The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1842-06-21 00:00:00

PASSAGES FROM AN EDITOR'S NOTE-BOOK

(For the Liverpool Standard.)

HENRY MELTON

CHAPTER 1

Some months ago a communication was placed in my
hands from a correspondent, who intimated, in the note by
which it was accompanied, the necessity which he was under
of requesting for it, in case of its acceptance, the remunera-
tion usually allowed by the press in similar cases. There
was nothing in this circumstance to excite more than a pass-
ing remark. The communication itself displayed considera-
ble talent. It was indeed beautiful in thought and language;
yet its character and subject were not suited for the columns
of a public journal, and it would probably have been returned
to the writer with a mere intimation to this effect, but for a
certain indefinable interest excited by the almost pleading,
though gentlemanly, tone in which its acceptance was pressed
upon me, added to some grateful associations, called up in
my mind by the name of the writer. Henry Melton !
There were memories of youth, boyhood, nay of childhood
sound, as I repeated the words again and again.
eight of the everyday realities of life was lifted
from my heart; and my spirit bounded back, through the
to wander by the green hills and

even, in ti
The weary

g vista of past years,

woods and streams of my school-days.
Yet this Henry Melto it, this poor expectant of the casual
rewards of journalisnit, r*f don told me could not be the

—the son of al#vered tutor and pastor—with
whom my first thoughts bad identified him. That Henry
Melton, ten years ago, was a rosy, happy boy, with bright
hopes and bright prospects for his portion. I had heard of
him, since that period, as a successful competitor for univer-
sity honours ; and by this time I doubted not that he had
become an ardent labourer in the high and holy calling for

which he was destined. An indistinct memory, too, flashed
across me that I had heard his name mentioned as the cho-
sen protector of a fair being, whose sunny girlhood is stir
before my eyes—whose joyous, ringing laughter is still upot

it—whose light step still flits past me in my dreams of
sppy past : and could the partner of such a one be the

lost, wrecked being whom imagination pictured as the writer
of the communication before me ? It could not be. I dis-
missed, therefore, from my mind the feelings which his name
had called up ; yet not without indulging those feelings by
the dispatch of a kind and encouraging note to him who had
unconsciously stirred them, inviting further communica-
tions, and, at the same time, pointing out the subjects and
the style which would be most acceptable.
For some months afterwards my correspondent was an
occasional contributor ; and, as I was assured, called duly to
receive the produce of his labours, which, trifling as it must
have been, appeared nevertheless to be an object of impor-
tance to him. Were it not so, indeed, what man, of the
education and talent which he evidently possessed, would
have tasked himself—(and it is as hard for talent to stoop
as it is for mediocrity to rise)—in the production of such
communications as those from time to time furnished by
him ? The mere worldly man, as he glances over the co-
lumns of a daily journal, and laughs at, or admires, a witty
paragraph or a noble sentiment, little guesses at the bitter-
ness of the spirit from which the former may have emanated,
or at the aching of the well-nigh broken heart which has
been wrung in the effort to give expression to ';he latter.
What a lesson—a sorrowful, though instructive lesson—
would it furnish, if we could be permitted to trace back the
thousand intellectual gems, scattered daily over the face of
our periodical literature, to the miserable garret, the obscure
coffee-house, or the tavern, from which, amidst penury and
sorrow, or, too often, amidst the fumes of dissipation and
riot, they have had their birth! In some such distressful

circumstances, the writer in question was now toiling for
very bread. He did so, however, without intruding his suf-
ferings upon any ; and, during a period of six months, I
cannot call to mind that I was ever favoured with even a
glimpse of his person.
. .

- .
I was passing, however, one day through the office occu
pied by the cashier of our establishment, by whom the bill
of casual contributors are discharged, when a tall gentle
manly looking man, in somewhat faded attire, turned awa,
from the counter ; and, in the glimpse which I caught of hi
features, I thought that I recognised those of some one who
was familiar to me. They were wasted and careworn, yet
in expression infinitely more intellectual than those which
ordinarily distinguish the frequenters of the place where they
presented themselves ; and involuntarily the contemplation
of them inflicted a chilling sensation upon my heart, from
which it was some moments before I recovered. Could it
D: the wreck of him, upon whom, in despite of the prompt-
is of calm reflection, my mind had often dwelt, as the
being
s°
singularly
brought under my observation ? Could
that
).._ emaciated and feeble form be the once high spirited
...Y--the
ate— Once gifted and honoured man—Henry Melton ? I
v, ut, to the desk
the few mr, e esk upon which lay the acknowledgment of
lowly labZll which he had just received as the fruit of his
and the whole I looked at the signature to the document ;
himself It „ _sta lug truth flashed upon my mind. It was
waste,—of that enactltrat least which was left,—the miserable
and as the conviction rushed
loved of my boyhood ;
hastily out of the office, rushed upon my heart, I passed
busy thoroughfare of the In a few minutes was pacing the
who, as I learnt afterwards, in the vain quest of one
met
have forfeited life rather
than at that moment have
Need I say that My search blwe-
aa ineffectual, when I have
i
already mentioned that the objeet of c
was not willing to be
found ? He had darted up some
of
which lead into Covent-garden; and w-. the numerous alleys
I
compelled,
mindotjostling
flscene,
and
tu withg.
...
a saddened spirit and with busy memories of
the past, which
A week
this incident had clouded over, teeming in my
ging at my heart, to turn my steps from the
and retire to the privacy of my own borne,
comp
I waited anxiously for the
over, and day by day
cation of my once-loved friend—not on account of any
__;_
ticular value which they possessed,—for heaven knows taow
the loss of one talented oceo_
soon the vacuum created by
pant of the lower walks of periodical literature is filled up by
some other fallen spirit ready to submit to its drudgery,—but,
because I would fain have been afforded an opportunity of
elevating, if possible, the position in which I hae
d seen
in the him.
They came not, however, or at least they
cam not
same form and in the same name ; and in another e
week the
memory of the occurrence was obliterated by
th crowd of
events which fill the roll of time in this passing world.

CHAPTER 11.
roomone
A month had passed over when, on entering my
morning, amidst a heap of the usual communications which
occupy the morning hours of the journalist, a letter presented
itself, in which, upon opening it, I recognised the hand-
writing and the signature of Henry Melton. Its contents I
transcribe
as I find them, copied at the time from my note-
book.

" Sru,—l dareowt use those familiar words which my soul
yearns to pronounce. I would, indeed, at this moment have
shunned your knowledge and crawled on, uncomplaining and
unmarked, to my dishonoured grave ; but sickness and the
near approach of death have softened my obdurate heart.
If you would deign to look upon an unworthy and spirit-