of robbery, when
he was avowedly guilty of as bad a sin, of which the law took no
cognizance, and which society forgave far more easily than it could have
done for robbing the State? Soon after his return from the Mauritius, he
took lodgings in the cheap, but unfashionable neighbourhood of Somers
Town. Here, in the moment of his misfortune, when doubting whether
disgrace, imprisonment, or what not awaited him, he sought solace in the
affection of a young woman, of a class certainly much beneath his, and
of a character unfit to make her a valuable companion to him. Hook had
received little moral training, and had he done so, his impulses were
sufficiently strong to overcome any amount of principle. With this
person--to use the modern slang which seems to convert a glaring sin
into a social misdemeanour--'he formed a connection.' In other words, he
destroyed her virtue. Hateful as such an act is, we must, before we can
condemn a man for it without any recommendation to mercy, consider a
score of circumstances which have rendered the temptation stronger, and
the result almost involuntary. Hook was not a man of high moral
character--very far from it--but we need not therefore suppose that he
sat down coolly and deliberately, like a villain in a novel, to effect
the girl's ruin. But the Rubicon once passed, how difficult is the
retreat! There are but two paths open to a man, who would avoid living a
life of sin: the one, to marry his victim; the other, to break off the
connection before it is too late. The first is, of course, the more
proper course; but there are cases where marriage is impossible. From
the latter a man of any heart must shrink with horror. Yet there _are_
cases, even, where the one sin will prove the least--where she who has
loved too well may grieve bitterly at parting, yet will be no more open
to temptation than if she had never fallen. Such cases are rare, and it
is not probable that the young person with whom Hook had become
connected would have retrieved the fatal error. She became a mother, and
there was no retreat. It is clear that Hook ought to have married her.
It is evident that he was selfish and wrong not to do so;--yet he shrank
from it, weakly, wickedly, and he was punished for his shrinking. He had
sufficient feeling not to throw his victim over, yet he was content to
live a life of sin, and to keep her in such a life. This is perhaps the
blackest stain on Hook's character. When Fox married, i