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THE FORGER.

O! as you hope for merey in that hour,
When all who are merciless shall plead in vain,
Grant some small respite!'-Shee's Alasco.

AFTER an absence of more than two-score years, I again entered Liverpool; and, as I approached my native town, on Christmas Eve last, my sensations were painfully pleasant. The recollections of the past were revived; and as the long anticipated pleasure of view. ing the scenes of my childhood was placed, as it were, within my grasp, the involuntary excitation occasioned that trembling of the frame, which arises from an excess of hope, when not unmixed with fear. The palpitation of the heart propelled the current of life, with excessive violence, through my veins; and when I sat down in the Saracen's Head, I discovered that neither age, nor the indifference which accompanies it, had rendered me insensible to those weak feelings which are supposed to belong peculiarly to the inexperienced; a tear, I confess, stood in my eye, and I longed for the morning, when I might venture out in pursuit of persons and objects once dear to me.

The morning, however, brought only disappointment; the spirit of improvement had passed over the dwelling of my fathers, and the humble street which once led to the house wherein I was born, now forms a broad and magnificent avenue, with temples of fashion placed alluringly on each side. The spot identified with early associations could not be discovered; all the wellknown landmarks had disappeared; and, wherever I turned, the town presented features the very opposite to those I had expected-shall I add, to those I had wished to see. No one, it is said, after forty-five, admits a new theory; and, perhaps, it was owing to my grey hairs that I could not take delight in those manifestations of increased and increasing opulence, which every where presented themselves to my wondering eyes.

The people, too, had changed, as well as the houses and the streets; nobody recognized me; the friends I

inquired after had vanished; and my name and my history, once too familiar in Liverpool, had been forgotten. No one remembered either myself or my sad story; and as the most remarkable event of my life may amuse-it must instruct-perhaps it will not be unacceptable. I can now relate it without giving pain either to myself or others.

I was brought up to trade; ordinary talents, and the usual share of attention to business, procured me a good name; and as I was regarded as a rising man, I had little difficulty in receiving the hand of a lovely young woman, endowed with what was then considered a very ample fortune. It is erroneously supposed that the tender passion reigns with most vigour in the bosoms of the very young; and that none but unions of affection can be happy. My experience contradicts this theory; and my inquiries tend to confirm the conclusion which I have been compelled to draw from the evidence deposited in my own bosom. Men immersed in the cares of business are seldom the victims of much love; they generally marry for the same reason that they speculate; and I must confess that, though constitutionally warm, I was not inflamed with any outrageous sentiments of fondness, previous to my wedding-day. Fanny's beauty flattered my vanity, and her fortune gratified my avarice; yet her refusal, even at the altar, would not have driven me to any act of desperate folly.

With years, however, came love-love ardent and intense. The admiration usually thought to be bestowed on the mistress was reserved for the wife; and each successive pledge of affection only served to increase that mutual fondness, which made us the happiest of human beings. My old heart is still warm at the recollection of those days of connubial felicity; it was a rich feast of tenderness and affection; and I am fully persuaded that none but the wedded can love-none but the married can know what real happiness is. The calm and endearing fondness which consecrates the domestic hearth is pecu

liarly theirs; and I am sometimes inclined to think that Dr. Johnson was right when he asserted, that the quantity of human happiness would be by no means diminished, if the selection of partners in wedlock devolved on the public magistrate.

The cares incidental to the married state did not impair our happiness; on the contrary, they seemed to augment it. We had four little ones; and the fond rivalry which they excited, tended to give a pleasing variety to the monotony of every-day life. They were all pretty-beautiful as angels; and I looked forward, without apprehension, to my own retirement, and their settlement in the world. Under the pleasing influence of these delightful circumstances, business was a pleasure; diligence and punctuality established my credit; and my prospects were regarded by my neighbours as enviable. Times, however, were then, as now, sufficiently bad; and I found that a fortune was not to be acquired so suddenly as I anticipated. I could not, however, do otherwise than persevere; and, in a moment of thoughtlessness, I ventured upon a questionable bargain. I did not immediately want the commodity; and in a short time I found that very few indeed needed it. Here was a dead loss: the bill passed for the amount of the purchase would soon fall due, and I was not exactly prepared to honour it. Then first began my misery. I could not venture to tell my wife; and whole nights were spent in devising plans for sustaining my credit. It was still good; and I soon hit on a method of banishing apprehension. A hundred pounds were all I wanted; and, instead of betraying my poverty by borrowing it from a friend, I drew on an imaginary person at Manchester, and slipped it among my other bills for discount at my banker's. It was entered, accepted; and I once more breathed freely. In due time it was presented, and paid in the usual way, and no one suspected me of trick or dishonesty.

The temptation of escaping from present want was, on all future occasions, too strong to be resisted. I

drew a number of fictitious acceptances, dated them Kirkdale and Everton, and passed them away, among other bills, to bankers and merchants indiscriminately. These I regularly took up when due; and my credit continued good. Business, however, was daily getting worse; and I ultimately found myself unable to meet my engagements. I resolved to compromise with my creditors; and as the principal of these resided in London, I repaired to the metropolis. Tradesmen were then less liberal than at present; my statement was fair and candid, but my creditors were not to be conciliated; they rejected my proposal, and agreed to strike the docket against me. With a heavy heart I heard this intelligence; and as I turned to leave the office of my solicitor, a person entered, inquired my name, and said he must carry me before a magistrate, to answer to the charge of forgery!

The apprehension of criminality, for the first time, now flashed across my mind, and I stood motionless as a statue. I, however, summoned to my aid all the resolution I was master of, and with an assumed air of indifference, accompanied the officer. My accuser was one whom I had always regarded as a personal friend, but the fear of losing the sum which I owed him had cancelled every obligation. If he could not have his money he was resolved to have revenge, and one of my fictitious acceptances having fallen into his hands, he pursued me to London. The charge was soon made, and I was forthwith transmitted to Lancaster Castle.

Sterne has feelingly drawn the picture of a prisoner who had tasted the bitterness of hope deferred,' but the anguish of such a wretch is far less pitiable than the misery of the man who, for the first time, finds himself immured within the bare and gloomy walls of a prison. The sudden transition from liberty to bondage has in it something terrible: every thing around you is new; the current of thought is turned awry, and is so confused and indistinct, that it can hardly be called active. The frame yields unresist

ingly to violent fever; the appetite vanishes, and, though afflicted with an excruciating thirst, you can hardly drink. The mouth becomes parched and dry, and a head-ache, terrible and constant, is a visitant which physic cannot expel. Some men may be hardened by poverty or crime into an enviable insensibility, but the symptoms I have enumerated are the constant attendants of nearly all who are forced into confinement under a charge of criminality.

To these horrors the circumstances of my case superadded a thousand others. My fair name was gone, and there was pain in the apprehension that my enemies might rejoice. These were trivial considerations compared with my fears for my wife and children. What could they do, what was to become of them, were questions which I dared not ask myself, and I would have given worlds to relieve my heart by a flood of tears. But my thoughts were too intense-too bitter for such soft alleviation, and I spent the first two days in a state of distraction, the more tormenting as I was obliged to assume a look of indifference. Men do not raise the vizor even in the darkness of the dungeon; and the veriest wretch, who imbibes new ideas of misery in a jail, is solicitous to appear to his fellowsufferers what he is not. On the third day of incarceration my wife visited me: her affection, alarmed at the dreadful intelligence, had brought her quickly from Liverpool, but she spoke no word of reproachshe made no disagreeable inquiries, but seemed prepared, with virtuous patience, for the very worst that her womanly fears could apprehend. She narrated with calmness the history of my misfortunes: the creditors had seized on my all, and herself and children were then sojourning with an humble friend. This harsh conduct of men, who had only yesterday taken me by the hand, aroused my indignation. I breathed upon them, in that moment of madness, curses not only loud but deep, and I derived comfort from the anticipation of revenge. This fit wrought my cure. I could now recollect myself. I was prepared to en

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