I have been concealing, in the hope that it might turn to better. Our little Dora has been ill, oh, so cruelly ill! I thought she would have been taken from us. But God is so good: I believe chiefly because you are good and self-denying, and He would not afflict you. But she is out of danger, and will be well soon. I must tell you all we had to do to save her. The doctor here said we must get Baxter, our doctor, from Birmingham, as he would not be answerable; and the two visits and consultations came to near fifty pounds. And, O dearest, I was obliged to take up that money we had kept for the rent. So, what we are to do I know not. But where the life of our darling is at stake, I would beg and go to jail, and do anything. Besides, I know you are so clever, and can make such friends, you will find money somehow. But God will bless you for your self-denial in the midst of sin. You have walked through the fire, like the great Three of scripture, and have not been harmed. I am indeed proud of you! That will stand you in grace and salvation——"
Yes, that is all very fine. "God bless my self-denial!" How easy it is to bring in these fine pious words; it becomes almost a conventional shape of cant. She is good and well brought up, and all that; but I would like to see the most pious of them all exposed as I have been, so cruelly, miserably, and vilely tried. Why their faith and piety would all parch up like a bit of paper before the fire. It is easy to preach far away in a dull, god-speed village, where you are not worth being tempted. I'd like to hear our smooth Bulmer and our smug bishop, with his oily phrases. O it is easy for them!
For this is all the regular jargon which she has picked up from——. The poorest creature among us is able to preach and advise, and point out the right way; and there is no such agreeable pastime or one that so ministers to the vanity of wretched human nature. A broken down jail bird, in jail, will find a satisfaction in giving his advice and experience. Above all, what a satisfaction in being able to say "I told you so!" "I warned you!" "I foresaw all this!" I believe that to be the most exquisite morsel for the envious crew; and it means at the bottom, "and I am delighted that I was proved to be right!" They would not sacrifice the triumph of that, to save you.
O, what platitudes I am talking! what useless rubbish I am picking up! what use can it be to me now? And I do not mean this, Heaven knows, to her—no, no, no, a thousand times no. She that did so much for me, that stood by me, at that critical time, when every influence was brought to bear—relations, friends. That I should have breathed a thought, a word, against my sweet divinity! O, "angels are painted fair to look like you!" But can a tried, harassed, persecuted man like me be held accountable for every fretful thought? I have not yet finished her dear letter, it shall soothe me.
"You may call me anything you please, invent any names for me. O, I shall expect one of the 'Blue letters,' as I call them. I know the next will bring me good news, good news that you are starting. And O, I do grieve that I am obliged to tell you anything that will distress you; but what can I do? Mr. Bernard says, 'He will rush to the tables now, and sacrifice his principles to get this money for you, if he has not done so already, and lost heavily.' At this I could not help making him an indignant speech, that I knew you too well. In fact I said you would die sooner than move a hair's breadth towards what you believe to be wrong. And that is my firm belief, dearest. He only laughed, and said good-humouredly 'we would see.' After all he means well. Later came in Mr. Bulmer, the clergyman, who asked a great deal about you; and said he would give anything if you were home again out of that fearful place. No one knew the danger of it. Then I did a wrong thing I know, for which you will be angry with me; but I could not resist taking out your diary and reading him a little extract, especially your magnificent denunciation of the horrors of that gambling. I read as well as I could, and I could see that he was a little jealous. I know he did not like you at that time, and he was on the side of my relations, and he showed his old feeling by saying that it was all very fine, very elegant, no doubt; but that the instant you returned he would put a simple question to you, 'Had you ever put down a sixpence?'"
What folly, how childish! always making me ridiculous, hawking me about in this way! These women's tongues know no discretion, babbling and chattering to everyone. What business has he with me. He'll put his question, will he? What answer will he get, does he fancy? "My good and reverend sir, pray attend to your own concerns. What was the instance of that horse which you sold to Mr. ——? Was that a bit of sharp practice or not?" A fine pass I am reduced to—everybody thinks they can lecture me. What right has
