'

whose claims on me I paid to the uttermost fraction.-What does he now want from me?"

"His payment of three pounds ten shillings," said the bailiff.

"I can swear solemnly," said Barrington, now foaming with rage, "that the demand is unjust; but if it were three thousand pounds, I should not at this moment hesitate. Here then is the money;-if there are any farther iniquitous claims, tell me at oncee-I am not now to be trifled with-speak out, man, and have done,"

"The levy," replied the sheriff's officer, "is for twenty-five pounds."

"The alleged debt is three pounds, and the legal demand twentyfive!-Vastly well,—and you must have instant payment of the whole sum?"

"I say, Dick, he's a greenhorn," observed one of the trio, who had hitherto been silent.

"Come, come, Sir, let's have no more palaver," replied the bailiff in duffle; "s you ought to know very well, that, in this here case, we could not take payment if we were ever so much inclined to oblige you; but the matter may be arranged in the course of to-morrow."

"I don't owe the man Perkins one shilling!" exclaimed Barrington; "it is impossible that, on his account, you can have any right to detain me.'

"If you'll step this way to Giles Strongitharm's gas-light, you shall read the warrant," replied the duffle-coat.

'With agony that almost deprived him of reason, and of course baffles any attempt at description, Barrington entered the tavern, where the man held up the paper to the light with both hands, but carefully guarded against any attempt to take it out of his grasp.

66

"I cannot read at that distance," said our hero. "It is of no consequence," said the duffle-coat; you see it is the sheriff's warrant, that's all and you can't pretend for to say as how we are in trespass, because here stands the name of a certain gentleman, Mr. Basil Dunmore Barrington, who is a gentleman, and won't deny his own name."

The pot-house keeper's wife stood behind the counter, and at these words she grinned.

"" I makes bold to say, Sir," said the landlord, coming forward with a pipe in his mouth, "if I were you, howsomdever, I would read the warrant every word of it, because as how, a gemman should know the why and the wherefore, before he cries dab, and allows himself to be so sitivated."

'He grinned also more broadly than the landlady had done.

❝“ You, Jem, read it aloud, then," said the duffle-coat; “I have left my eyes on the office-desk at home. By the way, Master Giles, the clock han't struck eleven. Another glass for my share, if you please; and perhaps, for keeping us waiting, the gentleman won't think it out of the way to treat us all with a drap of short. The weather is woundy cold."

This new misfortune had, in truth, originated at the instance of John Perkins, the " pampered tenant of the porter's chair," whose character (though the reader may have overlooked the circumstance) was sufficiently developed in page thirty-one of our First Volume. This man, on being dismissed by our hero, had received his wages to the full amount; but, at the same time, thought proper to demand a farther sum for the postage of letters, all of which Basil knew that he had already paid. In the porter's book there was no evidence of the payment, however,-that precaution had been neglected: John Perkins, therefore, took the liberty of urging the justice of his claim, till Barrington, in a great rage, ordered him to get out of doors; he went away grumbling, and the matter was, of course, forgotten.

At the present moment, indeed, it would have been cruel to remind our hero, that his immediate, like his former, sufferings were the result of his own imprudence and obstinate misconduct. On two subjects had Sir John frequently taken the trouble of advising his brother; one was the ruinous folly, or rather the guilt, of keeping idle, disorderly, and supernumerary servants; and secondly, the excessive impropriety of paying money without getting, in return, a written receipt, or of not carefully preserving every such document when it had been obtained. But enough of this: we must observe by the way, however, that John Perkins (to whom, through several years, Basil would have been ready to give an unexceptionable character,) was, during the preceding dialogue, stationed in the landlord's back-parlour, having accompanied the sheriff's officers, in order to witness the effect of his own proceedings. Over their success he exulted with extraordinary glee; and thence also arose the landlord's exhilaration; for John Perkins, when he had money, was an especial friend of publicans in general, but of Giles Strongitharm in particular; and had made an agreement with the latter, that when the warrant was brought up, he would not only clear off an old score, but hold various jollifications at the sign of the "pig in a cage," till the money was exhausted.

"Hark you, Mr. Bailiff," said Barrington; "I have luckily twenty pounds at command. I can get five pounds more in three minutes; only, for God's sake! don't insist on my losing three minutes, or three seconds more. Take twenty pounds, and call on me to-morrow morning for the rest."

The landlord grinned again.

"The gemman doesn't know the law, that's plain enough," said one of the trio." You see, Sir, twenty pounds is a very pretty thing -ay, so is twenty shillings, which, I makes bold for to say, you won't think over much for civility money. But as for this here levy, we can't take a settlement of it on no account.-You must go with us, and there's an end of this matter."

During this speech, Barrington had become frantic.

"Scoundrel!" cried he, "if you dare to interrupt me now”. and overturning the man who stood betwixt him and the door, he rushed out in furious agitation; but the trio soon came up with him,

and secured their prey. All three seized him at once; whereupon the wretched prisoner uttered a long, loud, deep-drawn, hideous howl, that resounded through the now desolate neighbourhood.

In this condition the debtor is dragged to the lock-up-house; and we are favoured with a description of its inmates, which we fear very closely resembles the truth.

ART. XVI.-Reply to a Pamphlet intitled "What has the Duke of Wellington gained by the Dissolution." 8vo. Saunders and Otley.

1830.

THERE is but one step, said Napoleon, from the sublime to

the ridiculous. There is but one step, practically proved our late Minister Wellington, between the ridiculous and the tragical, and on that step he fell, having admirably marked the passage between the greatest absurdity and the mightiest mischief, and sunk amidst universal jeers instead of universal groans. The late Minister's course tended to the most horrible of national calamities, civil war; but as it was the declared condition of Canning's power that he should attempt no good, so it has been the fortunate condition of Wellington's power that he should attempt no evil, and the rebound of the first blow he struck at the popular cause, dashed him to the ground. The offensive expression in the King's Speech on the opening of the Session, indicating partizanship with misrule in Belgium, and indifference to the triumph of liberty in France, followed up by the minister's declaration against Reform, and impudent assertion of the perfection of the representative system, went forth blasting the Duke's credit with the nation, arming men's minds and honest fears against him, and dooming him to political destruction. He accordingly fell, but not, we apprehend, with the salutary effect of a warning. The merits of ministers of late seem to be as imperfectly understood as their disasters. The causes in either case escape observation. The common mistake is, to glorify the fly on the chariot's axle for its course and speed. A minister taken out of the current of society, begins his career by obeying the impulse of opinion and deferring to the genius of the age. He is hailed as a miracle. He is worshipped as the redeemer of the world. He is adored as a Messiah, till, through the temptation of an impolitic confidence, he is corrupted to a Barrabas, and made over to ignominy. The man's head is turned-he is incensed till he believes a diviner mind is his, and in the pride of universal homage he begins to spurn considerations which would before have ruled him.

He mistakes the weakness of others for his own strength, and fancies the world is waiting to obey his biddings. His disposition, formed by early habits and early prejudices, has then its free scope-his behest goes forth, and he finds that St. James's Street and the Clubs therein, do not constitute the nation. How short a time ago was it when our politicians hung upon the words of Wellington as oracles of public safety. The confidence of patriots was laid at his feet t; can we wonder that he trampled on it? He carried Catholic Emancipation—Tertius è calo cecidit Cato! Like Gay's Bear in the Fable,

This trick so swell'd him with conceit,

He thought no enterprise too great.

He has carried the parallel to the Bear's disaster. The tilt against the freedom of the press manifested the disposition of the Wellington Government, as the result denoted its feebleness. The coincidence with the stronger proceedings to the same end in France and Belgium was suspicious, but the suspicion of conspiracy was angrily resented by those who did not choose the question to be raised whether the emancipator of the Catholics at home could confederate with the enemies of civil liberty abroad. The disgust of society discountenanced the attack on the press, and the Attorney General, Scarlett, was compelled to be satisfied with the ruin of one man. Up to the very opening of the session in November, delusion prevailed as to the intentions of the minister and the character of his councils. It was rumoured that a bill for Reform in Parliament was in preparation; the King's Speech came like a thunder-clap waking the people from these flattering day-dreams. The scheme was now plain enough. It was obvious, that the Duke was falling back on the High Tory Party. Whether the demonstrations of Whig hostility in the autumn were the cause of this movement, or the turn in the councils of the government was the cause of the Whig hostility, we are unable to say. It is possible that Mr. Brougham's attacks may have precipitated the Duke of Wellington's councils into an opposite extreme; and it is probable, on the other hand, that Mr. Brougham's knowledge of his Grace's designs may have converted him, who was a supporter, into an active enemy.

The declaration against Reform which served to clench the effect of the Address completed the proof of the evil character ofthe government. It was manifestly in all main particulars, foreign and domestic, anti-national. In an hour it had made itself hated, in less than a week it made itself despised, the scoff, the jest, the ridicule of the whole country. A panic was certainly what the ministry hoped to create, and thence to rally round them

together with the Ultra Tories, the alarmists, a class who have large properties and small wits, and who had been prone to cower to any government upon the terror of any passing cloud. The small wits of this order of persons proved too much, however, for the smaller wits of the minister. The excitement produced by the speeches of the King and the premier showed the alarmists that more was to be apprehended from the rash counsels of the Duke than from the temper of the people. They perceived that he was raising the evil spirit that was to compel them to alliance with him. From this time the Duke of Wellington stood plainly forth a Petit Polignac. The ordonnances had gone forth, but he would not retract. He had filled the glass and was resolved to force it down brimming over with disgust.

Instead of endeavouring to allay dissatisfaction by removing the causes of exasperation, the Minister seems to have thought that he had only underplayed his game of terror, and that to increase the phantom was all that was wanting to the production of the desired panic. Instead of seeing that he had done too much to gain over the alarmists, he determined to do more. As his first gun had failed to hit the mark, instead of correcting the aim, he doubled the charge, burst the piece, and blew the Cabinet to splinters.

It was soon apparent that the Duke had not won the support of the High Tory Party by the High Tory tone of the Speech. Lord Winchilsea, the Duke of Richmond, and others, men of generous minds, and whose intentions are fair though ill guided, refused to ally themselves with one who seems systematically to have used professions only as masks to his designs, and whose whole art of policy appears to have consisted in deceit accompanied with the bluntness which is so erroneously supposed to be presumptive of honesty and truth. Purely by defects of manner, merely by showing that he could not speak speciously, this nobleman had at one time obtained a character for straight-forward actions, as though honesty must necessarily have a bald abrupt delivery. After the carriage of the Catholic question, which was preluded by a trick, whenever he stammered and floundered in his discourse, or blustered out a purpose instead of a reason, the liberal prints were in raptures with his straight-forward character. Our Cæsar was bald, and we laurelled his defect. He was accurately understood, however, by those he had deceived, and the wiser and better High Tories said, "we will not trust him. Though he speaks our watch-words, he is not to be relied on. The Speech may be another Curtis Letter, covering designs directly opposite to the purport."