Besides being the confidential advisers, attorneys are the "confessors"
of modern England; and the revelations--delicate, serious, not
unfrequently involving life as well as fortune and character--confided to
the purchased fidelity and professional honor of men whom romancers of
all ages have stereotyped as the ghouls and vampires of civilized
society, are, it is impossible to deny, as rarely divulged as those which
the penitents of the Greek and Latin churches impart to their spiritual
guides and helpers; and this possibly for the somewhat vulgar, but very
sufficient reason, that "a breach of confidence" would as certainly
involve the professional ruin of an attorney as the commission of a
felony. An able but eccentric jurisconsult, Mr. Jeremy Bentham, was
desirous that attorneys should be compelled to disclose on oath whatever
guilty secrets might be confided to them by their clients; the only
objection to which ingenious device for the conviction of rogues being,
that if such a power existed, there would be no secrets to disclose; and,
as a necessary consequence, that the imperfectly-informed attorney would
be unable to render his client the justice to which every person, however
criminal, is clearly entitled--that of having his or her case presented
before the court appointed to decide upon it in the best and most
advantageous manner possible. Let it not be forgotten either that the
attorney is the only real, practical defender of the humble and needy
against the illegal oppressions of the rich and powerful--the shrewd,
indomitable agent who gives prosaic reality to the figurative eloquence
of old Chancellor Fortescue, when he says, "that the lightning may flash
through, the thunder shake, the tempest beat, upon the English peasant's
hut, but the king of England, with all his army, cannot lift the latch to
enter in." The chancellor of course meant, that in this country
overbearing violence cannot defy, or put itself in the place of the law.
This is quite true; and why? Chiefly because the attorney is ready, in
all cases of provable illegality, with his potent strip of parchment
summoning the great man before "her Sovereign Lady the Queen," there to
answer for his acts; and the richer the offender, the more keen and eager
Mr. Attorney to prosecute the suit, however needy his own client; for he
is then sure of his costs, if he succeed! Again, I cheerfully admit the
extreme vulgarity of the motive; but its effect in protecting the legal
rights of the humble is not, I contend, lessened because the reward of
exertion and success is counted out in good, honest sovereigns, or notes
of the Governor and Company of the Bank of England.
Thus much by way of conciliatory prologue to the narrative of a few
incidents revealed in the attorney's privileged confessional; throughout
which I have of course, in order to avoid any possible recognition of
those events or incidents, changed the name of every person concerned.
Our old city firm, then, which, I am happy to say, still flourishes
under the able direction of our active successors, I will
call--adopting the nomenclature appropriated to us by imaginative
ladies and gentlemen who favor the world with fancy pen-and-ink
portraits of the lawyer tribe--that of Flint and Sharp; Sharp being
myself, and Flint the silver-haired old bachelor we buried a few weeks
since in Kensal Green Cemetery.
"Mr. Andrews," said a clerk as he threw open the door of the inner office
one afternoon; "Mr. Jesse Andrews."
"Good-day, Mr. Andrews," was my prompt and civil greeting: "I have good
news for you. Take a chair."
The good-humored, rather intelligent, and somewhat clouded countenance of
the new-comer brightened up at these words. "News from my Cousin
Archibald?" he asked, as he seated himself.
"Yes: He laments your late failure, and commiserates the changed position
and prospects of your wife and boy, little Archibald, his godson. You he
has not much compassion for, inasmuch as he attributes your misfortunes
entirely to mismanagement, and the want of common prudence."
"Candid, certainly," grumbled out Mr. Jesse Andrews; "but an odd sort of
good news!"
"His deeds are kinder than his words. He will allow, till Archibald
attains his majority--Let me see--how old is that boy of yours now?"
"Ten. He was two years old when his godfather went to India."
"Well, then, you will receive two hundred pounds per annum, payable
half-yearly, in advance, for the next ten years--that is, of course, if
your son lives--in order to enable you to bring him up, and educate him
properly. After that period has elapsed, your cousin intimates that he
will place the young man advantageously, and I do not doubt will do
something for you, should you not by that time have conquered a fair
position for yourself."
"Is that all?" said Mr. Andrews.
"All! Why, what did you expect?"
"Two or three thousand pounds to set me afloat again. I know of a safe
speculation, that with, say three thousand pounds capital, would realize
a handsome fortune in no time."
Mr. Jesse Andrews, I may observe, was one of that numerous class of
persons who are always on the threshold of realizing millions--the only
and constant obstacle being the want of a sufficient "capital."
I condoled with him upon his disappointment; but as words, however civil,
avail little in the way of "capital," Mr. Jesse Andrews, having pocketed
the first half-yearly installment of the annuity, made his exit in by no
means a gracious or grateful frame of mind.
Two other half-yearly payments were duly paid him. When he handed me the
receipt on the last occasion, he said, in a sort of off-hand, careless
way, "I suppose, if Archy were to die, these payments would cease?"
"Perhaps not," I replied unthinkingly. "At all events, not, I should say,
till you and your wife were in some way provided for. But your son is not
ill?" I added.
"No, no; not at present," replied Andrews, coloring, and with a confusion
of manner which surprised me not a little. It flashed across my mind that
the boy was dead, and that Andrews, in order not to risk the withdrawal
or suspension of the annuity, had concealed the fact from us.
"Let me see," I resumed, "we have your present address--Norton
Folgate, I think?"
"Yes, certainly you have."
"I shall very likely call in a day or two to see Mrs. Andrew! and
your son."
The man smiled in a reassured, half-sardonic manner. "Do," he answered.
"Archy is alive, and very well, thank God!"
This confidence dispelled the suspicion I had momentarily entertained,
and five or six weeks passed away, during which Andrews and his
affairs were almost as entirely absent from my thoughts as if no such
man existed.
About the expiration of that time, Mr. Jesse Andrews unexpectedly
revisited the office, and as soon as I was disengaged, was ushered into
my private room. He was habited in the deepest mourning, and it naturally
struck me that either his wife or son was dead--an impression, however,
which a closer examination of his countenance did not confirm, knowing as
I did, how affectionate a husband and father he was, with all his faults
and follies, reputed to be. He looked flurried, nervous, certainly; but
there was no grief, no sorrow in the restless, disturbed glances which he
directed to the floor, the ceiling, the window, the fire-place, the
chairs, the table--everywhere, in fact, except towards my face.
"What is the matter, Mr. Andrews?" I gravely inquired, seeing that he did
not appear disposed to open the conversation.
"A great calamity, sir--a great calamity," he hurriedly and confusedly
answered, his face still persistently averted from me--"has happened!
Archy is dead!"
"Dead!" I exclaimed, considerably shocked. "God bless me! when did
this happen?"
"Three weeks ago," was the reply. "He died of cholera."
"Of cholera!" This occurred, I should state, in 1830.
"Yes: he was very assiduously attended throughout his sufferings,
which were protracted and severe, by the eminent Dr. Parkinson, a
highly-respectable and skilled practitioner, as you doubtless, sir,
are aware."
I could not comprehend the man. This dry, unconcerned, business-sort of
gabble was not the language of a suddenly-bereaved parent, and one, too,
who had lost a considerable annuity by his son's death. What could it
mean? I was in truth fairly puzzled.
After a considerable interval of silence, which Mr. Andrews, whose eyes
continued to wander in every direction except that of mine, showed no
inclination to break, I said--"It will be necessary for me to write
immediately to your cousin, Mr. Archibald Andrews. I trust, for your
sake, the annuity will be continued; but of course, till I hear from him,
the half-yearly payments must be suspended."
"Certainly, certainly: I naturally expected that would be the case," said
Andrews, still in the same quick, hurried tone. "Quite so."
"You have nothing further to say, I suppose?" I remarked, after another
dead pause, during which it was very apparent that he was laboring with
something to which he nervously hesitated to give utterance.
"No--yes--that is, I wished to consult you upon a matter of
business--connected with--with a life-assurance office."
"A life-assurance office?"
"Yes." The man's pale face flushed crimson, and his speech became
more and more hurried as he went on. "Yes; fearing, Mr. Sharp, that
should Archy die, we might be left without resource, I resolved,
after mature deliberation, to effect an insurance on his life for
four thousand pounds."
"Four thousand pounds!"
"Yes. All necessary preliminaries were gone through. The medical
gentleman--since dead of the cholera, by the way--examined the boy of
course, and the insurance was legally effected for four thousand pounds,
payable at his death."