“It is too late, Mr. Hartley,” replied that nobleman; “I am on my ground.”
“It is not an apology, my Lord,” replied the other smiling; “but really, as a man of honor, I cannot fight you as we stand at present: we are not upon equal terms.”
“Speak to your second, sir,” said his opponent.
“You perceive he happens to be engaged just now,” rejoined Hartley; “but, in fact, the communication can as well be made to your lordship; I have just observed, my Lord, that the bullet of your pistol has dropped out, and I believe, if you will take the trouble to look upon the ground, you will see it at your feet; your second, I presume, has forgot to put in wadding.”
“Mr. Hartley,” replied Lord Cumber, “I always believed you to be a gentleman, and a man of bravery; I feel it now, and whatever the event of this meeting may be, I shall render you ample justice. I thank you, sir, for that act of true courage and honor.” At length the bullet was restored to its place, and the seconds drew aside to give the signal, which was letting fall a white handkerchief, when each was immediately to fire.
How short a span there is between life and eternity! There they stood, both in high health and strength, full of the world, and the world's spirit, and yet in how brief a space was one of them to appear before the judgment-seat of God!
At length the signal was given, the handkerchief fell, two shots were heard, one instantly following the other. Hartley having fired, dropped his pistol hand by his side, whilst Lord Cumber raised his left hand to his breast, or rather was in the act of raising it, when he fell, gathered up his knees to his chin, and immediately stretching out his limbs at full length, was a corpse: thus dying as he did, in the maintenance of an unjust and tyrannical principle. And so passed away, by an untimely death, a man who was not destined to be a bad character. His errors as a man—a private nobleman—we do not canvass any farther than as they affected his duties as a landlord. His errors as a landlord were the errors of his time, and represented the principles of his class. These were contempt for, and neglect of, the condition and comforts of his tenantry, of the very individuals from whose exertions and straggles he derived his support. Strange, indeed, it is that men placed as his lordship was, should forget a principle, which a neglect of their duties may one day teach them to their cost—that principle is the equal right of every man to the soil which God has created for all. The laws of agrarian property are the laws of a class, and it is not too much to say, that if the rights of this class to legislate for their own interests were severely investigated, it might appear upon just and rational principles that the landlord is nothing more nor less than a pensioner upon popular credulity, and lives upon a fundamental error in society created by the class to which he belongs. Think of this, gentlemen, and pay attention to your duties.
Whilst Lord Cumber, who never communicated a syllable touching the duel with Hartley to his brother, was engaged in that mortal conflict, as it unhappily turned out to be, the Honorable Richard Topertoe was engaged in a far different occupation. On that same morning, in Castle Cumber church, he had the pleasure of giving away the hand of Mary M'Loughlin to her lover, Harman, and it was on their return from her father's house, after having witnessed their subsequent marriage by Father Roche, that he met his brother's carriage containing his dead body. Richard Topertoe possessed a mind above an empty title, and, perhaps, there lived not a man who more sincerely deplored the event which made him Lord Cumber, and put him in possession of a property which he did not require.
Our chronicles draw to a close. The contemplated interview between Mrs. Lenehan, her brother, and Solomon, never in fact took place. Solomon fell very seasonably into ill health, and could be seen by nobody, except his physician, who was nearly as religious as himself, and besides, a member of his own congregation. In the trust, however, which the widow placed in Solomon, she was, to use his own language, abundantly justified, as the event proved. Honest Solomon defrauded her out of the money, and had the satisfaction of reflecting that he reduced her and her family to beggary. Breach of trust it appears is a very slight thing in the eye of the law, and Solomon, encouraged by this consideration, ruined the unfortunate widow and her orphans. This act of gross, unprincipled robbery was, however, not unpunished. In about a month after he had perpetrated it, the following scene occurred in the Court of King's Bench, in presence of many who will have little difficulty in bringing it to their recollection. A thin, pale-faced man, far gone apparently in serious illness, supported on each side by a religious friend who had not given him up, one of them by the way was a Scotchman, and a far greater knave and hypocrite than himself—approached the table, and requested permission to address the Court, previous to the exercise of its jurisdiction in striking him off the Roll of Attornies. This permission was granted, and Solomon, for it was he, spoke briefly as follows:—
“My Lord, you see before you a frail sinner, who will soon appear before a greater and more awful tribunal than yours. I am not here, my Lord, to defend an act to which I was prompted by—may I be permitted to say so—by my very virtues. Some men, my Lord, we ruined by excellent qualities, and some by those which are the reverse. As touching mine, my Lord, and the principles upon which—but an explanation on this subject would not become me. Oh, no, my Lord; but your lordship sees these tears; your lordship sees this weak, feeble, and emaciated frame. You perceive, in fact, my Lord, that I am scarcely a subject for the severity of this or any other court. In the meantime, may I be prepared to meet a greater, a more awful one! May that be granted, my Lord! oh, may He grant it! I am very feeble, my Lord, but still able to entreat that your lordship will temper justice with mercy. About a month ago, my Lord, when I little apprehended the occurrence which—but may His will be done! My honesty is known, my Lord; it is known there, pointing up—about a month ago, I say, I had my last child baptized by—I am ashamed to tell your lordship what name, lest you might imagine that I done so for the purpose of biasing your judgment in the—No, my Lord, I will add nothing to the simple fact—I had my last child baptized by the name of Richard Pennywinkle M'Slime—a circumstance which fills my heart with sentiments of joy and gratification up to this moment. And I am not depressed—-far from it. This, my Lord, is a trial, and I know, for I feel, that it is good for me to be tried, inasmuch as it is a proof that I am cared for THERE!” and he pointed again upwards as he spoke.