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pretenders are simply dishonest traders upon an
afflicted for several months with gout. On the day appointed instinct which helps the training of the race.
for the experiments, Dr. Haygarth and his friends assembled
at the hospital, and with much solemnity brought forth the But it is wonderful to think that, doubtless, the
wooden tractors. Four out of the five patients declared that moral odds in this matter are evened, if you take their pains were immediately relieved. One felt his knee things on a large scale. Say, if you will, that warmer, and said he could walk across the room ; he tried, Tennyson is over praised to-day ; how do you know and succeeded, although on the previous day he had not been that the balance will not be righted in the next
able to stir! The gouty man felt his pains diminish rapidly,
and for nine hours enjoyed perfect case! The experiment generation, when some hero shall be over-worship
was again tried in the British Infirmary with the same ped, whose heroism came of a touch upon his
A man there had a rheumatic affection in the mother's heart, before he breathed, from reading shoulder, so severe that he could not move his hand from his a noble line in Tennyson ! Ah, Sirs, let us be knee. In four minutes after the pieces of painted wood had patient! Il-y-a fagot et fagot ; and, as that same
been applied, he lifted his hand several inches without suf
fering the least paio. Here were most convincing proofs of Tennyson says—"This grand old world is get in
the ower of imagination. Through the power of imaginaits go-cart-there is a Hand which guides.” tion, and faith in two pieces of steel, thousands of people
were relieved from pain; and the same influence prevailed when, instead of manufactured steel, wood was helieved in. Of course, Dr. Haygarth's experiments destroyed all faith in
Perkins's tractors, and, consequently, not a soul was cured THE TRUTH AT ALL COSTS !
by their means afterwards. Let us venture to reproduce at length an old Casuist, propound! If Perkins's metallic tractors story for the sake of a new moral— new, I mean, wrought cures, why interrupt their operation with with reference to the story :
this reductio ad absurdum ? Cui bono? Why is
not a cure through the “imagination” as respectSisty or seventy years ago, an American surgeon, named able as a cure through quinine ? Was this interby means of what he called " Metallic Tractors." These pellation of Dr. Haygarth's a benevolent onewere two small pieces of metal
, strongly magnetised, applied the gains of Perkins and his motives. being thrown externally to the afflicted part, and moved gently over the out of the question ? surface; they were warranted to cure gout, palsy, rheumatism, Undoubtedly it was. The whole science of and almost every disease the human frame is subject to. medicine proceeds upon the assumption of direct Stories of the most marvellous cures thus performed soon remedial agencies. came into circulation ; and in the course of a few months is sure to prove, ultimately, a check upon its on.
The most pious medical fraud thonsands had availed themselves of the wonderful tractors, at five guineas a pair. But this price putting it out of the ward march. But did Dr. Haygarth think of that power of many to avail themselves of Perkins's blessed means when he sprang forward with bis tractor-demolishof cure, a hospital, called the Perkinsonian Institution, was ing experiment ? Casuist, No! Probably, like actually built by subscription, in which all comers might be Lady Jane Grey, when her tutor, Mr. Aylmer, was magnetised free of cost. There were, however, some few sober men left in London. Dr. Haygarth, an eminent with her, le “thought nothing”—but, like the physician at Bath, remembering the influence of imagination rest of us, he had an instinctive propension in the cure of disease, hit upon an experiment to try the real towards the truth, and could hardly help what he value of the tractors. Perkins's cures, it ought to be said, did. Deception, says good old Dr. Beattie, is were undoubted. Under the influence of his tractors, the lame really had walked, gout, rheumatism, headache, tooth
like walking backwards. Noble minds cannot disache fled at the approach of the little steel plates ; and this possess themselves of the haunting doubt whether it was useless to deny. Dr. Haygarth, therefore, in con- any departure from the truth is, under any circumnexion with a Dr. Falconer, had some wooden plates painted, stances, justifiable. A century hence, it will
, to represent Perkin’s tractors, and resolved to see whether perhaps, be a subject of wonder that noble minds the same effects could not be produced by them. Five could ever entertain such a doubt, and the accompatients were chosen from the hospital at Bath upon whom to operate. Four of them saffered severely from rheumatism
modator of a madman's whim may be pronounced in the ankle, knee, wrist, and hip; and the fifth had been a traitor to the moral sense.
CEASE RAILING AT FORTUNE.
Cease railing at Fortune,
Meet life with a kiss,
One cycle of bliss ;
Our seasons of joy,
That sprinkle the sky.
Cease railing at Fortune ;
Take life as it comes ;
Make glad o'er the crumbs.
A smile the lip wears,
When moistened with tears,
Broken memories of many a heart
Memory ! tell me where is my boyhood's com“A peal of sweet bells jangled out of tune."
panion, my old form-fellow, my quondam “ affcc-Shakespeare. tionate friend," now.
A very strange history is "A story of a morn of golden promise, Broken to Hope ere noontide. This wert thou,
his—a history approaching more nearly to the imA bud on life's great tree, that blossomed only
probable than any I have yet narrated to you. To bitterness and waste,"
Now clearly, as with a dreamer's eye, can I see in I have the weakness, if such it be, of loving to imagination the play-fields of the great school I preserve old letters of whatever nature, from the bave more than once before alluded to in these formal letter of the new acquaintance to the affec- retrospective reviews ; there can I see the fornis tionate scrawl of the old friend. I have been of my old school-fellows gliding across my memory wading to-night through a mass of such literary till I am unwilling, through the medium of tobaccolumber, by way of pastime, as is my custom at smoke, to deny these phantoms of the past a least once a year, for I find I thus derive much present existence here. There stands Aubrey, benest to head and heart. In this way I have on that bright-eyed, handsome, reckless schoolboymy mind's cye many shadows of life's bygones. at once the Nireus formosus and “admirable There is, of course, in a letter a reality which Crichton" of the school—the best cricketer, the broken memories like mine of themselves possess best writer of Iambics, and the most daring of a not; most men need something tangible whereon daring community. Friends were we, too, in those to rest ere they wander back into the past. There early days—friends such as men can only be but they lie, those same letters, scattered in “confusion once, and that in extreme youth. Yet he was worse confounded,” over the table before me; considerably my senior, and our tastes differed some new, crisp, pink-edged little things, memo- widely, he being then a boy of strong animal rials of happy days, indited by fair feminine hands energies and sanguine temperament, endued with and gentle hearts; others, old, crumpled, dingy a greater share of restless vitality than most of scrawls, written years ago by old friends now dead, us; but, nevertheless, one who combined withal, estranged, or lost to me in distant lands. There in a marvellous manner, the quiet intellectual, lies an angry letter, chronicling in a few, brief, and the noisy physical, the silent, loving perusal bitter words the death of an early friendship; of classic lore by night, with the excitement of there, a thin foreign post letter, with its “Camp cricket-match, or some other such athletic exercise before Sebastopol” in the corner, evokes sadly- by day; while I was of another turn of mind ensweet memories of a lost friend -as true a heart tirely-a lover of river-side rambles on "halfas ever throbbed under scarlet--a dear friend school days," of solitude and Shelley, and little taken from me in those dreary trenches before else, while Aubrey was all this and something beleaguered Sebastopol —a man I loved so bro-more-aliquis in omnibus. Was there a brilliant therly that there seemed a blank created in life epigram ou an obnoxious schoolsellow, written and never to be filled up since that unforgotten handed about school till its unlucky subject would Gazette appeared to tell proud, mournful England have preferred the pillory to such merciless castithat amidst the carnage, flame, and smoke of gation ? Aubrey was the writer thereof. Was victory, the souls of her best and bravest had there a leap that none dare take-a "bargee" that passed away. Fame's halo is shed around that none dare encounter ? Aubrey must, would, and battle-field for evermore; but, after all, poor is did take the envied leap, or thrash the plebeian that halo to hide from memory's cyes a lost one's Drawcansir. Was there a Greek chorus whose soldier-grave. Age, there ye lie, ye dear old tangled obscurity had baffled half the form ? letters, like tombstones to the past. Many lessons Aubrey would stand up, and in five minutes would do ye teach me- —many fair examples of truth and persuade the veriest dunce that its meaning was as tenderness do ye afford-many warnings do ye clear as the sun at noonday. Was there an obwhisper unto me. There is a life-history already noxious “Philistine" to be cajoled, threatened, or traced out by memory from the ideas hovering simply mystified ? Aubrey was ever the dux facti, around yonder packet of letters, tied up carefully ready to say anything, invent anything, and, if with black ribbon, lying before me; a history of need were, back his tongue with his fists. Oh! wasted talent, of a life of joyless profligacy, of a brave, brilliant, jovial, handsome Aubrey (by bright morn, of a cloudy noon, with its sun going which latter adjective thou wast already greeted down while it was yet day. Six letters are they, by half the fair mauvaesis sujets in the country), written in a bold, clear, boyish hand, crossed and what a waste of God's good gifts was thine! As crossed again, and signed “Your affectionate our tastes differed, so did our prospects in life. friend, Edmund Aubrey."
He was heir of entail to one of the finest estates,
for its size, and bore one of the oldest names in | lastic flock. After gaining some prizes, and exthe county; while I was then in all, save sorrow, hibiting greater general ability than any boy of his nearly what I am now—heir to little or nothing years in our school ; after perpetrating more pracsave a rambling old house, a library of old books, tical jokes than were ever chronicled or believed a few acres of meadow-land, and a name by no of Theodore Hook; after much that promised a means remarkable in the anuals of my country or bright future, and more that too truly foreshadowed my county. Well might he look forward to a evil hours in store for the brilliant schoolboy, bright future—bis path seemed strewn with roses, Aubrey one day received intelligence of his father's and if thorns would, in spite of his laissez aller death-left the school the next day, and returned philosopby, occasionally thrust themselves on his thither no more. From that time I heard but convictions, he could always trample them under rarely from him; but every letter I did receive foot, with that strange, proud smile of his, and was unlike the former in tone-enough so to show that daring heart which, in after years, worldli- me that “all that glitters is not gold,” and that, ness, shame, and pain could warp or wound, but notwithstanding his many advantages of talent nerer crush. How we two came to be friends I and social position, he was an unhappy man. From have of late years oft and vainly vexed my brain his letters I gathered that, after having run to conjecture. We were two moral and physical through the regular round of dissipation, which antitheses—as unlike in mind and body as it is some people now a-days seem to consider incumbent possible for any two boys, or men, to be in one upon the youthful possessor of a fine fortune ; country. I, with my quaiut, thoughtful turn, and having succeeded in finding nothing, save satiety, he living entirely in the actual, in the present, therein, he had fallen in love with some clever, taking everythiug as it came--a true disciple of beautiful, heartless young lady of bon ton-one in the poco curante school, without one careful every way unworthy of bim in spite of his thought for to-morrow, one remorseful recollection grievous faults—had wasted much time on sorrow of the wasted yesterday—a brilliant butterfly while as I believe most of your rejected lovers fool. the sun shone, a creature of to-day. Tell me ishly do—had rushed madly into vice and dissipanot of moral affinities; that such things can and tion, and had come out of the vortex of worldli. doubtless often do create and cement friendships, ness with its stains thick upon his soul, having I well know from hearsay ; but I have, neverthe- acquired much of life's savoir faire, with more less, through life found the reverse to be the rule loss of principle. Time passed away, and I began and not the exception. “Why then were you to think Aubrey had forgotten my existence or two friends ?” Why do we find a philosophic our friendship, when one day I received a letter Socrates tied for life to a shrewish Xantippe ? a from him, saying that he was now domiciled in Lather to a stupid “my well-beloved Katherine ?" chambers, Albany, where he would be or per contra, a De Stäel to a man in every way happy to see me whenever I felt disposed to look ber inferior? How does it happen, as I have seen in. I happened to be in London one night shortly ere now, that the coquette, the most seeningly after this, and in the vicinity of my old friend ; heartless trifler of her circle, will fall in love- so, regardless of the unseasonable hour, I “knocked deeply, purely, and truly, with the most staid, in,” and found him in his chambers reading saturnine, lemon-visaged of minkind ? Why do Petrarch over a cigar. I confess I was agreeably we lind so often Damon ever in Rotten-row and surprised by the evidences presented by the exKensington-gardens, while Pythias is poring over ternals of his domicile. I had heard that he was dusty tomes in the British Museum.
a reckless rouè—a gambler, a protector of coryI have great faith in the power of externals, and phèes, ---but I saw no solitary trace of the " Aubrey in his own person was one proof of the about-townishness” (allow me to coin a phrase for truth of such a theory. To features almost femi- the nonce) I had long ago learned to expect. nine in their delicately chiselled regularity, re- Everything in those chambers told of the refined deemed however by his bold, bright, dark eye from mind of their occupant-nothing whatever in bad any imputation of effeminacy, and glossy raven taste; no portraits of half-nude ballet girls, in the locks, clustering round a forehead well developed, most graceful of uncomfortable attitudes and the massive, and as white as marble; a mouth capable lightest gossamer, were pendant from Aubrey's walls of many expressions in an hour, and each of to stare a quiet bachelor like myself out of counthem seemingly the natural one, from the baughty tenance; not a trace of “fastness" of any kind curve to the genial smile, was added the well-knit in any shape visible—everything in a style of muscular frame of the finest race of gentlemen on elegant repose. The well-stored bookcase, too, earth-the young Englishmen of our public schools was not that of a mere St. James's-street lounger, and colleges, nurtured almost from their mothers' thought I; Sophocles and Ruff 's "Guide to the knee to manliness by the rough lessons of scholas. Turf” could find no place together on one shelf ; tic life on the river, the cricket-field, and the play- | Plato and Paul de Kock, that most prurient of ground. What wonder then if, while to these prurient writers, could never meet iu one bookpersonal advantages were added the keenest wit and case. Yet they all did; and in this particular, most subtle intellect, Edmund Aubrey was “the Aubrey's bookcase would give a keen observer a admired of all admirers,” the flower of our scho- | very fair idea of Aubrey's mind; such an incon
gruous mixture of good and evil
, refinement and till she hears a key click in the lock, and the door sensuality, was he. Who like him could so easily opens, and then reels in “the good fellow" of “ watch the stars out” in disgraceful orgies, and, last night—her lord and master—who now meets returning thence with the flush of day shining in her inquiring glance and sad questionings with bis face to those chambers in the Albany, sit down the glazed eye of inebriety, and the coarse oath or to read calmly over his cigar, the pure ethics of brutal blow—there, too, steals along the haggard Socrates as handed down to us by Plato, or, over woman—the hopeless unfortunate, with the bright those matchless dialogues, to revel in “the story of morning-sun peering through her veil at her pallid the feast," till a visionary Agathon and Diotima face of beauty blighted on the shrine of selfish stood before the jaded reveller sick at heart with sin ; there come the sturdy waggoners with the the coarse' follies of last night? Such was market carts—the keen-eyed, horny-handed meAubrey.
chanics with their honest faces contrasting There must have been something radically wrong strangely with the worn look of those who had in his composition, or, it may be, his sins were less spent a sleepless night in pursuit of folly and sin. the result of bad principle than of an utter lack “I know not why, S-—" said he, “but this of any one governing principle at all. I dined fine morning I feel in nowise inclined to go to with him the next night, and when I had listened bed as yet. We both of us need a little fresh air to his finely-drawn theories, whose value was ne- after a night spent in those heated rooms. What gatived by his daily practice, for a few hours, as say you to a stroll in Hyde Park ?” Though now to some pleasant rhapsody of some delightful somewhat sleepy I offered no objections, and in a author which one reads, knowing it to be solely a few minutes we were on the banks of the Serpenwork of imagination, I proposed a stroll and a tine. It was a lovely morning, such as one-half cigar. It was a fine July night, and we lounged of sleepy London never sees at all. The sky was down Piccadilly together. A very dangerous as clear as the sky seems during my occasional companion would he have been to any young early rambles through the fields around my country man who knew less of him than I did; with con- home ; the leaves wore that fresh verdure never versational powers of the highest order he had an seen in London many hours after sunrise ; the earnest, hearty manner, that almost carried convic- birds carolled merrily their matin-song, as though tion along with it, so that, perhaps, as I more than Hyde Park were Arcadia, and they anything but once remarked to him that very night, vice only the dingy little Cockney birds they were. We sat needed his hand to gild it, and its dross became down on a bench, and there, as the shouts of the gold. At last I yielded to his eager persuasions merry bathers came to us in silvery clear tones that we should just look in and sup at a notori- over the water, as the sun was shining down ous gaming house. I am ashamed to own that in through the slowly-rising smoke of the millionless than an hour I found myself standing in a peopled city-as the wild fowl were skimming brilliantly.lighted room, with every appliance that lazily across the saffron sky.line, he told me the art could invent, or luxury dream of, behind Au- heart-history of his last few years. He told me brey's chair, watching his play, and wondering, in on that pleasant July morning, with haggard face, my innocence, at the passionless face of the and hard, tearless eyes, now with a fervid eloquence croupier, as, amidst the rattle of dice, he paid that brought back to memory the Aubrey of losses, or “raked in” gains, with the same equal“ lang syne,” and now with a cold, epigrammatic nonchalance. This place has been so frequently cynicism which seemed so sadly new, the history before the public in the pages of novelists, and in of his ill-requited love, and the disastrous consemore veracious police reports, that I need not quences—how he had sought forgetfuluess in trawaste time in dilating on the disgraceful occur- vel-how he had striven to crush in dissipation, rences of that disgraceful night, further than to as ii it were possible, the pain-fraught memories inform that sometime after sunrise, Aubrey of the past- how he had sought to fiud in a second rose from bis chair a loser of some £1,500 or more, and unwortly attachment a balm for his wounded and that I could see, from the careless manner in heart—but all in vain; for his victim died young, which he gave a cheque for the amount lost, that leaving him one child, a girl who gave promise of this was neither his first appearance, nor first loss her mother's loveliness. What more he told me at the notorious Inferno in J--street. And so now matters not--I had heard enough to know my old friend was, after all, a lost man—a gam- that he was already drifting, like a dismasted ship, bler. I had hoped better things—my heart was wildly on to ruin, unless aid were at hand. . . . full , and I saw ruin staring him in the face from
We strolled homeward and parted, that very hour. Silently we walked downstairs but not before he bad elicited from me a promise into the street, and turned our steps towards Pic- that I would dine with him the next week at a dincadilly; the tide of human beings was fast beginner be intended to give to a few of his acquaintning to roll along that great thoroughfare ; there ance at the Star and Garter, Richmond.' That came the drunkard reeling home from the gin. same dinuer influenced his aster-fate. palace of last night to find his sad-eyed wife weary with a solitary vigil
, spent in listening nervously to every footfall in the well-nigh deserted street,
whereon to exist; to provide the means of daily Revenge and wrong bring forth their kind,
extravagance, lie had recourse to gaming, and had The foul cubs like their parents are, Their den is in the guilty mind,
gained the evil reputation of a chevalier d'industrie. And Conscience feeds them with despair,
The unfortunate termination of that duel, to use -Shelley.
the courteous phraseology of the continental On the 17th July 18—, Edmond Aubrey drove journals, rendered it expedient that Aubrey should down a small party of ladies and gentlemen, my- leave Homburg, its roulette, rouge et noir, profliself included, in his “ drag,” to the Star and Gar- gate men, and unsexed women. He suddenly dister. I shall proceed curtly to inform you that our appeared, and was heard of in England once more, party consisted of ten-sour ladies and their liege where he lived in London, nobody knew exactly, lords, Aubrey and myself. The ladies and gentle. or how, for some time. men were nothing more or less than the thousand and one ladies and gentlemen anybody can meet One winter's evening, as I was sitting alone at anywhere, any day, in society. The only exception a late hour in this room, I heard the clatter of to the general sameness was Mdme. de St. Croix, a horse's heels on the frosty road, breaking the siwhom I then saw for the first time. I do not re- lence of a December night; it grew nearer, then member ever having seen a prettier woman ; died away in the distance, as though the rider had nevertheless, hers was a face which by no means changed his mind, and turned his horse's head; improved on nearer inspection—for the expres- then all was still. I went on reading. I heard sion at times hovering round the thin lips utterly the same sound again ; then I heard the old iron belied the pensive beauty of the dark eyes and gate at the bottom of the lawn creak as it swayed lofty brow. She was then twenty-three, and her in the wind; then again all was still. It is only husband fifty. Monsieur de St. Croix was a French some belated farmer's boy, thought I-when I refugee, for political reasons-lived on his means heard a low sound as of some one tapping at the or on other men's, as the world said, for he was an window. I held my breath and listened--for tales habituè of the house in J——street ; the old of burglary and midnight violence were just then rouè subsided into the married man when rife in the county. The tapping grew louder, I laid three years ago he met his future wife in Paris down my book and my meerschaum, unbarred the during one of his clandestine visits to his native shutters, and met the gaze of a pair of eyes peerland. Accomplished, elegant, with mind as refined ing through the frosted glass. I could not for the as was possible for that of any woman who had lived life of me imagine who my nocturnal visitor was, two years under the same roof with that hoary-beaded so, to satisfy myself of the goodness of his inSybarite, De St. Croix, to be, she loved Aubrey, tention at that unseasonable hour, I went to the and was by him loved as men love in his circum- hall door, opened it, and there stood Aubrey booted stances, when no respect enters into the contract. and spurred. I said not a word of greeting, for I It is a sad story—too common every day—the bad never hoped to see that lost man again. But history of hundreds of ill-assorted marriages. One he looked so pale and wan by the flickering light day she left her husband's home, and nothing more of the lamp I held in my hand, that, when he put was heard of her till Aubrey wrote to him, stating out his hand, I could not help grasping it as of in set, cold, courteous terms, that Madame de St. old. I took his horse, which was tied to a tree, Croix, preferring his, Aubrey's, society to her round to the stable, and returned to my guest. He husband's, was now under his protection, and that strode in through the hall to the library where I he would be happy to offer satisfaction to Monsieur had been sitting—where he and I in days past had de St. Croix, &c., &c. St. Croix challenged Au. spent many hours in earnest argument," from brey, who received his antagonist's fire, and grave to gay, from lively to severe, took his seat straightway fired into the air. From that time I in the arm-chair opposite mine—beckoned to me heard but little of him, and that little was hy no to close the door, and said, “So, you see, I turn means favourable to any friendly ideas I might up again, like a bad shilling, at last. I have wanhave conceived during our separation. I heard dered since we parted, like a restless spirit, over from an old friend of mine that Aubrey was a many lands, and have now returned, Satan-like, ruined man-was a confirmed gambler- bad lest ' from going to and fro in the earth, and walking England for Homburg, taking with him his hap up and down in it;' a weary wandering has mine less paramour, and the next thing I heard was, been. Why I have come-listen, and you shall that there, once more meeting with M. de St. Croix hear. What my life has been—is now-I dare at a rouge et noir table, a quarrel had occurred not mention to my oldest friend. Gaze on the between the injured and the injurer ; that the rugged lines grief and shame have ploughed across latter was grossly insulted by the former; had called a young man's brow, and read, as from a book, the him out, and, a few days after, put a bullet through history of a wasted life." A flask of Cognac stood his heart, after the manner sanctioned by those upon the chimney piece— le pointed towards itrefined murderers known under the equivocal term I handed him a tumbler, he half filled it with unof "men of honour.” Aubrey was a ruined man steady hand, and drained it at a draught ere he long before he left England for Homburg ; had went on. now but a pitiful wreck of his fortune left him “You will recollect our early morning walk in