CHAPTER III.

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BLACKWOOD'S

Edinburgh

MAGAZINE

VOL. LIX.

JANUARY-JUNE, 1846.

[Illustration]

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH;

AND

37, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.

1846.

BLACKWOOD'S

EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

No. CCCLXIII. JANUARY, 1846. VOL. LIX.

CONTENTS.

SIR WILLIAM FOLLETT, 1

LET NEVER CRUELTY DISHONOUR BEAUTY, 16

THE LAST HOURS OF A REIGN. CONCLUSION, 17

A CAMPAIGN IN TEXAS, 37

THE MOTHER AND HER DEAD CHILD, 53

THE GREEK AND ROMANTIC DRAMA, 54

MY COLLEGE FRIENDS. NO. III., 73

THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. PART III., 85

SICILIAN SKETCHES. SYRACUSIANA, 103

ÆSTHETICS OF DRESS. MILITARY COSTUME, 114

FROM GOETHE, 120

CHRISTMAS CAROL. 1845, 122

THE CRISIS, 124

* * * * *

EDINBURGH:

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET;

AND 37, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.

_To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._

SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.

* * * * *

PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.

SIR WILLIAM FOLLETT.

The disappearance from the legal hemisphere of so bright a star as the

late Sir William Follett, cast a gloom, not yet dissipated, over the

legal profession, and all classes of society capable of appreciating

great intellectual eminence. He died in his forty-seventh year; filling

the great office of her Majesty's Attorney-general; the head and pride

of the British Bar; a bright ornament of the senate; in the prime of

manhood, and the plenitude of his extraordinary intellectual vigour; in

the full noontide of success, just as he had reached the dazzling

pinnacle of professional and official distinction. The tones of his low

mellow voice were echoing sadly in the ears, his dignified and graceful

figure and gesture were present to the eyes, of the bench and bar--when,

at the commencement of last Michaelmas term, they re-assembled, with

recruited energies, in the ancient inns of court, for the purpose of

resuming their laborious and responsible professional exertions in

Westminster Hall. It was impossible not to think, at such a time, of Sir

William Follett, without being conscious of having sustained a grievous,

if not an irreparable, loss. Where was he whose name was so lately a

tower of strength to suitors; whose consummate logical skill--whose

wonderful resources--taxed to the uttermost those of judicial intellect,

and baffled and overthrew the strongest who could be opposed to him in

forensic warfare? Where, alas, was Sir William Follett? His eloquent

lips were stilled in death, his remains were mouldering in the

tomb--yes, almost within the very walls of that sacred structure,

hallowed with the recollections and associations of centuries, in which

his surviving brethren were assembled for worship on Sunday the 2d day

of November 1845--the commencement of the present legal year--at that

period of it when _his_ was erewhile ever the most conspicuous and

shining figure, _his_ exertions were the most interesting, the most

important, _his_ success was at once the most easy, decisive, and

dazzling. Yes, there were assembled his brethren, who, with saddened

faces and beating hearts, had attended his solemn obsequies in that very

temple where was "committed his body to the ground, earth to earth,

ashes to ashes, dust to dust," where all, including the greatest and

noblest in the land, acknowledged, humbly and mournfully, at the mouth

of his grave, _that man walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth

himself in vain; he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather

them_! Surely these are solemnizing and instructive reflections; and

many a heart will acknowledge them to be such, amidst all the din, and

glare, and bustle of worldly affairs, in the awful presence of Him _who

turneth man to destruction, and sayeth, Come again, ye children of men_!

Sir William Follett has now lain in his grave for six months. During

this interval, the excitement which his death created amongst those who

had been in constant intercourse with him for years, has subsided;

leaving them better able to take a calm and candid view of his

character, acquirements, and position, and form a sober estimate of the

nature and extent of his reputation while living, and the probability of

its permanently surviving him.

When summoned from the scene of his splendid and successful exertions,

he was unquestionably the brightest ornament of the British bar.

Immediately afterwards the press teemed with tributes to his memory:

some of them characterised by great acuteness and discrimination,

several by exaggerated eulogy, and one or two by a harsh

disingenuousness amounting to misrepresentation and malevolence. Nothing

excited more astonishment among those who had thoroughly known Sir

William Follett, than the appearance of these attacks upon his memory,

and the bad taste and feeling which alone could have prompted the

perpetration of them, at a moment when the hearts of his surviving

relatives and friends were quivering with the first agonies of their

severe bereavement; when they had just lost one who had been the pride

of their family, the pillar of their hopes,--and who was universally

supposed to have left behind him not a single enemy--who had been

distinguished for his courteous, mild, and inoffensive character, and

its unblemished purity in all the relations of private life. Certain of

the strictures here alluded to, were petty, coarse, and uncandid; and

with this observation they are dismissed from further notice. Sir

William Follett had undoubtedly his shortcomings, in common with every

one of his fellow men; and, as a small set-off against his many

excellences of temper and character, one or two must be glanced at by

any one essaying to present to the public, however imperfectly, a just

account of this very eminent person. The failing in question formed the

chief subject of vituperation--_vituperation of the dead!_--by the

ungracious parties to whom brief reference has just been made; and

consists, in short, in the excessive eagerness to accumulate money, by

which it was alleged that the late Sir William Follett was

characterised. This charge is certainly not without foundation; but

while this frank admission is made, an important consideration ought to

accompany it in guiding the judgment of every person of just and

generous feeling; and will relieve the memory of the departed from much

of the discredit sought to be attached to it.

The life of Sir William Follett appears to have been, from the first, of

frail tenure. Could he have foreseen the terrible tax upon his scanty

physical resources which would be exacted by the profession which he was

about to adopt, he would probably have abandoned his intentions, justly

conscious though he might have been of his superior mental fitness for

the Bar, and would have betaken himself to some more tranquil walk of

life, which he might have been at this moment brightly adorning. He

devoted himself, however, to the law, with intense and undivided energy;

and, at a very early period of his professional career, was compelled to

retire for a time from practice, by one of the most serious mischances

which can befall humanity--it is believed, the bursting of a bloodvessel

in the lungs. Was not this a very fearful occurrence--was it not almost

conclusive evidence of the unwise choice which he had made of a

profession requiring special strength in that organ--was it not justly

calculated to alarm him for his future safety? And yet, what was he to

have done? To have abandoned a profession for which alone he had

qualified himself by years of profound and exclusive thought and labour?

What Office would, under such circumstances, have insured the life of

young Mr Follett, who, with such a fatal flaw in his constitution, was

nevertheless following a profession which would hourly attack his most

vulnerable part? Poor Follett! who can tell the apprehensions and

agonies concerning his safety, to which he was doomed, from the moment

of his first solemn summons to the grave, on the occasion alluded to?

What had happened, he too well knew, might happen again at any moment,

and hurry him out of life, leaving, in that case, comparatively

destitute those whom he tenderly loved--for whom he was bound to

provide--his widow and children. And for the widow and children of such

a man as he knew that he had become, he felt that he ought to make a

suitable provision: that those who, after he was gone, were to bear his

distinguished name, might be enabled to occupy the position in which he

had placed them with dignity and comfort. Was such an illegitimate

source of anxiety to one so circumstanced, and capable of Sir William

Follett's superior aspirations? Was it not abundantly justified by his

splendid qualifications and expectations? Why, then, should he not toil

severely--exert himself even desperately--to provide against the direful

contingency to which his life was subject? Alas! how many ambitious,

honourable, high-minded, and fond husbands and fathers are echoing such

questions with a sigh of agony! Poor Follett! 'twas for such reasons

that he lived with an honourable economy, eschewing that extravagance

and ostentation which too often, to men in his dazzling position, prove

irresistible; it was for such reasons that he _rose up early, and went

to bed late, and ate the bread of carefulness_. Had he been alone in the

world--had he had none to provide for but himself, and yet had

manifested the same feverish eagerness to acquire and accumulate

money--had he loved money for money's sake, and accumulated it from the

love of accumulation, the case would have been totally different. He

might then have been justly despised, and characterized as being _of the

earth, earthy_--incapable of high and generous sentiments and

aspirations--sordid, grovelling, and utterly despicable. Sir William

Follett had, during twenty years of intense and self-denying toil,

succeeded in acquiring an ample fortune, which he disposed of, at his

death, justly and generously; and how many hours of exhaustion, both of

mind and body, must have been cheered, from time to time, by reflecting

upon the satisfactory provision which he was making--which he was daily

augmenting--for those who were to survive him! Who can tell how much of

the bitterness of death was assuaged by such considerations! When his

fading eyes bent their aching glances upon those who wept around his

death-bed, the retrospect of a life of labour and privation spent in

providing for their comfort, must indeed have been sweet and

consolatory! Surely this is but fair towards the distinguished dead. It

is but just towards the memory of the departed, to believe his conduct

to have been principally influenced by such considerations. All men have

many faults--most men have grave faults. Is parsimony intrinsically more

culpable than prodigality? Have not most of mankind a tendency towards

one or the other? for how few are ennobled by the ability to steer

evenly between the two! And even granting that Sir William Follett had a

_tendency_ towards the former failing, it was surely exhibited under

circumstances which warrant us in saying, that "even his failings leaned

to virtue's side."

Connected with and immediately dependent upon this imputation upon the

late Sir William Follett, is another which cannot be overlooked. He is

charged with having made a profit of his prodigious popularity and

reputation, by discreditably and unconscientiously receiving fees from

clients for services which he well knew at the time that he could not

possibly render to them; in short, with taking briefs in cases to which

he had no reasonable hope of being able to attend. This is a very grave

accusation, and requires a deliberate and honest examination. It is a

long-established rule of English law, that barristers have no legal

means of recovering their fees, even in cases of most arduous and

successful exertion, except in the very few instances where a barrister

may consider it consistent with the dignity of his position to enter

beforehand into an express agreement with his client for the payment of

his fees[A]. A barrister's fee is regarded, in the eye of the law, as

_quiddam honorarium_; and is usually--and ought to be invariably--paid

beforehand, on the brief being delivered. A fee thus paid, a rule at the

bar forbids being returned, except under very special circumstances; and

the rule in question is a very reasonable one. As counsel have no legal

title to remuneration, however laborious their exertions, what would be

their position if they were expected or required to return their fees at

the instance of unreasonable and disappointed clients? Where ought the

line to be drawn? Who is to be the judge in such a case? A client may

have derived little or no benefit from his counsel's exertions, which

may yet have been very great; an accident, an oversight may have

intervened, and prevented his completing those exertions by attending at

the trial either at all, or during the whole of the trial; he may have

become unable to provide an efficient substitute; through the sudden

pressure of other engagements, he may be unable to bestow upon the case

the deliberate and thorough consideration which it requires--an

unexpected and formidable difficulty may prove too great for his means

of overcoming it, as might have been the case with men of superior skill

and experience;--in these and many other instances which might be put,

an angry and defeated client would rarely be without some pretext for

requiring the return of his fees, and counsel would be subject to a

pressure perfectly intolerable, most unreasonable, most unfair to

themselves, leading to results seriously prejudicial to the interests of

their clients; and a practice would be introduced entailing great evils

and inconveniences, affecting the credit and honour of both branches of

the legal profession. The rule in question rests upon the above, among

many other valid reasons, and is generally acted upon. No one, however,

can have any practical knowledge of the bar, without being aware of very

many instances of counsel disregarding that rule, and evincing a noble

disinterestedness in the matter of fees, either returning or declining

to accept them, at a severe sacrifice of time and labour, after great

anxiety and exertion have been bestowed, and successfully bestowed. The

rule in question is rigidly adhered to, subject to these exceptions by

eminent counsel, on another ground; viz. for the protection of junior

counsel, who would be subject to incessant importunities if confronted

by the examples of their seniors. Take, now, the case of a counsel who

has eclipsed most, if not every one, of his competitors, in reputation,

for the skill and success of his advocacy--who is acute, ready,

dexterous, sagacious, eloquent, and of accurate and profound legal

knowledge: that is the man whose name instantly occurs to any one

involved, or likely to be involved, in litigation--such an one must be

instantly secured--_at all events, taken from the enemy_--at any cost.

The pressure upon such a counsel's time and energies then becomes really

enormous, and all but insupportable. As it is of the last importance

either to secure his splendid services, or deprive the enemy of them,

such a counsel--and such, it need hardly be said, was Sir William

Follett--is continually made the subject of mere speculation by clients

who are content to take the _chance_ of obtaining his attendance, with

the _certainty_ of securing his absence as an opponent. When, however,

the hour of battle has arrived, and, with a compact array visible upon

the opposite side, the great captain is _not_ where it had been

hoped--or thought possible that he might have been--when, moreover, no

adequate provision has been made against such a serious

contingency--when the battle has been fought and lost, and great

interests are seriously compromised, or for ever sacrificed--_then_ the

client is apt, in the first smarting agony of defeat, to forget the

_chance_ which he had been content to run, and to persuade himself that

he had from the first calculated as a matter of _certainty_ on the great

man's attendance--and intense is that client's chagrin, and loud are his

complaints. Can it be supposed that this eminent counsel is not

sufficiently aware of the true state of the case? It is but fair to

give him credit for being under the impression, that all which is

expected from him, in many cases, is his best exertions to attend the

trial or hearing--to provide an effective substitute, if unable to

attend--and give due attention to the case at consultation. For counsel

to act otherwise, deliberately to receive a brief and fee, in a case

which he _knows_ that he cannot possibly attend, without in the first

instance fairly intimating as much to the client--to do so, in cases of

importance, and habitually--is surely most foully dishonourable,

dishonest, and cruel; and conduct which there is no pretence for

imputing to the members of the bar. It cannot, however, be denied, that

very serious misunderstandings occasionally arise on such occasions; but

there are many ways of accounting for them, without having recourse to a

supposition involving such serious imputations upon the honour of

counsel--arising out of _bonâ fide_ accident and mistake--the

unavoidable hurry and sudden emergencies of business--misunderstandings

between a counsel and his clerks;[B] between either or both, and the

client--and the perplexity and confusion almost necessarily attending

the movements of very eminent counsel. On such occasions every thing is

usually done which can be dictated by liberality and honour, and fees

are returned without hesitation. If, however, the case can be looked at

from another point of view--if the eager client be fairly apprised by

the clerk, that Sir ---- or Mr ---- "may not be able to attend"--or,

"there is a _chance_ of his attending"--or "he is very likely to be

elsewhere"--and, aware of the multifarious and conflicting calls upon

the time of Sir ---- or Mr ----, will be content to take his "chance,"

and deliver his brief, and pay his fee; in such a case the client will

have had all which he had a right to expect,--viz. the chance, not the

certainty; there will be no pretence for alleging careless

misunderstanding or deception.

If ever there were a member of the English bar who may be said to have

been overwhelmed by the distracting importunities of clients to secure

his services, at all hazards and at any cost, it was the late Sir

William Follett; and how he contrived to satisfy the calls upon him, to

the extent which he did, is truly wonderful. How can one head, and one

tongue, do so much, so admirably? is a question which has a thousand

times occurred to those of his brethren at the bar, who knew most of his

movements, and were least likely to form an exaggerated estimate of his

exertions. The litigant public seemed to feel that every moment of this

accomplished and distinguished advocate's waking hours was their own,

and they were restricting his sleeping hours within the very narrowest

limits. Every one would have had Sir William every where, in every

thing, at once! Whenever, during the last fifteen years of his life,

there was a cause of magnitude and difficulty, there was Sir William

Follett. What vast interests have been by turns perilled and protected,

according as Sir William Follett acted upon the offensive or defensive!

Misty and intricate claims to dormant peerages, before committees of

privileges, in the House of Lords; appeals to the High Court of

Parliament, from all the superior courts, both of law and equity, in the

United Kingdom, involving questions of the greatest possible nicety and

complexity--and that, too, in the law of Scotland, both mercantile and

conveyancing, so dissimilar to that prevailing in other parts of the

kingdom; appeals before the Privy Council, from the judicial decisions

of courts in every quarter of the globe where British possessions exist,

and administering varying systems of law, all different from that of

England; the most important cases in the courts of equity, in courts of

error, and the common law courts in _banc_; all the great cases

depending before parliamentary committees, till he entered the House of

Commons; every special jury cause of consequence in London and

Middlesex, and in any of the other counties in England, whither he went

upon special retainers; compensation cases, involving property to a very

large amount;--in all these cases, the first point was--to secure Sir

William Follett; and, for that purpose, run a desperate race with an

opponent. Every morning that Sir William Follett rose from his bed, he

had to contemplate a long series of important and pressing engagements

filling up almost every minute of his time--not knowing where or before

what tribunal he might be at any given moment of the day--and often

wholly ignorant of what might be the nature of the case he would have to

conduct, against the most able and astute opponents who could be pitted

against him, and before the greatest judicial intellects of the kingdom:

aware of the boundless confidence in his powers reposed by his clients,

the great interests entrusted to him, and the heavy pecuniary sacrifices

by which his exertions had been secured. Relying with a just confidence

on his extraordinary rapidity in mastering all kinds of cases almost as

soon as they could be brought under his notice, and also on the desire

universally manifested by both the bench and the bar to consult the

convenience and facilitate the business arrangements of one, himself so

courteous and obliging to all, and whom they knew to be entrusted at a

heavy expense to his clients, with the greatest interests involved in

litigation; relying upon these considerations, and also upon those

others which have been already alluded to, Sir William Follett

undoubtedly permitted briefs to be delivered to him, _all_ of which he

must have suspected himself to be incapable of personally attending to.

It must be owned that on many such occasions he may not--distracted with

the multiplicity of his exhausting labours--have given that full

consideration to those matters which it was his bounden duty to have

given to them; and his conduct in this respect has been justly censured

by both branches of the high and honourable profession to whom the

public entrusts such mighty interests. Still he turned away business

from his chambers which would have made the fortunes of two or three

even eminent barristers, and has been known to act with spirit and

liberality in cases where his imprudence on the score alluded to had

been attended with inconvenience and loss to his clients. Nor was he

_always_ so fortunate, as latterly, with respect to his clerks; who had,

equally with himself, a direct pecuniary interest[C] on every brief

which he accepted, and consequently a strong motive for listening with a

too favourable ear to the importunities of clients. The necessary

consequence of all this was occasionally the bitter upbraiding of Sir

William Follett's desperately disappointed and defeated clients. Still,

however, he did make most extraordinary efforts to satisfy all the

claims upon his time and energies, and at length sacrificed himself in

doing so; to a very great extent foregoing domestic and social

enjoyments--sparing himself neither by night nor by day, neither in mind

nor body. Crowded with consultations as was almost every hour of the

day not actually spent in open business in court--from the earliest

period in the morning till the latest at night--it was really amazing

that he contrived to obtain that perfect mastery of his ponderous and

intricate briefs, which secured him his repeated and splendid triumphs

in court. Till within even the last eighteen months, or two years, if

you had gone down one morning at half-past nine to Westminster, you

might have heard him opening with masterly ease, clearness, and skill, a

patent case, or some other important matter, before a special jury; and

immediately after resuming his seat, you would see him go perhaps into

an adjoining court of Nisi Prius, in which also he was engaged as

leading counsel, and where he would quickly ascertain the exact position

of the case--and effectively cross-examine or re-examine a witness, or

object to or support the admissibility of evidence;--then if you

followed his footsteps, you would find him in the Lord Chancellor's

Court, engaged in some equity case of great magnitude and difficulty.

Some time afterwards be might be seen hastening to the Privy

Council--and by about two or three o'clock at the bar of the House of

Lords, in the midst of an admirable reply in some great appeal or

peerage case. When the House broke up, Sir William Follett would doff

the full-bottomed wig in which alone Queen's counsel are allowed to

appear before the House of Lords, and, resuming his short wig, reappear

in either--or by turns in both--the Courts of Nisi Prius, where he had

left trials pending, having directed himself to be sent for if there

should arise any necessity for it. Then he would in a very few moments

calmly possess himself of the exact state of the cause, and resume his

personal conduct of it, as effectively as if he had never quitted the

Court. If he could be spared for a quarter of an hour, he would glide

out, followed by one or two counsel and attorneys, to hold one, or

perhaps two consultations, in cases fixed for the next day. On the

court's rising--perhaps about six or seven o'clock, he would go home to

swallow a hasty dinner; then hold one, two, or even three consultations

at his own house; read over--as none but he could read--some briefs; and

about eleven or twelve o'clock make his appearance in the House of

Commons, and perhaps take a leading part in some very critical

debate--listened to with uninterrupted silence, and with the admiration

of both friends and foes. The above, with the exception of taking part

in the debate of the House of Commons, was an average day's work of the

late Sir William Follett! And was it not the life of a galley-slave

chained to the oar? He had, however, chosen it, and would not quit his

seat but at the icy touch of death. Such appears to be a fair and

temperate account of the real state of the case, with reference to Sir

William Follett's great anxiety to acquire money, and his over-eagerness

in accepting briefs. Great allowances ought undoubtedly to be made for

him, on the grounds above suggested; and, with reference to the former

case, another consideration occurs, which ought to have been already

more distinctly adverted to. Sir William Follett had a right to regard

his elevation to the peerage as a matter almost of course. Had he lived

possibly only a few months longer, he would, in all probability, have

become a peer of the realm; and he ought to be given credit for an

honourable ambition to avoid the imputation of having inflicted a pauper

peerage upon the country. Frail he knew his health to be; and

doubtlessly contemplated the necessity of providing suitably for the

family whom he was to leave behind him, and which he had ennobled. But

what was involved in providing, under such circumstances, "_suitably_"

for a noble family? What ample means would have to be secured by one who

had inherited no fortune himself, but was, on the contrary, the sole

architect of his fortunes? What prodigious efforts are necessary for a

lawyer to realise, by his own individual exertions, an amount which

would produce an income of five, four, or even three thousand a-year?

And let any one of common sense, and ordinary knowledge of the world,

ask himself--whether the highest of those amounts is more than barely

sufficient, without undue economy, to provide for a dowager peeress and

a young family! That such considerations were not lost sight of by Sir

William Follett, but, on the contrary, were stimulants to his intense,

unremitting, and exhausting labours, it is easy to understand; and they

sprang out of a high, and honourable, and a legitimate ambition. But

whatever weight may be attached to these considerations--and generosity

and forbearance towards the dead will attach great weight to them--they

are no answer to much of the charge brought against the late Sir William

Follett, and which ought not to be glossed over and explained

away--that, in his excessive eagerness to accomplish his object, he was

hurried into an occasional forgetfulness of that nice and high sense of

moral principle which ought to regulate every one's conduct--especially

those in eminent positions--for the sake of illustrious example, and, in

a man's own case, with reference to the awful realities of HEREAFTER:

for a man should strive so to pass through things temporal, as not to

lose sight of things eternal.

Let us now, however, endeavour to point out some of the excellences of

Sir William Follett's character; and perhaps the most prominent of them

was his admirable temper. Continually in collision with others, on

behalf of important interests entrusted to him, and exposed to a

thousand trials and provocations--that temper, nevertheless, scarce ever

failed him. Serene and unruffled on the most exciting occasions, his

manners were perfectly fascinating to all those who came in contact with

him. A rude or unkind expression may be said never to have fallen from

his lips towards an opponent--or, indeed, any one; towards juniors and

inferiors he was always good-natured and considerate; and towards the

judicial bench he exhibited uniformly a demeanour of dignified courtesy

and deference. He was very tenacious of his own opinions--confident in

the propriety of his view of a case--_apparently so, always_, for he

could assume a confidence though he had it not--and would persevere in

his efforts to overcome the adverse humour of judges and juries, to an

extent never exceeded; yet withal so blandly, so unassumingly, so

mildly, that he never irritated or provoked any one. His temper and

self-possession were unequalled, and approached, as nearly as possible,

to perfection. Amidst all the distracting multiplicity of his

engagements--the sudden and harassing emergencies arising incessantly

out of his prodigious practice--he preserved an urbane tranquillity

which gave him on all occasions the full possession of his extraordinary

faculties, enabled him to concentrate them instantly upon whatever was

submitted to his attention, however suddenly--and to conquer without

irritating or mortifying even the most eager and sensitive opponent. He

never suffered himself to be in a _hurry_, or _fidgeted_; however sudden

and serious the emergency which frighted others from their propriety, he

retained and exhibited complete composure; surveying his position with

lightning rapidity, and taking his measures with consummate

caution--with prompt and bold decision. His guiding energies kept

frequently half a dozen important causes all going on at once in their

proper course. He would glide in at a critical moment--paying, in his

agitated client's view, "an angel's visit"--and with smiling ease seize

advantages seen by none but himself, repair disasters appearing to

others irreparable, and with a single blow demolish the entire fabric

which in his absence had been laboriously and skilfully raised by his

opponent. No impetuosity or irritability, on the part of others, could

provoke him to retaliate, or sufficed to disturb that marvellous

equanimity of his, which enabled him the rather good-naturedly to

convert impetuosity and loss of temper in others, into an instrument of

victory for himself. When others, not similarly blessed, would, in like

manner, essay to rush to the rescue, their hurried and confused

movements served only to place them more completely prostrate before

him. The instant after the issue had been--perhaps suddenly--decided in

Sir William's favour--through some unexpected masterstroke of his--he

would turn with an arch smile to his opponent, and whisper--"How did

you come to let me do it?" If his advance were met sulkily, he would

add, with unaffected good humour, "Come, don't be angry; I dare say you

will serve me in the same way to-morrow!" Towards adverse and frequently

interrupting judges--towards petulant counsel--towards impudent,

equivocating, dishonest witnesses, Sir William Follett exhibited

unwavering calmness and self-possession; and withal a dignity of

demeanour by which he was remarkably distinguished, and which lent

importance to even the most trivial cases which could be intrusted to

his advocacy. Perhaps no man ever defeated a greater number of important

cases, by unexpected objections of the very extremest technical

character, than Sir William Follett; but he would do it with an air and

manner so courteous and imposing, as to lead the uninitiated into the

belief that there were doubtless good reasons by which such a course

having been reluctantly adopted, was morally justified. This topic

naturally leads to some observations upon the consummate skill, the

wonderful rapidity of perception, precision of movement, and unfaltering

vigilance, which characterized Sir William Follett's conduct of

business. Doubtless his own consciousness of possessing powers and

resources far beyond those of the majority of counsel opposed to him, as

evidenced in his extraordinary successes, contributed, in no small

degree, to his maintenance of that composed self-reliance, and

forbearance towards others, by which he was so peculiarly distinguished,

and which was aided by a naturally tranquil temperament. What advantage

could escape one so uniformly and surprisingly calm, vigilant, and

guarded as Sir William Follett? It might have been supposed that a man

so overwhelmed with all but incompatible professional engagements, could

not give to each case that full and undivided attention which were

requisite to secure success, especially against the ablest members of

the bar, who were constantly opposed to him. It was, however, very far

otherwise. No one ever ventured to calculate upon Sir William Follett's

overlooking a slip or failing to seize an advantage. _Totus teres atque

rotundus_ must indeed have been the case which was to withstand his

onslaughts. So accurate and extensive was his legal knowledge, so acute

his discrimination, so dexterous were all his movements, so lynx-eyed

was his vigilant attention to what was going on, that the most learned

and able of his opponents were never at their ease till after victory

had been definitively announced from the bench--from a Court of

Error--or even the House of Lords. They were necessarily on the _qui

vive_ to the very latest moment. Some short time before he was compelled

to relinquish practice, a certain counsel was engaged with him as junior

in a case before the Privy Council, which it was deemed of great moment

that Sir William Follett should be able to attend to.

"I don't exactly know how I stand in the Queen's Bench to-morrow

morning," said he, at the consultation late over-night--"but I fear that

that long troublesome case of the ---- Railway will be brought on by

---- at the sitting of the court. I'm afraid I can't get him to put it

off--but I'll try; and if he won't, I may yet be able to _settle_ the

case before he has got far into it--for it will be very strange if all

their proceedings are right."

On this slender chance rested the likelihood of Sir William's attendance

at the Privy Council. The next morning at ten o'clock, beheld all the

counsel on both sides ready for action.

"You're not going to bring on the ---- case this morning, are you?"

whispered Sir William Follett, as soon as he had taken his seat, to his

opponent who was arranging his papers.

"I am indeed, and no mistake whatever about it."

"Can't we bring it on to-morrow, or some day next week? It would greatly

oblige me--I really have scarcely read my papers, and, besides, want to

be elsewhere."

"I'll see what my clients say,"--and then he consulted them, and

resumed--"No--my people are peremptory."

"Very well. Then keep your eyes wide open. I must bring you down as soon

as possible, for I want to be elsewhere."

"Ah--I must take my chance about that"--then, turning round to an

experienced and learned junior, he whispered--"You hear what Follett

says?--Are we really all right?"

"Oh, pho! never mind him--we are as right as possible."

A few moments afterwards, up rose ----, and soon got into his case, and

very soon, also, to the end of it. The case had not been heard more than

half an hour, Sir William Follett at once attentively listening to his

opponent, and hastily glancing over his own papers, when he rose very

quietly, and said--"If my learned friend will pardon me, I think, my

Lord, I can save the court a very long and useless enquiry--for there is

clearly a fatal objection _in limine_ to these proceedings."

"Let us hear what it is," said the court.

Sir William had completely checkmated his opponent! A statutory

requisition had not been complied with; and in less than ten minutes'

time the enemy were all prostrate--their expensive and elaborate

proceedings all defeated--and that, too, permanently, unless on acceding

to the terms which Sir William Follett dictated to them, and which, it

need hardly be observed, were somewhat advantageous to his own client!

"Really this is too bad, Follett," might have been heard whispered by

his opponent, as the next case was called in.

"Not at all--why didn't you let it stand over as I asked you?"

"Oh--you would have done just the same then as you have now."

"I don't know that," replied Sir William Follett with a significant

smile. "But why won't your people be more careful?" And then turning to

his junior, said--"Now for the Privy Council!" And all this with such

provoking, easy, smiling _nonchalance_!

Heaven forbid that any thing here said should favour the attempt to

defeat justice by technical objections; but there is, at the same time,

much vulgar error on that subject, grounded on reasons which would tend

to subvert all rules of law and legal procedure whatever. In the case

above mentioned, the legislature had thought fit to impose on applicants

for redress under the statute in question, a duty, which through haste

or negligence had been overlooked, and which Sir William Follett's

clients had a perfect right to take advantage of, as soon as his

acuteness had detected it. To return, however. No member of the bar, let

his experience and skill have been what they might, was ever opposed to

Sir William Follett without feeling, as has been already intimated, the

necessity of the greatest possible vigilance and research to encounter

his boundless resources; his dangerous subtlety and acuteness in

detecting flaws, and raising objections; his matchless art in concealing

defects in his own case; and building up, with easy grace, a

superstructure equally unsubstantial and imposing, and defeating all

attempts to assail or overthrow it. Even very strong heads would be

often at fault, conscious that they were the victim of some subtle

fallacy, which yet they could not _then and there_ detect and expose;

and by their hazy and inconsistent efforts to do so, only supplied

additional materials for the use of their astute and skilful enemy, to

whom nothing ever seemed to come amiss; who converted every thing into

ingredients of success; whom scarce any surprise or mischance could

defeat or overthrow. A very short time before he withdrew from practice,

he was engaged at Liverpool, whither he had gone upon a special

retainer, in a very intricate and important ejectment case.

Unexpectedly he discovered, when about half-way through the case, that

his client (the plaintiff) had omitted to serve a notice upon the

defendant's attorney to produce a certain critical document, at the

contents of which it was necessary to get, in order to make out the

plaintiff's case. The objection was promptly taken by his opponent--and

to the dismay of Sir William's clients. Not so with him, however.

"You have not given a notice to produce them, eh?" he calmly whispered

to his client, and was answered with a disturbed air in the negative;

and all the court saw that Sir William was in the very jaws of a

non-suit.

"You ought to have done so, but it does not much signify," said he, very

quietly--"what's the name of the defendant's attorney?" and, on being

told it, that gentleman, doubtless chuckling with delight in his

anticipated triumph, was somewhat astounded by being suddenly called as

a witness by Sir William Follett; who coolly asked him to produce the

document in question--and on his refusal, with one or two artful

questions, which completely concealed his real object, elicited the fact

that he had no such document, had searched every where for it, both in

his own office, and among his clients' papers, and elsewhere, but in

vain.

"Now, then, my lord," said Sir William Follett, "I am entitled to give

secondary evidence of its contents!"

The Judge assented.

Sir William extracted from his own witness all that was necessary--and

out of the nettle danger plucking the flower _safety_, won the verdict.

Every one, however, who has had opportunities of observing, can give

many instances of Sir William Follett's extraordinary tact and readiness

in encountering unexpected difficulty, and defeating an opponent by

interposing successive unthought-of obstacles. In the most desperate

emergencies, when the full tide of success was arrested by some totally

unlooked-for impediment, Sir William Follett's vast practical knowledge,

quickness of perception, unerring sagacity, and immoveable

self-possession, enabled him, without any apparent effort or uneasiness,

to remove that impediment almost as soon as it was discovered, and

conduct his case to a triumphant issue. He was, indeed, the very

perfection of a practical lawyer. Whatever he did, he did as well as

even his most exacting client could have wished--he won the battle, won

it with little apparent effort, and won it with grace and dignity of

demeanour. A gentleman felt proud of being represented by such an

advocate--who never descended into any thing approaching even the

confines of vulgarity, coarseness, or personality--who lent even to the

flimsiest case a semblance of substance and strength--whose consummate

and watchful adroitness placed weak places quite out of the sight and

reach of the shrewdest opponent, and never perilled a good case by a

single act of incaution, negligence, rashness, or supererogation. When

necessary, he would prove a case barely up to the point which would

suffice to secure a decision in his favour, and then leave it--equally

before the court, and a jury--the result afterwards showing with what

consummate judgment he had acted in running the risk--the latent

difficulties to have been afterwards encountered which he had avoided,

the collateral interests which he had shielded from danger. He possessed

that sort of intuitive sagacity which enabled him to see _safety_ at the

first instant of its existence--to be confident of having the judgment

of the court, or the verdict of the jury, when others deeply interested

and concerned in the cause imagined that they were making no way

whatever. "Now, I've knocked him," his opponent, "down"--he would say at

such a moment to his junior--"don't let him get up again! I must go off

to the House of Lords--and will come back if you want me! But mind, if

he attempt to do so or so--to put in such and such a paper, on no

account allow it; send for me, and fight till I come." He possessed, to

an extraordinary degree, the power of rapidly transferring his undivided

and undisturbed attention to every thing, great and small, which could

be brought before it. A single glance of his eye penetrated the most

obscure and perplexing parts of a case--a touch of his master-hand

disentangled apparently inextricable complexities. He could apply, with

beautiful promptitude and precision, some maxim or principle which had

not occurred to those who had devoted long and anxious attention to the

case, and which at once dissolved the difficulty. Whether acting on the

offensive or defensive, he was equally characterised by the great

qualities essential to successful advocacy; but perhaps, when acting on

the offensive, he displayed more formidable powers. He tripped up the

heels of the most wary and experienced antagonists, just when they

imagined themselves in the very act of throwing him. It was almost

useless to quote a "_case_" against him. Though the party doing so

deemed it precisely in point in his favour, and on that ground was

stopped by the court from proceeding further, Sir William Follett would

ask for the case; and rising up, after a momentary glance at it, show

that it was perfectly distinguishable from that before the court, and,

in a few minutes' time, would be interrupted by the court, with--"We

think, Mr ----, that you had better resume your argument!" If, on such

occasions, Sir William's opponent were not a ready and dextrous legal

logician, his client would wish that he had secured Sir William Follett.

His power of drawing distinctions and detecting analogies--and that,

too, on the spur of the moment--was almost unequalled. It was in vain

for an opponent to _feel_ that the suggested distinction was without a

difference--he could not _prove_ it to be so--he could not demonstrate

the fallacy which had been imposed on even a strong court by that

exquisite astuteness which, however sinister, was carried off by a

charming air of frankness and confidence in the validity of the

distinction. On such an occasion, directly the cause was over he would

turn round and say, laughingly, to his discomfited opponent, "You

haven't your wits about you this morning--why didn't you quote such and

such case?" or "say so and so?" Such things were never said in an

unpleasant manner--never truculently--never triumphantly--but simply

with a good-humoured, cheerful air of _badinage_, which, so far from

irritating you, took off the edge of vexation, and set you almost

laughing at yourself for having suffered yourself to be so completely

circumvented.

While thus paying a just tribute to the skill and wonderful resources of

this eminent advocate, another of his great merits, which shall be

noticed, will afford an opportunity for doing justice to the junior bar,

with reference to the invaluable, and--to the public--often totally

unperceived, assistance which they afford to their leaders. Sir William

Follett was pre-eminently characterised by the rapidity with which he

availed himself of the suggestions and labours of others. A whisper--a

line or two--would suffice to suggest to him a truly admirable and

conclusive argument, which he instantly elaborated as if he had prepared

it deliberately beforehand in his chamber; and he would put the point

with infinitely greater cogency than could have been exhibited by him

who suggested it, and defend it from the assaults of his opponents and

the bench with truly admirable readiness and ingenuity. He exhibited

great judgment and discrimination, however, on these occasions. A false

or doubtful point he quietly rejected _in limine_, and would afterwards

point out to him who had suggested it, the impolicy of adopting it. Sir

William Follett, as is the case with all eminent leaders, was under very

great obligations, in his successful displays, to the learning and skill

of his juniors, and of the gentlemen who practise under the bar as

special pleaders. It is to them that is intrusted the responsible and

critical duty of preparing and advising upon pleadings, and shaping them

in the way in which they ought to be presented in court. Their

"opinions" and "arguments" are often of the greatest possible

value--often very masterly; and no one more highly estimated, or was

more frequently and largely indebted to them, than Sir William Follett;

but who could do such complete justice to them and so suddenly--as he? A

hasty glance over, in court, such an analysis of pleadings, or

affidavits, or legal documents of any kind, as has been spoken of--in a

cause to which he had been, up to that moment, entirely a

stranger--would suffice to put him in full possession of the true

bearings of the most complicated case; and his own great learning,

surpassing power of arrangement, and masterly argumentation, would do

the rest. If he were taken quite unawares in such a case, and could not

possibly procure its postponement, an instant's whisper with a junior--a

moment's glance at his papers--would make him apparently master of the

case; and, by some unexpected adroit manoeuvre, he would often

contrive to throw the labouring oar upon his opponent--and then, _from

him_, would acquire that knowledge of the facts of the case which Sir

William Follett rarely failed to turn to his own advantage, so as to

secure him success. Great as were his natural endowments, how could

incessant exercise, during twenty years' hourly conflict with the ablest

of his brethren and of the bench, fail of developing his splendid

energies to the uttermost, even up to a point of which we may conceive

as little short of perfection? The strength of his reasoning faculties

was equalled, if not exceeded, by that of his memory, which was equally

susceptible, tenacious, and ready; qualities these, which, as Dugald

Stewart has observed, are rarely united in the same person,[D] and

which, in the case of an advocate, give him immense advantages; while he

possessed that accurate practical knowledge which enabled him to detect

the minutest errors in the conduct of a cause, his comprehensive grasp

of mind enabled him to take in the whole of the greatest cause, with all

its dependencies; and while he fixed his own eye, with unwavering

steadfastness, on the object which he had in view, he could lead his

opponent and keep him far away from _his_; and address himself to every

passing humour of the judicial mind, supporting favourable, and

repelling adverse intimations, with reasons so plausible as to appear

absolutely conclusive. Whoever might forget facts, or lose the drift of

the argument, Sir William Follett never did; and when he had _the last

word_, he was almost always irresistible. He required, for the purposes

of justice, to be followed by a watchful and strong-headed judge, who

could detect the cunning fallacy, or series of fallacies, which had led

the jury quite astray from the real points--the true merits of the case;

and even such a person was often unable to remove the impression which

had been produced by the subtle and persuasive advocate whose voice had

preceded his. That voice was one indeed lovely to listen to. It was not

loud, but low and mellow, insinuating its faintest tones into the ear,

and filling it with gentle harmony. His utterance was very distinct--a

capital requisite in a speaker--and he had the art of varying his tones,

so as to sustain the attention of both judges and juries for almost any

length of time. His person and attitudes, also, were most prepossessing.

Their chief characteristics were a calmness and dignity which never

disappeared in even the most exciting moments of contest, and of

irritability, and provoking interruption. Woe, indeed, to one who

ventured to _interrupt_ him! However plausible, cogent, or even just,

might be the suggestion thrown in by his adversary, Sir William Follett

contrived to make it tell terribly against him, either harmonising it

with his own case, or showing it to be utterly inconsistent with that of

the interrupting party.--Sir William Follett, who was above the middle

size, always stood straight upright, as every one ought to do while

addressing either judge or juries. He seldom used his left hand in

speaking, but the play of his right hand was very graceful, easy, and

natural. His countenance was by no means handsome, yet of very striking

expression--decisively indicative of great intellectual power,

particularly about the forehead, which was very strongly developed. His

eyes were grey, rather small, and deep-set; but they had a power of

riveting the attention of any one whom he was addressing, particularly

in public. You felt him to be a man whom you could neither neglect nor

trifle with; who was addressing your intellect in weighty words,

fathoming your intentions, and detecting your inclinations and

prepossessions, and leading you in some given direction with gentle but

irresistible force. He would often startle you with the boldness of his

propositions, but never till he had contrived, somehow or other, to

predispose you in favour of that view of the case which he was

presenting. He had a most seductive smile; truth, candour, and

gentleness seemed to beam from it upon you; and you were convinced that

he felt perfect confidence in the goodness of his cause. He evinced a

sort of intuitive sagacity, in adapting himself to the character and

mode of thinking of those whom he addressed. If he were standing before

four judges, all of different but decided characters--and all

continually interrupting him with questions and suggestions, a close

experienced observer could detect, in full play, in this wily advocate,

the quality which has just been mentioned. He was never irritable, or

disrespectful to the bench, however trying their interruptions; but calm

determination was always accompanied with courteous deference for

judicial authority. It is believed that no one ever heard a sharp

expression fall on Sir William Follett from the bench. Foreigners coming

to our courts, have frequently expressed admiration at his tone and

bearing, as calm, graceful, and dignified, even though what he said

could not be understood by them. His language was chaste, simple, and

vigorous, but never ornate. He always came direct to the point; and the

severest critics could find no fault in his diction. If he had read

extensively, his speeches never bore witness of that fact; for he was,

perhaps, never heard to use a quotation, either in verse or

prose--except, of course, in the latter instance, books of legal

authority, treatises, and reports of cases. Of fancy, of imagination, he

appeared quite destitute. If originally possessed of any, it must for

many years have been overpowered and extinguished, by the incessant and

exclusive exercise of his memory and reasoning powers, for the purposes

of business. Yet was he capable, on great and interesting occasions,

when addressing either the full court or a jury, of riveting the

attention and exciting the emotions of his hearers. Trickery, however

compact and strong its meshes, he tore to pieces contemptuously, and

with scarce an effort; nothing could escape his penetrating eye; it

detected those faint vanishing traces of fraud, which were invisible to

all other eyes. If there be genius in advocacy, Sir William Follett was

undoubtedly a man of genius; and genius may perhaps be taken to signify

great natural powers, accidentally directed--or, a disposition of

nature, by which any one is qualified for some peculiar employment. What

intellectual qualifications and resources are not requisite to

constitute a first-rate advocate? If the Duke of Wellington has a genius

for military affairs, so had Sir William Follett for advocacy--and

genius of a very high order, as will be testified by all those before

whom, or on whose behalf, he exhibited it--alike by clients or

judges--as by opponents. If he were a very subtle sophist himself, he

was himself one on whom no sophistry could impose. It fled before the

penetrating glance of his aquiline eye. Faculties such as his must have

secured him eminence in any pursuit or walk in life to which he might

have devoted himself; particularly to the military profession, to which

it is believed he always had a strong inclination. Who can doubt that if

his lot had been placed from the first in political life, he would

quickly have become pre-eminent in the senate, and as a statesman? Who

that knew him, but would pronounce him to have been pre-eminently fit

for political life, to govern men of intellect, to deal with great

affairs and mighty interests--to detect and discomfit the adversaries of

peace and order, to vindicate the laws, and uphold the best interests of

society? All this he might have been; _sed dîs aliter visum_--he devoted

himself, heart and soul, throughout life, to the labours of the bar, and

the acquisition by them of a rapid and large fortune, and official

distinction. In all these aims he must have succeeded to his heart's

content; for he was for many years the most distinguished and popular of

advocates; he became the Queen's Attorney-general, and died in the prime

of life, leaving behind him a fortune of some two hundred thousand

pounds. That great class of persons who constituted his clients, will

always remember his brilliant and successful exertions with gratitude.

His brethren who were opposed to him, heartily acknowledge the

pre-eminence of his abilities and professional acquirements; and they,

as well as the junior bar, who for years watched his brilliant

exertions, must acknowledge that the one in struggling with him, and the

other in witnessing those struggles, have witnessed an instructive

exhibition of forensic excellence--a model of advocacy. To prepare for a

contest with Sir William Follett, and to contend with him, called forth

all a man's energies, and formed a severe and salutary discipline for

the strongest. "Their antagonist was their helper: they that wrestled

with him, strengthened their nerves, and sharpened their skill: that

conflict with difficulty obliged them to an intimate acquaintance with

their object, and compelled them to consider it in all its relations,

and would not suffer them to be superficial."[E] In him they saw daily

in exercise, many of the greatest qualities of advocacy--and beheld it

triumphing over every imaginable kind end degree of obstacle end

difficulty. He showed them how to maintain the bearing of gentlemen, in

the moments of hottest exasperation and provocation which can arise in

forensic warfare. He taught them how to look on success undazzled--to

bear it with modesty of demeanour, and subordination of spirit. He

exhibited to them the inestimable value of early acquiring accurate and

extensive local knowledge--of being thoroughly imbued with the

_principles_ of jurisprudence, and habituating the mind to close and

correct reasoning. The traces of his surpassing excellence in these

matters, are now to be found nowhere but in the volumes of Law Reports,

where the essence of his innumerable masterly arguments will be found

collected and preserved by gentlemen of patient attention and learning

competent for the task, and on whose modest but valuable labours will

hereafter depend all that posterity will know of Sir William Follett.

These are the legitimate records of his intellectual triumph; as are the

prosperous circumstances in which he has left his family, _to them_ a

solid and noble testimonial of his affectionate devotion to their

interests. Their fortune was the purchase of his life's blood. The

acquisition of that fortune absorbed the whole of his time, and of his

energies; it deprived him of thousands of opportunities for relaxation

and enjoyment, and also--it must be added--for the exercise of virtues

which probably he possessed, but gave himself little or no time for

calling into action--of those virtues which elevate and adorn the

individual, while they benefit our fellow-creatures and society--for

performing the duties which God Almighty has imposed upon his creatures,

proportionately to their endowments and opportunities, himself telling

us, that _to whom much is given, of him shall much be required_. To the

young, eager, and ambitious lawyer, the contemplation of Sir William

Follett's career is fraught with instruction. It will teach him the

necessity of _moderation_, in the pursuit of the distinctions and

emoluments of his profession. By grasping at too much often every thing

is lost. Was not Sir William Follett's life one uninterrupted scene of

splendid slavery, the pressure of which at length broke him down in the

meridian of his days? Had he been able to resist the very strong

temptations by which he was assailed--temptations, too, appealing

powerfully to his love of family and offspring--a long life's evening of

tranquillity, of unspeakable enjoyment, might have rewarded a day of

great, yet not excessive, labour. He might also have devoted his

powerful talents to the public benefit, in such a way as to secure the

lasting gratitude and admiration of posterity, by remedying some great

existing defect in his country's jurisprudence, by making some solid

contribution to the safeguards of the constitution. But did he ever do

so? All his great experience, talents, and learning, might never have

existed, for any trace of them remaining in the records of his country's

constitution. What page in the statute-book attests his handiwork? And

what did he ever do to advance the interests of the profession to which

he belonged? These are questions asked with sorrowful sincerity and

reluctance, and with every disposition to make the amplest allowances

for those failings of Sir William Follett, which undoubtedly detracted

somewhat from his excellence and eminence. He was a man of modest, mild,

inoffensive character, who spoke ill of, and did harm to, no one; but,

at the same time, was not distinguished by that active and energetic

benevolence, liberality, and generosity, which secure for the memory of

their exhibitant, ardent, enduring gratitude and reverence. His

excellence was of a negative, rather than a positive kind. He did harm

to no one, when he might have done so with impunity, and was possibly

sometimes tempted to do so; but then he did not do good, at all events,

to the extent which might have been expected from him. He was, however,

by no means of a mean or selfish nature; but in his excessive, and to a

certain extent pardonable, eagerness to make what he deemed a suitable

provision for himself and his family, gave himself the appearance of

being comparatively indifferent to the interests or welfare of others.

It is, however, only fair to his memory to acknowledge, that legal

eminence is too often liable to the same imputations--that professional

pursuits have certainly a strong tendency to warp amiable and generous

natures--to keep the eye of ambition, amidst the intense fires of

rivalry and opposition, fixed exclusively upon one object--the interest

and advancement of the individual. Nothing can effectually control or

counteract this tendency, but a lively and constant sense of religious

principle; which enlarges the heart till it can _love our neighbour as

ourself_, which brightens the present with the hopes of the future,

which purifies our corrupt nature, and elevates its grovelling earthward

tendencies by the contemplation of an eternal state of being dependent

upon our conduct in this transient state of trial. Who can tell the

extent to which these and similar considerations are present to the

minds of the dying great ones of the earth, who, suddenly plucked from

amidst the dazzling scenes of successful ambition, are laid prostrate

upon the bed of death--their _pale faces turned to the wall_, with

HEREAFTER alone in view, and under an aspect equally _new_ and awful?

Let us, therefore, be wise, and be wise in time, nor haughtily disregard

the earnest voice of warning, however humble and obscure may be the

quarter whence it comes.

Sir William Follett belonged to a respectable family in Devonshire, and

was born on the 2d December 1798. In 1814 he went to Trinity College,

Cambridge, and took the degree of B.A. in 1818, without any attempt to

obtain _honours_; quitting college in this latter year, and entering the

Inner Temple, he prosecuted the study of the law in the chambers of

eminent practitioners, where he continued for three years--and then

practised for about three years as a special pleader. He was called to

the bar in 1824, and went the western circuit, but for one or two years

was much disheartened by his want of success. He expressed, on one

occasion, his readiness to accept of the place of police magistrate, if

it were offered! His progress was, soon afterwards, signal, and all but

unprecedentedly rapid. He was appointed Solicitor-general in 1834, while

yet behind the bar, and in 1835 was returned for Exeter, for which place

he sate till his death. He quitted office with Sir Robert Peel in 1835,

but returned with him to it in 1841, and became Attorney-general in

1844, on the promotion of Sir Frederick Pollock to the chief seat in the

Court of Exchequer. For several years before Sir William Follett's

decease, his constitution, never of the strongest, was broken by his

incessant and severe labours; and in 1844, having been obliged to give

up practice altogether, he went to Italy at the close of the

session--having attended at the bar of the House of Lords, to lead for

the Crown in the O'Connell case. He was, however, quite unfit for the

task. His spine was then so seriously affected, that he was obliged to

sit upon a raised chair while addressing the House, the Chancellor and

the other Lords, out of great consideration for the distinguished and

enfeebled speaker, moving down to the lower end of the House, close to

the bar, in order to occasion him as little exertion and fatigue as

possible. He did not speak long, and the effort greatly exhausted him;

and it was not without difficulty, owing to something like partial

paralysis of the lower extremities, that he could walk from the House.

He returned from the Continent in March 1845, a little better than when

he had gone, and endeavoured to resume the discharge of such of his

less onerous, professional, and official duties as admitted of their

being attended to at his own house. He continued to listen to patent

cases, attended by counsel, till within a short period of his being

finally disabled; but every one saw with pain the total exhaustion under

which he was suffering. Finding himself rapidly declining, in May 1845,

he wrote a letter to the Prime Minister, proffering the resignation of

his office of Attorney-general.

He soon afterwards retired, for the advantage of some little change of

air, to the house of a relative in the Regent's Park, where he enjoyed

the soothing attentions of his family, and reverently received the

consolations of religion. The public manifested great anxiety to have

the state of his health, and the morning and evening newspapers

contained regular announcements on the subject, as in the case of

persons of the highest distinction. Her Majesty, Prince Albert, also,

with numbers of the nobility, sent daily to enquire concerning him. For

the last day, or possibly two days of his life, he became unconscious,

and slightly delirious--and expired, without apparent pain, on Saturday

afternoon, the 28th June 1845. For a long series of years, the death of

no member of the legal profession had excited a tithe of the public

concern which followed that of Sir William Follett, the

Attorney-general. The bar felt that its brightest light had been almost

suddenly extinguished. Its most gifted members, and those of the

judicial bench, heartily acknowledged the transcendence of his

professional qualifications, and the unassuming peacefulness with which

he had passed through life. Had he lived to occupy the highest judicial

seat--the woolsack--few doubted that, when relieved from the crushing

pressure of private practice, he would have displayed qualities

befitting so splendid a station, and earned a name worthy of ranking

with those of his great predecessors.

His funeral took place on Friday, the 4th of July, at the Temple church.

He was a bencher of the Inner Temple, and his remains repose in the

vault at the south-eastern extremity of the church. For nearly two hours

before the funeral took place, the church--a chaste and splendid

structure--had been filled with members of the bar, and a few others,

all in mourning, and awaiting, in solemn silence, the commencement of

the mournful ceremony. At length the pealing of the organ announced the

arrival of the affecting moment when the body of Sir William

Follett--himself having been not very long before a worshipper in the

church--was being borne within its walls, preceded by the surpliced

choir, chanting the service, in tones which still echo in the ears of

those who heard them. All rose silently, with moistened eyes, and

beating hearts, as they beheld, slowly borne through the aisle, the

coffin which contained the prematurely dead--him whose figure, erect and

graceful in forensic robes, and dignified in gesture, had so recently

stood among them, their cheerful and gifted associate in the anxious

business of life--from whose lips, now closed for ever, had but lately

issued that rich, harmonious voice, whose tones had scarce, even then,

died away! They were bearing him to his long home, with all the solemn

pomp and circumstance which testify the reverence paid to departed

eminence: and when the coffin was placed beside the altar, at the mouth

of the vault, no language can adequately describe the affecting and

imposing scene which presented itself. The pall had been borne by the

Prime Minister, (Sir Robert Peel,) the Lord Chancellor, one of the

Secretaries of State, (Sir James Graham,) and the Vice-Chancellor of

England; and amongst those who followed, were Lord Brougham, Lord

Langdale, the Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas, and many of the judges,

(almost all the courts, both of law and equity, having suspended their

sittings on account of the funeral;) while in the body of the church

were to be seen nearly all the distinguished members of the bar, who had

been, up to a very recent period, opposed to, or associated with, him

whose dust was now on the point of being committed to its kindred dust.

Nearest to the body sat the three great ministers of the Crown, who had

come to pay their tribute of respect to the remains of their gifted and

confidential adviser; and their solemn countenances told the deep

impression which the scene was making upon them, so illustrative of the

fleeting shadowiness of earthly greatness! and their reflections must

have been akin to those which--as may have occurred to them--their

own obsequies might, at some future period, excite in the

spectators--reflections such as those with which a great one,

departed,[F] closed his grandest labours.

"Oh, eloquent, just, and mighty death! whom none could advise, thou hast

persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done: and whom all the world

hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised. Thou

hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride,

cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two

narrow words--HIC JACET!"

FOOTNOTES:

[A] This has been recently the subject of a decision of the Court of

Queen's Bench, in the case of _Egan_ v. _The Guardians of the Kensington

Union_, 3 Queen's Bench Reports, p. 935, note (_a_). The same rule

applies to physicians. _Veitch_ v. _Russell_, _ib._ 928.

[B] Leading counsel, indeed all counsel much engaged in business,

necessarily place their time almost altogether at the disposal of their

clerks, whose duty it is to keep an exact record of their employer's

engagements, and see that no incompatible ones are made for him. Counsel

find quite enough to do, in adequately attending to the matters actually

put before them by their clerks, without being harassed by adjusting the

very troublesome arrangements and appointments, for time and place,

where their duties are to be performed or, at all events, doing more

than keeping a general superintendence over their arrangements thus

made. To all this must be added those innumerable contingencies in the

arrangements of the courts, and the course of business, which no one can

possibly foresee; and which often derange a whole series of

arrangements, however cautiously and prudently made, and render counsel

unable, after having carefully mastered their cases, to attend at the

trial or argument.

[C] The clerk of a barrister has a fee on every fee of his employer, in

a long-settled proportion of 2s. 6d. on all fees under five guineas;

from, and inclusive of five guineas, up to ten guineas, 5s.; from ten

guineas, 10s., and so on for higher fees.

[D] _Phil._ c. vi. sec. 7.

[E] Adapted from Edmund Burke.

[F] Sir Walter Raleigh--_History of the World_, last paragraph.

LET NEVER CRUELTY DISHONOUR BEAUTY.

The words chosen as the subject of the following verses, form the first

line of an antiquated song, of which the remainder seems not to have

been preserved.--See Mr Dauney's "_Ancient Scotish Melodies_," p. 227.

"Let never Cruelty dishonour Beauty"--

Be no such war between thy face and mind.

Heaven with each blessing sends an answering duty:

It made thee fair, and meant thee to be kind.

Resemble not the panther's treacherous seeming,

That looks so lovely to beguile its prey;

Seek not to match the basilisk's false gleaming,

That charms the fancy only to betray.

See the great Sun! God's best and brightest creature--

Alike on good and ill his gifts he showers:

Look at the Earth, whose large and liberal nature

To all who court her offers fruits or flowers.

Then, lady, lay aside that haughty scorning--

A robe unmeet to deck a mortal frame;

Mild be thy light, and innocent as morning,

And shine on high and humble still the same.

Bid thy good-will, in bright abundance flowing,

To all around its kindly stream impart;

Thy love the while on One alone bestowing,

The fittest found, the husband of thy heart!

THE LAST HOURS OF A REIGN.

A TALE IN TWO PARTS.--PART II.

CHAPTER III.

"A deep and mighty shadow

Across my heart is thrown,

Like a cloud on a summer meadow,

Where the thunder wind hath blown!"

BARRY CORNWALL.

At this period of French history, and even up to a period much later,

the bridges which crossed the Seine, and connected the two separate

parts of the city of Paris, were built over with houses, and formed

narrow streets across the stream. These houses, constructed almost

entirely of wood, the beams of which were disposed in various

directions, so as to form a sort of pattern, and ornamented with carved

window-sills and main-beams, were jammed together like figs in a cask,

and presented one gable to the confined gangway, the other to the water,

which, in many cases, their upper story overhung with a seemingly

hazardous spring outward. Towards the river, also, many were adorned

with wooden balconies, sheltered by the far-advancing angles of the

roofs; whilst beneath, upon the water, the piles of the bridge were

encumbered by many water-mills, to the incessant noise of which, habit

probably reconciled the inhabitants of the houses above.

In an upper room in one of the houses which, after this fashion, lined

the _Pont au Change_, sat, on the evening of the day on which Philip de

la Mole had escaped from the Louvre, three persons, the listlessness of

whose attitudes showed that they were all more or less pre-occupied by

painful reflections.

The principal personage of this group--a woman between fifty and sixty

years of age--lay back on a large wooden chair, her eyes fixed on

vacancy. Her dress was of simple dark stuff, very full upon the sleeves

and below the waist, and relieved by a small white standing collar; a

dark coif, of the fashion of the period, covered the grizzled hair,

which was drawn back from the forehead and temples, leaving fully

exposed a face, the rude features and heavy eyebrows of which gave it a

stern character. But in spite of this severity of aspect, there

naturally lurked an expression of goodness about the mouth and eyes,

which spoke of a kindliness of disposition and tenderness of heart,

combined with firmness and almost obstinacy of character. Those eyes,

however, were now vacant and haggard in expression; and that mouth was

contracted as if by some painful thought.

By her side, upon a low stool, was seated a fair girl, whose attire was

as plain as that of the more aged woman; but that lovely form needed no

aids of the toilet to enhance its beauty. The fair brown hair brushed

off from the white brow, in the graceless mode of the day, hid nothing

of a face which had all the purity of some beautiful Madonna; although

the cheek was pale, and the lines of the physiognomy were already more

sharpened than is usual at years so young. Her head, however, was now

bent down over a large book which lay upon her knees, and from which she

appeared to have been reading aloud to the elder woman; and, as she sat,

a tear dropped into its pages, which she hastily brushed away with her

fair hand.

The third person, who completed the group, was a young man scarcely

beyond the years of boyhood. His good-looking round face was bronzed and

ruddy with fresh colour, and his dark eyes and full mouth were

expressive of natural gaiety and vivacity. But he, too, sat leaning his

elbows upon his knees, and gazing intently, and with a look of anxiety,

upon the fair girl before him; until, as he saw the tear fall from her

eye, he turned impatiently upon his stool, and proceeded to polish, with

an animation which was not that of industry, the barrel of a gun which

lay between his knees.

The room which formed the groundwork to the picture composed of these

three personages, was dark and gloomy, as was generally the interior of

the houses of the time; a large wardrobe of black carved wood filled a

great space of one of the walls; presses and chests of the same dark and

heavy workmanship occupied considerable portions of the rest of the

room. The low casement window, left open to admit the air of a bright

May evening, looked out upon the course of the rapid Seine, and gave a

cheering relief to the dark scene. The hazy rays from the setting sun

streamed into the room; and from below rose up the sound of the rushing

waters, and the wheels of the mills, mixed with occasional cries of men

upon the river, and the more distant murmur of the city. The scene was

one of calmness; and yet the calmness of those within that room was not

the calmness of repose and peace.

It was the youth who first spoke.

"Jocelyne," he said in a low tone, approaching his stool nearer to that

of the fair girl, and then continuing to polish his gun-barrel without

looking her in the face--"if you knew how it grieves me to see you thus!

You sit and droop like a bird upon the wintry branch, when I would fain

see you lift your head and chirp, as in days gone by, now that summer

begins to gladden around us."

The maiden thus addressed looked at him with a languid smile, and then

faintly shook her head.

"How would you have me gay, Alayn," she said softly, "when our

grandmother continues thus?"

Alayn made a gesture of doubt, as if he would have said, that solicitude

for her grandmother was not the only cause of Jocelyne's sadness; but he

made no observation to that effect, and, nodding his head towards the

older woman, asked in a low tone--

"How is Dame Perrotte to-day? She did not answer my greeting on my

entrance; and during your reading from that forbidden book of Scripture,

she has uttered not a word."

"You may speak aloud," replied Jocelyne. "When she is in this state, she

does not hear us. She is fully absorbed in her sad thoughts. I have

seldom seen her more troubled than she has been for some few days past.

One would suppose that the return of sunny summer days recalls more

fearfully to her mind that epoch of carnage and destruction at the fête

of St Bartholomew, when the heavens above were so joyous and bright,

whilst below the earth was reeking with blood, and your poor father

perished, Alayn, for his religion's sake. I have ever remarked, when the

sun shines the cheeriest, her spirit is the darkest."

"Will she not speak to me?" enquired Alayn.

"No," replied his cousin. "When in these deepest moods of melancholy,

she will not speak but upon the subject of those fatal days, or if her

attention be aroused by the mention of her slaughtered kindred; and

Heaven forbid that an unguarded word from me should excite so terrible a

crisis as would ensue!"

"And she remains always thus now?" asked the youth.

"Not always," answered Jocelyne. "There are times when she is as of old,

and speaks to me with calmness. But at these better hours she makes no

mention of the past."

"She never talks, then, of returning to the palace?" continued Alayn,

with an evident air of satisfaction upon his round ruddy face.

"Never," replied the girl, with an involuntary sigh.

"And yet her foster-son, the king, has often sent for her."

"Hush!" interrupted Jocelyne. "Let not that name strike upon her ear.

Although she hears us not, the very word might, perchance, call up

within her recollections I would were banished from her mind for ever.

The name of her nursling, whom she once loved as were she his own

mother, and he had not worn a crown, is now a sound of horror to her.

Often has she cursed him in the bitterness of her heart," she continued

in a low tone of mystery, as if fearful lest the very walls should hear

her confidence, "as the slayer of the righteous. She never can forgive

him the treacherous order given for that murderous deed of slaughter and

destruction."

"But he protected her from all harm in that general massacre of our

party in religion, from which so few of us escaped," said Alayn.

"She would rather have died, I verily believe," pursued the fair girl

shuddering, "than have lived to see her own son fall, so cruelly

murdered by the son of her fostering care."

"And she never will return to him again?" enquired the young man with

another gleam of satisfaction.

Jocelyne shook her head.

"So much the better. So much the better," pursued Alayn stoutly. "For

then I can see you when I will, fair cousin Jocelyne, and come and sit

by your side as I do now, to continue my work with the permission of my

master the armourer, who, whatever he may say, is as good a Calvinist at

heart as ourselves, I am sure. And you will return no more with my

grandmother among those villanous popinjays about the court, who are

ever for telling you soft tales of love, and swearing that your eyes are

the brightest in creation--as, to be sure, they are; and that never such

an angel walked the earth--as, to be sure, there never did; but who mean

it not well with you, cousin Jocelyne, and would but have their will to

desert you and leave you to sorrow, and who, with all their gilded

finery, are not worth one inch of the coarse stuff of a stout-hearted

honest artisan who loves you, and would see you happy; although I say

it, who should not say it."

Jocelyne drew up her head proudly as if about to speak; but, as her

melancholy pale hazel eyes met those of her cousin, sparkling with

animation and good-humour, she only turned herself away, whilst a bright

flush of colour overspread that cheek but a moment before so pale.

"Why, look ye, cousin Jocelyne," continued the youth once more, after a

moment's pause; "it will out, in spite of me, all that I have got to

say. I cannot see your pale cheek and tearful eye, and hear the sigh

that ever and anon breaks so painfully from your bosom, but that, all

simple as I be, I can tell it is not only for our poor grandmother you

sorrow. Mayhap I have heard what I have heard, and seen what I have seen

besides; but never mind that. Believe me, you sorrow for those who love

you not truly as there are others who love you--you pain your heart

until you will break it, for those who play you false."

"Alayn, I can hear no more of this! You know not what you say!" cried

the fair girl hastily; and, laying down upon the table her book, she

arose and walked away from him to lean out of the window.

"Nay, pardon me, cousin Jocelyne," exclaimed the youth in a pained tone,

also rising and advancing towards the window. "I do but speak as I

should and must speak, being your well-wisher--I mean you well, God

knows. And the time will come when you too will know _how_ well!"

Jocelyne turned her eyes, which were moist with tears, to her cousin;

and, stretching out her hand to him, she said, with all that romantic

fervour of the ingenuous girl which almost wears the semblance of

inspiration--

"Alayn, I know you love me, and that you mean it well with me. You are a

kind and sincere brother to me. But, oh! you cannot read the deep deep

feelings of the heart, or judge how little words have the power, like

the charms we read of, to heal its wounds and wrench asunder the chains

that bind it for ever and ever! The ivy, when torn from the stem to

which it clings, may wither and die, but it cannot be attached to

another trunk, however skilful the hand of the gardener who would attach

it."

The youth took her hand, and, as she again turned to the window to hide

her increasing emotion, shook his head sadly and doubtfully; then,

returning to his stool, he took the gun-barrel between his knees with a

movement of impatience, and continued his occupation of polishing it,

although his eyes were constantly fixed askance upon the graceful form

of the girl as she leant upon the window sill.

Presently the old woman moved uneasily in her chair, and, placing her

hands firmly upon its arms, as if about to rise from her seat, she

exclaimed aloud--

"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will avenge the blood of the

righteous!"

Both Jocelyne and Alayn turned; but, before the fair girl could hurry

to her grandmother's side, she had sunk down again into her chair,

murmuring--

"No, no! enough of blood! enough of vengeance! God pardon him, and turn

the hearts of those who counseled him to this deed."

"Give me my Bible, Jocelyne my girl," said again the old woman after a

pause. "It seems I have not read it for many a long hour. God forgive

me! But my poor head wanders strangely. Ah! is it you Alayn? Good-day to

you," she continued, as if she had then first become aware of the

presence of her grandson.

Jocelyne hastily gave her grandmother the volume which she had laid down

upon the table; and whispering in her cousin's ear, as she passed, "She

has spoken, she will be better now," sat down once more by her side.

A silence again pervaded that still room, when suddenly a noise of steps

resounded upon a wooden stair. They approached the door, upon which a

hurried knocking was now heard. Before Jocelyne, who, at the sound of

these steps, had clasped her hands before her, with an expression of

surprise and almost of alarm, had fully risen from her seat, the door

was flung open, and a man enveloped in a cloak, and with a jewelled hat

sunk low upon his brow, entered hastily.

He closed the door, and then gazed with a rapid glance around him.

Jocelyne had sprung up with a suppressed cry.

"Ah! I am not mistaken," said the man advancing, and removing his hat.

"Jocelyne! Dame Perrotte! I am a fugitive, and I seek a shelter at your

hands. I could not trust myself to those who call themselves my friends;

others who might have protected me, I know not where to find, but I

bethought myself of you--of you, Jocelyne--and"----

"Philip! Monseigneur," stammered the astonished girl. "You--here--and a

fugitive!"

"Do you not know me?" said the fugitive to Dame Perrotte, who had risen

from her chair, and stood staring at him as if with a return of troubled

intellect.

"Not know you?" exclaimed the old woman rising. "I know you well, Philip

de la Mole! And is it you, the Catholic, who seek a shelter beneath the

roof of the proscribed and outlawed Huguenot?"

"But it is in the cause of your religion that I have conspired, my good

woman, and that I am now compelled to fly," replied La Mole; "it was for

one, who, as chief of your party, would have espoused your quarrel, and

re-established your influence in the land."

"Ay, for your master, the shallow Duke of Alençon," responded Perrotte

coldly. "False, hollow ambition all! And ye call that the cause of

religion--Mockery! Yes, I know you well, Philip de la Mole, who in the

hour of bloodshed," she continued, growing more and more excited, "could

approve the hellish deed, and who now can babble of sacrifice and

self-offering in the cause of our religion."

"You belie me, woman," said La Mole proudly.

"Yes, I know you, Philip de la Mole," pursued the old woman with knitted

brows and flashing eyes; "you, who, to amuse your hours of idleness,

could talk of love to a poor trusting girl, heedless how you destroyed

her peace of mind, had you but your pastime and your jest of it."

"Grandmother!" cried Jocelyne in the bitterest distress.

"It was he, then!" exclaimed Alayn, advancing upon the fugitive

nobleman, with the gun-barrel raised in his arm.

"If you love me, forbear!" screamed his cousin, flinging herself before

him.

"I had hoped to have found shelter among honest hearts, whom misfortune

should have taught pity," said the fugitive proudly, and unmoved; "and I

have erred--unjust hate, prejudice, inhospitality, are the only virtues

practised beneath this roof. I will again brave the danger, and seek

elsewhere that kindly feeling I find not here. Jocelyne, my sweet pretty

Jocelyne, farewell!"

With these words La Mole moved towards the door. The old woman regarded

him motionless, and with the same cloud of irritation on her brow. Alayn

seemed equally inclined to prosecute his first hostile intention; but

Jocelyne sprang after the retreating nobleman and caught him by the arm.

"Grandmother," she said, drawing herself up to her full height, and

leaning fondly against La Mole--"if any one have erred, it is I, and I

alone. It was I chose him _forth_ as the noblest, the brightest, the

best among those who glittered about the court, in which we humbly

lived. I had given him my heart ere he had deigned to cast a look upon

me. If I have loved him--if I love him still--it is because I alone have

sought it should be so."

"Jocelyne! be still, sweet girl," said La Mole, affected, and moving

towards the door.

"And were he our bitterest enemy," continued the excited girl, still

clinging to his arm, "he is now a proscribed fugitive--no matter

why--God sends him to us--and it is ours to save, not to condemn him."

"But it is said, that the enemy of the righteous shall perish from the

earth," said her grandmother sternly; "it is not I condemn or kill him.

If it be the will of God that his cause of error cease, let him go forth

and die."

"If he die, mother," exclaimed Jocelyne with energy, "I shall die too. I

have given him my heart, my life, my soul--punish me as you

will--trample me at your feet. But I love him, mother; and, if you drive

him forth to be hunted by his enemies to the death, your child will not

survive it."

Alayn had turned away in bitterness of heart, and the old Huguenot

woman, although giving way more and more to that excitement, which, at

times, fully troubled her reason, only wrung her hands, as if moved by

the address of the agitated girl.

"Stay! stay, Monseigneur," continued Jocelyne, as La Mole again pressed

her hand and turned to depart. "She relents--she has a kind heart; and

she would not, surely, deliver up the guest who begs shelter at her

threshold, into the hands of those who seek to capture and to kill him."

"Let me go forth, Jocelyne! farewell!" repeated La Mole.

"Mother!" again commenced the unhappy girl, throwing herself down to

clasp the knees of her grandmother, who, overcome by the violence of her

feelings, had sunk back again into her chair. "Mother! would your

husband, or your son, have driven even their deadliest enemy from their

door?"

"Speak not of my son, girl; or you will drive me mad!" cried Perrotte,

clasping her hands before her face.

Jocelyne sprang up with a look of despair, and returned to detain once

more La Mole.

As they thus stood, and before the old woman had again stirred, or Alayn

interfered, a rumour from the street formed by the bridge, caught the

ear of the excited girl.

"What is that?" she exclaimed, starting in alarm.

"The agents of the Queen-mother sent in my pursuit, probably," replied

La Mole coolly, and disengaging himself from the convulsive embrace of

Jocelyne. "How they have tracked me, I know not. So be it, then. I had

hoped for the sake of others to avoid their hands; but I am prepared to

meet my fate."

"No, no," screamed Jocelyne. "It cannot be! Mother--mother, would you

see him made a prisoner in your own house--murdered, perhaps, before

your very face!"

Alayn moved towards the door; and the girl sprang to intercept him.

"Would you be so base? Would you have me hate you?" cried the poor girl

in despair, to her cousin.

Many steps were now heard ascending the lower stair. The old woman, who

trembled in every limb, stirred not from her chair; but, removing one

hand from her face, she stretched it out towards a corner of the room.

"Ah! I understand you, mother," exclaimed Jocelyne. "That secret closet

where our books of religion are deposited, where our old priest, during

the massacre, was hid!"

"Whilst my son perished--a victim--a martyr!" groaned the old woman,

fearfully agitated.

"Come, come, Monseigneur," pursued the excited girl; and, in spite of

the unwillingness of La Mole to profit by a hospitality thus bestowed,

she dragged him to one corner of the room, and pushing back the spring

of one of those secret recesses then so commonly constructed in all

houses, as well of the bourgeois as the nobles, on account of the

troubles and dangers of the times, she compelled him by her entreaties

to enter a dark nook--then hastily closing the aperture, she exclaimed,

"God shield him!" and sank down into the stool by her grandmother's

side.

"Alayn!" she said, in a low hurried tone, as the heavy steps still

mounted the stairs, "you will be silent, will you not? You will not

betray him, and see the poor girl, whom you profess to love, die at your

feet!"

The youth shook his head with a gesture of resignation, although the

frown upon his brow showed how painful were the feelings that he

suppressed.

"Mother!" whispered Jocelyne once more to the old woman. "Calm your

agitation--oh! let not a word, a gesture, betray our secret! Stay! I

will read to you!" And she seized the Bible, then a dangerous book to

produce thus openly before Catholic agents of the court, and took it on

her lap.

Perrotte answered not a word, but continued to rock herself with much

agitation from side to side in her chair.

The noise of the arquebuses of soldiery was now, in truth, heard on the

landing-place. A heavy blow was given on the panels of the door; and,

without waiting for permission to enter, a man in the military

accoutrements of the period, whose head was crowned with a high hat,

adorned with a short red feather, advanced into the room with an air

which betrayed at once a strange mixture of effrontery and hypocrisy.

"Landry!" exclaimed together both Jocelyne and Alayn.

"Captain Landry, at your service," said the man; "or, if you will, at

the service of her majesty the Queen-mother. Good-day, my gentle cousins

both. Good-day to you, my good aunt Perrotte. How goes it with her now?

Her head was somewhat ailing as I heard, since she had left the court."

And he touched his forehead significantly with his finger.

"She is well!" answered Jocelyne hastily, trembling in spite of her

efforts to be calm.

"But this is no visit of ceremony, my good friends," continued Captain

Landry, with some haughtiness of manner. "I come upon state affairs. A

criminal of rank, who has conspired against the life and person of the

king, has escaped; and we are sent in his pursuit. We have contrived to

track him of a surety to this neighbourhood; and, as I bethought me that

this same delinquent was a friend of my fair cousin Jocelyne, who,

although she has received my offers of affection with disdain, could

look upon another with more favour, I doubted not that I should find

news of him in her company. Know you of none such here, sweet cousin?"

"I know not of whom you speak," said Jocelyne, her colour varying from

the flush of emotion to the deadly paleness of fear.

"And you, Alayn, boy, since our fair cousin's memory is so short, can

doubtless tell me. Has no one entered here within the last half hour?"

"No one!" answered Alayn sturdily; but he then turned and moved to the

window to hide his confusion.

The Queen's agent shrugged his shoulders.

"And my good aunt has had no visitors?" he resumed, advancing towards

the old woman.

Perrotte lifted her head, and regarded the captain fixedly, and with a

look of scorn, but said not a word.

"Search!" said the officer, turning to the soldiers, who had waited

without.

The men entered; and in a few instants the scanty and small rooms

attached to the principal apartment were examined. The captain was

informed that no one could be found. For a moment he looked

disappointed, and paused to reflect.

"Their trouble is evident," he murmured to himself. "He may still be

here. The reward for his capture is too great to be given up lightly;

and, besides, I hate the fellow for the love she bears him--I will leave

no stone unturned."

"Dame Perrotte!" he said returning to the old woman, and speaking to her

in a low tone of voice--"A criminal of state has escaped from the king's

justice. In spite of the protestations of your grandchildren, I cannot

doubt that he is concealed hereabouts; and you must know where. You

will not fail, I am sure, to indicate the place of his retreat, when you

know that, as the friend of those who have proved the bitterest enemies

of your religion, he must also be your deadly enemy."

"And is it Landry, the recreant, the apostate, the only seceder of our

family from the just cause, who speaks thus?" said the old woman lifting

her head with a haggard expression.

"The necessary policy of the times," whispered the captain, sitting down

on the stool by her side, and approaching himself confidentially nearer,

"has compelled me, like many others, to be that in seeming which we are

not in heart. Has not our chief, Henry of Navarre, yielded also to the

pressure of the circumstances in which he lives? Judge me not so

harshly, good aunt. But this criminal--he is one of those who have

hunted and destroyed, who have cried--'Down with them; down with the

Huguenots--pursue and kill;' and you would withdraw him from the

punishment he merits?"

"He! he! Was it, so?" muttered Perrotte, with eyes staring at the

vacancy before her.

"Do you not fear to pass for the accomplice of his crimes?" continued

Captain Landry in her ear. "Know you not that he has attainted the life

of your nursling by deeds of sorcery, and that Charles IX., our king,

now lies upon his death-bed."

"Who speaks of Charles?" exclaimed the old woman with increasing

wildness and excitement. "Charles and death! Yes, they go hand in hand!"

"Landry! You shall not torture our poor mother thus," cried Jocelyne

springing towards them, in order to interrupt a conversation which she

had been witnessing in agony, although she could not hear it, and the

effect of which upon her grandmother's unsettled mind became every

moment more visible.

"Fair cousin, with your leave!" replied the captain. "I am bound to do

the duties of my office. I shall be grieved to use constraint." And,

waving his hand to her to withdraw, he made a sign to the soldiers to

approach both Jocelyne and Alayn, and prevent their interference.

Jocelyne wrung her hands.

"Do you not fear the reproaches of your murdered son?" continued Captain

Landry, turning to Perrotte, with an expression of perfidious hypocrisy

in his eyes, and again pouring his words lowly, but distinctly, into her

ear. "Do you not fear that he should rise from his tomb, and, showing

the bloody wounds of that fatal night, cry for vengeance on his

murderers, and curse the weakness of that mother who would screen and

shelter them? Do you not fear that Heaven should condemn you as a friend

to the destroyers of the righteous? Think on your slaughtered kindred,

woman!"

"Mercy! mercy! my son!" cried the old woman, springing up with her hands

outstretched, as if to repel a spectre. "Oh! hide that streaming blood!

Look not so angry on me! Blood shall have blood, thou say'st; so be it.

Vengeance is the Lord's! and He shall avenge his people!"

"Where is he?" enquired Landry, also rising, and watching her every

movement.

"There! there!" exclaimed the excited woman, pointing to the corner of

the room.

In spite of the attempt of Jocelyne, who was now restrained by the

soldiers, to interrupt him, Captain Landry walked to the corner

indicated, and after a few attempts succeeded in discovering the secret

of the concealed recess.

"Count Philip de la Mole, you are my prisoner, under warrant of his

majesty the King, and by order of the Queen-mother," he said, as the

young nobleman appeared to view.

Jocelyne uttered a cry of despair.

"Conduct me where you are bidden, sir," said La Mole, offering his

sword. "My sweet Jocelyne, farewell!--your kindly interest in my fate I

shall never forget. But we shall meet again. Fear nothing for me; I will

prove my innocence."

The unhappy girl fell at the feet of the captured nobleman, and wetted

his outstretched hand with her tears, as she pressed it to her lips.

"My strict orders," said Captain Landry, "were to arrest all those who

should be convicted of harbouring the criminal. Forget not, then,

cousin Jocelyne, that I spare you so hard a lot. But my duty compels me

to adopt other measures. Come, sir!"

When Philip de la Mole had been conducted from the room by the agents of

the Queen-mother, Jocelyne turned to her grandmother, without rising

from the ground, and exclaimed in the bitterest despair--

"Mother--mother--you have killed me!"

"Who spoke of Charles? Who said he lay upon his death-bed?" cried

Perrotte, walking up and down with the uncertain step of the deranged of

mind, and unheeding her unhappy grandchild; "Charles dying! and I shall

see him no more--shall he die without a warning word from her who loved

and cherished him so long--die without repentance? What was that voice

that tortured my very soul? Who said he was about to die, and that I

should see him no more?"

Jocelyne sprung up from the ground, as if a sudden thought had crossed

her mind.

"Yes, mother, yes," she cried, "the king is dying. Come to him. See him

once more. He will hear your words upon his death-bed, and extend his

pardon to the innocent--for Philip de la Mole is innocent, my mother. He

will save him who is unjustly condemned; and you will save his repentant

soul. Come, mother, come--come," she continued, as if speaking to a

child, "the king is waiting for you!"

"Charlot--my nursling--dying!" murmured the old woman--"Yes--let us go."

"Alayn will accompany us," said Jocelyne, turning to the youth, who

stood at the window unhappy and confused.

Without waiting for any addition to their dress, the eager girl seized

her grandmother's hand, and led her to the door.

When it was opened, two soldiers appeared upon the threshold, stationed

to prevent all egress of the inhabitants; and one of them, placing his

arquebuse across the door-stall, cried, in a rude voice--

"_On ne passe pas._"

The two women drew back in alarm.