Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 54, No. 335, September 1843. Various
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 54, No. 335, September 1843 - Various страница 8
![Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 54, No. 335, September 1843 - Various Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 54, No. 335, September 1843 - Various](/cover_pre324965.jpg)
"You said, sir, yesterday," replied Warton, "that you would take no steps in our favour, until you had satisfied yourself that we, at least, deserved your bounty. Had you not said it, I should not have been happy until I had afforded you all the satisfaction in my power. Heaven knows I owe it to you! It is to you, sir—"
"Come, my good fellow, remember what I told you. No protestations. Let us come to the point."
"Thank you, sir—I will. Are you acquainted with London?"
"Tolerably well. What then?"
"You may have heard, sir, of a merchant there of the name of ——"
"Ay have I. One of our first men. Do you know him? Will he give you a character?"
"He is my uncle, sir—my mother's brother. Apply to him, and he will tell you I am a plunderer and a villain."
I looked at Mr Warton, somewhat startled by his frank communication, and waited to hear more.
"It is false—it is false!" continued the speaker emphatically. "I cannot melt a rock. I cannot penetrate a heart of stone. If I could do so, he would be otherwise."
"You surprise me!" I exclaimed.
"That I live, sir, is a miracle to myself. That I have not been destroyed by the misery which I have borne, is marvellous. A giant's strength must yield before oppression heaped upon oppression. But there, sir"—he added, pointing to his wife, and struggling for composure—"there has been my stay, my hope, my incitement; but for her—God bless her"—The wife motioned him to be silent, and he paused.
"This excitement is too much for him, is it not?" I asked. "Come, Mr Warton, you are still weak and unwell. I will not distress you now."
"I ask your pardon, sir. Three years' illness, annoyance, irritation, poverty, have made me what you see me. It has not been so always. I was vigorous and manly until the flesh gave way, and refused to bear me longer up. But I will be calm. It is very strange, sir, but even now one look from her subdues me, and restores me to myself."
"You have received a good education—have you not, Mr Warton?"
"Will you spare an hour, sir, to listen to my history?"
"I should be glad to hear it," I replied, "but it will be as well to wait, perhaps—"
I looked enquiringly at his wife.
"No, sir," resumed the man, "I am tranquil now. It is a hard task, but I have strength for it. You shall know every thing. Before you do a second act of charity, you shall hear of the trials of those whom you have saved already. You shall be satisfied."
"Well, be it so," I answered. "Proceed, and I will listen patiently."
Warton glanced at his wife, who rose immediately and quitted the room with her three children. The latter were evidently staggered by the sudden change in their circumstances, and they stared full in my face until the latest moment. Being left alone with my new acquaintance, I felt, for a short time, somewhat ill at ease; but when the poor fellow commenced his history, my attention was excited, and I soon became wholly engrossed in his recital, which proved far more strange and striking than I had any reason to expect.
Mr Warton, as well as I can remember, spoke to me as follows:—
"Knowing what you do, sir," he began, "you will smile, and hardly believe me, when I tell you that the sin of Pride has been my ruin. Yes, criminal as I was yesterday—beggar as I am to-day—surrounded by every sign and evidence of want, I confess it to my shame—Pride, has helped to bring me where I am—Pride, not resulting from the consciousness of blood, or the possession of dignities and wealth—but pride, founded upon nothing. I am one of three children. I had two sisters—both are dead. My father was a workhouse boy, and his parentage was unknown. I told you that I had little reason to build a self-esteem upon my family descent; yet there was a period in my life when I would have given all I had in the world for an honourable pedigree—to know that I had bounding in my veins a portion of the blood that ages since had fallen to secure a nation's liberties, or in any way had served to perpetuate its fame. Wealth, simple wealth, I always regarded with disdain. I revered the well-born. My father was apprenticed from the workhouse to a maker of watch-springs, living in Clerkenwell; but after remaining with his master a few months, during which time he was treated with great severity, he ran away. He obtained a situation in the establishment of a silk-merchant in the city, and began life on his own account as helper to the porter of the house. My father, sir—we may speak well of the departed—had great abilities. He was a wonderful man—not so much on account of what he accomplished, (and, in his station, this was not a little,) as for what he proved himself to be, under every disadvantage that could retard a man struggling through the world, even from his infancy. His perseverance was remarkable, and he had a depth of feeling which no ill treatment or vicissitude could diminish. He must have risen amongst men; for mind is buoyant, and leaps above the grosser element. He had resolved, in his first situation, to do his duty strictly, rather to overdo than to fall short of it, and to make himself, if possible, essential to his employers. He saw, likewise, the advantage of respectful behaviour, and cheerfulness of temper. Whatever he did, he did with a good grace, and with a willingness to oblige, that secured for him the regard of those he served. He was not long in discovering, that it was impossible for him to advance far with his present amount of attainment, however sanguine he might be,