look pityingly on
my transgressions. He had engaged the leader of the circuit to defend
me; and he would have come to see me, but for Mrs. Batterbury; who had
implored him not to expose himself to agitation. Of Lady Malkinshaw the
letter said nothing; but I afterward discovered that she was then at
Cheltenham, drinking the waters and playing whist in the rudest health
and spirits.

It is a bold thing to say, but nothing will ever persuade me that
Society has not a sneaking kindness for a Rogue.

For example, my father never had half the attention shown to him in his
own house, which was shown to me in my prison. I have seen High
Sheriffs in the great world, whom my father went to see, give him two
fingers--the High Sheriff of Barkinghamshire came to see me, and shook
hands cordially. Nobody ever wanted my father's autograph--dozens of
people asked for mine. Nobody ever put my father's portrait in the
frontispiece of a magazine, or described his personal appearance
and manners with anxious elaboration, in the large type of a great
newspaper--I enjoyed both those honors. Three official individuals
politely begged me to be sure and make complaints if my position was
not perfectly comfortable. No official individual ever troubled his head
whether my father was comfortable or not. When the day of my trial came,
the court was thronged by my lovely countrywomen, who stood up panting
in the crowd and crushing their beautiful dresses, rather than miss the
pleasure of seeing the dear Rogue in the dock. When my father once stood
on the lecturer's rostrum, and delivered his excellent discourse, called
"Medical Hints to Maids and Mothers on Tight Lacing and Teething," the
benches were left empty by the ungrateful women of England, who were not
in the slightest degree anxious to feast their eyes on the sight of
a learned adviser and respectable man. If these facts led to one
inevitable conclusion, it is not my fault. We Rogues are the spoiled
children of Society. We may not be openly acknowledged as Pets, but we
all know, by pleasant experience, that we are treated like them.

The trial was deeply affecting. My defense--or rather my
barrister's--was the simple truth. It was impossible to overthrow
the facts against us; so we honestly owned that I got into the scrape
through love for Alicia. My counsel turned this to the best possible
sentimental account. He cried; the ladies cried; the jury cried; the
judge cried; and Mr. Batterb