University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

The morning sun had just paid his devoirs to the
labour-doomed race, who alone welcomed his diurnal
advent to the metropolis, as Thomas Burchard
unbarred the door of the dilapidated domicil of which
he was an inmate, and, with many a yawn, gave
intimation of his readiness to accommodate early
customers, by throwing open the shutters, and thus
exhibiting, as conspicuously as the soiled window-panes
would permit, the decanters containing that
inviting beverage, which, in the language of his intimates,
was declared, like the hair of certain of the
canine species, a sovereign remedy for the bite inflicted
in the previous night's debauch.

That this early devotion to the “main chance,”
secured its appropriate reward, was evinced by the

numerous “peep-o'-day boys” who entered the tavern,
while the motley appearance of these morning
devotees at the shrine of Bacchus would have offered
a rare study for the disciple of Hogarth.

The unfortunate schemer, whose tattered habiliments
testified that the desire to appropriate his neighbour's
goods to his own use had met with little success,
stood in amiable proximity to the spruce and
genteelly clad legatee of some wealthy citizen's wardrobe:—here
sat an attenuated being, rejoicing in
apparel whose dimensions were sufficiently ample
for the person of Daniel Lambert in the palmy days
of his corpulency—while by his side lounged a herculean
associate, over whose huge limbs were drawn
a coat and pantaloons whose lack of width and
length exhibited the proportions of the wearer in
painful relief:—over the brow of one a broad-brimmed
beaver threw its ample shadow, while on his
neighbour's cranium perched a razeed castor, of
scarce sufficient capacity to reach the wearer's forehead.

After the morning stimulus had been swallowed,
the fashionably-attired lounger gradually withdrew
to as great a distance from the more humble canàille
as the limited dimensions of the apartment
would permit.

The uninitiated in the etiquette which reigns in
flash circles, may suppose that the doctrine of equal
rights, privileges, and courtesy, would here be displayed
in its utmost latitude. Far from it. The

fashionably-dressed felon spurned, with becoming
disdain, the attempted familiarities of his less fortunate
associates, while the nonchalance with which
the intimate of yesterday was cut by the lucky rascal
of to-day, might have served as a model for the
most elegant exquisite who sports his figure on the
sunny side of Broadway.

That the fancied ascendancy of “the observed of
all observers” among these “children of fortune,”
was peculiarly brief in its duration, will be admitted,
but this circumstance neither humbled his pretensions,
nor palliated the severity of his edicts.

With that indifference to the future, which in the
deposed monarchs of the old world passes for royal
firmness among their admirers, but is denominated
stupidity by the advocates of the “mouvement”—
the leader of ton in flash society riots in authority
during his little hour, is dethroned, superseded and
forgotten.

To Thomas Burchard those shades of character
exhibited among the devotees at the temple of which
he was the officiating dignitary, passed like an idle
pageant, of which he took no cognizance. Viewing
them all as “fish to his net,” his attentions
were alone directed to the gains arising from their
presence, and the most courted of the circle lost his
charm for Thomas, whenever he ceased to replenish
the drained goblet.

While thus occupied, a boy of some twelve years

of age entered the tavern, and inquiring for Burchard
gave him a note and immediately withdrew.

Observing the superscription to be in a handwriting
different from any with which he was familiar,
he seized the first moment of leisure to peruse its
contents. That its import was far from uninteresting
to him, the reader will perceive on perusing
the following copy of the epistle.

The offspring of Glenthorne in early life, by a
female of the lowest rank in society, whose grovelling
appetites were connected with serpent-like craftiness,
the savage ferocity which Burchard inherited
from the one parent was tempered and controlled by
the stealth and wariness so conspicuous in the
other.

On receiving what he considered a personal insult,
the indignant blood would rush manfully to
his cheek and his sluggish eye flash momentary
defiance, when that sleepless caution which ever
guarded him from the consequences of his more violent
passions, would successfully interpose ere the
hesitating tongue could second the rash and hazardous
impulse. Summoning an assistant to discharge
the duties of bar-keeper, he retired to his chamber,
where, after giving vent to his feelings in a few
hearty curses on the head of De Lyle, he deliberately
reflected on the most effectual method of turning
the tables on that worthy.

The result of his cogitations was a conviction that
the roué was completely in his power, and with
that natural shrewdness and cunning which had
been sharpened by a long intercourse with felons

and swindlers, he conceived a plan, which could
not, in his opinion, fail to accomplish the destruction
of his treacherous patron and associate, whenever
the measure was expedient. That he had frequently
reflected on the probability of such a crisis
is more than probable, from his knowledge of the
character of De Lyle, as well as from his general
estimate of human nature, which could not be otherwise
than unfavourable from the school in which his
knowledge of mankind had been learned.

His course determined on, he again descended to
the tap-room, and it would have required an acute
observer to discover the traces of agitation in his
sallow cheek and dull grey eye.

If the reader has carefully noted the relations existing
between De Lyle and Burchard, he or she
will have perceived that the roué was compelled, by
the nature of the services required from his instrument,
to lay bare the machinery which gave effect
to his operations, and thus furnish an array of evidence
which could not fail to be destructive to his
future success, whenever Burchard should deem it
advisable to hazard an exposure. That De Lyle,
at times, was impressed with these obvious reflections
is most true, but he consoled himself with the idea
that there could scarcely exist a sufficient motive
for Burchard to hazard what little reputation he
possessed, for the sole purpose of implicating his employer.

In addition to the consolation drawn from such a

train of reasoning, De Lyle had formed a very
humble estimate of the mental powers of his willing
subordinate, and was extremely doubtful of his abilities
to conceive or mature a successful plot for his
overthrow, even if circumstances should arise which
might render it his future interest to make the attempt.
Lest the reader should be surprised at De
Lyle's erroneous conclusions in relation to the mental
calibre of one with whom he had so long held
intercourse, it is proper to premise that no event had
occurred during their intimacy to excite the passions
or energies of Burchard, who received full instructions
from the former in every emergency, and confined
his agency to obedience to orders, without question
or hesitation.

Such was the happy state of De Lyle's mind on
this subject, until the mysterious language of Helen
Elwell awoke the most alarming suspicions, which
farther conversation with the artful girl almost matured
into conviction. To assure himself of the
truth, however painful might be its import, appeared
his only course, and he awaited with no little impatience
the arrival of the succeeding morning,
when he could visit Burchard's residence unobserved.
It is proper here to remark, that the success of his
scheme for Clifton's destruction had, as he conceived,
rendered Burchard's further agency in his affairs
unnecessary, and he now determined to sever the
untoward connection with as little delay as his personal
interests would permit.

The shades of evening had no sooner settled over
the metropolis, than De Lyle directed his steps to the
domicil of his vicious associate. He was, as usual,
received by Burchard in an apartment adjoining
the tap-room of the tavern, but no one who was
familiar with the cordiality which characterized their
former interviews, would have failed to observe the
embarrassment and hesitation of De Lyle on his entrance,
nor the suspicious, although less obvious,
twinkle of Burchard's usually dull eye. As it was
the invariable practice of the subordinate to await
De Lyle's commands, whenever he chose to visit
his humble dwelling, he quietly seated himself on
the settee, after directing his visiter to enjoy the comforts
of an arm-chair. The silence that ensued after
they were seated, tended to increase the discomposure
of De Lyle's features, while the malignant
feelings of Burchard were more strikingly manifested
as he viewed what he conceived full confirmation of
his quondam friend's treachery.

“Well, Burchard,” at length began De Lyle,
“we've been sad dogs in our day, but, as there's a
time for all things, I suppose we must soon do as
other reformed rakes have done before us, turn saints,
and prosecute all such ungodly reprobates as will
not fit our Procrustean bed.”

The roué's delivery of this speech savoured much
of previous preparation, for he continually shifted
his eyes from Burchard to opposite sides of the room,
while the words fell from his lips like the hard-studied

task of a school-boy who recites the lesson
without any apparent sympathy in feeling with the
sentiments designed to be illustrated. To this sally,
which was intended as an entering-wedge to further
conversation, Burchard made no reply; but the first
essay had somewhat tended to re-assure and compose
the speaker's mind, and he continued,

“Come, Burchard, what do you think of this
plan? Won't we make as good professors as most
of those who pay the barber double price for shaving
their long faces?”

“Humph,” replied Burchard, “I've nothing to do
with hypocrites. I'm a poor man, and have enough
to think of to take care of number one.”

“But without joking, Burchard, I feel like backing
out of all my old practices—for two reasons—
one is, I can't raise the wind as I used to, and the
other is, that I'm afraid I might lead you into some
difficulty by and by. You've already run a great
many risks, of which nothing but good fortune has
cleared your skirts, and I feel continually alarmed
lest some harm may yet befall you, in consequence
of your being exposed.”

The over shrewd roué spoke thus to impress Burchard's
mind with the danger he would incur, if
their crimes were discovered; but it had, as may be
imagined, the opposite effect, by convincing the
latter that De Lyle's visit was intended to divert his
attention from himself whenever his treachery should
accomplish its purpose.

“Well, that's friendly of you, any how,” said
Burchard, who now determined to foil him with his
own weapons. “I suppose if I get into trouble,
you'll come out at once and be my bail. I tell you
what it is, I shouldn't like to lay in that old Bridewell
for only one night.”

“Oh yes, you may depend on me,” said De Lyle,
“you will not lack a friend if you get in trouble.”
Satisfied from the countenance of Burchard, which
had resumed its accustomed appearance of stolidity,
that he had effectually swerved him from his treacherous
purpose, if such had entered his mind, De
Lyle returned to his father's mansion, and enjoyed
that calm undisturbed repose, which failed to visit
his couch on the previous night.

“The infernal scoundrel!” was Burchard's exclamation,
as his visiter crossed the threshold, “he
thinks he's got me as safe as a thief in a mill; but
if I don't turn up the trump card and win the game,
after giving him two, then my name ain't Thomas
Burchard.”