d their conduct up to their last known dealings with
their fellow-mortals. But let a Melmotte be found dead, with a bottle
of prussic acid by his side--a man who has become horrid to the world
because of his late iniquities, a man who has so well pretended to be
rich that he has been able to buy and to sell properties without
paying for them, a wretch who has made himself odious by his ruin to
friends who had taken him up as a pillar of strength in regard to
wealth, a brute who had got into the House of Commons by false
pretences, and had disgraced the House by being drunk there,--and, of
course, he will not be saved by a verdict of insanity from the cross
roads, or whatever scornful grave may be allowed to those who have
killed themselves with their wits about them. Just at this moment
there was a very strong feeling against Melmotte, owing perhaps as
much to his having tumbled over poor Mr Beauchamp in the House of
Commons as to the stories of the forgeries he had committed, and the
virtue of the day vindicated itself by declaring him to have been
responsible for his actions when he took the poison. He was felo de
se, and therefore carried away to the cross roads--or elsewhere. But it
may be imagined, I think, that during that night he may have become as
mad as any other wretch, have been driven as far beyond his powers of
endurance as any other poor creature who ever at any time felt himself
constrained to go. He had not been so drunk but that he knew all that
happened, and could foresee pretty well what would happen. The summons
to attend upon the Lord Mayor had been served upon him. There were
some, among them Croll and Mr Brehgert, who absolutely knew that he
had committed forgery. He had no money for the Longestaffes, and he
was well aware what Squercum would do at once. He had assured himself
long ago,--he had assured himself indeed not very long ago,--that he
would brave it all like a man. But we none of us know what load we can
bear, and what would break our backs. Melmotte's back had been so
utterly crushed that I almost think that he was mad enough to have
justified a verdict of temporary insanity.

But he was carried away, no one knew whither, and for a week his name
was hateful. But after that, a certain amount of whitewashing took
place, and, in some degree, a restitution of fame was made to the
manes of the departed. In Westminster he was always odious.
Westminster, which had adopted him, never forgave h