The Adventures of Hugh Trevor by Thomas Holcroft (page 8)

‘All is not right: but yet I hope it will be. I know not by what means. It seems indeed impossible! And perhaps it is; and yet I hope! I hope! I hope!’

‘Well, well: I am glad of that. We should all hope. We are bid to hope. God help us if we did not. Perhaps I can’t give you any help? I suppose that is beyond me. I am sorry for it. But what can a poor carpenter do, in the way of befriending a gentleman?’

‘A poor carpenter can have a kind heart; and I do not know whether that is not the most blessed thing on earth! Did you ever hear me repeat the name of Olivia?’

‘Yes; when you were light-headed, I heard the name many a time and often. And the nurse said you raved of nobody else. But we could none of us find out who she was. Though, I must say, I have often enough wished to ask: but that I did not think it became me to seem to be at all prying.’

‘That is the lady you have been in company with to-night. It is she whom you have helped me to save. I was sufficiently indebted to you before: but what am I then at present?’

‘Well, that to be sure is accidental enough! I could not have thought it! How oddly things do fall out! But I am glad of it with all my heart!’

‘I could not see much of her, to be sure; though I looked with all the eyes I had: but I thought somehow she seemed as fine a young creature as I had ever beheld since the hour I was born; which the mildness of her voice did but make the more likely. I thought to myself, I never in my days heard any living soul so sweet-spoken. So that I must say things have fallen out very strangely.

‘I always said to my Sally, there must be something between you and the gentlewoman the name of _which_ was on your tongue’s end so often, while you were down in the fever; and I am glad to the heart that you have happened on her again so unexpectedly: though I can see no good reason, now you have found her, why you should be in such a hurry to get away.’

The unaffected participation of Clarke in all my joys and sorrows, the questions which his feelings impelled him to put, and the fidelity of his nature, as well as the impulse which passion gave me to disburthen my mind, were all of them inducements to speak; and I informed him of many of those particulars which have already been recited.

The more intimately he became acquainted with my history, the more powerfully he seemed imbued with my hopes and fears; and the better satisfied I was with the confidence I had reposed in him. I am unable to paint the honest indignation of his feelings and phraseology at the injustice which he as well as I supposed had been done me, the depression of his countenance when I dwelt on the despair and wretchedness which the almost impossibility of my obtaining Olivia inspired, and the animation with which he seemed as it were to set his shoulders to the wheel, when my returning fervor led me to the opposite extreme, and gave me confidence in my own powers and the strenuous exertions on which I was resolved.

The conversation continued long after we retired to rest; so that our sleep was short: for we were up again very early, before it was light, and continued our journey to London; where we arrived a little after nine in the morning.

I immediately proceeded to the lodging of Miss Wilmot; whom I found where I had left her, and who was truly rejoiced to see me. Clarke had never been in London: I therefore took him with me, gave a proper account of him to Miss Wilmot, and we all breakfasted together, while Mary waited; whose features as well as her words sufficiently testified the unexpected pleasure of the meeting, and who artlessly related the apprehensions of herself and my few friends, at not hearing from me.

My first enquiries were concerning Wilmot and Turl; and I was delighted to learn that Wilmot, whom I left in a sickly state of mind that was seriously alarming, had been awakened by Turl to a more just sense of human affairs; and had recovered much of the former vigour and elasticity of his talents.

His sister told me that he was at present engaged in a periodical publication; and had beside composed a considerable part of a comedy: of which Turl, as well as herself, conceived the greatest hopes.

The reader scarcely need be told that this intelligence gave me great pleasure. It led me to revolve mighty matters in my own mind, created emulation, and inspired me with increasing confidence and alacrity. Yes, said I, exultingly, genius may safely encounter and dare difficulties. Let it but confide in itself and it will conquer them all.

While we were conversing Wilmot came in.

I must leave the imagination to paint the welcome we gave each other.

I was surprised at the change which had taken place in his form and physiognomy; and at the different aspect they had assumed. Not that the marks of melancholy were quite eradicated: but, when I considered his whole appearance, he was scarcely the same person.

I produced surprise in him of a contrary kind. There was neither the wonted freshness of my complexion nor the fashionable ease of my air and dress, which he had remarked but a few months before; and he took the first private opportunity that offered to enquire, with great earnestness, if there were any means by which he could be of service?

Under the general selfishness which our present institutions inspire, such questions are wonderfully endearing. I answered him that I had found a friend, whose principles were as liberal and enlarged as they were uncommon; and that I would take an early occasion to give him an account of my present designs, and the posture of my affairs.

He informed me that the severe application of Turl had enfeebled his health, and had induced him to reside for a few weeks at a small place by the sea-side, that he might enjoy the benefits of bathing and the fresh breezes; for which purpose he had left London the week before: that neither Wilmot nor Turl himself considered his case at present as the least dangerous, but that they had both agreed this was a prudent step; and that he had received a letter from Turl, informing him of his safe arrival; and that he thought he had already derived benefit and animation from the journey.

Turl was not a man to be known and to be thought of with apathy. The intelligence Wilmot gave me, softened as it was by the circumstances attending it, produced a very unpleasant feeling. The possibility of the loss of such a man, so wise, so benevolent, and so undaunted in the cause of truth, was a sensation for which I have no epithet. Wilmot perceived what passed in my mind, and again assured me of his thorough persuasion that there was not any danger.

We passed as much of the morning together as Wilmot could spare from his occupations; after which we parted, and each proceeded on his own concerns: I to enquire after a dwelling-place; and he to his literary engagements: while Clarke, instructed by Mary, went in search of a lodging for himself through those streets that were most likely to afford him one at a reasonable rate.

Mr. Evelyn had a relation of a younger branch of the family in the law, whose name was Hilary, to whom I was recommended; and from whom I received the utmost attention, in consequence of the letters I brought. This gentleman was an attorney of repute, a practitioner of uncommon honesty, assiduous and capable as a professional man, a firm defender of freedom even to his own risk and detriment, a sincere speaker, a valuable friend, and in every sense a man of worth and principle.

Happy at all times to oblige, he willingly undertook the task assigned to him by Mr. Evelyn’s recommendation; and, in pursuance of his advice, I hired an apartment in the neighbourhood of Queen’s-square Bloomsbury: that I might be within a convenient distance of the inns of Court, yet not entirely buried in the noise and smoke of the disagreeable part of the town.

I likewise informed Mr. Hilary of my determination not to be a dumb barrister; and having, from my appearance and mode of enunciation as well as from the letters of Mr. Evelyn, conceived rather a high opinion of my talents, he applauded my plan: in pursuance of which he recommended me to place myself with Counsellor Ventilate; a man of high situation in the law. I readily consented; and it was agreed that he should speak to that gentleman immediately on the subject, and appoint a meeting.

CHAPTER XIII

_More meditations relating to Olivia; concluding with a love-letter: Doubts concerning its conveyance_

It cannot be supposed that Olivia was out of my thoughts. Knowing her kindness toward Miss Wilmot, I carefully took the first opportunity to inform the latter of the chief incidents that had passed; and to concert with her some means, if possible, of obtaining an interview.

Miss Wilmot no longer received any pecuniary aid from Olivia. Wilmot considered it as a duty to provide for his sister; and had too lofty a sense of independance to admit the repetition of these favours. Yet how far that pride of heart, which teaches us, not only that we should not submit to receive pecuniary assistance from any human being except from our relations, but that these relations can accept of no relief, however much they may be in need of it, without tarnishing our honor, is a question which deserves to be seriously examined. Not but, at that time, it squared very aptly with my opinions. It may be further remarked of relations that, as they sometimes think they ought only to receive aid from each other, so, they most of them imagine that, from each other, they may unblushingly extort all they can. The generous Wilmot indeed was in no danger of this last mistake.

But though money was no longer a motive for intercourse, between the gentle Olivia and Miss Wilmot, there was no danger that either of the friends would forget the other; and the latter was too sincerely interested in the happiness both of me and Olivia not to be willing to promote that happiness, by every means in her power.

What these means should be was the difficulty we had to solve. To use any kind of stratagem would offend the delicate and justly-feeling Olivia. To come upon her by surprise, even if the opportunity should offer itself, would not be a manly and dignified proceeding.

I had always thought highly of that courage which, mild as her manners were, she never failed to exert on trying occasions. Her defence of me in the coach was a proof that I had not overestimated her fortitude. It likewise shewed that she was under mistakes concerning me that were dangerous, should they remain unexplained; and that, whenever I thought of them, which was but too often, excited my utmost indignation.

Bold however as she was in my defence when she supposed me dead, very different sensations might assail her when she should be convinced (if she still doubted) that I was living. Her submission to her aunt seemed to be unlimited, as long as she supposed that to comply would be less productive of harm than to resist: but I had witnessed that she would not consent to actions of great moment, which her heart disapproved.

These facts made it improbable that she would grant me an interview, without her aunt’s knowledge. What then was to be done? A letter, that should fully explain my thoughts, my plans, my determination, and my hopes and fears, appeared to be the most eligible mode. Were I to prompt her to a clandestine correspondence, I was well aware that I should highly and justly offend her. She would consider it as little less than an insult. Her conduct was open, her mind superior to deceit; and to be ignorant of this would be to shew myself unworthy of her. The lover should disdain to excite his mistress to any action which he would disapprove in a wife; and this was a rule not to be infringed, by him who should aspire to the noble-minded Olivia.

To write then I resolved; and in such a manner as to open my whole soul to her, awaken her affections, call forth her admiration, agitate her with pity and love, and ensure her perseverance.

Alas! I took the pen in hand, but was miserably deceived. I had undertaken an impossible task. Thought was too rapid, too multifarious, too complicate; and the tracing of letters and words infinitely too slow, and frigid. At last however, after repeated attempts, I determined on sending the following: with which when written I was very far from satisfied; but of that I despaired.

* * * * *

‘To the woman whom my soul adores how shall I address myself? Tumultuous thoughts, hopes that vanish, and fears that distract, are ill fitted for such a talk. Governed by feelings which will admit of no controul, I can only claim your pardon on the plea of inability to preserve that silence which it is temerity, or something worse, to break. My thoughts will have passage, will rush into your presence, will expose themselves to the worst of calamities, your reproof and anger. Distracted as I am by a dread of the dangers that may result from my silence, I persuade myself that these dangers are more immediate and threatening, though scarcely more painful, than your disapprobation.

‘You have supposed me dead; though by what strange accident I cannot divine. Under that supposition, it was my miraculous fortune, my ecstatic bliss, to hear you, with a purity of heart and a dignity of sentiment such as none but a heart like yours could conceive or express, avow a former partiality in favour of one who, whatever may be his other faults, would gladly resign his life to secure your happiness: of one who, in his over-weening affection has fondly and foolishly cherished the persuasion that this happiness is inseparable from his own: nay who partly hopes and partly believes, so blind is his egotism, that he is the only man on earth who fully comprehends your wonderful worth and matchless virtues; and who is pursuing the fixed purpose of his soul, that of finally deserving you, from the conviction that he through life will be invariable in that admiration, that tenderness, and that unceasing love without which the life of Olivia might perhaps be miserable. These may be the dreams of vanity, and folly: yet, if I do not mistake, they are the dreams of all lovers. They are indeed the aliment or rather the very essence of love. What delight can equal that of revelling, in imagination, on the happiness we can bestow on those who have bliss so ineffable to bestow upon us?

‘What then if I were to see this Olivia mated with a man so dull of faculty as soon to lose all sense of the wondrous treasure in his possession: who never perhaps had any discriminating knowledge of its worth; and who shall be willing to barter it for any vile and contemptible gewgaw that may allure his depraved taste, or sickly appetite? Is there no such man? Are these fears wholly groundless?

‘At what an immeasurable distance do I seem cast from the enjoyment of that supreme bliss to which, perhaps, the frenzy only of imagination could make me aspire! There is but one means by which I can be happy. Either I am to be the most favoured of mankind, or I am nothing. Either I rise into godlike existence, or I sink unknown and never to be remembered. Either we are made for each other, or–I dare not think on the reverse. It is too distracting.

‘Yet I have no hope! What I now write is presumption, is madness! And why? It is not your beauty, your virtues, or the supreme qualities of your mind that would raise this gulph of misery between us. No. Avarice, vanity, and prejudice are my enemies. It is they that would sacrifice you at their altars. That you will persevere in your refusal is my only hope.

‘How shall I palliate, what I cannot defend, my behaviour while I overheard you and your aunt? In vain do I plead that I was asleep, when you came into the coach; and that I first discovered you by the sound of your voice and the turn of the conversation; that I dreaded exciting any sudden alarm in you: perhaps it was a vain dread: and that, when I ought most to have spoken, when I became the subject of the discourse, I was then chained in silence by unconquerable emotions. Yet to be a listener? Indeed, indeed, it is a thing that my soul disdains! But I have done many such things; not knowing, while they passed, what it was that I did.

‘My destiny now is to study the law; and to this my days and nights shall be devoted: but the distance at which I see myself from the goal is a thought which I am obliged, by every possible effort, to shut out of my memory.

‘I am in want of consolation; but since your society is denied me, I know not where it may be found. I own, there are moments in which I am fearfully agitated. Yet I do not solicit an answer. Let me rather perish than prompt you to an action of the propriety of which even I am obliged to doubt; since it cannot I suppose be done without concealment. Oh that you knew every thought of my heart! You would then perceive the burning desire I have to make myself every way worthy of that unutterable bliss to which I aspire.

‘Madman! I aspire?

‘With what contempt would such daring be treated, by those whom custom and ties of blood have taught you to revere! I confess this is a thought which I cannot endure. Yet I can less endure to relinquish my impossible hopes. Could you conceive what these contradictory and tormenting sensations are, you would perhaps be induced to pardon some of the extravagant acts which I heard you so mildly, yet so justly, censure.

‘To be yours then is the end for which I live; and yet my pride and every other feeling revolts, to think I should entreat you to accept a pauper, either in wealth or principle. Well, then, I will not waste my time, in complaint. Let me become worthy of you, or let me perish! Fool! That is impossible. But if fall I must, I will endeavour to make my ruin respectable.

‘Suffer me to inform you that I have lately acquired a friend whose virtues are beyond my praise, and who has urged me to accept his aid, in forwarding my studies and pursuits, as an act of duty incumbent on us both. Our acquaintance has been short; and so, considering the serious nature of the subject, was the debate that led to this conclusion: yet his arguments seemed unanswerable, and I hope I have not yielded too lightly. Oh that it was allowed me to consult your exquisite sense of right and wrong! But wishes are vain.

‘Thus far I have intruded, yet know not how to end. My only hope that you will take no offence at what I have written is in the conscious respect that my heart feels for you; which I think cannot have misguided my pen; and the knowledge that you are too just lightly to attribute mean or ill motives to me.

‘How languid is all that I have written! Am I so impotent that I can present none of the images that so eternally haunt me, that wing me into your presence, furnish me with innumerable arguments which seem so all-persuasive, melt me in tenderness at one moment, supply me with the most irresistible elocution the next, and convince you while they inspire me with raptures inexpressible? Are they all flown, all faded, all extinct? Where is the fervor that devours me?

‘I would pray for your happiness! I would supplicate heaven that no moment of your bliss should be abridged! Shall it then be disturbed by me? Oh no. Unless authorised by hopes, as different as they are wild and improbable, pardon but this, and you shall never more be subject to the like importunity from

HUGH TREVOR.’

* * * * *

Having written my letter, I had to devise the means of having it delivered. If it were addressed directly to her, what certainty had I that it would not be opened by the aunt? Nay was not that indeed the most probable? And would it in that case ever be seen by Olivia? In my apprehension certainly not.

I had then to chuse whether I would send a messenger, who should wait about the house and take some opportunity to deliver it clandestinely; or commit it to the care either of Mary or Miss Wilmot.

The messenger was a very objectionable expedient: it was mean, and liable to detection. The medium of Mary was something of the same kind; and the friendship and intelligence of Miss Wilmot rendered her intervention much the most desirable.

It was a delicate office to require of her. But she could speak the truth: she could say that it was to relate some facts which Olivia might even desire to know, that it contained nothing which I myself should wish her to conceal, if she thought fit to shew it; that it did not invite her to any improper correspondence; and that it was the only one which, under the present circumstances, I meant to obtrude upon her.

That Miss Wilmot might be convinced I had neither deceived myself nor her in this account, which I should instruct her to give of it, I hastened with it to her lodgings, and requested her to read it before it was sealed. Having ended, she was so well satisfied with the propriety both of writing and delivering it that she readily undertook the latter office; and, with her I left it, hoping that Olivia would soon call, would read it in her presence, and that I should quickly learn what might be the sensations it should produce.

CHAPTER XIV

_Counsellor Ventilate and the law: Raptures excited by the panegyric of Blackstone: Dialogues legal and political, with characteristic traits_

Meantime the appointed interview between me and Counsellor Ventilate took place. This gentleman was characterized by those manners, and opinions, which the profession of the law is so eminently calculated to produce. He had a broad brazen stare, a curl of contempt on his upper-lip, and a somewhat short supercilious nose. His head was habitually turned upward, his eye in the contrary direction, as if on the watch in expectation to detect something which his cunning might turn to advantage, and his half-opened mouth and dropping jaw seemed to say, ‘What an immense fool is every man I meet!’

His whole manner and aspect appeared to denote that he was in a continual revery; and that he imagined himself in a court of law; brow-beating a witness, interrogating an idiot, or detailing cases and precedents, to shew the subtlety with which he could mislead and confound his hearers. A split-hair distinction without a difference gave him rapture; and whenever it happened to puzzle, which was but too often, he raised his left shoulder and gave a hem of congratulation to himself: denoting his conviction that he was indisputably the greatest lawyer in the world! And, if the greatest lawyer, he was as certainly, according to his own creed, the greatest man! For the rest of mankind, if put in competition with lawyers, what were they? What but poor, silly, imbecile creatures?

One standard, by which he delighted to measure his own talents, was the length to which he could drawl out a reply. Was there a man to be found who could speak eight hours unceasingly? He would surpass him. When his turn came, nine should not suffice. He would be more dull, contradictory, and intolerable, than his rival by an hour, at least. He would repeat precedents, twist sentences, misconstrue maxims, and so perplex and entangle his own intellect that his hearers had no way of getting rid of the pain he excited; except by falling a-sleep, or determining not to listen. It must be owned however he had some charity for them; for to sleep he gave them a very sufficient provocative.

Being one of the retainers of government, he had a seat in the House of Commons: where he used to rise in his place and address the Speaker, with no less logic, love of justice, and legislative wisdom, than he was wont to display when pleading in the courts.

It was in vain that he exposed himself to the ridicule of this most discerning body, not less witty than virtuous. Of shame he was incapable. He would again and again rise in his place, totally forgetful of past flagellation, and again and again convince Mr. Speaker and the honorable members: persisting to labour, in the hope of making them all as profound reasoners as himself. No matter that the thing was impracticable: he would get up and do his duty, and sit down and receive his own applause.

To mention shame in this case was indeed absurd. How should a man blush at reproof which he cannot comprehend? His skull was so admirably fortified, by nature, that it was equally impenetrable to the heavy batteries of argument or the skirmishing artillery of wit. Let the cannon roar: he heard it not. He was abstractedly contemplating those obscure depths in which he remained for ever seated; and where he had visions innumerable, though he saw nothing.

One favourite and never-failing object, on these occasions, was to instruct the house in law. And here the devil, who is himself a kind of lawyer, for he devours his best friends, the devil I say chose these opportunities to vent his choicest malice. He did not set a lawyer to confound a lawyer: that were but a stale device. He humbled him out of the mouths of men who had occasionally read law-books, it is true: but who had read them without a lawyers’ obliquity; and had enquired what was the simple unadulterated intention of their authors. Now law, which in all its stages has a quibble in either eye, that may mean good or may mean ill, is every where, except in a Court of Justice, capable of a good interpretation. This is not a rule without an exception: but in many cases at least, law has something intentionally beneficial in its principle.

For this beneficent vital-spark every body, but a lawyer, is in search; and it is what every body, but a lawyer, is delighted to find. No wonder therefore that a lawyer should meet discomfiture, and confusion, when he pretends to discuss the abstract nature of justice, in any place except in these aforesaid Courts of Justice.

Thus it happened that Mr. Ventilate was, on all such occasions, confounded in that honorable house, of which he was an honorable member: which indeed, when we remember who were his opponents, was less miraculous than the immaculate conception–Pshaw! I mean the transmigrations–of Vishnoo.

Much of the conceit and ridicule of the character of Mr. Ventilate was apparent, even to my eye, at our first meeting. But he was a person of great practice, and had the reputation of a sound lawyer: which signifies a man who has patience to read reports, and a facility at quoting them. Beside, I was in haste; and rather inclined to leap over an obstacle than to go round it.

Accordingly our arrangements were made, and the next day I attended at his chambers; with a firm and as I supposed not to be shaken determination to become one of the greatest lawyers the world ever beheld.

The first book I was advised to read, as a historical introduction to and compendium of law, was Blackstone’s Commentaries. This author had acquired too much celebrity for any man of liberal education to be ignorant of his fame. I therefore began and continued to read him with all the prepossession that an author himself could wish in his favour. The panegyric he makes on English laws, and the Constitution of Britain, gave me delight and animation. The reproof he bestows, on gentlemen who are ignorant of this branch of learning, and on the perplexities introduced into our statute-law by such ‘ill-judging and unlearned legislators,’ and his praise of the capacity they would acquire for administering justice, to which sacred function they are so often called, were this ignorance removed, gave dignity to the study I was about to pursue.

Then the account given of Servius Sulpicius! who, according to my learned author, ‘left behind him about a hundred and four-score volumes of his own compiling!’ How wonderfully did it move my admiration! I previously knew that in most countries, which are denominated civilized, law was voluminous: but I had never till then imagined that one man could himself compile a hundred and fourscore volumes! And, as it seems, could compile them at his leisure too: for his chief business was that of oratory! Beside which it lives on record that, being a firm patriot, he was a wise and indefatigable senator! But it appears that Sulpicius could devour law with greater ease than Milo, or perhaps even than Cacus himself, could oxen.

Neither was it recorded that this prodigy of legal learning began young. And should I then despair of equalling him? No, no: get me into one of my trances and, had he compiled as many thousands of volumes, I should scarcely have suspected that I could not compile as fast as he.

As I read on, how did I deplore the quarrel between Vicarius and his opponents: or, in other words, between the pandects and the common law of England: with the ignorance that had nearly been the result! How rejoice in the institution of those renowned hot-beds of law, the Inns of Court: by the aid of which, had not the rage for enacting laws kept pace with the rage for studying them, there were hopes that the whole kingdom would in time have been so learned in the science that every man might indeed have become his own lawyer.

How did I regret that I had not studied common-law while at college! How sympathetic with my author, when he exclaims–‘That a science, which distinguishes the criterions of right and wrong; which teaches to establish the one, and prevent, punish, or redress the other; which employs in its theory the noblest faculties of the soul, and exerts in its practice the cardinal virtues of the heart: a science, which is universal in its use and extent, accommodated to each individual, yet comprehending the whole community; that a science like this should ever have been deemed unnecessary to be studied in a university, is a matter of astonishment and concern!’

How did I bless the memory of Mr. Viner, who had found a remedy for this evil, by establishing an Oxford professorship; and how promise to make myself master of his abridgment, till I had every case it contained at my tongue’s end! What were four and twenty volumes in folio? Compared to Sulpicius, it was a trifle!

The eulogium that I next came to on a university education, how grateful was that to my heart! I was not, as my oracle described, though one of the ‘gentlemen of bright imaginations, to be wearied; however unpromising the search.’ Neither was I to be numbered among those ‘many persons of moderate capacity, who confuse themselves at first setting out; and continue ever dark and puzzled during the remainder of their lives.’ The law being itself so luminous, there was no fear of that with me.

I met indeed with one overwhelming assertion. ‘Such knowledge as is necessary for a judge is hardly to be acquired by the lucubrations of twenty years!’

But this to be sure must be meant of dull fellows. As to the limits of genius, they were unknown.

My pleasure revived in full force, when I arrived at my author’s definition of law: which he states to be–‘a rule of civil conduct, prescribed by the supreme power in a state; commanding what is right, and prohibiting what is wrong.’ What will you say to that, friend Turl? exclaimed I: putting down the book, and pausing. Can any thing be more provident, more wise, more desirable?

In short, I found the writer so clearly understood and satisfactorily explained the nature of law, and the benefits arising from it, that, for my own part, I began to be ashamed of my former stupidity. It was all so self-evident that it seemed disgraceful not to know it as it were by intuition. I was in that precise temper of mind which renders conviction an easy task: for I was in haste to be rich, and famous; and the desire of wealth and fame are two of the strongest provocatives to faith that the sagacity of selfishness has ever yet discovered.

While I was in the midst of all these admirings, my attention was roused by a dialogue that passed between two of my senior fellow-pupils, whose names were Rudge and Trottman, which the former thus began.

‘That was a d—- rascally cause we were concerned in yesterday.’

‘Rascally enough. But we got it.’

‘I can’t say but I was sorry for the poor farmer.’

‘Sorry! Ha, ha, ha! You remind me of an unfleshed-recruit: or a young surgeon, who has just begun to walk the hospitals. Frequent the Courts, and you will soon learn to forget commiseration, and attend to nothing but law. Docking of entails gives the lawyer as little concern as the amputation of limbs does the surgeon: they are both of them curious only about the manner, and dexterity of the operation.’

‘I suppose it will ruin the man.’

‘He was a fool for making it a criminal prosecution. He should have brought an action for damages.’

‘It is an aggravating thing for a man to have his daughter seduced, be beaten himself because he was angry at the injury, and, when he sues for redress, not only be unable to obtain it, but find his fortune destroyed, as well as his daughter’s character, and his own peace.’

‘The law knows nothing concerning him, or his fortune, character, peace, or daughter. It is and ought to be dead to private feeling. It must consider nothing but the public benefit: nor must it ever condescend to vary from its own plain and literal construction.’

‘That is strange: for its origin seems to have been in those very feelings, to which it is so dead.’

‘Undoubtedly. But it provides for such feelings each under its individual class; and if a man, seeking redress, shall seek it under a wrong head, that is his fault; and not the fault of the law.’

‘It is a fault, however, that is daily committed.’

‘Ay to be sure: or there would be but few lawyers.’

‘How so?’

‘Why, if a man doing wrong was certain, or almost certain, of being detected and exposed, the chances would be so much against offenders that offences would of course diminish.’

‘Then the prosperity of lawyers seems to result from the blunders which they themselves commit?’

‘No doubt it does; and, as the blunders are innumerable, their prosperity must be in proportion.’

‘There seems to be something wrong in this; though I cannot tell what or why.’

‘Ha, ha, ha! You have no cause to complain: you are a lawyer, and your own interest must teach you that every thing is right. Except indeed that the classes or heads I mentioned, and consequently the blunders, are not numerous enough. But, thank heaven, we have a remedy for that: for our statute-books are daily swelling.’

‘Why, yes! Some people say they are pregnant with mischief: of which it is further asserted that they are daily delivered.’

‘Ay, certainly; and to the great joy of the parents.’

‘Who are they?’

‘Enquire for the father at St. Stephen’s; and for the mother at Westminster-hall. I assure you they are both enraptured at their own offspring. The old lady sits in state, and daily praises her babes with the most doating loquacity. And she does this with so grave a face that it is impossible to forbear laughing, when you hear her. She is so serious, so solemn, so convinced that every thing she utters is oracular, and so irascible if she does but so much as smell a doubt concerning the beauty and perfection of her brats, that there is no scene in the world which tickles my imagination so irresistibly as to watch her maternal visage during her eulogiums, while the big-wigs are nodding approbation; or the contortions of her physiognomy, when any cross incident happens to impede the torrent of her fondness. With all due respect to her motherly functions, she is a very freakish and laughable old lady.’

‘You have a turn for ridicule: but I confess, if I thought your picture were true, I do not believe my sensations would be so pleasant as yours appear to be.’

‘And why, in the name of common sense?’

‘How can one laugh at the mistakes and miseries of mankind?’

‘For a very simple reason: because it is the only way that can render them endurable. None but a fool would cry at what cannot be corrected.’

The colloquy between my companions here took another direction, less interesting to me, and left me to pause and ruminate. This picture, said I, is satirical I own: but surely it is unjust. Blackstone, beyond all doubt, understood the science profoundly; and his account of it is very different indeed.

I turned back to the passage I have quoted.

‘It distinguishes the criterions of right and wrong; teaches us to establish the one and prevent punish or redress the other; employs in its theory the noblest faculties of the soul, and exerts in its practice the cardinal virtues of the heart: it is universal in its use and extent, is accommodated to each individual, and yet comprehends the whole community.’

How just, how ennobling, how sublime is this praise! To compare it to the doatings of an old woman is extremely false: nay is pernicious; for, by exciting laughter, it misleads the judgment.

My companions being silent, I was impelled to address myself to Trottman. ‘I wonder, sir,’ said I, ‘that you should be such an enemy to law.’

‘I an enemy! You totally mistake. I am its fast friend. And with good reason: I find it a very certain source of ease and affluence even to the most stupid blockheads, if they will but drudge on; and of riches, honours, and hereditary fame, to men of but very moderate talents. I may surely expect to come in for my share; and therefore should be a rank fool indeed were I its enemy. I leave that to innovating fanatics. Let them dream, and rave, and write: while I mind my own affairs, take men as they are and ever must be, profit by supporting present establishments, and look down with contempt on the puppies who prate philosophy, and bawl for reform.’

I was stung. Conscious of the turn my own thoughts had taken, I suspected that he had divined this from some words which I might have dropped, and that his attack was personal: I therefore eagerly replied–‘Your language, sir, is unqualified.’

‘I meant no offence. If you are a reformer, I beg your pardon. I never quarrel about what I have heard certain pompous gentlemen call principles.’

‘Then all those persons, who differ in opinion from you, are puppies; and pompous gentlemen?’

‘Oh dear, no, sir! Only all those that are absent. The company, you know, according to the received rule, is excepted.’

There was something impudently humble and satirical in his look, while he uttered this: yet so contrived as to make the man appear a pettish angry blockhead, who should take offence at it; and I certainly was not inclined to quarrel with my new comrades, the first day of our acquaintance.

Beside, Trottman was a little insignificant man, in appearance; pot-bellied, of a swarthy complexion, but with keenness, cunning, and mockery in his eye; and whose form and figure, as well as his turn of mind, must have made it ridiculous to have quarrelled with him. I therefore waited for some more fortunate opportunity, to repay him in his own coin: for I was as unwilling to be vanquished by wit, and satire, as by force of argument, or of arms.

Rudge, whose temper was more placid but who had an enquiring mind, said, ‘You do not know my friend Trottman yet, Mr. Trevor. He cares but little who has the most reason, so that he may have the most laughter.’

‘Life is a journey,’ added Trottman; ‘and, if I can travel on terra firma, with a clear sky, and a smiling landscape, let those that please put to sea in a butcher’s tray, and sail in quest of foul weather.’

‘Yes, sir, but the search of ease is the loss of happiness; and to fly from danger is the likeliest way to meet it: that is, when you either seek or fly without a guide.’

‘And who is this guide to safety?’

‘It is, what you appear to hold in contempt, Principle.’

‘Ha, ha, ha! Right! The blind leading the blind. Conjure up one phantom to seek for another. How prodigiously we improve!’

‘From what you have said, I am not surprised that you should consider principle as a phantom. But you only quarrel with the word: for, as principle can mean nothing more than a rule of action, deduced from past experience and influencing our present conduct, you, certainly, like other men, act from principle. It is a moral duty to shun pain, and keep your fingers out of the fire.’

‘Not if I want to sear up a wound.’

‘You are excellent at a shifting blow. But why would you apply the cautery? Because principle, guided by experience, has previously told you that to cauterize is in some cases the way to heal.’

‘But empirics, who cauterize without healing, are daily multiplying upon us.’

‘Were that granted, it is but empiric opposed to empiric. Men have been groaning under their sufferings for ages; and, since ages have proved that the old prescriptions were insufficient, I can neither see the danger nor the blame of following new.’

‘Zeal may be purblind, and perhaps could not see a guillotine: but her neck might chance to feel it.’

‘Then you think a guillotine a more terrible thing than a halter, an axe, or perhaps even a rack?’

‘It will do more work in less time.’

‘And you suppose it to be principle, or if you please innovation, that has given this machine its momentum?’

‘Suppose! Is there any doubt?’

‘Infinite. I imagine it to be given, if we may be allowed to personify, neither by Innovation nor Establishment; but by the rashness and ill temper with which these heroines have mutually maintained their positions. Innovation struck the ball at first too impetuously: but Establishment took it at the rebound, and returned it with triple violence. Brunswickian manifestoes, and exterminating wars, were not ill adapted to raise the diabolical spirit of revenge. An endeavour to starve a nation, which it was found difficult to exterminate by fire and sword, was not a very charitable act in Madam Establishment. Her swindling forgeries were little better; and that her turn should come, to be starved and swindled, is not miraculous: though it is deplorable. Heaven avert her claims to the guillotine!’

My antagonist had no immediate reply; and Rudge exclaimed, with some satisfaction, ‘Why, Trottman, you have met with your match!’

‘Not I, indeed,’ answered he, peevishly. ‘I am only lost in a labyrinth of words; and am waiting for Principle to come and be my guide. But I am afraid she carries a dark lanthorn, which will but blind those that look.’

‘I suspect, sir,’ said I, ‘you are less at loss for a joke than an argument; and that you prefer bush-fighting. For my own part, I love the fair and open field of enquiry.’

‘As this is a field that has no limits, nor any end to its cross roads, I am content, as you say, to sit down under my hedge and be quiet.’

‘No, no; I did not say that: for I see you love to draw a sly bow at passengers.’

‘I have now and then brought down a gull, or an owl.’

‘Have you shot any of those birds to-day?’

I felt no compunction in making this triumphant retort to his sneer. And here our dialogue ended. Though it was a kind of declaration of war; I mean a war of words; which, as we became more acquainted, was occasionally waged with some asperity.

But, in one respect, Trottman was my superior. To sneer was habitual to him: but it was always done in a manner which seemed to indicate that he himself had no suspicion of any such intent. So that he continually appeared to keep his temper; and never triumphed so effectually as when he could provoke me to lose mine. On which occasions his additional conciliatory sarcasms, accompanied with smiles denoting the enjoyment of his victory, never failed to make me feel my own littleness. And this is a lesson for which I consider myself as very highly in his debt.

I now pursued my reading; and employed the rest of the day in beginning to copy the manuscript precedents, that were to capacitate me for the practice of law: for the number of which, that were in his possession, Mr. Ventilate was famed.

My ardour however had felt some trifling abatement, by the very different picture and panegyric of the law as given by Trottman, opposed to that I had been contemplating. But I had this very powerful consolation: that, as Trottman knew very little of what I supposed to be the true principles of politics, it was highly probable he was no better acquainted with those of law.

CHAPTER XV

_Former resentments revised: Doubts protracted: Conjectures on the sincerity of a delicate yet firm mind_

Above a fortnight passed away, during which I received no word of intelligence concerning Olivia. At some moments I felt great affliction from this suspense: at others I collected myself and determined to pursue my plan with all the vigour in which it had been conceived.

In the interval, I wrote several times to Mr. Evelyn. To this I was prompted from the very nature of my engagements and situation. Beside which I had not forgotten my pamphlet against the Earl and the Bishop, that lay ready for publication; though the acrimony of my feelings was much abated. The propriety of making the world acquainted with this affair was one of the subjects of my correspondence with Mr. Evelyn: to whom I had the candour to state my own opinions and sensations, on one part; and, on the other, the objections that had been urged by Turl.

In the history I had given Mr. Evelyn of myself, I was impelled, as well by inclination as necessity, to delineate the character of Turl, with which he could not but be charmed; and with his arguments and dissuasions on this subject. With these the ideas of Mr. Evelyn entirely coincided. He wrote delightful letters; full of animation, feeling, and friendship; and his persuasion therefore had the greater effect.

Wilmot concurred in the opinion of both; and, being thus pressed by the men whom I most loved and revered, I endeavoured to consign my resentment and its effusions to oblivion, and to dismiss the subject entirely from my mind.

At length, my suspense concerning Olivia found some, though far from a satisfactory, relief.

As she had paid no visit to Miss Wilmot, the latter of course had found no opportunity to deliver my letter. One evening, however, as I was sitting after tea with Miss Wilmot and her brother, a note came of which the following were the contents.

‘Miss Mowbray presents her kind and tenderest respects to Miss Wilmot, and informs her that she has been in town for some short time. Assures her that her not having called is far indeed from any decline of former friendship, the sincerity of which is invariable: but that there are motives which prevent her, for the present, from the enjoyment of that satisfaction. She would have been most happy to have communicated her thoughts to Miss Wilmot in person: but she is the slave of circumstances which, for family reasons and indeed from other motives; she is forbidden to explain; and to which she is obliged to submit. She confides in the goodness and friendship of Miss Wilmot, who she is well assured will not misinterpret that which is unavoidable; and, cherishing the hope of a more favourable opportunity, wishes her all possible happiness: requesting that, if by any means in her power it can be increased, Miss Wilmot will acquaint her with those means: that she may have the wished-for occasion of proving the ardour and sincerity of her affections.

‘Hertford-street, Nov. 17th’

* * * * *

Miss Wilmot gave me this note to read; and the commentary I immediately made was that, finding I was alive, the fear of a rencontre with me was the obstacle to her visits.

They agreed that this was a very probable supposition: but how far the aunt was any way concerned in it was matter of more uncertain conjecture. Miss Wilmot knew that Olivia had informed her aunt of the visits she was before accustomed to make; and, as her ideas concerning sincerity were delicately strict, it was more than probable that she had disdained to conceal any of the circumstances with which she herself was acquainted. I therefore thought it almost indubitable that she had been no less frank on the present occasion than was habitual to her on others; and time afterward discovered that my conclusions were right.

‘With what unequal weapons,’ exclaimed I, ‘do the lovers of truth and the adherents of hypocrisy contend!’

‘They do indeed,’ replied Wilmot. ‘But, contrary I believe to your supposition, the former have infinitely the advantage: for the latter systematically deceive themselves.’

What was to be done? Was I to pursue some covert mode of conveying my letter? Should I send it openly? Or ought I to let it remain, and patiently wait the course of events, which, by endeavouring to forward, I might but retard? Wilmot, who, though he had too much sympathy to communicate all his fears, had but little expectation, judging from the failure of his own plans of the success of mine, advised me to the latter; and, perplexed as I was with doubt and apprehension, I followed this advice.

END OF VOLUME IV

VOLUME V

CHAPTER I

_A cursory glance at law fictions: Legal suppositions endless: The professional jargon of an attorney: An enquiry into the integrity of barristers and the equity of decisions at law: A. and B. or a case stated: A digression from law to philosophy_

In the mean time, my application to the law was incessant; and consequently my intercourse with lawyers daily increased. I endeavoured to load my brain with technical terms and phrases, to understand technical distinctions, and to acquaint myself with the history of law fictions, and the reasons on which they had been founded.

To these subjects my attention had been turned by Mr. Hilary; who, being a Solicitor, was well acquainted with the value of them, to the man who meant to make himself a thorough lawyer.

The consideration of this branch of law staggered my judgment. Trottman and Hilary were intimate. The latter had invited us and other friends to dinner; and, as I found the acuteness of Trottman useful to me in my pursuits, I took this and every occasion to put questions: which he was very ready to answer. As it happened, my enquiry on the subject of law fictions brought on the following dialogue: which was supported by Trottman entirely in his own style.

‘According to your account then,’ said I, in answer to a previous remark, ‘in _Banco Regis_ the King is always _supposed_ to be present.’

‘No doubt, what question can there be of that? One invisible kind of being can as easily be supposed as another. And I hope you will not dispute the actual presence of that pleasant gentleman called the devil, in any one of our courts?’

‘By no means!’

‘As for his majesty, he, God bless him! by the nature of his office is _hic et ubique_: here, there, and every where. He is borne in state before each Corporation Mayor, whether Mr. or My Lord; and reposes peacefully in front of Mr. Speaker, or the Lord High Chancellor: investing them by his sacred presence with all their power.’

‘How so?’

‘How so! Do you forget the mace upon the table?’

‘Authority then has that virtue that, like grace divine into a wafer, it can be transfused into wood.’

‘Yes. A lord’s white wand, a general’s baton; a constable’s staff. It is thought necessary, I grant, in some of these cases that the block should be carved and gilded.’

‘Well, the position is that, in _Banco Regis_, the King is always present.’

‘So says the law.’

‘But the law, it appears, tells a lie; and, from all that I have heard, I wish it were the only one that it told.’

‘Could the law hear, sir, it would take very grave offence at your language. It only assumes a fiction.’

‘John Doe and Richard Roe, who are the pledges of prosecution, are two more of its _supposes_, or lies. I beg pardon. I should have said fictions.’

‘Why, yes: considering that John Doe and Richard Roe never made their personal appearance in any court in the kingdom, were never once met, in house, street, or field, in public, or in private, nay had never yet the good luck to be born, they have really done a deal of business.’

‘They resemble Legion, entering the swine: they plunge whole herds into the depths of destruction.’

‘Or, if you will, they are a kind of real yet invisible hob-goblins: by whom every human being is liable to be haunted. It must however be allowed of them that they are a pair of very active and convenient persons.’

‘To lawyers. But God help the rest of mankind! Are there many of these fictions?’

‘More than I or any man, I believe, can at one time remember.’

‘From the little I have read, this appears to be a very puzzling part of the profession.’

‘Not at all; if we will take things as we find them, and neither be more curious nor squeamish than wise. I will state the process of a suit to you; and you will then perceive how plain and straight-forward it is. We will suppose A the plaintiff: B the defendant. A brings his action by bill. Action you know means this: ‘_Actio nihil aliud est quam jus prosequendi injudicium quod sibi debelur_:’ or, ‘a right of prosecuting to judgment, for what is due to one’s self.’ B is and was _supposed_ to be in the custody of the Marshal. Observe, _supposed to be_: for very likely B is walking unmolested in his garden; or what not. B we will say happens to live in Surrey, Kent, or any other county, except Middlesex; and is _supposed_ to have made his escape, though perhaps he may have broken his leg, and never have been out of his own door. And then the latitat _supposes_ that a bill had issued, and further _supposes_ that it has been returned _non est inventus_, and moreover _supposes_ it to have been filed. B lives in Kent, you know; and this latitat is addressed, in _supposition_, to the Sheriff of the county, greeting; though as to the Sheriff he neither sees, hears, nor knows any thing concerning it; and informs him that B (notwithstanding he is confined to his bed by a broken leg) runs up and down, in _supposition_, and secretes himself in the Sheriff’s county of Kent: on which–‘

‘I beg your pardon: I cannot follow you through all this labyrinth of _supposes_.’

‘No! Then you will never do for a lawyer: for I have but just begun. I should carry you along an endless chain of them; every link of which is connected.’

‘And which chain is frequently strong enough to bind and imprison both plaintiff and defendant.’

‘Certainly: or the law would be as dead in its spirit as it is in its letter.’

‘I fear I shall never get all the phrases and forms of law by rote.’

‘Why, no. If you did, heaven help you! it would breed a fine confusion in your brain. You would become as litigious and as unintelligible as our friend Stradling.’

‘Mr. Stradling,’ said Hilary, ‘is one of my clients: an unfortunate man who, being a law-printer, has in the way of trade read so many law-books, and accustomed himself to such a peculiar jargon, as to imagine that he is a better lawyer than any of us; so that he has half-ruined himself by litigation. He is to dine with us, and will soon be here.’

‘I will provoke him,’ continued Trottman, ‘to afford you a sample of his gibberish; you may then examine what degree of instruction you suppose may be obtained from a heterogeneous topsy-turvy mass of law phrases.’

‘But why irritate your friend?’

‘You mistake. He has it so eternally on his tongue that, instead of giving him pain to shew the various methods in which he supposes he could torment an antagonist at law, it affords him the highest gratification.’

‘Our friend Hilary here is better qualified for the task of instruction; but he feels some of your qualms; and is now and then inclined to doubt that there is vice in the glorious system which regulates all our actions.’

‘I deny that it regulates them,’ said Hilary. ‘If people in general had no more knowledge of right and wrong than they have of law, their actions would indeed be wretchedly regulated!’

This was a sagacious remark. It made an impression upon me that was not forgotten. It suggested the important truth that the pretensions of law to govern are ridiculous; and that men act, as Hilary justly affirmed, well or ill according to their sense of right and wrong.

Mr. Stradling soon after came; and Trottman very artfully led him into a dispute on a supposed case, which Trottman pretended to defend, and aggravated him, by contradiction, till Stradling roundly affirmed his opponent knew nothing of conducting a suit at law.

The volubility of this gentleman was extraordinary; and the trouble I thought myself obliged to bestow, at that time, on the subject could alone have enabled me to remember any part of the jargon he uttered, in opposition to Trottman: which in substance was as follows.

‘Give me leave to tell you, friend Trottman, you know nothing of the matter; and I should be very glad I could provoke you to meet me in Westminster-hall. If I had you but in the Courts, damn me if you should easily get out!’

‘I tell you once more I would not leave you a coat to your back.’

‘You! Lord help you! I would _traverse_ your indictment, _demur_ to your plea, bring my _writ of error, nonsuit_ you. Sir, I would _ca sa fi fa_ you. I would _bar_ you. I would _latitat_ you, _replevin_ you, _refalo_ you. I would have my _non est inventus_, my _alias_, and _pluries_, and _pluries_, and _pluries, ad infinitum_. I would have you in _trover_; in _detinue_; I would send your loving friend Richard Roe to you. I would _eject_ you. I would make you _confess lease entry and ouster_. I would file my _bill of Middlesex_; or my _latitat_ with an _ac etiam_. Nay, I would be a worse plague to you still: I would have my bill filed in B.R. I would furnish you with a special original for C.P. You talk! I would sue out my _capias_, _alias_, and _pluries_, at once; and outlaw you before you should hear one word of the proceeding.’

Bless me, thought I, what innumerable ways there are of reducing a man to beggary and destruction according to law!

Trottman thus provokingly continued.

‘My dear Mr. Stradling, your brain is bewildered. You go backward and forward, from one supposition to another, and from process to process, till you really don’t know what you say. If I were your opponent, in any Court in the kingdom, I should certainly make the law provide you a lodging for the rest of your life.’

‘Bring your action! That’s all! Bring your action, and observe how finely I will _nonpros_ you: or reduce you to a _nolle prosequi_. You think yourself knowing? Pshaw. I have nonsuited fifty more cunning fellows, in my time; and shall do fifty more.’

God help them! thought I.

‘I have laid many a pert put by the heels. You pretend to carry an action through the Courts with me! Why, sir, I have helped to ruin three men of a thousand a year; and am in a fair way, at this very hour, of doing as much for a Baronet of five times the property.’

I listened in astonishment.

‘And do you take a pleasure in remembering this?’ said Hilary.

‘Pleasure!’ answered Stradling; staring. ‘Why, do you think, Mr. Hilary, I should have taken a pleasure in ruining myself? What did I do but act according to the laws of my country? And, if men will oppose me, and pretend to understand those laws better than I do, let them pay for their ignorance and their presumption. Let them respect the law, or let their brats go beg.’

‘The law I find, sir,’ said I, ‘has no compassion.’

‘Compassion, indeed! No, sir. Compassion is a fool; and the law is wise.’

‘In itself I hope it is: but I own I doubt the wisdom of its practice.’

‘But this practice, you must know,’ said Trottman, with a wink to Stradling, ‘Mr. Trevor means to reform.’

‘Oh,’ replied Stradling, ‘then I suppose, when the gentleman is at the bar, he will never accept a brief, till he has first examined the equity of the case.’

‘That, sir,’ I replied, ‘is my firm intention.’

‘Ha, ha, ha! Mr. Trevor, you are a young man! You will know better in time.’

‘And do you imagine, sir, that I will ever hire myself to chicanery, and be the willing promoter of fraud? If I do, may I live hated, and die despised!’

‘Ay, ay! Very true! I don’t remember that I ever met with a youth, who had just begun to keep his terms, who did not profess much the same. And, which is well worthy of remark, those that have been most vehement in these professions have been most famous, when they came to the bar, for undertaking and gaining the rottenest causes.’

‘You shall find however, sir, that I shall be an exception to this rule.’

‘Excuse me, Mr. Trevor, for not too hastily crediting hasty assertions. I know mankind as well as I know the law. However, I can only tell you that if your practice keep pace with your professions, you will never be Lord Chief Justice.’

‘Do the judges then encourage barristers, who undertake the defence of bad and base actions?’

‘To be sure they do. They sometimes shake their heads and look grave: but we know very well they defended such themselves: or, as I tell you, they would never have been judges. If two men have a dispute, one of them must be in the wrong. And who is able to pronounce which, except the law?’

‘My dear Mr. Stradling,’ said Trottman, ‘you are again out of your depth. When two men dispute, it almost always happens that they are both in the wrong. And this is the glorious resource of law; and the refuge of its counsellors, and its judges.’

Trottman and Stradling were accustomed to each other’s manner; and, notwithstanding the language they used, nothing more was meant than a kind of jocular sparring: which would now and then forget itself for a moment, and become waspish; but would recollect and recover its temper the next sentence.

I replied to Trottman–‘It is true that, when two men dispute, it generally happens they are both in the wrong. But one is always more in the wrong than the other; and it should be the business of lawyers to examine, and of the law to decide upon, their different degrees of error.’

‘What, sir!’ exclaimed Stradling. ‘If you were counsel in a cause for plaintiff A, instead of exposing the blunders and wrongs of defendant B, would you enquire into those of your own client?’

‘I would enquire impartially into both.’

‘And if you knew any circumstance which would infallibly insure plaintiff a nonsuit, you would declare it to the Court?’

‘I would declare the truth, and the whole truth.’

‘Here’s doctrine! Here’s law!’

‘No,’ said Trottman; ‘it is not law. It is reform.’

‘It ought to be law. As an advocate, I am a man who hire out my knowledge and talents for the avowed purpose of doing justice; and am to consider neither plaintiff nor defendant, but justice only. Otherwise, I should certainly be the vilest of rascals!’

‘Heyday!’ thundered Stradling: and, after a pause, added–‘It is my opinion, those words are liable to a prosecution, Mr. Trevor; and, by G—-, if you were to be cast in any one of our Courts for them, it would be no fault either of the bench or the bar if the sentence of the law, which you are defaming, did not shut you up for life!’

‘My friend Trevor mistakes the nature of the profession he is studying,’ added Trottman. ‘He forgets that the question before a Court is not, what is this, that, or the other; which he may think proper to call justice; but, what is the law?’

‘To be sure, sir;’ continued Stradling. ‘It is that which, as a lawyer, you must attend to; and that only.’

‘I will cite you an example,’ said Trottman.

‘A was a gentleman of great landed property. B was an impertinent beggarly kind of sturdy fellow, his neighbour. A had an estate in the county of —- that lay in a ring-fence: a meadow of nine acres excepted, which belonged to B. This meadow it was convenient for A to purchase; and he sent his steward, who was an attorney, to make proposals. B rejected them. The steward advised A to buy the estate that belonged to C, but that was farmed by B. The advice was followed. The lease of B expired the following year; and a new one was denied by A, unless B would sell his meadow. B consented. A bought the meadow, but determined to have his revenge. For this purpose A refused payment, and provoked B to commence an action. The law he knew very well was on the side of B: but that was of little consequence. Plaintiff B brought his action in Trinity Term. Defendant A pleaded a sham plea: asserted plaintiff had been paid for his meadow, by a firkin of butter: [All a lie, you know.] long vacation was thus got over, and next term defendant files a bill in Chancery, to stay proceedings at law. Plaintiff B files his answer, and gets the injunction dissolved: but A had his writ ready and became plaintiff in error, carried it through all the Courts: from K.B. to the Exchequer-chamber; and from the Exchequer-chamber, as A very well knew that B had no more money, A brought error into Parliament; by which B was obliged to drop proceedings. His attorney, of course, would not stir a step further; and the fool was ruined. He was afterward arrested by his attorney for payment of bill in arrear; and he now lies in prison, on the debtors’-side of Newgate.’

‘How you stare, Mr. Trevor!’ added Stradling. ‘Every word true. We all know a great lord who has carried I cannot tell how many such causes.’

‘And were the judges,’ said I, ‘acquainted with the whole of these proceedings?’

‘How could they be ignorant of them? Judgment had passed against defendant A in all the Courts.’

‘And did they afford the plaintiff no protection?’

‘They protect! Why, Mr. Trevor, you imagine yourself in Turkey, telling your tale to a Cady, who decides according to his notions of right and wrong; and not pleading in the presence of a bench of English judges, who have twice ten thousand volumes to consult as their guides which leave them no opinion of their own. It is their duty to pronounce sentence as the statute-books direct: or, as in the case I have cited, according to precedent, time immemorial.’

‘And this is what you call law?’

‘Ay! and sound law too.’

‘Why then, damn the–‘

‘You do right to stop short, sir.’

‘It appears to me that I am travelling in a cursed dirty as well as thorny road,’ said I, with a sigh.

‘Why, to own the truth,’ added Trottman, ‘you must meet with a little splashing: and, unless you can turn back and look at it with unconcern, I should scarcely advise you to proceed.’

‘I shall certainly reconsider the subject!’

‘A pair of lawyers, like a pair of legs, are apt to bespatter each other: but they nevertheless remain good friends and brothers. If you send your spaniel into a muddy pool, you ought to take care, when he comes out, that he does not shake the filth he has collected over his master.’

‘I wonder, sir, that you should continue one of a profession which you treat with such unsparing severity.’

‘And I, sir, do not wonder at your wonderings. Life is a long road; and he must have travelled a very little way indeed who expects that it should be all a bowling-green. Pursue your route in which direction you will, law, trade, physic, or divinity, and prove to me that you will never have occasion to shake off the dust from your feet in testimony against it, and I will then pause and consider. You are of the sect of the Perfectibles.’

‘And you of the cast of the Stand-stills.’

‘Oh no. I conceive myself to be among children at a fair, riding in a round-about. Like the globe they inhabit, men are continually in motion: but they can never pass their circle.’

‘And do you suppose you know the limits of your circle?’

‘Within a trifle. The experience of states, empires, and ages has decided that question with tolerable accuracy.’

‘But, what if a power should have arisen, of which you have not had the experience of states, empires and ages; except of a very small number? And what if this partial experience, as far as it goes, should entirely overthrow your hypothesis?’

‘I know that, in argument, your _if_ is a very renowned potentate. If the moon should happen to be a cheese, it may some time or another chance to fall about our ears in a shower of maggots. But what is this mighty power, that has done so much in so short a time; and from which you expect so many more miracles?’

‘It is the art of printing. When knowledge was locked up in Egyptian temples, or secreted by Indian Bramins for their own selfish traffic, it was indeed difficult to increase this imaginary circle of yours: but no sooner was it diffused among mankind, by the discovery of the alphabet, than, in a short period, it was succeeded by the wonders of Greece and Rome. And now, that its circulation is facilitated in so incalculable a degree, who shall be daring enough to assert his puny standard is the measure of all possible futurity? I am amazed, sir, that a man of your acuteness, your readiness of wit, and your strength of imagination, can persist in such an affirmative!’

‘The _argumentum ad hominem_. Very sweet and delectable. Thank you, sir.’

‘Every thing is subject to change: why not therefore to improvement? That change is inevitable there are proofs look where you will: that which is called innovation must consequently be indispensible. Examine the history of your own science. When England was infested with wolves, we are told that King Edgar imposed an annual tribute of thirty wolves’ heads on the Welsh Princes; that the breed might be extirpated. Had this tribute been levied, after the race was partly destroyed, the law would have counteracted its own intention: for, in order to pay the tax, the tributary Princes must have encouraged the breed; and once more have stocked the country with wolves.’

Stradling was little better than infected with what have been lately stigmatised by the appellation of Jacobinical principles, and exclaimed, with great exultation–‘Your remark is very true, sir; and it is an example that will serve admirably well to illustrate another point. Placemen and pensioners, a race more ravenous and infinitely more destructive than wolves, have been propagated for the support of the Executive Government; and the breed increases so rapidly that it will very soon devour its feeders.’

‘And next itself.’

‘With all my heart! Let me but see that vermin extirpated, and I shall die in peace!’

‘Very right, Mr. Stradling;’ said Trottman, with great gravity. ‘Placemen, and pensioners are vile vermin! And so will remain, till your party comes into office.’

‘If ever I could be brought to accept of place, or pension, may I–!’

‘I believe you: for I am well persuaded your virtue will never be put to the trial. Otherwise, I should imagine, it would find as many good arguments, I mean precedents, in favour of the regular practice in politics as in law.’

Here our dialogue paused. Dinner was announced, and law, politics, and patriotism were for a while forgotten, by all except myself, in the enjoyments of venison and old port.

CHAPTER II

_More painful doubts, and further enquiries: Unexpected encouragement and warm affections from a character before supposed to be too cold: Hope strengthened and confirmed_

Desultory as the conversation I have recited had been, it left a very deep impression upon my mind. It was roundly asserted, by every lawyer to whom I put the question, that the whole and sole business of a counsellor was the defence of his client. Right or wrong, it was his duty to gain his cause; and, with respect to the justice of it, into that, generally speaking, it was impossible that he should enquire. Briefs were frequently put into his hand as he entered the Court; which he was to follow as instructed.

It did now and then happen that a cause was so infamous as to put even the hacknied brow of a barrister to the blush: but it must be a vile one indeed! And even then, when he threw up his brief, though paid before he began to plead, it was matter of admiration to meet so disinterested an example of virtue, in an advocate.

It was in the practice of the law that I hoped to have taken refuge, against the arguments of Turl: which, averse as I had been to listen, proved even to me that, in principle, it was not to be defended.

The train of thinking that followed these deductions was so very painful that I was obliged to fly from them; and seek advice and confirmation in the friendship of Wilmot, before I should write on the subject to Mr. Evelyn. For the latter task indeed my mind was not yet sufficiently calm, collected, and determined.

My chief consolation was that the subject had thus been strongly brought to the test of enquiry, before the expiration of the month which, according to agreement, I was to be with Counsellor Ventilate, previous to the payment of my admission-fee; of which, as it was a heavy one, thus to have robbed the charities of Mr. Evelyn would have given me excessive anguish.

I know not whether I was sorry or glad when I came to Wilmot’s lodging, to find Turl there. He had returned from his bathing excursion; having been called back sooner than he expected by his affairs.

He was cheerful, and in excellent spirits. His complexion was clear, his health improved, and his joy at our meeting was evident and unaffected. He even owned that, hearing I had devoted myself to the law, he had returned thus soon the more willingly once again to argue the question with me: for that he felt himself very highly interested in the future employment of talents of which he had conceived extraordinary hopes; and that he thought it impossible they should be devoted to such a confusing study, were there no other objection to it, as that of the law, without being, not only perverted and abused, but, in a great degree, stifled.

After an avowal like this, it required an effort in me to summon up my resolution, and honestly state the doubts and difficulties that had arisen in my own mind. It was happy for me that my friends were men whose habitual sincerity prompted me to a similar conduct. I therefore took courage, opened my heart, and, while describing my own sensations, was impelled to confess that the practice of the law could with great difficulty indeed be reconciled to the principles of undeviating honesty.

‘I most sincerely rejoice,’ said Turl, ‘that these doubts have been suggested to you by other people, rather than by me: for I am very desirous you should not continue to think me too prone to censure. And, in addition to them, I would have you take a retrospect of your plan. To induce you to despond is a thing which I would most sedulously avoid: but to suffer you to delude yourself with the hopes of sudden wealth (and when I say sudden, I would give you a term of ten years) from the practice of the law, unless you should plunge into that practice with the most unqualified disregard to all that rectitude demands, would be to act the cowardly disingenuous hypocrite; and entirely to forget the first and best duties of friendship.

‘Should you ask–“What path then am I to pursue?” I own I am totally at a loss for an answer. The choice must be left to yourself. You are not ignorant that it is infinitely more easy to point out mistakes, which have been and still continue to be committed daily, than to teach how they may be entirely avoided. Of this I am well assured, if you will confide in and exert those powers of mind that you possess, they must lead you to a degree of happiness of the enjoyment of which, I am sorry to say, but few are capable.

‘From my own experience and from that of all the young men I meet, who are thrown upon the world, I find that the period which is most critical and full of danger, is the one during which they are obliged unsupported to seek a grateful and worthy way of employing their talents.

‘My own resource has been that of cheerfully submitting to what are called the hardships of obscure poverty; and of consoling myself, not only with a firm persuasion that by this course in time I shall infallibly change the scene, but that, till this time shall come, I am employing myself on the subjects which can best afford me present satisfaction. That is, in endeavours, however narrow and feeble, to enlarge the boundaries of human happiness; and by means like these to find a sufficiency for my own support.

‘I know not that I ought to advise you to pursue a similar plan: though I can truly say I am unacquainted with any other, which is equally promising.

‘How to answer or appease the imperious demands of your present ruling passion I cannot devise. Neither can I say that I am convinced it is blameable except in its excess. That you should desire to obtain so rare and inestimable a treasure as that of a woman who, not to insist upon her peculiar beauty, is possessed of the high faculties with which she whom you love is affirmed to be endowed, is an ambition which my heart knows not how to condemn as unworthy. There is something in it so congenial to all my own feelings that to see you united to her would give me inexpressible pleasure.

‘You will perhaps be surprised to hear me own that, notwithstanding the obstacles are so numerous that I have no perception of the manner in which they are to be overcome, I yet rejoice with you that you have discovered such a woman; that she has assuredly a rooted affection for you; and that you have thus obtained one advantage over all your friends, a strong and unconquerable motive to outstrip them in your efforts.

‘Shall I add that, desperate as your case seems to be, I participate in your sanguine hopes? I do not deem them entirely romantic, but share in that which the phlegmatic would call the frenzy of your mind; and half-persuade myself that you will finally be victorious.

‘Then summon up your fortitude. Do not suffer the failure of ill-concerted plans either to lessen your ardour or give it a rash and dangerous direction. Be cool in decision, warm in pursuit, and unwearied in perseverance. Time is a never failing friend, to those who have the discernment to profit by the opportunities he offers. Let your eye be on the alert, and your hand active and firm, as circumstances shall occur, and I shall then say I scarcely know what it is that you may not hope to achieve!’

Wilmot stood with his head resting on his arm, leaning against the mantle-piece. When Turl began, his eye was cast down, a compassionate melancholy overspread his countenance, and a deep sigh broke from him unperceived by himself. As our mutual friend proceeded, his attitude altered, his head was raised, his eye brightened, his features glowed, his soul was wrapt in the visions which were raised by Turl, and, unconscious of his own existence or that he spoke, his interrupting ejaculations now and then involuntarily burst forth–‘That is true!–Well argued!–Do you think so?–Indeed!–I am glad of that!–Don’t despond, Trevor! Don’t despond!–‘Tis folly to despond!’

Just as he repeated the last sentence, ”Tis folly to despond,’ so full a remembrance of his former trains of thought came over him, and there was so divine a mixture of hope and melancholy in his face, which seemed so to reproach himself and to encourage me, that, divided as my feelings were between the generous emanations of Turl and these torrents of affection from a man who had suffered so deeply, I seized the hand of each, pressed them both to my heart, instantly dropped them again, covered my face, fell against the wall, and sobbed with something like hysteric passion.

Of all the pleasures of which the soul is capable, those of friendship for man and love for woman are the most exquisite. They may be described as–‘the comprehensive principle of benevolence, which binds the whole human race to aid and love each other, individualized; and put into its utmost state of activity.’ Selfishness may deride them; and there may be some so haunted by suspicion, or so hardened in vice as to doubt or deny their existence. But he that has felt them in their fullest force has the best as well as the grandest standard of human nature; and the purest foretaste of the joys that are in store, for the generations that are to come.

This is the spirit that is to harmonize the world; and give reality to those ideal gardens of paradise, and ages of gold, the possibility of which, as the records of fable shew, could scarcely escape even savage ignorance.

What clue shall I give the reader to my heart, that shall lead him into its recesses; and enable him to conceive its entire sensations? That Turl, from whom I imagined I had met so much discouragement, whose scrutinizing eye led him to examine with such severity, and whose firm understanding possessed such powers of right decision, that he should not only sympathize with me but partake in my best hopes, and countenance me in my soul’s dearest pursuit, that Turl should feel and act thus, was a joy inconceivably great, and unexpected!

He now no longer appeared to me as one to whom, though I could not but revere him, I durst not confess myself; but as a generous, anxious, and tender friend. My former flashes of hope had usually been succeeded by a gloomy despair, that made me half suspect myself to be frantic: but, after this concession and encouragement from Turl, they seemed instantly to spring into consistency, probability, and system.

Turl highly approved my forbearance, and caution, respecting the letter I had written and was so anxious to convey to Olivia.

This farther coincidence of opinion not only induced me to persevere in my plan, but afforded me a degree of grateful satisfaction, and self-respect, that was exceedingly consolatory.

CHAPTER III

_More traits of the character of Mr. Evelyn: A new project of a very flattering nature: Borough interest and a patriotic Baronet_

It may well be supposed that Turl was induced to enquire, and I to explain, the means by which I should have been enabled to pursue the study of the law: for he had heard of my misfortunes, and the dissipation of my finances.

This brought the behaviour and character of Mr. Evelyn in review: and the admiration of Turl, with the terms of affection and respect in which he spoke of that gentleman, was additional delight. He had never entertained any serious doubt, he said, but that such men existed: perhaps many of them: yet to discover a single one was an unexpected and, to say the truth, a very uncommon pleasure.

But Mr. Evelyn was to be made acquainted with my change of sentiment; and of my being once more destitute of any plan for my future guidance. It was necessary that he should not deem me a man of unsettled principles; frivolous in propensity, and fantastic in conduct. For, though perhaps my pride would have felt gratification at no longer considering myself a dependent on the favourable opinion or calculations which another might form concerning me, and my good or ill qualities, yet I could not endure to sink in his esteem.

I therefore applied myself, immediately, in the most assiduous manner, to collect and state such facts as I had gathered, relative to the practice of the law: and, that the argument might be placed in the clearest light possible, I begged of Turl to take that part of the subject which related to its principles upon himself.

Thus provided, I wrote to Mr. Evelyn; and my letter was fortunate enough to produce its desired effect.

Nor was he satisfied with mere approbation. His anxious and generous friendship would not suffer him to rest; and he immediately made a journey to town, to consult with me, since this project was rejected, what should be my new pursuit.

His behaviour verified all the assertions of his former discourse, concerning the hopes that he had conceived of my talents. He considered nothing within the scope of his fortune as too great a sacrifice, if it could but promote the end he desired. For this purpose he not only consulted with Wilmot, and Turl, but led me into such conversations as might best display the bent of my genius; and afford him hints, on which to act.

And now he was induced to form a design such as I little expected; and which required of me the acceptance of obligations so great as well might stagger me, and render it difficult for me to consent.

He had remarked that my enunciation was clear and articulate, my language flowing, my voice powerful, and my manner pre-possessing. Such were the terms which he used, in describing these qualities in me. The youthful manliness of my figure, he said, added to the properties I have mentioned, was admirably adapted for parliamentary oratory. My elocution and deportment were commanding; and principles such as mine might awe corruption itself into respect, and aid to rouse a nation, and enlighten a world. Mr. Evelyn, like myself, was very much of an enthusiast.

He did not immediately communicate the project to me: which was indeed first suggested to him by accidental circumstances: but previously examined whether it was, as he supposed it to be, possible to be carried into effect.

Sir Barnard Bray had the nomination of two borough members: one of which he personated himself, and disposed of the other seat, as is the custom, to a candidate who should be of his party; and consequently vote according to his opinion.

He had long been the loud and fast friend of Opposition. No man was more determined in detecting error, more hot in his zeal, or more vociferous in accusation, than Sir Barnard: his dear and intimate friend, the right honourable Mr. Abstract, excepted; who was indeed pepper, or rather gunpowder itself.

Mr. Evelyn was the cousin of this patriotic baronet.

It happened just then to be the eve of a general election; and, as the last member of Sir Barnard had been so profligate, or so patriotic, as the worthy member himself repeatedly and solemnly declared he was, as to vote with the Minister, who had previously given him a place and promised to secure his return for a Treasury borough, Mr. Evelyn, knowing these circumstances, was persuaded that the Baronet would be happy to find a representative for _his_ constituents, whose eloquence added to his own should avenge him on the Minister; if not tumble him from the throne he had usurped.

Mr. Evelyn and the Baronet were on intimate terms: for Sir Barnard took a particular pleasure in every man who perfectly agreed with him in opinion; and, though this definition would not accurately apply to Mr. Evelyn, yet, on the great leading points in politics they seldom differed.

As to morals, as a science, Sir Barnard on many occasions would affect to treat it with that common-place contempt which always accompanies the supposition of the original and unconquerable depravity of man; of the verity of which the Baronet had a rooted conviction. In this hypothesis he was but confirmed by his burgage-tenure voters, by the conduct of the members he had himself returned, and by certain propensities which he felt in his own breast, and which he seriously believed to be instinctive in man.

Beside, if Mr. Evelyn differed at any time in opinion with a disputant, the suavity of his manners was so conciliatory that opposition, from him, was sometimes better received than agreement, and coincidence, from other people. This suavity, by the by, is a delightful art. Would it were better understood, and more practised!

CHAPTER IV

_Sage remarks on the seduction of young orators, the influence of the crown, and the corruption of our glorious constitution: Old and new nobility: Poor old England: Necessary precautions: The man with an impenetrable face_

Full of the project he had conceived, Mr. Evelyn visited the Baronet, who happened to be in town, and proposed it to him in the manner which he thought might most prepossess him in my favour.

Sir Barnard listened attentively, and paused.

It happened that he had lately been meditating on the danger of introducing young orators into parliament: for he had found, by experience, that they are so marketable a commodity as to be almost certain of being bought up. The trick he had himself been played was bitterly remembered; and he had known and heard of several instances, during his parliamentary career, of a similar kind.

Yet he could not but recollect that, when he and his former spokesman had entered the house, arm in arm, there was a sort of buzz, and a degree of respect paid to him, which had instantly diminished as soon as this support was gone.

There is something of dignity in the use of crutches; and he that cannot walk alone commands attention, from his imbecility.

‘I do not know what to think of this plan,’ said the Baronet. ‘I find your flowery speakers are no more to be depended upon, in the present day, than the oldest drudges in corruption!

‘You know, cousin, how I hate corruption. It is undoing us all, It will undo the nation! The influence of the crown is monstrous. The aristocracy is degraded by annual batches of mundungus and parchment lords; and the constitution is tumbling about our ears. The old English spirit is dead. The nation has lost all sense and feeling. The people are so vile and selfish that they are bought and sold like swine; to which, for my part, I think they have been very properly compared. There is no such thing now as public virtue. No, no! That happy time is gone by! Every man is for all he can get; and as for the means, he cares nothing about them. There is absolutely no such thing as patriotism existing; and, to own the truth, damn me if I believe there is a man in the kingdom that cares one farthing for those rights and liberties, about which so many people that you and I know pretend to bawl!’

‘This is a severe supposition indeed. It implicates your dearest and most intimate friends. Only recollect, Sir Barnard, what would your feelings be, if the same thing should be asserted of you?’

‘Of me, truly! No, no, cousin Evelyn; I think I have been pretty tolerably tried! The Minister knows very well he could move the Monument sooner than me. I love the people; and am half mad to see that they have no love for themselves. Why do not they meet? Why do not they petition? Why do not they besiege the throne with their clamors? They are no better than beasts of burthen! If they were any thing else, the whole kingdom would rise, as one man, and drive this arrogant upstart from the helm. I say, Mr. Evelyn, I love the people; I love my country; I love the constitution; and I hate the swarms of mushroom peers, and petty traders, that are daily pouring in upon us, to overturn it.’

Was it weakness of memory? Was it the blindness of egotism? Or was it inordinate stupidity, that Sir Barnard should forget, as he constantly did, that his father had been a common porter in a warehouse, had raised an immense fortune by trade, had purchased the boroughs which descended to his son, and had himself been bought with the title of Baronet by a former minister? Was it so very long ago, that Sir Barnard, with such a swell of conscious superiority, should begin to talk of the antiquity of his family? But, above all, how did he happen not to recollect that the disappointment which now preyed upon and cankered his heart was the refusal of a peerage?

I really can give no satisfactory answer to these questions. I can only state a fact: which daily occurs in a thousand other instances.

Mr. Evelyn brought the Baronet back to the point; and remarked to him that, at the present period, when the Minister was so powerful in numbers, to bring in a mere yes and no member with himself would be a certain mode of not serving the country, the constitution, and the people, whom he so dearly loved; that the safety which is derived from a man’s insignificance is but a bad pledge; and that he thought himself very certain I was as dear, nay and as incorruptible, a lover of old England, or at least of the welfare of mankind, as Sir Barnard himself.

‘Shew me such a man, cousin,’ exclaimed the Baronet, ‘and I will worship him! I will worship him, Mr. Evelyn! I will worship him! But I am persuaded he is not to be found. I have learned, from too fatal experience, that I am certain of nobody but myself! Small as the number in Opposition is, if they were but all as sound-hearted as I am, and would set their shoulders to the wheel and lay themselves out for the good of their country as I do, I say it, Mr. Evelyn, and take my word for it I say true, we should overturn the Minister and his corrupt gang in six months! Nay, in half the time! However, as you are so strongly persuaded of the soundness of the gentleman’s principles whom you recommend, let me see him, and talk to him; and then I will tell you more of my opinion.’

‘There is one point, Sir Barnard, on which I suppose I need not insist; it is so obvious.’

‘What is that, cousin?’

‘You being as you state a man of principle, and incapable of being biassed to act against what you conceive to be the good of the nation, you must expect that every man, who resembles you in patriotism and fortitude, will act from himself, and will resist any attempt to control him.’

‘Oh, as to that, we need say nothing about it. Those things are never mentioned, now-a-days: they are perfectly understood. But who is your young friend? Is he a man of property?’

‘No.’

He will be the more manageable, thought Sir Barnard.

‘Where will he get a qualification?’

‘I will provide him with one.’

‘You say he is a gentleman.’

‘As I understand the term, he certainly is: for, in addition to those manners and accomplishments which are most pleasing to the world, he not only possesses a good education but a sense of justice which makes him regard every man as his brother; and which will neither suffer him to crouch to the haughty nor trample on the poor.’

‘Why, that is very good. Very right. I myself will crouch to no man. And, as for modesty and humility, in the youth of the present day, why they are very rarely found: and so I shall be happy to meet with them.’

‘Nay, but Mr. Trevor delivers his sentiments with rather an unguarded freedom, and with peculiar energy, or indeed he would be ill qualified to rise in the assembly of which I wish to see him a member, and undauntedly oppose the arrogant assertions that are there daily made.’

‘Arrogant! G—- confound me, Mr. Evelyn, if I am not sometimes struck dumb, with what I hear in that house! There is that Scotchman in particular, who will get up, after our allies have been defeated, our troops driven like sheep from swamp to swamp, where they die of the rot, and our ships carried by hundreds into the enemy’s ports, and will roundly assert, notwithstanding these facts are as notorious as his own political profligacy, that our victories are splendid, our armies undiminished, and our trade protected and flourishing beyond all former example! He makes my hair stand on end to hear him! And when I look in his face, and see the broad familiar easy impudence with which he laughs at me and all of us, for our astonishment, why, as I tell you, damn me if I am not dumb-founded! I am struck all of a heap! I have not a word! I am choaked with rage, and amazement! Compared to him your brothel-keeper is a modest person! Were but our fortresses as impenetrable as his forehead, curse me if they would ever be taken. He is bomb-proof. The returns that lie on the table can make no impression upon him; and you may see him sneer and laugh if they are pointed to in the course of an argument.

‘In short, cousin Evelyn, the nation is ruined. I see that clear enough. Our constitution will soon be changed to a pure despotism. Barracks are building; soldiers line our streets: our commission of the peace is filled with the creatures of a corrupt administration; constables are only called out to keep up the farce; and we are at present under little better than a military government.’

Though Mr. Evelyn would have been better satisfied, had Sir Barnard’s sense of national grievances been equally strong but less acrimonious, yet he was pleased to find that these grievances were now more than ever become a kind of common-place bead roll of repetitions: of which their being so familiarly run over by the Baronet was sufficient proof: for a people that are continually talking of the evils that afflict them are not, as Sir Barnard and others have supposed, dead to these evils. The nation that remarks, discusses, and complains of its wrongs, will finally have them redressed.

CHAPTER V

_Serious doubts on serious subjects: Personal qualms, and considerations: An interview with Sir Barnard: Fears and precautions, or a burnt child dreads the fire_

What farther passed in the conversation I have recited was of little moment: except that an appointment was made, on the following day, for me to be introduced to the Baronet.

Thus far successful, Mr. Evelyn returned; and, as he was a man of a firm and ingenuous mind, he thought it adviseable to hold a consultation with me and my friends, on the prosecution of his plan.

That personal considerations might in no degree influence the enquiry, he first proposed the question, without intimating to what it might lead, of–‘how far it became a virtuous man to accept a seat, on those conditions under which a seat only can be obtained, among the