rated traits of the caricature, and
everybody who knows him must recognize Dick Steele. Dick set about almost
all the undertakings of his life with inadequate means, and, as he took
and furnished a house with the most generous intentions towards his
friends, the most tender gallantry towards his wife, and with this only
drawback, that he had not wherewithal to pay the rent when quarter-day
came,--so, in his life he proposed to himself the most magnificent schemes
of virtue, forbearance, public and private good, and the advancement of
his own and the national religion; but when he had to pay for these
articles--so difficult to purchase and so costly to maintain--poor Dick's
money was not forthcoming: and when Virtue called with her little bill,
Dick made a shuffling excuse that he could not see her that morning,
having a headache from being tipsy overnight; or when stern Duty rapped at
the door with his account, Dick was absent and not ready to pay. He was
shirking at the tavern; or had some particular business (of somebody's
else) at the ordinary; or he was in hiding, or worse than in hiding, in
the lock-up house. What a situation for a man!--for a philanthropist--for a
lover of right and truth--for a magnificent designer and schemer! Not to
dare to look in the face the Religion which he adored and which he had
offended; to have to shirk down back lanes and alleys, so as to avoid the
friend whom he loved and who had trusted him--to have the house which he
had intended for his wife, whom he loved passionately, and for her
ladyship's company which he wished to entertain splendidly, in the
possession of a bailiff's man, with a crowd of little creditors,--grocers,
butchers, and small-coal men, lingering round the door with their bills
and jeering at him. Alas! for poor Dick Steele! For nobody else, of
course. There is no man or woman in _our_ time who makes fine projects and
gives them up from idleness or want of means. When Duty calls upon _us_,
we no doubt are always at home and ready to pay that grim tax-gatherer.
When _we_ are stricken with remorse and promise reform, we keep our
promise, and are never angry, or idle, or extravagant any more. There are
no chambers in _our_ hearts, destined for family friends and affections,
and now occupied by some Sin's emissary and bailiff in possession. There
are no little sins, shabby peccadilloes, importunate remembrances, or
disappointed holders of our promises to reform, hovering at