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I think merit ought to have its reward at any rate."
Sir Thomas, we need not say, felt ill at ease. The tumults of his mind
resembled those of the ocean after the violence of the tempest has swept
over it, leaving behind that dark and angry agitation which indicates
the awful extent of its power. After taking a turn or two through the
room, he felt fatigued and drowsy, with something like a feeling of
approaching illness. Yielding to this heaviness, he stretched himself on
a sofa, and in a few minutes was fast asleep.
All minds naturally vicious, or influenced by the impulses of bad and
irregular passions, are essentially vulgar, mean, and cowardly. Our
baronet was, beyond question, a striking proof of this truth. Had
he possessed either dignity, or one spark of gentlemanly feeling, or
self-respect, he would not have degraded himself from what ought to
have been expected from a man in his position, by his violence to the
worthless wretch, Crackenfudge, who was slight, comparatively feeble,
and by no means a match for him in a personal contest.


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