Cold-blooded monster! with refined cruelty he often selects his intended victim from that station where fortune has denied not only the luxuries but the necessaries of life; and where the want of those comforts can only be compensated and rendered tolerable in heaven’s choicest blessing, a virtuous and contented mind. The abandoned sensualist knows but too well the poor man’s inability to vindicate in a court of law the violated purity of his once innocent and happy daughter. But what redress could he obtain even were he opulent? An action can only be brought against him who has unmercifully shut out every ray of future joy, for the mere loss of his child’s personal services, quaintly denominated “per quod servitium amisit;” and at best recover but a paltry adjudication in money for that which is above all price:—a sorry remuneration, truly, for such a loss! It is in fact a cruel mockery of justice, and the triumph of crime.
Contrast the narrow and grovelling spirit that seems to characterize this most miserably defective principle of legal justice, with that noble independence and manly defence which dictated Magna Charta and the Bill of Rights! It is far from my intention to cast the slightest shade on the memory of our ancestors, many of whom thought no price too great for liberty, often indeed purchased even with their own blood, that they might bequeath it to posterity unsullied and unfettered, the legitimate birthright and glory of their future sons. But where our forefathers have done so much for us, shall we not, in kindred spirit, attempt to do something for ourselves, or for our children? Shall we suffer the seducer to walk forth in open day, or at the midnight hour, to carry devastation into every cottage, and to ravage with impunity the sacred sanctuaries of virtue? Forbid it justice,—forbid it humanity,—forbid it Heaven!
I cannot believe that one father in a thousand has ever turned his mind to the contemplation of the direful effects on society, of indulgence in this ferocious and unlawful passion; or the general voice of mankind would have been raised to hunt from their abodes the hellish tiger in human form: the hand of power, too, would surely have been lifted up to shield the innocent from his fell assault. Might not the seducer, in strict justice, be classed in malice prepense and principle with the most sanguinary murderer? On comparison, it is my firm conviction that the former is the author of more pain and misery to the great family of mankind.
In the sketch of such a character my labour might be in some degree facilitated by a short account of one who, a very few years since, figured very conspicuously in the gay world; and presuming, therefore, on the idea, I venture to insert it. Would to God! that the miseries I shall have to unfold existed only in imagination; but, alas! fancy will have no place in the working of the dark picture.
The detail was written by the gentleman himself, principally during a twelvemonth’s confinement from a wound received in a duel. Of this he ultimately died; but not before the hideous forms of vice and crime had been exposed to his terrified view in all their naked deformity. At the time this melancholy scene took place I was in India; and on my return a packet containing his journal, and an elegant copy of the Bible, which I had many years before advised him to peruse, was put into my hand by a friend of his. This bequest, with the following letter, was marked for me by his own hand a few days before his dissolution:
“——, May 15th, 1816.
“However widely, my much valued friend, the theory and practice of our lives may have differed, I flatter myself that at this moment our sentiments are the same. That there is a just God, I never once doubted; and that he is merciful, and willing to pardon the sins of the penitent, it is now my interest firmly to believe. My career is nearly finished—I have languished long, and been very miserable; for, until within a few months, I never dared encourage a hope of pardon from Heaven; and although my mind is become more tranquil, I still fear that I am a great way from salvation, though I feel I am but a step from the grave. I can now see that your reasons for avoiding me were just, but I think they were cruel. Great God! What have I been—what am I to be? Gracious Heaven! If the very little you knew of me could make you avoid me, what will you think after reading my journal? I have often intended to burn it—I wish you would do so: yet, it may be useful in warning some fellow-creature of the damnation which the labours of my life had industriously prepared. If you think so, dispose of it as you like.—My false shame is all gone. I care not now who knows my wickedness. But should you ever make it public—oh! spare my family—my beloved, wretched mother:—happy for us both had I never been born. I wish you were now with me; but, it was my misfortune through life never to have a friend—and I neglected Him who in death would not have forsaken me.
“I leave this, together with the journal of my perdition, and the blessed book you so long ago recommended, in the care of L. G., who promises to deliver them to you. Have I fallen so low in your estimation that you exclude me entirely from calling you friend? Alas! I never had a friend. My proud heart could never sue for any man’s pity; but I beseech you not do deny me yours. O pray for me.—May your life be as happy as mine has been miserable.—Adieu,—Adieu!
“—— F——.”
The only regret I feel in giving these interesting memoirs to the public is the fear, indeed almost the painful certainty, that the wounds of his respectable family may thus be made to bleed afresh, in the recollection of his errors. I persuade myself, however, that they will acquit me of any unworthy motive, much less wanton desire to inflict unnecessary pain: rather a thousand times would I pour into their afflicted bosoms the healing balm of friendly sympathy and pity; and whilst I pursue the dismal narrative, my own heart will remain no stranger to the feelings of sorrow due to the fate of my unfortunate hopeless friend.