, and we were
soon busy ransacking his hidden hoards.
We found several other articles sent by
Mr. John Grey to his wife, and three
letters to her, which, as corroborative
evidence, would leave no doubt as to
who her husband was. Our next visit
was to a police court, where Mr. Wil
liam Gates was fully committed for trial.
He was in due time convicted of steal
ing the watch, and sentenced to trans
portation for seven years.
Mrs. Grey’s marriage, and her son’s
consequent succession to the deceated
merchant’s wealth, were not disputed.
She has never married, and lives now
in benefiicent affluence in one of the
new squares beyond the Edgeware
Road, with her son, who, though now
six-and-twenty years of age, or therea
bouts, is still unappropriated; but “the
good time is coming,” so at least hint
ed a few days ago the fashionable
“ Morning Post ”
KBntmtl tßrlrrtir.
From the Literary World.
LEAVING NEW ORLEANS.
“ Whither bound, mon ami ?” said I,
one morning to an acquaintance whom
1 found airing a carpet bag in the por
tico of the St. Charles’ Hotel.
“ I’m taking my bag to have a little
repairing done to the lock, for I think
of taking ‘a run’ up to Louisville this
afternoon.”
“A run—to Louisville—why, it’s a
thousand miles; and only a carpet bag!”
stammered I.
“ Pooh, pooh !” he rejoined, mum
bling his after-breakfast cigar with great
nonchalance, “that’s nothing after you’ve
lived in these parts a few years; why
M went to Europe yesterday
on two hours’ notice, and will, be back
almost as quickly as you will reach
Manhattan if you play sight-seer by the
way-side. Splendid boat this after
noon, too, —Peytona—a regular steam
race-horse.”
“ I’m sorry I’d not known this be
fore. I was going myself in a day or
two, as soon as I found a boat.”
“ Found a boat! Come, now, that
is good. Do you go looking after them
with a telescope 1 \\ hy, my boy,
there’s twenty at the levee any day.—
I’ll introduce you to one of our old
stagers, one of the first merchants, who
thinks it a capital joke when he hears
the last bell of a steamboat ringing, to
get quietly up from his counting house
desk, lock his drawers, and tell his
clerks he’s going to Vicksburg, just as
’coolly as he informs them of an ab
sence to dinner. And that isn’t all :
he either steps on board just as the
boat pushes oft', or takes a small boat
after her. Bound to go when he says
so ! Come up with your luggage ; the
clerk’s a particular friend, and I’ll pro
mise you the best of state rooms and
fare.”
“ I'll do it, said I; grasping his
hand.
And we met in the early evening on
the “ Peytona.”
I had not been used to stepping on
board just at shoving off, nor had I quite
accustomed my comprehension to the
calling a four or five days’ sailing “ a
run so I was down, with ample time
to spare, and stood upon the boiler
deck, surveying the prospect, bv the
side of a nervous man, who declared
he could feel the steam through his
boots.
If ever there existed a commercial
beehive, here was one : clerks, porters,
draymen, hack men, stevedores, deck
hands, passengers, and loafers, swarm
ing in and out the cellular passages by
the grain and cotton bags, hogsheads,
and corn sacks, far as the eye could
reach. A dozen bells were ringing like
mad, and the air was dark with the
smoke from the firing up of the dozen
steamboats about, which lay side by
side, head up to the piles of the levee,
like a column of manne soldiery. All
about their stems and sterns, audacious
ly dashing under the very w heel pad
dles, were scores of little boats filled
with peddlery. The Jew was there
with his hundred-bladed penknives,
sponges, and metallic tablets ; the Yan
kee with his curious knick-knacks
brought from every auction mart in
town ; nondescrips with oranges, banan
as, and conchshells, which latter now
and then were blown with sound re
sembling the bray of a mule when
touched with colic, to which the steam
boat bells tolled out their music exult
ingly.
“ D’ye see that boat, the third from
us ?” asked my compagnion du voyage ,
who now had joined the throng about us.
“ She with the heaviest smoke and
loudest bell ?”
“ The same.”
“ She’ll beat us on the start. How’
eager to push off!”
My Iriend gave me one of his pecu
liar laughs, and added, “If she backs
out into the stream before day after
morrow, I’ll forfeityour good opinion.
That puffing, and wheezing, and bell
tolling is all a sham ; a trick to catch
passengers. She’s the only boat of her
trade in, and will keep up the fuss un-