PREFACE.

A PREFACE is a pleasant thing to write, whatever it may be to read, and the author of this story ventures, as on former occasions, to say a few words which, though they introduce his book, have something of retrospection.

To those who have accepted the tale in its monthly installments it is due to say that it was originally intended to occupy fourteen numbers only, but that the author did not hesitate between the alternatives of excluding from his picture some features which he thought desirable, and of venturing on a small extension of his canvas.

During the progress of the story the author has been favored with a great number of private communications, for the most part anonymous, in reference to various portions of the work. A few of the letters have been couched in a language which precludes them from any kind of notice, but these amenities of criticism have been repaid tenfold by information to the effect that the author has given much gratification to a number of persons whom he is happy to have pleased. These two acknowledgments it would hardly have been necessary to make, as they do but refer to the ordinary incidents of periodical authorcraft. But he would add a word to some private critics of a different kind.

Exception has been taken to the introduction of certain incidents and characters, to which he will not directly point, and he has also been accused of unfriendliness to what is not improperly called the religious world.

In the exercise of that judgment which must be permitted even to an author —that person whom, in common with the painter, every intellect deems itself qualified and authorized to teach-he selected a series of incidents which could not be brought about by the agency of the virtuous. The greatest of our satirists has said that it would be unadvisable, in England, to give a truthful account of the life of a young Englishman. The writer has not sought to do in any fullness that which Thackeray has asserted should not be done, but both in regard to the young Englishman whose marriage is the turning-point of the story, and to many of the subordinate personages, he has eschewed the mockery of escaping into generalities which mean nothing to those who are unacquainted with evil, and which are laughed at by those who are less fortunate. There are several bad persons in this story, but though the author disclaims any idea of composing a book on the principle of virtue being rewarded and vice punished, it will be seen that departure from morality has conducted each person in his or her degree to the end which—in the absence of repentance and reformation—it is orthodox to prepare for the evil-doer. In no case has the author defended the vicious, or committed the more dangerous and despicable offense of encouraging vice by portraying it as successful. He is not quite sure indeed

whether he ought not to take still higher ground, and to claim praise for having relied, in these passionate days, upon interest not arising from a breach of the commandments which refer to conjugal relations.

In the matter of the second animadversion he has received letters of a kind which entitle the writers to respectful consideration, but he will only say that they have been written for the most part without sufficient attention to the entire bearing of the work, and, notably, without regard to the character in which is embodied the best form of religion which the author can typify.

To these "notices to correspondents," which will probably not appear in any subsequent edition of the work, the author will only add that if he makes no formal acknowledgment of the continuous kindness which his serial has received from his fellow-craftsman of the critical press, it is not that he is not as sensible as ever of that kindness, but because he is so constantly working among them, and answering and being answered by them from other platforms, that the dropping into conventional phrase here would seem to place him among those social felons who rise at a feast and must be allowed to say a few words for which their hearers wish them in Tophet.

His other friends, the public, have given this book so warm a welcome, that it would be ungrateful not to acknowledge the fact, or not to regard it as an invitation.

KENT TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK,

Christmas, 1867.

SOONER OR LATER.

CHAPTER I.

ANDREW BARTON.

as if he had sought to break the fearful fall, lay straight on the flag.

A white-aproned porter forced his way through the throng, touching his hat, even at that moment, to two or three gentlemen past whom he

"It's Andrew Barton," he said, after a moment's look at the poor fellow. "But I don't know what call he had to be here," added the porter. "He had a job at the corner, I know."

"Never mind that now, Parker," said one of the gentlemen. "Get the police and a stretcher, and have him moved to the hospital.”

"One might do more harm than good by touching him," said a quiet, elderly clerk, not quite easy at doing nothing, and yet very willing to have an excuse for avoiding the ghastly sight which must be presented by turning the man round.

On the Holborn side of the great legal quadrilateral which adjoins the gardens dear to us from memories of dear old Sir Roger de Cover-pressed. ley, is a smaller square, three sides of which are composed of houses let in sets of chambers, chiefly to lawyers, the fourth and northern side being occupied by the hall and other buildings belonging to the Inn. This square is a quiet little bay lying close to one of the great, roaring, rushing rivers of London life, and would be almost noiseless but that human vessels in quest of legal pilots are constantly putting in through the narrow channel that leads into the busy river. Separated from the Inn by a squalid and dirty lane on the east lies in festering wretchedness and wickedness one of the worst districts of the metropolis, while on the west an intermixture of old-fashioned and decorous streets, and a few of exceeding uncleanliness and poverty, interpose between the Inn and the regions of civilization. Such landmarks may not now be useless to the reader whose London is in the Court Directory, and some years later may be convenient to an adventurer who shall leave the railways of the day, and explore the districts whence traffic shall have departed, on the invitation of steam or of its successor.

One hot afternoon in early August, when the minds of the legal gentlemen of the Inn were excited, if not softened, by the approach of their holidays, a small crowd had hastily gathered round the doorway of one of the houses in the square.

A workman, apparently a tiler, had fallen from the parapet of the house, and lay upon the stone pavement.

The five or six persons who were in the square at the moment hurried up, and from the house itself, and from chambers where those near the windows had observed either the accident or the rush to the spot, came solicitors, clerks of various grades, boys, clients, and stragglers.

Those who were nearest turned away, shocked and pale, and pushed out of the little crowd, while others took their places. No one, however, cared to touch the man.

He did not move a limb. He had fallen in a heap, and some grizzled hair under an old blue cap and the brown skin at the back of his neck were all that could be seen of his head. One arm was under him, the other, thrust out A

"There's not much harm to be done after a fall of four stories," said a very well-dressed young gentleman who was serving his articles; "but we'll see."

Mr. Farquhar piqued himself upon his nerve, and liked, or said he liked, to be taken by medical students to see operations. He advanced to move the man, and there was a sensation in the crowd, some of the foremost hastily drawing backward.

The young lawyer had his hand on the side of the fallen man, when there was a cry:

"Stop, stop, better let the doctor do it!" Perhaps not altogether displeased, Mr. Farquhar drew back, and made way for the person thus described, who had been fetched from a neighboring street.

He was a middle-aged man, somewhat too stout for his height, but rather handsome, and with features which would have been pleasing but for their discouraged and discontented expression. His full brown whiskers and beard curled well, and his blue-gray eyes were good, but lacked brightness. Carelessly dressed, and wearing an intolerably non-professional cap, he jerked himself at the work to which he was called instead of approaching it with the calm but rapid movement which marks the practiced healer of men.

"Here he is, Mr. Dudley," said the porter who had mentioned the name of the unfortunate man.

"I can see that," said Mr. Dudley, rudely. "Am I to come any nearer ?" he added, stopping in his walk.