Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard

London, Grosvenor-Street

Oliver, what are we? What is man? What is virtue? What is honour?—My pride has received a wound much more acute than that which the ball of the highwayman inflicted on my body—I have had money palmed upon me—Money!—A man cannot behave as he ought, and as it would be contemptible not to behave, but he must be paid! His vices are paid! His virtues are paid!—All is mercenary! I to be sure must be one of the number!—A twenty pound bank note, I tell thee, forced upon me by Sir Arthur!—No, no—Not by him—He never could have made me accept what I supposed [falsely, however; as fact and reflection have since led me to suspect] it was mean and degrading to accept. She only could prevail. She whose commands are irresistible, and who condescended to entreat!—Her eye glistening with a tear, which she with difficulty detained in its beauteous orbit, she entreated!—There was no opposing such intercession! Her eloquence was heavenly! God be praised that it was so! For, as it has happened, I am persuaded it has preserved a poor distressed creature from phrensy—Have patience, and I will tell thee.

I had removed my penitent, and had been taking a short airing in the park; and, as I was returning, I saw a crowd collected in a court. Led by curiosity to enquire what was the matter, I was told that two men had just been pursuing a third over the roofs of the neighbouring houses; and that, having been obliged to descend through a trap-door, they had followed him, where it was supposed he had at last been taken. I asked what his crime was, but nobody knew. Some believed him to be a thief, some thought it was a press-gang, and others conjectured they were bailiffs.

It was not long, however, before a decent, well-looking, and indeed handsome young woman, with a fine child in her arms, came running up the court, made her way through the crowd with terror in her countenance, and with the most piercing cries demanded—'Where is he?—Where is my dear Harry?—Who has seen him? Where is he?'

Some of the people pointed out the house. She knocked violently, continued her cries and lamentations, and at last gained admittance.

Her grief was so moving, so sympathetic, that it excited my compassion, and made me determine to follow her. Accordingly I elbowed my way, though I felt that I rather disturbed the surgeon's dressing; but that was a trifle. I followed her up stairs without ceremony. With respect to her, affection, 'masterless passion, had swayed her to its mood'—she was not to be repulsed.

The prisoner and his pursuers had descended to the second floor, in which the poor fugitive had endeavoured to seek refuge, but not soon enough to find protection from the bailiffs, as they proved and as he knew them to be. Never didst thou see terror so strong, nor affection so pathetic, as this excellent young woman, his wife, discovered. Excellent I am certain she is. She wrung her hands, she fell on her knees, she held up her babe; and, finding these were ineffectual, she screamed agonizing prayers to save her Harry. The idea she had conceived of the loss of liberty, and the miseries of a prison, must have been dreadful. But tears and prayers and cries were vain; she was pleading to the deaf, or at least to the obdurate.

As soon as the violence of her grief gave a momentary respite, I enquired what the sum was for which he was in thraldom, and found it to be sixteen pounds, beside costs. It was not a debt originally contracted by himself; it was for a note, in which he had joined to serve his wife's brother. It seemed they are a young couple, who by their industry have collected a trifling sum, with which they have taken a small shop. I did not ask of what kind. She serves her customers, and he follows his trade, as a journeyman carpenter. It did not a little please me to hear the young creature accuse her brother of being false to his friend; while the husband defended him, and affirmed it could be nothing but necessity. I could perceive however that she grieved to think her brother was not so good as she could have wished him to be.

The horrors of a jail were so impressed, so rooted in her fancy, that she was willing to sell any thing, every thing; she would give them all she had, so that her Harry might not be dragged to a damp, foul dungeon; to darkness, bread and water, and starving. Thou canst not imagine the volubility with which her passions flowed, and her terrors found utterance, from the hope that it was not possible for Christian hearts to know all this, and not be moved to pity.

I am well persuaded however that, had I not been there, those good Christians the bailiffs would have paid no other attention to her panic than to see how it might be turned to profit. The miscreants talked of five guineas, for the pretended risk they should run, in giving him a fortnight to sell his effects to the best advantage. They too could recommend a broker, a very honest fellow—By what strange gradations, Oliver, can the heart of man become thus corrupt? The harpies looked hatefully.

Luckily I happened to have the twenty pound note, which pride had bidden me reject with so much scorn, in my pocket. Thou, I am certain, wilt not ask what I did with it. I immediately tendered those same Christians I told thee of their money. The rascals were disappointed, and would have been surly; but a single look silenced their insolence. One of them was dispatched, according to form, to see that there were no detainers; and, being paid, they then set their prisoner free.

Now, if thou thinkest, Oliver, thou canst truly figure to thyself the overflowing gratitude of the kind young creature, the wife, thou art egregiously mistaken. She fell on her knees to me, she blessed me, prayed for me, and said I was an angel from heaven, sent to save her dear Harry from destruction; she kissed him, hugged, God blessed, and half smothered her heavenly infant, as she truly called it, with kisses; nay she kissed me—in spirit, Oliver—I could see she did: ay and in spirit I returned her chaste caresses.

She entreated me with so much humble love and gratitude to come and see her poor house, which I had saved, and to tell her my name, that she might pray for me the longest day she had to live, that I could not forbear gratifying her so far as to go with her. As for my name, I told her it was man. The quick hussey understood me, for she replied—No, it was angel.

I found her house, like her person, neat, and in order. What is still better, her Harry seems a kind good young man, and alive to as well as deserving of her affection.

Wouldst thou think it, Oliver?—The pleasure I had communicated had reverberated back upon myself; yet the sight of a couple thus happy gave birth to a thought of such exquisite pain that—! Something shot across my brain—I know not what—But it seemed to indicate I should never be so mated!

Still, this money, Oliver—Prithee be at the trouble to examine the question, and send me thy thoughts; for I have not been able to satisfy myself. What is the thing called property? What are meum and tuum? Under what circumstances may a man take money from another? I would not be proud; neither would I render myself despicable.

Thou seest how I delight to impart my joys and griefs to thee. Thou tellest me thou partakest them; and, judging by myself, I cannot but believe thee. Tell me when thou art weary of me; I have long and often been weary of myself.

Yet she is very kind to me, and so kind that I have lately been betrayed into hopes too flattering, too ecstatic to be true. Oh! Should she ever think of me! Were it only possible she ever should be mine!—The pleasure is too exquisite! It is insupportable!—Let me gaze and wonder at humble distance, in silence and in awe!—Do not call me abject—Yet, if I am so, do; tell me all that ought to be told. It is not before her rank that I bend and sink. Being for being I am her equal: but who is her equal in virtue?—Heavens! What a smile did she bestow on me, when I took the money I mentioned to thee! It has sunken deep, deep in my heart! Never can it be forgotten! Never! Never!

Peace be with thee.

F. HENLEY