University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.

In an elaborately furnished apartment of Fenton's
Hotel, in London, three gentlemen were seated over
their wines and walnuts after dinner. The individual
whose liberality had, like the lamp of Alladin,
brought this banquet into being, was seated at the
head of the table, sipping his Burgundy with that
exquisite sense of enjoyment which causes one to
linger fondly over the purple luxury, and sigh when
our lip and the chrystal rim are doomed to separation.
This bountiful provider was still young, and
the skill and taste of the most celebrated Schneider
of the metropolis were exhibited in his apparel.

“Come, come, mon beau garcon,” said he, to a

gentleman at his right, whose pale features exhibited
the traces of recent illness; “you don't sustain
your well-earned reputation. If the Burgundy palls
try the champagne. I'll warrant it better than the
real article. To whet your appetite for the wine,
I'll give you a toast which will render even acid
Rhenish palatable. Here's to an old comrade,
Edward De Lyle.”

“Before I respond to your toast it may be well to
premise that De Lyle is no longer tolerated in
New-York circles.

“He's cut by universal consent, and has found it
convenient to become an emigré. His little peccadillos
have qualified him to enjoy the otium cum
dignitate in the white mansion at Sing Sing, if the
British government should repudiate his alliance.
I'm told London has now the honour of his company.
Your late sojourn in Paris has prevented your knowledge
of these facts.”

“Why this is news. Matthison, my boy, here's to
philosophy. If you visit Paris I'll give you an introduction
to the Chevalier De Roussilon, who reverses
your theory, and believes in the supremacy of the
feet. In short, he commenced as a dancing master
and retires as a philosopher; believing most devoutly
that no man of genius exists who is not qualified
to trip on the light fantastic toe.”

“The fellow is mad,” grumbled Matthison, who
did not precisely relish the association, and who was
moreover, rapidly approximating to that state of

unconsciousness which is aptly described by the
words “gloriously fuddled.”

“Shafton, my boy, your stomach is disordered, or
you could not thus have forgotten yourself in wishing
me to become introduced to a fellow whose heels
take rank above his understanding. I desire to be
courteous, but must say that there is a certain meteoric
wildness in your eye, indicative of disease in
the epigastric region. Try abstinence as I do.
If you don't follow my sober example your wit will
flash in the pan—your puns be execrable—your
satire will fall still-born—your ideas become foggy
and your sentiments mawkish. So my boy attend
to the grand regulator. What say you Julius?
Won't my philosophy astonish the John Bulls?
Hah, Julius?”

“Matthison,” said Ellingbourne, “you have evidently
mixed your wines and become non compos.
For a quiet respectable citizen of the Empire State
you're rather out of character to-day.”

“No reflections,” said Shafton. “Our friend is
looking you in the face and imagines it a mirror,
and if its polish was transferred to your manners
the improvement would be apparent. But I beg
pardon. Did I perpetrate a good thing? If I did
I was oblivious—I was on my honour.”

With this the speaker again threw himself back
in his chair—elevated his goblet to a level with his
face—touched his lip to the rim—half closed his
dull grey eyes, and appeared like one whose thoughts

having started on a voyage of discovery had not yet
returned to their listless owner. Slowly removing
the attractive liquid, he resumed,

“But let us into the secrets of Gotham, for it is
three months since my carrier pigeon has visited its
owner. By the way, as I passed through the strand
this morning I saw an old gentleman whose physiognomy
bore a strong resemblance to that of Isaac
Samuel, our Israelitish usurer. His beard was as
long as a goat's, which, with his dishevelled grey
locks, was calculated somewhat to disguise his
features; but had I met him in Wall-street, I'd have
sworn to him, beard and all.”

“What,” replied Ellingbourne, “the Jew here?
then De Lyle will never return to America in a
whole skin. You must know that he tickled the
fancy of Samuel's daughter under an assumed
name, and when all was discovered, the love sick
maiden took it into her head to die. The old dotard
is fool enough to think it was all for love; so he has
tracked De Lyle here, who, in addition to jilting the
girl, owes her father some twenty thousand dollars.”

“Oh, aye, I perceive,” said Shafton; “the Jew's
cunning has converted the debt into a debt of honour.
So pay up you rascal, or pistols for two. That his
regard for his daughter would make him push De
Lyle to extremities I don't believe a word of. But
if money is in the way, the game's up with our outlawed
chum.”

“Pooh, pooh, you thick-headed pair, leave talking

about Jews and Gentiles, and listen to my philosophy.
You think I don't know what I am about,
but I'm trying the grand experiment, by getting a
little inebriated. The thing works to a charm.
Every time I get fuddled I regularly attempt to
achieve great things—and I always fail—and why?
Because the stomach is assaulted and undermined
and overthrown and upset. So the proof of the pudding
is in swallowing the wine. If I get under the
table report me truly. Here's your health—hiccup
—call the waiter. Waiter put these two intoxicated
yankee gentlemen to bed. They are pretty decent
when sober, but great blockheads when they're
drunk. Waiter bring me three looking glasses, so
that I may reflect on these drunken philosophers.
Why Elly, my boy, is that you? I took you for the
waiter. If you put on a clean apron you'll do. I'll
sing you a song—hiccup—a philosophical ditty.

“Why don't you sing the cho-cho-rus—the chorus-hiccup.”

Here the oblivious philosopher dropped his chin on
his breast, and was soon performing a solo on the
nasal organ. The apartment in which the dinner
was served communicated with a balcony which extended
along the front of the building directly in view
of the street, and Shafton and Ellingbourne passed
through the window to inhale the delicious evening
breeze, leaving Matthison to his repose. As they
reached that part of the balcony which overlooked the
side-walk in front of the hotel—the sudden report of
a pistol beneath them attracted their notice, and was
soon succeeded by a second; and on leaning over
the iron railing, they perceived two individuals prostrated
on the pavement and weltering in their
blood, As may be supposed, they both rushed to
the spot, and to their infinite amazement and horror,
beheld the mangled remains of De Lyle and the
Jew. From the statement of individuals who saw
the transaction, it appeared that Samuel had confronted
his victim—taken deliberate aim at his heart;
and when the fatal messenger had accomplished the
death of De Lyle—with a second weapon finished
his own earthly carees. While standing over the
bodies Mr. Borrowdale and his long lost son entered
the circle of lookers-on, who surrounded the inanimate
remains of the murderer and his victim. Ellingbourne
first recognized our hero, and immediately
tendered him a cordial salutation.

“I trust,” he said, “that Mr. Clifton has ere this
learned the facts connected with the cause of our
unfortunate altercation. If so, it will be unnecessary
for me to allude to the hapless wretch who lies at
our feet.”

“All has been explained to my perfect satisfaction,”
replied Clifton, “and I most sincerely rejoice
that your recovery has placed it in my power to
apologize for my rashness and folly. If we are not
hereafter friends, it will not be through any fault of
mine.”

As Shafton perceived that Ellingbourne was satisfied
with the position Clifton now occupied, he
deemed it safe also to exhibit tokens of recognition;
and Mr. Borrowdale being introduced by our hero
as his new found father, the cordiality of Shafton's
manner was marvellously heightened, and he insisted
on enjoying the society of Mr. Borrowdale and
his son at his room.

This proposition being acceded to, they were all
soon seated at the table, and after a sufficient time
had elapsed to restore Matthison to consciousness, he
was aroused from his slumbers and formally introduced
to Sydney as Mr. Borrowdale. Rubbing his
eyes, and taking a second look, he said:

“I beg this young gentleman's pardon, but had
I met him in any other place I should have taken
him for an old acquaintance. Mr. Ellingbourne,
does not the younger Mr. Borrowdale strongly resemble
Mr. Clifton?”

“Not in the least,” said Ellingbourne; “Mr.
Shafton, do you detect any resemblance between
Mr. Borrowdale and Mr. Clifton?”

“Why, it is possible that there may be a very
slight resemblance; and as our friend looks through
a pair of coloured glasses, it is not astonishing
that their hue should deceive him. Such things
have happened before.”

Throwing himself back in the chair, Matthison
gave a long look at our hero, saying,

“Well, this is strange. I must be out of tune, or
I couldn't make such a mistake. Mr. Clifton—I
beg pardon, Mr. Borrowdale—you don't drink—
that's positively unkind—Sydney my boy—I beg
pardon, Mr. Borrowdale—my respects to you.”

“Mr. Borrowdale must remember the fate of
Pentheus,” said Ellingbourne, with a smile. “The
devotees at the shrine of Bacchus are proverbially
bigots, and the fate of the Theban king is a warning
to all modern offenders.”

After the lapse of some hours the arrival of the
coroner was announced, and on the appearance of
the jury the party descended to the apartment in
which lay the mutilated remains of Samuel and De
Lyle. The first individual who attracted the attention
of Sydney was the identical little philanthropist
with the huge nose, whose interference at the trial
of Maddox caused the disclosure of his supposed
parentage.

This eccentric individual, who possessed a competent

income, appeared but to live in the atmosphere
of criminal proceedings. When the judicial tribunals
were not in session, he was a frequent attendant on
the inquests of the coroner, who had initiated him in
propriety of demeanour by rewarding his loquacity
on a previous occasion, with a committal for
contempt.

From the testimony of an individual who had
detected, in the movements of the Jew, something
extraordinary, it appeared, that after following De
Lyle for some distance, he had accosted him just as
his person became clearly visible by the light of the
lamps before the hotel, and on the latter's turning,
he shouted with the fury of a demon,

“Fiend! I have you now, and the devil whom
you serve cannot save you from my vengeance.
Remember Rachel Samuel! Your last hour is come!
Down, down to that hell which yawns to receive
you!” With these words he fired the pistol, and in
another moment turned its fellow against his own
breast.

Matthison, whose artificial elevation caused him
to take a more prominent part in the proceedings
than he would otherwise have cared to assume,
voluntarily presented himself as a witness; and went
into a full detail of the causes which engendered the
fierce hostility of the Jew against De Lyle. After he
had quitted the stand, Mr. Marlow elbowed his way
towards him, and soliciting an interview for a moment

in another apartment of the inn, which was
granted, said,

“My name, sir, is Marlow—Job Marlow, at your
service. As I have now in press a luminous history
of the most expert heroes of the road, and the most
skilful geniuses who have ever figured in any of
those walks in life which rendered them amenable
to the meshes in which society contrives to entangle
bold innovators—I take the liberty of soliciting your
address, that I may hereafter have the pleasure of
waiting on you and learning some further particulars
concerning the two unhappy gentlemen whose
career is just closed.”

“Mr. Marlow—Mr. Job Marlow, permit me to
return your salutation,” said Matthison, throwing
what was intended to be a knowing leer towards
Ellingbourne, but which to the uninitiated appeared
more like the inebriated distortion of the speaker's
countenance, “my desire to serve you, and at the
same time to sub-serve the cause of science impels
me to solicit a survey of the surface of your tongue;
and you will therefore particularly oblige me, and
render philosophy an eminent service by exhibiting
that appendage to your mouth for a moment. In
other words, as my friend Dr. Crabbe would say,
`stick out your tongue,' Mr. Marlow—Mr. Job
Marlow.”

Our nasal friend, not a little astounded, and somewhat
irritated at this novel request, drew back with
evident marks of dissatisfaction.

Observing the rising ire of Mr. Marlow, the theorist
addressed him thus:

“Keep cool, my dear sir—keep cool. You have
no idea of the injury you will inflict on the grand
regulator by permitting yourself to fly into a rage.
Whatever you may suppose, I assure you that it is
of the utmost importance that you should grant my
request. Sir, I am a gentleman, and a philanthropist,
and at this moment an exile from my country,
solely through my desire to investigate a moral and
physical phenomenon, the enigma of whose wonderful
effects on the human character it is my purpose
to reveal. You, sir, are also a searcher into the mysterious
depths of the human mind; and the originality
of your views alone renders you a subject
worthy of my attention. If, therefore, you desire to
extend the researches of mental philosophy into regions
hitherto unexplored—if you wish your name
coupled with a work destined for immortality—if,
hereafter, you expect to rank among the magnates
of the literary world—show me your tongue.”

Warmed with the wine he had drunk, and heated
by his desire to impress on honest Job's mind the
importance of his request, he concluded his address
with a flourish of his hand, which, to his hearer's
mind, appeared the perfection of oratorical action.
The respectful searcher after criminal records bowed
most complacently, and immediately extended his
tongue.

“'Tis well,” said Matthison, with inimitable gravity,

“my theory cannot lie. Sir, you are a great
genius in your way, and here is my address.”

The solemn interest created in the heart of Clifton
at the shocking spectacle before him, (which was
not unfelt by Ellingbourne and Shafton,) rendered
Matthison's absence, in company with Marlow, unperceived;
nor would the theorist have been guilty
of such unseemly indifference and levity, had not
his senses been bewildered by the depth of his potations.

At length our hero and his happy parent departed.
Matthison was conducted to his lodgings
by Ellingbourne. Shafton proceeded to the opera.
The crowd dispersed, and the bodies of the wretched
suicide and his victim were consigned to the undertaker.