University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

If it has been our duty in the preceding pages, to
exhibit the character of Clifton in less attractive
colours than we could have desired, the reader will
admit that the causes are mainly to be found in a
combination of untoward events, whose united influences
were calculated to fetter his energies, and over-shadow
the more noble attributes of his mind. Like
most men of genius in early life, the imaginative
faculty was, in him, more fully developed than was
consistent with a perfect mental organization; and
the accumulated evils that beset his path, tended still
farther to alienate his judgment from its true balance.

That he was, at times, a dreamer and an enthusiast—the
vassal of superstition, and the captive of
wayward fancy—is unquestionable; but it was only
in those hours of solitude to which he was driven by

the malice of his unprovoked enemy, and the frowns
of fate, that he submitted to the temporary sway of
unguarded impulses.

Nor must it be forgotten that it has been our purpose
to lay bare the most hidden secrets of his heart:
and who of us, dear reader, could pass through so
searching an ordeal, without exhibiting judgment
perverted—passions unrestrained—and opportunities
neglected?

The exposure of the trial, while it aroused his
feelings, furnished an opportunity for the exercise of
the more vigorous powers of his intellect, and a display
of that judgment, fortitude, and tact, whose
united influences never failed him in a moment of
emergency.

Hitherto his intercourse with the world had exposed
somewhat of its envy, malice, and deception,
but his experience had not yet reached that unhappy
elevation which exhibits, at a glance, the
prominent faults of human nature, causing distrust
and suspicion to poison the most sacred social enjoyments.
A neophyte, he had as yet only been permitted
to enter the vestibule of the temple, but the
period of his probation had now passed, and he was
introduced to a more distinct view of the defects of
his species.

Notwithstanding his respect for Lord Templeton,
and his unwillingness to attribute unworthy prejudices
to one so liberal in his feelings and opinions,
there was no mistaking the change in his lordship's

manner, after the disclosure of our hero's parentage.
That he endeavoured to assume his former manner
towards Clifton was evident, but the effort was
so visible that it but marked the contrast which it
was designed to conceal.

As he passed through the streets on the following
morning, Clifton met the Hon. Mr. Courtenay, and
although that gentleman lifted his hat and tendered
a most gracious bow, yet his open and expressive
countenance could not conceal his knowledge of
Clifton's unlucky birth, and his embarrassment at
the necessity of recognizing, with courtesy, one
whom the world would consider disqualified for unreserved
personal intercourse with the respectable
members of society.

The conviction thus forced on him, of the humble
station he must hereafter occupy in the world's regard,
increased the reserve that was before sufficiently
conspicuous in his manner, until he at length
determined to anticipate his persecutors and shun
the acquaintance of the few individuals who had
distinguished him by their notice. Lord Templeton
and Mr. Courtenay were both sensible of the injustice
of visiting the sins of the father upon the innocent
offspring, but how were they to stem the torrent
of public prejudice? If in a spirit of independent
feeling they should invite Clifton to their dwellings
and treat him as an associate, would not the
elevated circle of their friends indignantly repudiate
the attempt to thrust upon them the companionship

of an interdicted personage? Such were the natural
reflections of these honourable individuals, who
rather hesitated than declined to execute what their
hearts had conceived.

Clifton in the meantime more fully and calmly
canvassed the subject, and while he denied the justice
of the world's verdict, did not fail to find palliatives
for their decision in the conventional laws of
society. The prejudices of his New York friends,
although founded on false testimony, were in their
nature not only justifiable but honourable, and he
viewed them now in a more correct light than before
they were contrasted by the conduct of the London
public.

Meanwhile the doomed prisoner received his sentence,
and metropolitan curiosity was directed to
other and more recent offenders. As Clifton was
entering the door of his lodgings, one fine evening,
shortly after the condemnation of the robber, a lad
gave him a note from the ordinary of Newgate,
stating that he was desired by a miserable criminal,
who was extremely ill, to request the immediate attendance
of Mr. Clifton at his cell, where he would
learn some circumstances of his early history with
which it was most important to his future happiness
that he should be made acquainted. A postscript
to the letter urged his immediate presence, if
he wished to hear the disclosure, as the prisoner
failed rapidly, and it was doubtful whether he would
survive the night. As the messenger volunteered to

be his guide, he immediately proceeded to the gloomy
abode of vice, misery, and despair.

The appearance of these human caravans, where
are caged like wild beasts the outlaws of society, is
at any time sufficiently repulsive; but when darkness
spreads its pall over their massy walls and
barred windows, to one breathing the air of liberty,
they assume a frightful and terrific aspect. Who
can tell what feelings are lacerated, what sympathies
ruthlessly sundered or hearts crushed by the dread
fiat which consigns husbands, fathers, brothers or
lovers to the cheerless confines of yon solitary cells?
Such were Clifton's thoughts as the ponderous door
with its grating hinges opened to admit him into
the outer portion of the prison, and by the time he
had reached the narrow abode of the criminal who
had desired his presence, his feelings had almost
overpowered his strength. No sooner, however, had
he recognized in the emaciated figure stretched before
him, the robber whom his testimony had consigned
to a premature grave, than he felt that sickness of
heart which is the result of a natural repugnance to
inflict even merited punishment on an unresisting
and powerless fellow being.

The unhappy wretch was indeed an object fitted
to excite unmitigated compassion. His features
were distorted by disease and remorse, and, as he
attempted to address Clifton, the effort caused a still
greater convulsion of the muscles of his face; and his
voice was scarcely audible, although our hero placed

his ear near the mouth of the speaker, and awaited
his disclosure with breathless anxiety. The only
words he could distinguish were “father,”—“mother,”—“stolen,”—“carried
off,”—“poor girl,”—
“drowned,” and many other detached expressions
which conveyed no definite meaning, and only
served to throw Clifton into an agony of apprehension,
lest the angel of death should sever the spirit
from its earthly tenement ere the secret should be
divulged on which his happiness depended.

After various abortive efforts to render himself intelligible,
the culprit's head sank back on its hard
pillow, and the death rattle in his throat, and his
irregular and struggling respiration too visibly foretold
the brief period of his earthly probation. As
Clifton continued to apply that moisture to his lips
which was the only relief his extreme weakness
permitted him to receive, he watched each changing
expression of his countenance, as if he might perchance
gather from them some key to the mystery
that lay concealed in his bosom. But alas, no sign
was visible. Feeble and more irregular with each
passing moment seemed his respiration—until, as
the physician, in going his rounds, stopped and gave
a glance at his dying patient, a momentary light
gleamed wildly from his eyes, and with a groan and
a sigh, his breath departed—his cheeks collapsed—
his chin dropped, and the professional gentleman
pronounced his earthly career closed.

Almost maddened with anxiety and excitement
Clifton rushed from the prison, and in the agony of
his feelings was tempted to precipitate himself into
the Thames, and end his miseries and his existence
at the same moment.