Envy

Well! blot him black with slander's ink,
He stands as white as snow!
You serve him better than you think
And kinder than you know;
What? is it not some credit then,
That he provokes your blame?
This merely, with all better men,
Is quite a kind of fame!

--M.F. Tupper.

Mr. Brudenell found Ishmael in the anteroom of the court in close
conversation with a client, an elderly, care-worn woman in widow's
weeds. He caught a few words of her discourse, to which Ishmael appeared
to be listening with sympathy.

"Yes, sir, Maine; we belong to Bangor. He went to California some years
ago and made money. And he was on his way home and got as far as this
city, where he was taken ill with the cholera, at his brother's house,
where he died before I could get to him; leaving three hundred thousand
dollars, all in California gold, which his brother refuses to give up,
denying all knowledge of it. It is robbery of the widow and orphan, sir,
and nothing short of that!"--she was saying.

"If this is as you state it, it would seem to be a case for a detective
policeman and a criminal prosecution, rather than for an attorney and a
civil suit," said Ishmael.

"So it ought to be, sir, for he deserves punishment; but I have been
advised to sue him, and I mean to do it, if you will take my case. But
if you do take it, sir, it must be on conditions."