The Hermit Convict

By Rev. William Draper

The Hermit Convict by Reverend William Draper is about the trial of young James Stewart, who conflicts with his employer Mr. Hartlop about a promised position in the shipping industry. Excerpt: "Poor Stewart! He seemed as if he could have broken through all rules and customs while Julet was under examination. It was only by a violent effort that he restrained his indignation. But as the case for the prosecution closed, he seemed to have lost every glimpse of hope."

• Language: English
• Publisher: DigiCat
• Release date: Nov 22, 2022
• ISBN: 8596547405245

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CHAPTER I.—JAMES STEWART.

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NOT GUILTY! My lord, not guilty, I assure you!

The speaker was a young man, respectably dressed, with a countenance somewhat pale, but giving evidence of a determined will, and a general demeanor which indicated intelligence and good breeding. Standing in the dock, arraigned before the judge of assize at Winchester, in a crowded court, with the serious charge of forgery against him, James Stewart in a firm tone of voice pleaded thus, and, the plea being recorded, the trial commenced. The Crown Court in that ancient assize hall is very commodious, and the galleries are sufficiently capacious to hold several hundred spectators, but upon this occasion every nook and corner was occupied.

The circumstances of the case were very peculiar. The young man was well known; his employer was a citizen in the town of Southampton, and it was rumored that the prosecution was without his sanction, and in opposition to his judgment. The prisoner had been apprenticed to this gentleman, whose name was Hartlop, and had served his time with honor and credit to the complete satisfaction of his employer, who made him an advantageous offer of continued employment which Stewart accepted, and death having soon after removed the managing clerk, the prisoner was promoted to the vacant post. To the young man it was no small gratification to be, at so early a period of his history, thus taken into the confidence of one who was well able to administer to the success of his future life. His father had been a shipping agent in Southampton, at that time noted as one of the prettiest places of seaside resort in all the South of England. Its quaint and interesting Bargate, the old walls and towers with several other gates, and many remnants of ancient fortification; the broad and beautiful High-street, terminating at one end in very spacious quays, and at the other with an avenue of lofty elms, forming as beautiful an entrance to the town as it is possible to conceive; its many walks of surpassing excellence and romantic interest; the near vicinity of the New Forest, with its pretty villages; all these, and many other attractions, made the ancient sea-port of Southampton a very desirable place of residence. Then the Isle of Wight, that beautiful garden of England, and the splendid ruin of Netley Abbey, proved sufficiently attractive to induce many to visit the place, as indeed is the case to this day. Southampton has now lost, only by report, all, or nearly all, of this old-fashioned excellence, but it has gained something instead of it, which has made the name a world-renowned word in postal and commercial phraseology. Well, they who traded in the place in the childhood of our good Queen, have for the most part passed away. Peace be to their memory! One of these was the very respectable citizen with whom James Stewart claimed a sort of relationship, which one of those old laws, given some three thousand years ago, most impressively commands us all to honor, but which in these very matter of fact days is frequently debased from the high and mighty excellence of 'father' to the very foreign and repelling epithet of 'governor.' Stewart, however, was not the son to conceive such a thought of him whom he ever regarded as a dear good father. In a playful mood, he would sometimes ring out merrily the familiar 'dad,' but the word meant volumes of affection, and the fond father knew it. Mr. Stewart had for many years carried on a very lucrative business; he had been, in a word, a successful speculator in shipping ventures. It was a common household word in the family, that the period was fast approaching when the son, released from his apprenticeship, was to become the acting-partner in the business of James Stewart and Co., and the father and mother had mentally arranged most of the preliminaries which were to be associated with the retirement of the former from active business. But man proposes, and there is One who frequently, for the wisest purposes, turns the nest upside down. 'This is my rest,' many a good man says, and he nestles down in it, and finds such an elysium of happiness, that, looking around with the complacency of satisfaction, he breathes out the words, 'I shall die here.'

'No,' says the unerring voice of wisdom, and forthwith the storm begins to beat, the rain of sorrow descends, the winds of life's bitter blasting influence howl around the traveller. He may have the Rock of Ages to shelter him, a good substantial hiding-place in all seasons, but under this secure dwelling-place he sees all his earthly treasures swept away, the tempter whispering all the while, 'curse God, and die.' Such was the experience of the prisoner's father. The son had only a few weeks to serve under his apprenticeship bond, when an irreparable series of losses involved his father in irretrievable commercial ruin. A bank, in which he was a large shareholder, failed; all his deposits were hopelessly lost; and in addition to this disaster, he had, in conjunction with the other shareholders, to pay large sums for which their shares made them liable. The history of Job is certainly perpetuated in such cases: one disaster follows another, and yet there is one more, and the sufferer nervously glances at the shadows of more yet to come. In Mr. Stewart's case, he was mercifully preserved from the knowledge of all the woe which thus fell upon his house, for the messenger came to whisper the words, 'the Father wanted him at home;' and one bright spring morning, at the very moment when judgment against his goods was being signed, he gently departed to appear at another judgment seat, where the good faithful old Christian gave in his bank book of talents, all of which had borne good interest, and found that, though he had lost everything, he had gained a crown and a kingdom. The last blow, intermingled as it was with the death of her husband, proved to be also the summons to the wife and mother. Scarcely had the grave closed upon the father, ere it was opened again to receive her, and Stewart, thus doubly bereaved, with every hope crushed in the bud, was brought face to face with the stubborn fact that there was nothing before him but hard toil, accompanied, it might be, with privation and suffering.

In these circumstances he found in Mr. Hartlop a sympathising and faithful friend and benefactor. He received the orphan lad as an inmate of his own house, encouraged him with the hope of preferment, and took care so to occupy his thoughts with that which was pleasant, cheerful, and hopeful, that he soon became as much at home with his kind employer as it was possible for his sorrowing heart to allow. Stewart had not, however, to learn where to seek comfort in the hour of trial. He had reason to be thankful that God had given him honorable, pious, and faithful parents. The influence of their example paved the way to serious thought, and this led him to a wise decision to become a meek, humble, earnest, and devoted follower of the Saviour. By the touching of the Highest, he attained to a scholarship which nothing else can bestow. He had sat at the feet of a greater than Gamaliel, and had taken the highest honors resulting therefrom. Many to this day have reason to be thankful for the good counsel which this young disciple breathed into their ear. He pleaded on their behalf earnestly, even with the faltering tongue and the moistened eye; but the footfall of his devoted life was heard by those with whom he was brought into contact, and even though in this case no voice was heard, the example became vocal in many a conscience, saying to besetting sins, 'What doest thou here?'

In the same office there was another clerk who, though he was the senior in point of years, yet occupied a position inferior to that of Stewart. His name was Henry Julet, which was pronounced in accordance with the usage of French phraseology, although in the man there was very little, if anything, which indicated a foreign extraction. His features were coarse, repulsive, and at times bloated and wrinkled to such a degree as to create a suspicion that he indulged in the most sensual and debasing vices. But yet no one could accuse him of anything which was glaringly vicious. He frequented taverns, and was known to be addicted to card-playing. Two or three times he had crossed the line into the hemisphere of intemperance, but these were race days, or something similar, and as he said, he made no pretentions to religion, and did not see why he should not enjoy himself in his way, as others did in their peculiar manner. Mr. Hartlop did not much relish such irregularities, but the man was useful, and for the most part, steady and attentive to his business.

There was also a wife in the scale, and an addition to the interest in the shape of an infant, who, at the time when our story opens, was about five years of age. Julet never liked Stewart, in fact there were periods when he plainly showed that he just tolerated his superiority in office, but whenever he could be so, he was reticent to a degree, and many disagreeable mistakes had occurred because of this unhappy feeling. There is no doubt that the cause of disagreement was the old story, which was fought upon the old ground. Shall I, indeed, bow down to thee?

Envy, eldest born of hell, plotted the elements of division, and there was no lack of aid in carrying them into practice. Still, in the ordinary course of events, there was no tangible cause of complaint, and business matters proceeded in their course much the same as they do in other houses.

In the posting up of the great ledger of Time it is recorded that in Mr. Hartlop's banking book, in the month of January, l8—, there was found a cheque which was drawn in favor of one Thomas Starling, for the sum of forty-two pounds, which cheque was pronounced by the merchant to be a forgery. It bore the name of Alex. Hartlop, so cleverly written that even that gentleman could scarcely detect any difference between his own signature and that in this cheque, save in one very minute point. But apart from this very trifling difference, Mr. Hartlop persistently denied that he had ever drawn such a cheque. He knew no such person as Thomas Starling, how could he then have drawn a cheque for one of whom he had never heard; he had not signed that cheque, on his oath he would swear it. The bank authorities were compelled to own that in the minute particular to which reference has been made, the signature was not genuine. The amount had been paid to a middle-aged man, a stranger, who gave his name, Starling.

Here was a mystery, and who could solve it? The cheque-book was kept in the cash-box, and this again was always locked up in the iron safe. To this safe none had access, save Mr. Hartlop and the prisoner. In the absence of any proof that the merchant had signed the cheque in a fit of abstraction, which every one who knew Mr. Hartlop agreed was most unlikely, suspicion could rest only upon James Stewart. Why? No one could exactly say. Yet he was arrested, and after the preliminary examination was remanded, to be committed for trial at his next hearing, upon evidence which appeared too conclusive to be resisted. Ten days after the committal, the assizes commenced, the bank proprietors being the prosecutors; and on the second day of the assize, he stood in the felon's dock to answer this serious charge.

The facts of the case were reduced upon the trial to a very small compass. A close examination of the cheque-book proved that a leaf had been abstracted with scrupulous care, but the criminal had forgotten that the numbers ran through the book consecutively, and one of these was missing. The forged cheque bore this identical number. The terrible alternative was inevitable. If the keys of the safe had never been accessible to any besides the prisoner or his employer, one or the other must have abstracted the cheque. That Mr. Hartlop should do such a thing was incomprehensible, and it was only just possible that the prisoner might have been guilty of such an act. The filling in of the cheque was in writing very similar to Stewart's, the signature appeared all but perfect. In fact, the bank proprietors and their clerks candidly confessed that they would have paid any amount upon it.

Such was the general purport of the case, which the counsel for the prosecution, in a condensed form, laid before the jury; but he appended a farther statement, that there were additional facts upon which he would not comment, but considered it best to leave this, which he thought most damning evidence, to the sole judgment of those who would have to decide the case.

There were many witnesses to be examined, to be cross-examined, brow-beaten, insulted, and if within the possibility of man's skill, to be legally forced to tell a lie. Cross-examination is no doubt a safety valve in the great engine of English law; but, in the hands of some, it is a shame and disgrace. If it is equity, justice, and law to worry a respectable, honest witness to the very borders of madness, then it must be right; but if the word of a man of good repute is worth any thing, it is by no means necessary to strive to make that man appear ridiculous in the estimation of the court. This is the aim and end of all cross-examination, when it exceeds the bounds of civility. Upon this particular trial, the several witnesses passed through the most severe ordeal. They grew very red, and then turned pale; they determined not to be angry, and sixty seconds after were as pettish as possible: they volunteered opinions, and then appeared to be as barren of any real evidence as the spectators in the court: they looked very wise, but went out of the witness box conscious that the counsel had made them the laughing stock of all, and at last the court adjourned for lunch. In twenty minutes the judge was on the bench again, and the most important witness of the day was called, Henry Julet.

As he entered the box he cast one glance at the prisoner: no trace of emotion, no mark of pity, no, not the slightest feeling of shame was there in that face. Then, looking at the judge, at the jury, and finally casting a triumphant gaze around the court, he appeared to brace himself up for that which was to be a lengthened and searching examination. This would fill many pages, and from its peculiarity it is here given in a condensed form.

He was preparing to leave the warehouse on the evening of January 15, he was quite sure as to the day, because it was his birthday. All the lights were extinguished, except one in the counting-house, which was a square room, with glass windows on the two sides which faced the warehouse. He could easily see the prisoner through this glass partition, especially as the counting-house was lighted, and he stood in the dark warehouse. He saw him unlock the cashbox, out of which he took the cheque-book; he knew it was a cheque-book by its peculiar shape. Out of this book he distinctly saw him tear a leaf, he heard the sharp click which accompanied the act; everybody knew what kind of sound he referred to. That somehow he thought it to be a strange proceeding, he could not tell why he thought so, but he did for all that. So he crept softly up to the partition, and there he distinctly saw that the prisoner held a long strip of paper in his hand, while with a penknife he was trying to cut away some ragged pieces which had been left in the cheque-book. Curious to see more he still lingered, and then he was struck with the appearance of the young man. He was looking at the blank cheque apparently in deep thought; he (the witness) imagined at the time that he was hesitating whether he should keep the cheque or not. He could then see that it was one of those which were issued by the bank of which Mr. Hartlop was a customer. But the common effect of endeavoring to hold in his breath, had resulted in a sudden fit of coughing. Of course the prisoner was alarmed, and, instantly crushing the cheque in his hand, he rushed out of the counting-house saying, 'what do you want?' He replied that he was waiting for him; he was wont to do this very often when Mr. Hartlop was away from home, and, as he had gone to London that day, he thought the prisoner would like to spend the evening at his house. He noticed at the time that he stared at him very keenly, as if he would read his thoughts; but suddenly he turned back into the counting-house, put on his hat, extinguished the lamp, and, locking up the safe in the dark, and afterwards the counting-house door, they left the premises together. Prisoner, however, did not go home with him, but, talking very rapidly all the way, he accompanied him as far as East-street, and then hurriedly wishing him good night he ran off in the direction of Albion Place.

The witness tendered this evidence with the most complete self-possession. Why had he not spoken about this at the time the forged cheque was discovered?

Well, he replied, he really pitied the young man, and was not willing to be the means of convicting him of this crime, more especially as he heard that the bank would be the prosecutor if there was to be any prosecution at all.

What was the reason then for his altered determination? The judge asked this question of the counsel, but the witness replied at once: Mr. Hartlop put a direct question to him.

What was the question?

'Did he, or did he not, know anything about the forgery? He would not accuse any one; but he had put this question to the prisoner, and in the same manner he now asked him. To this question he replied, 'that he had no wish to make any statement at all.' This, however, only made Mr. Hartlop more determined to know the truth, and so he informed him of that which he had given in evidence to the court.

No cross-examination could shake this testimony; it was given calmly, with evident thought. Moreover, it was probable and reasonable.

The cheque was produced; it had evidently been crumpled up as the witness had stated.

Mr. Hartlop, recalled, confirmed Julet's statement that he had pressed him to tell all he knew about the case, and after some considerable hesitation and confusion, he had stated to him (Mr. Hartlop) the same facts which he had given in evidence to the court.

Had the prisoner been extravagant? asked the judge.

No! replied Mr. Hartlop. James Stewart was a careful, saving young man; certainly no one could charge him with anything bordering upon extravagance. He could not account for the forgery; the last person he should have accused was the prisoner. Even now, notwithstanding all the evidence that he had heard, he was persuaded that there was a terrible mistake somewhere. He never would believe the prisoner to be guilty.

Poor Stewart! He seemed as if he could have broken through all rule and custom while Julet was under examination. It was only by a violent effort that he restrained his indignation. But as the case for the prosecution closed, he seemed to have lost every glimpse of hope. Witnesses were called on his behalf, but they could only tell that which was already known, and candidly admitted by the prosecution, that up to this period the prisoner's character was unstained. The usual strong appeal was made to the feelings of the jury by the prisoner's counsel, but those who read the faces of other men, said that it was breath wasted for no purpose at all. Stewart was condemned already, and he felt it. With his head resting on his hand, and his elbow on the dock-spiked rail, he sobbed out the words at intervals, By the God of heaven, not guilty, lifting up his hands as if appealing to the Judge of all.

The judge was much moved. He was a most kind-hearted man, always pitiful and compassionate towards the erring, especially if there was a hope of reformation. But what could he do in such a case as this? For some moments he was silent. He looked earnestly at the prisoner, then round the court; and finally at the young man again, as if in a spirit of inquiry, Is there nothing which can rebut this evidence? But his solemn duty must be performed, however hard it might be. The law was not his; he was only the judge; and hard enough it is at times to pass sentence upon a poor creature, even with this feeling. As the judge said afterwards, If it had rested with him, he could have wished to see that young man set free. Slowly, calmly, but surely, he summed up the terrible evidence. What could it be but against the prisoner, treat it as superficially as he could? He was too honest a judge to be partial however, even in such a case as this; but the concluding words of the summing up were spoken with an energy which evidenced the feeling of the man, though the man was clad in the robes of the judge. If—if there is even the least shadow of a doubt upon your minds as to the improbability of the prisoner's guilt, do not convict him. The words in italics were emphasised with the slowest and most distinct articulation.

There was no doubt; those twelve matter-of fact jurymen had found the prisoner guilty an hour previously. Only as a matter of form did they turn round to speak to each other. In five minutes James Stewart was a convict: in five minutes more, he was sentenced to fourteen years' transportation beyond the seas, the crime of forgery being at this period very little short of a capital offence. Handcuffed, dumbstruck, all but temporarily insane with the horror of his position, he was conducted back to the gaol, to await final instructions as to his future destiny. Let the cloud come down, and shroud the scene with the mist of obscurity. The poor heart-stricken youth felt its presence; feared as he entered into it; but the nobler principles of Christianity triumphed amidst the gloom. The heart knoweth its own bitterness; but into the prison cell, pity, faith, and hope accompanied the sorrowing prisoner; and a few hours later, Mr. Hartlop, who went to visit him as soon as his harrowed feelings would allow, found his young protege firmly and confidently believing that all would be well with him.

Within three years after this terrible day, when the merchant and the orphan parted with a bitterness of sorrow which cannot be described, James Stewart, with two hundred and thirty others, heard the anchor chains rushing out of the convict ship, and knew that the terrible voyage was over, and that upon a new scene they were to work out their awful sentence. Mercifully had the young man been preserved throughout the long and tedious voyage of more than five months duration. Disease of a most contagious character had cut off fifty-four of the horrid, blaspheming cargo of outcasts who had been banished to this far-off land. But Stewart had escaped, and had proved to be a blessing to many who had thus miserably perished. Apparently indifferent about his own safety, he had striven to aid the authorities in their arduous duties, and some of the officers, only too glad of any assistance, made him a hospital nurse. So well did he conduct himself in this position, that the surgeon obtained the consent of the commander that his fetters should be taken off, and on the arrival of the ship in Moreton Bay, his case was recommended to the favorable consideration of the commandant, with a view to some alleviation of the more severe part of the sentence which had been passed upon him.

CHAPTER II.—DAVID ARGYLE.

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In the same vessel there was another convict, whose case this chapter will describe. David Argyle was the son of a 'well-to-do' farmer in Suffolk, who had inherited all his father's property, but lacked the necessary experience and perseverance which had contributed so much to make the elder Argyle a successful, and, consequently, a wealthy man. Like many young men who suddenly come into the possession of a considerable sum of ready money, he regarded his position as one in which he could enjoy life to his heart's content, and so he determined to have a spell of jollity to make up for the restraint which the plain habits of a very good father and mother had put upon him.

These are his own words; but weeks, and even months elapsed, after he had followed his father to the grave, and yet he was simply Davie, as he was called, a plain country lad, the pride of his widowed mother, and an object of ridicule to some of the neighbors' sons; fast young men, who took care to express their opinions about him whenever an opportunity occurred.

Nearly two years thus passed away after the death of old Argyle, when the mother sickened, and, after a very brief illness, she was numbered with the dead. No one could be more affectionate and loving to her than the lad who was almost constantly by her bedside. The most experienced medical aid was procured, but the disease was incurable, and she knew it from the first day when it struck her down. David was most devotedly attached to his mother, and the thought of losing her was terrible to him, but as the end drew near, and the doctors plainly told him there was no hope, like young Jacob of old, he appeared to be superstitiously anxious to obtain the parental dying blessing, and who can say that there was any superstition in it after all. Had any one stood in the chamber of good old Mrs. Argyle, they must have been impressed with the solemn scene as they witnessed her feeble hand resting upon her son's head, and heard her, in faltering accents, pronounce the words, God bless thee, my dear, good boy. Yes, the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, laddie. The angel which hath redeemed me and thy father, my bairn, from all, yes, all evil, bless thee—even thee. And now, Davie, one counsel more, be ye sure ye meet father and mother in heaven. Love the Saviour, laddie; He has ever proved a good friend to your father and me. The last words were spoken at intervals, and with great difficulty. One last effort followed. Opening her eyes, the fond mother said, Look—at—me. The young man raised his head, and with a look of unspeakable tenderness she said, Jesus—precious— and the tongue ceased its office.

The incidents associated with a mourning family are interesting, even instructive, but the experience of every one is too full of the reality of the thing, to make the bare repetition of such scenes a necessity. David Argyle saw his mother's corpse committed to the grave, and then he began seriously to consider what was necessary to be done to fill up the gap which death had made in the family circle. There was not a question but that home, or the house, as he now termed it, was dull, dreadfully dull. He was a very superficial reader, and the society of an old woman, who had been the house servant for many years, was not calculated to interest him very much. It was winter also, the evenings were long and tedious. He had no companions, nor was he clever in inventing sources of amusement or instruction. The great temptation was very strong now: Run up to London, see real life there, have a taste of that which others enjoy so much, and after this nice change you will settle down to work all the better. His heart was quite ready to acquiesce in this proposal, which the tempter placed before him in this very plausible language; but sundry recollections of recent words which had sounded in his ears under circumstances which he then thought he could never forget, raised up a shield before the tempter, and for the time he was foiled. No, said the young man, I will remain at home.

But how true it is, that man actually unbolts the doors which keep temptation away from his view, merely to gain a momentary look at the pleasant prospect, and then he finds that he can never fasten them so securely as they were before. The tempter has only to use a little extra force and the barriers yield, and free ingress is given to the human house. David's desires ere long went far enough to take off all the fastenings by which the tempter had been baffled, and he was not in the least surprised or sorry to see that which was the personification of temptation, walk into his house and heart, in the person of a young man who, as it afterwards transpired, had laid a wager that he would bring out the young farmer to join a few jovial companions at a social 'free-and-easy' club, which had been established at the neighboring town of Leyton. David had been watching his visitor as he slowly rode across the common which adjoined his farm, but believing that he was on his way to town, he turned again to the well-spread table in the keeping-room, to discuss the usual lunch which always preceded a ride to market. Sitting with his back to the window, he did not perceive that anyone had entered the farmyard, until he was accosted with a cheerful: Good morning, Argyle, excuse me, I came in without ceremony, you know.

Quite right, neighbor Rouse, replied Argyle, I am glad to see you. Why don't you give us a look in now and then, I am wretchedly dull.

Oh! so I thought, said Richard Rouse, and as I rode over, seeing your horse ready saddled, I supposed that you were off to market; and says I, 'here's the chance to break the ice.' No sooner said than done, that is my motto; so off I jumped, and here I am, old fellow!

And right welcome you are, Rouse, replied the young farmer; come, take a snap, and we will ride in together.

Many thanks, Argyle, said his visitor, but I have only just breakfasted; we were late last night. What do you think of our little carousal? Let me see, there was Tom Jones and his two sisters, splendid girls, by-the-bye, and the three young Thurlows and no sisters, but to make up for their absence, we had the four Miss Gillinghams and then mother.

Who weighed down all the three Thurlows, I suppose?

Exactly so, replied Rouse, but they were not all. Old Squire Herbert dropped in on his way home, and a jolly old customer he is, Argyle. By the way, he was asking after you.

After me! said Argyle. I never spoke to him in my live.

Just so, my dear fellow, and the jolly old squire said he did not know why there should be such an estrangement between you; and now that you are indeed your own master, and the fortunate possessor of Argyle Farm, and ten thousand pounds in ready cash—

Who told you that? said Argyle, interrupting his visitor rather sharply, at the same time looking him very keenly in the face.

Rouse saw that he was on delicate ground, and that the young farmer was as suspicious about any intermeddling with his private affairs as he was generally reported to be. But he was too good a tactician to be defeated upon such simple ground.

That your father was wealthy, David, he replied, everybody knew. That he had nearly that sum out upon the mortgage of the Woodbridge property—you know which I mean—was a public report, and more than a report, a certain fact. So people judge, my door fellow, and Squire Herbert spoke about it, saying he was as glad of your good luck as if you were his own son.

Ah! well, replied Argyle, you were talking about your company, what was it, a ball, or a family birthday, or—

A little social evening party, Argyle. You have been so shut up at home that you have heard little or nothing about our movements. Nor shall it be our fault, my dear fellow, if you do not become better acquainted with us.

Well, we can talk about this as we go along, said Argyle, but tell me, Rouse, what sort of a club is that which you wrote to me about some months ago. I really think—

That you will join us; now do, there's a good fellow, said Rouse, the very thing I was going to ask you. We have good dinners, famous wine, capital company.

Ah! there's the rub! said Argyle, the company at these places, my good father used to say, was likely to lead a fellow into bad habits.

Not necessarily so, replied his companion. I won't take offence, Argyle, at your remark, for you do not, I am sure, mean to charge me with such a fault.

Oh, no, no, excuse me, I was speaking in general terms, said Argyle.

And I, my dear fellow, replied Rouse, "am such a generality, that I mix in all kinds of society, but I do not know that I am a profligate for all that.