The sudden fate of Mr. Sadleir the Irish Member of
Parliament is one of those visitations that come home to the personal feel- ings of the whole class which calls itself par excellence " society," and reminds it frightfully of the skeleton that resides in the handsomest houses. Mr. Sadleir had been a fast politician, a fast election-purchaser, a member of the directorate in more than one commercial scheme. But he recently had been a Lord of the Treasury, kept a good house, a good cellar of wine, a hunting dad ; was gentlemanly, cool, and collected in manners ; was at home in the House, in the field, in the drawingroom, in the gene- ral meeting of shareholders ; could have retired from speculation with his hundreds of thousands—could really have done so at one time. Who that held his securities doubted their validity, whatever the sum advanced ? Who thought the parchment of less price than the land ? Who did not know the property itself ? Who could not learn the number of shares held by the honour- able gentleman ? He might be pressed at a time ; but in that grade of society the lawyers settle these things. On Saturday night Mr. Sadleir was master of a handsome house, a seat in Par- liament, a fine position : on Sunday morning he is found su- pine on Hampstead Heath, his last supper poison, his bed the heath. While he lay, the post was bearing clear businesslike confessions to his friends ; and the journals of Monday morning make the " best society " ask itself whether it can confidentK give a character to its daily companions ? The man had sinned, others may pay heavy penalties ; but how terribly must lie have. suffered !
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