LETTER FROM ALFRED.
_This appears to have been written some months after the vacation spent
at the Hills_.
‘Oh! thoughtless mortals, ever blind to fate,
Too soon dejected, and too soon elate.’
“You remember, I am sure, my dear father, how angry we were some time
ago with that man, whose name I never would tell you, the man whom
Rosamond called Counsellor _Nameless_, who snatched a _good point_ from
me in arguing Mr. Hauton’s cause. This very circumstance has been the
means of introducing me to the notice of three men, all eminent in their
profession, and each with the same inclination to serve me, according
to their respective powers--a solicitor, a barrister, and a judge.
Solicitor Babington (by-the-by, pray tell Rosamond in answer to her
question whether there is an honest attorney, that there are no
such things as _attorneys_ now in England--they are all turned into
solicitors and agents, just as every _shop_ is become a _warehouse_, and
every _service_ a _situation_), Babington the solicitor employed against
us in that suit a man who knows, without practising them, all the tricks
of the trade, and who is a thoroughly honest man. He saw the trick that
was played by _Nameless_, and took occasion afterwards to recommend me
to several of his own clients. Upon the strength of this _point_ briefs
appeared on my table day after day--two guineas, three guineas, five
guineas! comfortable sight! But far more comfortable, more gratifying,
the kindness of Counsellor Friend: a more benevolent man never existed.
I am sure the profession of the law has not contracted his heart, and
yet you never saw or can conceive a man more intent upon his business. I
believe he eats, drinks, and sleeps upon law: he has the reputation,
in consequence, of being one of the soundest of our lawyers--the best
opinion in England. He seems to make the cause of every client his own,
and is as anxious as if his private property depended on the fate
of each suit. He sets me a fine example of labour, perseverance,
professional enthusiasm and rectitude. He is one of the very best
friends a young lawyer like me could have; he puts me in the way I
should go, and keeps me in it by showing that it is not a matter of
chance, but of certainty, that this is the right road to fortune and to
fame.
“Mr. Friend has sometimes a way of paying a compliment as if he were
making a reproach, and of doing a favour as a matter of course. Just
now I met him, and apropos to some observations I happened to make on a
cause in which he is engaged, he said to me, as if he were half angry,
though I knew he was thoroughly pleased, ‘Quick parts! Yes, so I see you
have: but take care--in your profession ‘tis often “Most haste, worst
speed;” not but what there are happy exceptions, examples of lawyers,
who have combined judgment with wit, industry with genius, and law with
eloquence. But these instances are rare, very rare; for the rarity of
the case, worth studying. Therefore dine with me to-morrow, and I will
introduce you to one of these exceptions.’
“The person in question, I opine, is the lord chief justice--and Friend
could not do me a greater favour than to introduce me to one whom, as
you know, I have long admired in public, and with whom, independently of
any professional advantage, I have ardently wished to be acquainted.
“I have been told--I cannot tell you what--for here’s the bell-man. I
don’t wonder ‘the choleric man’ knocked down the postman for blowing his
horn in his ear.
“Abruptly yours,
“ALFRED PERCY.”
Alfred had good reason to desire to be acquainted with this lord chief
justice. Some French writer says, “_Qu’il faut plier les grandes ailes
de l’éloquence pour entrer dans un salon._” The chief justice did so
with peculiar ease. He possessed perfect conversational _tact_, with
great powers of wit, humour, and all that felicity of allusion, which
an uncommonly recollective memory, acting on stores of varied knowledge,
can alone command. He really conversed; he did not merely tell stories,
or make bonmots, or confine himself to the single combat of close
argument, or the flourish of declamation; but he alternately followed
and led, threw out and received ideas, knowing how to listen full as
well as how to talk, remembering always Lord Chesterfield’s experienced
maxim, “That it is easier to hear than to talk yourself into the good
opinion of your auditors.” It was not, however, from policy, but from
benevolence, that the chief justice made so good a hearer. It has
been said, and with truth, that with him a _good point_ never passed
unnoticed in a public court, nor was a _good thing_ ever lost upon him
in private company. Of the number of his own good things fewer are in
circulation than might be expected. The best conversation, that which
rises from the occasion, and which suits the moment, suffers most from
repetition. Fitted precisely to the peculiar time and place, the best
things cannot bear transplanting.
The day Alfred Percy was introduced to the chief justice, the
conversation began, from some slight remarks made by one of the company,
on the acting of Mrs. Siddons. A lady who had just been reading the
memoirs of the celebrated French actress, Mademoiselle Clairon, spoke of
the astonishing pains which she took to study her parts, and to acquire
what the French call _l’air noble_, continually endeavouring, on the
most common occasions, when she was off the stage, to avoid all awkward
motions, and in her habitual manner to preserve an air of grace and
dignity. This led the chief justice to mention the care which Lord
Chatham, Mr. Pitt, and other great orators, have taken to form their
habits of speaking, by unremitting attention to their language in
private as well as in public. He maintained that no man _can_ speak with
ease and security in public till custom has brought him to feel it as a
moral impossibility that he could be guilty of any petty vulgarism, or
that he could be convicted of any capital sin against grammar.
Alfred felt anxious to hear the chief justice farther on this subject,
but the conversation was dragged back to Mademoiselle Clairon. The
lady by whom she was first mentioned declared she thought that all
Mademoiselle Clairon’s studying must have made her a very unnatural
actress. The chief justice quoted the answer which Mademoiselle Clairon
gave, when she was reproached with having too much art.--“_De l’art!
et que voudroit-on done que j’eusse? Etois-je Andromaque? Etois-je
Phédre?_”
Alfred observed that those who complained of an actress’s having too
much art should rather complain of her having too little--of her not
having art enough to conceal her art.
The chief justice honoured Alfred by a nod and a smile.
The lady, however, protested against this doctrine, and concluded by
confessing that she always did and always should prefer nature to art.
From this commonplace confession, the chief justice, by a playful
cross-examination, presently made it apparent that we do not always know
what we mean by art and what by nature; that the ideas are so mixed in
civilized society, and the words so inaccurately used, both in common
conversation, and in the writings of philosophers, that no metaphysical
prism can separate or reduce them to their primary meaning. Next he
touched upon the distinction between art and artifice. The conversation
branched out into remarks on grace and affectation, and thence to the
different theories of beauty and taste, with all which he _played_ with
a master’s hand.
A man accustomed to speak to numbers perceives immediately when his
auditors seize his ideas, and knows instantly, by the assent and
expression of the eye, to whom they are new or to whom they are
familiar. The chief justice discovered that Alfred Percy had superior
knowledge, literature, and talents, even before he spoke, by his manner
of listening. The conversation presently passed from _l’air noble_ to
_le style noble_, and to the French laws of criticism, which prohibit
the descending to allusions to arts and manufactures. This subject
he discussed deeply, yet rapidly observed how taste is influenced by
different governments and manners--remarked how the strong line of
demarcation formerly kept in France between the nobility and the
citizens had influenced taste in writing and in eloquence, and how our
more _popular_ government not only admitted allusions to the occupations
of the lower classes, but required them. Our orators at elections,
and in parliament, must speak so as to come home to the feelings and
vocabulary of constituents. Examples from Burke and others, the chief
justice said, might be brought in support of this opinion.
Alfred was so fortunate as to recollect some apposite illustrations
from Burke, and from several of our great orators, Wyndham, Erskine,
Mackintosh, and Romilly. As Alfred spoke, the chief justice’s eye
brightened with approbation, and it was observed that he afterwards
addressed to him particularly his conversation; and, more flattering
still, that he went deeper into the subject which he had been
discussing. From one of the passages which had been mentioned, he took
occasion to answer the argument of the French critics, who justify their
taste by asserting that it is the taste of the ancients. Skilled in
classical as in modern literature, he showed that the ancients had made
allusions to arts and manufactures, as far as their knowledge went;
but, as he observed, in modern times new arts and sciences afford fresh
subjects of allusion unknown to the ancients; consequently we ought not
to restrict our taste by exclusive reverence for classical precedents.
On these points it is requisite to reform the pandects of criticism.
Another passage from Burke, to which Alfred had alluded, the chief
justice thought too rich in ornament. “Ornaments,” he said, “if not
kept subordinate, however intrinsically beautiful, injure the general
effect--therefore a judicious orator will sacrifice all such as draw the
attention from his principal design.”
Alfred Percy, in support of this opinion, cited the example of the
Spanish painter, who obliterated certain beautiful silver vases, which
he had introduced in a picture of the Lord’s Supper, because he found,
that at first view, every spectator’s eye was caught by these splendid
ornaments, and every one extolled their exquisite finish, instead of
attending to the great subject of the piece.
The chief justice was so well pleased with the conversation of our young
barrister, that, at parting, he gave Alfred an invitation to his house.
The conversation had been very different from what might have been
expected: metaphysics, belles-lettres, poetry, plays, criticism--what a
range of ideas, far from Coke and Selden, was gone over this evening
in the course of a few hours! Alfred had reason to be more and more
convinced of the truth of his father’s favourite doctrine, that the
general cultivation of the understanding, and the acquirement of
general knowledge, are essential to the attainment of excellence in any
profession, useful to a young man particularly in introducing him to the
notice of valuable friends and acquaintance.
An author well skilled in the worst parts of human nature has asserted,
that “nothing is more tiresome than praises in which we have no manner
of share.” Yet we, who have a better opinion of our kind, trust that
there are some who can sympathize in the enthusiasm of a good and young
mind, struck with splendid talents, and with a superior character;
therefore we venture to insert some of the warm eulogiums, with which we
find our young lawyer’s letters filled.
“My DEAR FATHER,
“I have only a few moments to write, but cannot delay to answer your
question about the chief justice. _Disappointed_--no danger of that--he
far surpasses my expectations. It has been said that he never opened
a book, that he never heard a common ballad, or saw a workman at his
trade, without learning something, which he afterwards turned to
good account. This you may see in his public speeches, but I am
more completely convinced of it since I have heard him converse. His
illustrations are drawn from the workshop, the manufactory, the mine,
the mechanic, the poet--from every art and science, from every thing in
nature, animate or inanimate.
‘From gems, from flames, from orient rays of light,
The richest lustre makes his purple bright.’
“Perhaps I am writing his panegyric because he is my lord chief justice,
and because I dined with him yesterday, and am to dine with him again
to-morrow.
“Yours affectionately,
“ALFRED PERCY.”
In a subsequent letter he shows that his admiration increased instead of
diminishing, upon a more intimate acquaintance with its object.
“High station,” says Alfred, “appears to me much more desirable, since I
have known this great man. He makes rank so gracious, and shows that it
is a pleasurable, not a ‘painful pre-eminence,’ when it gives the power
of raising others, and of continually doing kind and generous actions.
Mr. Friend tells me, that, before the chief justice was so high as he
is now, without a rival in his profession, he was ever the most
generous man to his competitors. I am sure he is now the most kind
and condescending to his inferiors. In company he is never intent upon
himself, seems never anxious about his own dignity or his own fame.
He is sufficiently sure of both to be quite at ease. He excites my
ambition, and exalts its nature and value.
“He has raised my esteem for my profession, by showing the noble use
that can be made of it, in defending right and virtue. He has done my
mind good in another way: he has shown me that professional labour is
not incompatible with domestic pleasures. I wish you could see him as
I do, in the midst of his family, with his fine children playing about
him, with his wife, a charming cultivated woman, who adores him, and who
is his best companion and friend. Before I knew the chief justice, I had
seen other great lawyers and judges, some of them crabbed old bachelors,
others uneasily yoked to vulgar helpmates--having married early in life
women whom they had dragged up as they rose, but who were always pulling
them down--had seen some of these learned men sink into mere epicures,
and become dead to intellectual enjoyment--others, with higher minds,
and originally fine talents, I had seen in premature old age, with
understandings contracted and palsied by partial or overstrained
exertion, worn out, mind and body, and only late, very late in life,
just attaining wealth and honours, when they were incapable of enjoying
them. This had struck me as a deplorable and discouraging spectacle--a
sad termination of a life of labour. But now I see a man in the prime
of life, in the full vigour of all his intellectual faculties and moral
sensibility, with a high character, fortune, and professional honours,
all obtained by his own merit and exertions, with the prospect of health
and length of days to enjoy and communicate happiness. Exulting in the
sight of this resplendent luminary, and conscious that it will guide and
cheer me forwards, I ‘bless the useful light.’”
Our young lawyer was so honestly enthusiastic in his admiration of this
great man, and was so full of the impression that had been made on his
mind, that he forgot in this letter to advert to the advantage which,
in a professional point of view, he might derive from the good opinion
formed of him by the chief justice. In consequence of Solicitor
Babington’s telling his clients the share which Alfred had in winning
Colonel Hauton’s cause, he was employed in a suit of considerable
importance, in which a great landed property was at stake. It was one of
those standing suits which last from year to year, and which seem likely
to linger on from generation to generation. Instead of considering his
brief in this cause merely as a means of obtaining a fee, instead of
contenting himself to make some _motion of course_, which fell to his
share, Alfred set himself seriously to study the case, and searched
indefatigably for all the precedents that could bear upon it. He was
fortunate enough, or rather he was persevering enough, to find an old
case in point, which had escaped the attention of the other lawyers. Mr.
Friend was one of the senior counsel in this cause, and he took generous
care that Alfred’s merit should not now, as upon a former occasion, he
concealed. Mr. Friend prevailed upon his brother barristers to agree in
calling upon Alfred to speak to his own _case in point_; and the chief
justice, who presided, said, “This case is new to me. This had escaped
me, Mr. Percy; I must take another day to reconsider the matter, before
I can pronounce judgment.”
This from the chief justice, with the sense which Alfred’s brother
barristers felt of his deserving such notice, was of immediate and
material advantage to our young lawyer. Attorneys and solicitors
turned their eyes upon him, briefs began to flow in, and his diligence
increased with his business. As junior counsel, he still had little
opportunity in the common course of things of distinguishing himself,
as it frequently fell to his share only to say a few words; but he never
failed to make himself master of every case in which he was employed.
And it happened one day, when the senior counsel was ill, the judge
called upon the next barrister.--“Mr. Trevors, are you prepared?”
“My lord--I can’t say--no, my lord.”
“Mr. Percy, are you prepared?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“So I thought--always prepared: go on, sir--go on, Mr. Percy.”
He went on, and spoke so ably, and with such comprehensive knowledge of
the case and of the law, that he obtained a decision in favour of his
client, and established his own reputation as a man of business and
of talents, who was _always prepared_. For the manner in which he was
brought forward and distinguished by the chief justice he was truly
grateful. This was a species of patronage honourable both to the giver
and the receiver. Here was no favour shown disproportionate to deserts,
but here was just distinction paid to merit, and generous discernment
giving talents opportunity of developing themselves. These opportunities
would only have been the ruin of a man who could not show himself equal
to the occasion; but this was not the case with Alfred. His capacity,
like the fairy tent, seemed to enlarge so as to contain all that it
was necessary to comprehend: and new powers appeared in him in new
situations.
Alfred had been introduced by his brother Erasmus to some of those men
of literature with whom he had become acquainted at Lady Spilsbury’s
good dinners. Among these was a Mr. Dunbar, a gentleman who had resided
for many years in India, from whom Alfred, who constantly sought for
information from all with whom he conversed, had learned much of Indian
affairs. Mr. Dunbar had collected some curious tracts on Mohammedan
law, and glad to find an intelligent auditor on his favourite subject, a
subject not generally interesting, he willingly communicated all he knew
to Alfred, and lent him his manuscripts and scarce tracts, which Alfred,
in the many leisure hours that a young lawyer can command before he gets
into practice, had studied, and of which he had made himself master. It
happened a considerable time afterwards that the East India Company had
a cause--one of the greatest causes ever brought before our courts of
law--relative to the demand of some native bankers in Hindostan against
the company for upwards of four millions of rupees. This Mr. Dunbar,
who had a considerable interest in the cause, and who was intimate with
several of the directors, recommended it to them to employ Mr. Alfred
Percy, who, as he knew, had had ample means of information, and who
had studied a subject of which few of his brother barristers had any
knowledge. The very circumstance of his being employed in a cause of
such importance was of great advantage to him; and the credit he gained
by accurate and uncommon knowledge in the course of the suit at once
raised his reputation among the best judges, and _established_ him in
the courts.
On another occasion, Alfred’s moral character was as serviceable as his
literary taste had been in recommending him to his clients. Buckhurst
Falconer had introduced him to a certain Mr. Clay, known by the name
of _French_ Clay. In a conversation after dinner, when the ladies had
retired, Mr. Clay had boasted of his successes with the fair sex, and
had expressed many sentiments that marked him for a profligate coxcomb.
Alfred felt disgust and indignation for this parade of vice. There was
one officer in company who strongly sympathized in his feelings;
this led to farther acquaintance and mutual esteem. This officer soon
afterwards married Lady Harriet ----, a beautiful young woman, with whom
he lived happily for some time, till, unfortunately, while her
husband was abroad with his regiment, chance brought the wife, at a
watering-place, into the company of French Clay, and imprudence, the
love of flattery, coquetry, and self-confidence, made her a victim to
his vanity. Love he had none--nor she either--but her disgrace was soon
discovered, or revealed; and her unhappy and almost distracted husband
immediately commenced a suit against Clay. He chose Alfred Percy for his
counsel. In this cause, where strong feelings of indignation were justly
roused, and where there was room for oratory, Alfred spoke with such
force and pathos that every honest heart was touched. The verdict of the
jury showed the impression which he had made upon them: his speech was
universally admired; and those who had till now known him only as a man
of business, and a sound lawyer, were surprised to find him suddenly
display such powers of eloquence. Counsellor Friend’s plain advice
to him had always been, “Never harangue about nothing: if your client
require it, he is a fool, and never mind him; never speak till you’ve
something to say, and then only say what you have to say.
‘Words are like leaves, and where they most abound,
Much fruit of solid sense is seldom found.’”
Friend now congratulated Alfred with all his honest affectionate heart,
and said, with a frown that struggled hard with a smile, “Well, I
believe I must allow you to be an orator. But, take care--don’t let the
lawyer merge in the advocate. Bear it always in mind, that a mere man of
words at the bar--or indeed any where else--is a mere man of straw.”
The chief justice, who knew how to say the kindest things in the most
polite manner, was heard to observe, that “Mr. Percy had done wisely,
to begin by showing that he had laid a solid foundation of law, on which
the ornaments of oratory could be raised high, and supported securely.”
French Clay’s _affair_ with Lady Harriot had been much talked of in the
fashionable world; from a love of scandal or a love of justice, from
zeal in the cause of morality or from natural curiosity, her trial
had been a matter of general interest to the ladies, young and old. In
consequence Mr. Alfred Percy’s speech was _prodigiously_ read, and,
from various motives, highly applauded. When a man begins to rise, all
hands--all hands but the hands of his rivals--are ready to push him
up, and all tongues exclaim, “‘Twas I helped!” or, “‘Twas what I always
foretold!”
The Lady Angelica Headingham now bethought herself that she had a little
poem, written by Mr. Alfred Percy, which had been given to her long ago
by Miss Percy, and of which, at the time she received it, her ladyship
had thought so little, that hardly deigning to bestow the customary
tribute of a compliment, she had thrown it, scarcely perused, into her
writing-box. It was now worth while to rummage for it, and now, when
the author had a _name_, her ladyship discovered that the poem was
charming--absolutely charming! Such an early indication of talents! Such
a happy promise of genius!--Oh! she had always foreseen that Mr. Alfred
Percy would make an uncommon figure in the world!
“Bless me! does your ladyship know him?”
“Oh! intimately!--That is, I never saw _him_ exactly--but all his family
I’ve known intimately--ages ago in the country.”
“I should so like to meet him! And do pray give me a copy of the
verses--and me!--and me!”
To work went the pens of all the female amateurs, in scribbling copies
of “_The Lawyer’s May-day_.”--And away went the fair patroness in search
of the author--introduced herself with unabashed grace, invited him for
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday--Engaged? how unfortunate!--Well,
for next week? a fortnight hence? three weeks? positively she must have
him at her conversazione--she must give him--No, he must give her a day,
he must consent to lose a day--so many of her friends and real judges
were dying to see him.
To save the lives of so many judges, he consented to lose an
evening--the day was fixed--Alfred found her conversazione very
brilliant--was admired--and admired others in his turn as much as was
expected. It was an agreeable variety of company and of thought to him,
and he promised to go sometimes to her ladyship’s parties--a promise
which delighted her much, particularly as he had not yet given a copy of
the verses to Lady Spilsbury. Lady Spilsbury, to whom the verses quickly
worked round, was quite angry that her friend Erasmus had not given
her an early copy; and now invitations the most pressing came from
Lady Spilsbury to her excellent literary dinners. If Alfred had been so
disposed, he might, among these fetchers and carriers of bays, have been
extolled to the skies; but he had too much sense and prudence to
lose the substance for the shadow, to sink a solid character into a
_drawing-room reputation_. Of this he had seen the folly in Buckhurst
Falconer’s case, and now, if any farther warning on this subject
had been wanting, he would have taken it from the example of _poor_
Seebright, the poet, whom he met the second time he went to Lady
Angelica Headingham’s. _Poor Seebright_, as the world already began to
call him, from being an object of admiration, was beginning to sink
into an object of pity. Instead of making himself independent by steady
exertions in any respectable profession, instead of making his way in
the republic of letters by some solid work of merit, he frittered away
his time among fashionable amateurs, feeding upon their flattery, and
living on in the vain hope of patronage. Already the flight of his
genius had been restrained, the force of his wing impaired; instead of
soaring superior, he kept hovering near the earth; his “kestrel courage
fell,” he appeared to be almost tamed to the domestic state to which he
was reduced--yet now and then a rebel sense of his former freedom, and
of his present degradation, would appear. “Ah! if I were but independent
as you are! If I had but followed a profession as you have done!” said
he to Alfred, when, apart from the crowd, they had an opportunity of
conversing confidentially.
Alfred replied that it was not yet too late, that it was never too late
for a man of spirit and talents to make himself independent; he then
suggested to Mr. Seebright various ways of employing his powers, and
pointed out some useful and creditable literary undertakings, by
which he might acquire reputation. Seebright listened, his eye eagerly
catching at each new idea the first moment, the next turning off to
something else, raising objections futile or fastidious, seeing nothing
impossible in any dream of his imagination, where no effort of exertion
was requisite, but finding every thing impracticable when he came to
sober reality, where he was called upon to labour. In fact, he was one
of the sort of people who do not know what they want, or what they would
be, who complain and complain; disappointed and discontented, at having
sunk below their powers and their hopes, and are yet without capability
of persevering exertion to emerge from their obscurity. Seebright was
now become an inefficient being, whom no one could assist to any
good purpose. Alfred, after a long, mazy, fruitless conversation, was
convinced that the case was hopeless, and, sincerely pitying him, gave
it up as irremediable. Just as he had come to this conclusion, and
had sunk into silence, a relation of his, whom he had not seen for a
considerable time, entered the room, and passed by without noticing
him. She was so much altered in her appearance, that he could scarcely
believe he saw Lady Jane Granville; she looked out of spirits, and
care-worn. He immediately observed that less attention was paid to
her than she used to command; she had obviously sunk considerably in
importance, and appeared to feel this keenly. Upon inquiry, Alfred
learnt that she had lost a large portion of her fortune by a lawsuit,
which she had managed, that is to say, mismanaged, for herself; and she
was still at law for the remainder of her estate, which, notwithstanding
her right was undoubted, it was generally supposed that she would lose,
for the same reason that occasioned her former failure, her pertinacity
in following her own advice only. Alfred knew that there had been some
misunderstanding between Lady Jane and his family, that she had been
offended by his sister Caroline having declined accepting her invitation
to town, and from Mr. and Mrs. Percy having differed with her in
opinion as to the value of the _patronage_ of fashion: she had also been
displeased with Erasmus about Sir Amyas Courtney. Notwithstanding all
this, he was convinced that Lady Jane, whatever her opinions might be,
and whether mistaken or not, had been actuated by sincere regard for
his family, for which he and they were grateful; and now was the time
to show it, now when he was coming into notice in the world, and she
declining in importance. Therefore, though she had passed by him without
recognizing him, he went immediately and spoke to her in so respectful
and kind a manner, paid her the whole evening such marked attention,
that she was quite pleased and touched. In reality, she had been vexed
with herself for having persisted so long in her resentment; she wished
for a fair opportunity for a reconciliation, and she rejoiced that
Alfred thus opened the way for it. She invited him to come to see her
the next day, observing, as she put her card into his hand, that she
no longer lived in her fine house in St. James’s place. Now that his
motives could not be mistaken, he was assiduous in his visits; and when
he had sufficiently obtained her confidence, he ventured to touch upon
her affairs. She, proud to convince him of her abilities as a woman of
business, explained her whole case, and descanted upon the blunders and
folly of her solicitors and counsellors, especially upon the absurdity
of the opinions which she had not followed. Her cause depended upon
the _replication_ she was to put in to a plea in special pleading: she
thought she saw the way straight before her, and exclaimed vehemently
against that love of the crooked path by which her lawyers seemed
possessed.
Without disputing the legal soundness of her ladyship’s opinion in
her own peculiar case, Alfred, beginning at a great distance from her
passions, quietly undertook, by relating to her cases which had fallen
under his own knowledge, to convince her that plain common sense and
reason could never lead her to the knowledge of the rules of special
pleading, or to the proper wording of those answers, on the _letter_ of
which the fate of a cause frequently depends. He confessed to her that
his own understanding had been so shocked at first by the apparent
absurdity of the system, that he had almost abandoned the study, and
that it had been only in consequence of actual experience that he had at
last discovered the utility of those rules. She insisted upon being also
convinced before she could submit; but as it is not quite so easy as
ladies sometimes think it is to teach any art or science in two words,
or to convey, in a moment, to the ignorant, the combined result of study
and experience, Alfred declined this task, and could undertake only to
show her ladyship, by asking her opinion on various cases which had been
decided in the courts, that it was possible she might be mistaken;
and that, however superior her understanding, a court of law would
infallibly decide according to its own rules.
“But, good Heavens! my dear sir,” exclaimed Lady Jane, “when, after
I have paid the amount of my bond, and every farthing that I owe a
creditor, yet this rogue says I have not, is not it a proper answer that
I owe him nothing?”
“Pardon me, this would be considered as an evasive plea by the court, or
as a _negative pregnant_.”
“Oh! if you come to your _negative pregnants_,” cried Lady Jane, “it is
impossible to understand you--I give up the point.”
To this conclusion it had been Alfred’s object to bring her ladyship;
and when she was fully convinced of the insufficient limits of the
human--he never said the female--understanding to comprehend these
things without the aid of men learned in the law, he humbly offered his
assistance to guide her out of that labyrinth, into which, unwittingly
and without any clue, she had ventured farther and farther, till she
was just in the very jaws of nonsuit and ruin. She put her affairs
completely into his hands, and promised that she would no farther
interfere, even with her advice; for it was upon this condition that
Alfred engaged to undertake the management of her cause. Nothing indeed
is more tormenting to men of business, than to be pestered with the
incessant advice, hopes and fears, cautions and explanations, cunning
suggestions, superficial knowledge, and profound ignorance, of lady or
gentlemen lawyers. Alfred now begged and obtained permission from the
court to amend the Lady Jane Granville’s last plea--he thenceforward
conducted the business, and played the game of special pleading with
such strict and acute attention to the rules, that there were good hopes
the remaining portion of her ladyship’s fortune, which was now at stake,
might be saved. He endeavoured to keep up her spirits and her patience,
for of a speedy termination to the business there was no chance. They
had to deal with adversaries who knew how, on their side, to protract
the pleadings, and to avoid what is called _coming to the point_.
It was a great pleasure to Alfred thus to have it in his power to assist
his friends, and the hope of serving them redoubled his diligence.
About this time he was engaged in a cause for his brother’s friend
and Rosamond’s admirer, Mr. Gresham. A picture-dealer had cheated this
gentleman, in the sale of a picture of considerable value. Mr. Gresham
had bargained for, and bought, an original Guido, wrote his name on the
back of it, and directed that it should be sent to him. The painting
which was taken to his house had his name written on the back, but was
not the original Guido for which he had bargained--it was a copy. The
picture-dealer, however, and two respectable witnesses, were ready
to swear positively that this was the identical picture on which Mr.
Gresham wrote his name--that they saw him write his name, and heard him
order that it should be sent to him. Mr. Gresham himself acknowledged
that the writing was so like his own that he could not venture to deny
that it was his, and yet he could swear that this was not the picture
for which he had bargained, and on which he had written his name. He
suspected it to be a forgery; and was certain that, by some means,
one picture had been substituted for another. Yet the defendant had
witnesses to prove that the picture never was out of Mr. Gresham’s
sight, from the time he bargained for it, till the moment when he wrote
his name on the back, in the presence of the same witnesses.
This chain of evidence they thought was complete, and that it could not
be broken. Alfred Percy, however, discovered the nature of the fraud,
and, regardless of the boasts and taunts of the opposite party, kept his
mind carefully secret, till the moment when he came to cross-examine the
witnesses; for, as Mr. Friend had observed to him, many a cause had been
lost by the impatience of counsel, in showing, beforehand, how it might
certainly be won [Footnote: See Deinology.]. By thus revealing the
intended mode of attack, opportunity is given to prepare a defence
by which it may be ultimately counteracted. In the present case, the
defendant, however, came into court secure of victory, and utterly
unprepared to meet the truth, which was brought out full upon him when
least expected. The fact was, that he had put two pictures into the same
frame--the original in front, the copy behind it: on the back of the
canvass of the copy Mr. Gresham had written his name, never suspecting
that it was not the original for which he bargained, and which he
thought he actually held in his hand. The witnesses, therefore, swore
literally the truth, that they saw him write upon _that_ picture; and
they believed the picture, on which he wrote, was the identical picture
that was sent home to him. One of the witnesses was an honest man, who
really believed what he swore, and knew nothing of the fraud, to which
the other, a rogue in confederacy with the picture-dealer, was privy.
The cross-examination of both was so ably managed, that the honest man
was soon made to perceive and the rogue forced to reveal the truth.
Alfred had reason to be proud of the credit he obtained for the
ability displayed in this cross-examination, but he was infinitely more
gratified by having it in his power to gain a cause for his friend, and
to restore to Mr. Gresham his favourite Guido.
A welcome sight--a letter from Godfrey! the first his family had
received from him since he left England. Two of his letters, it appears,
had been lost. Alluding to one he had written immediately on hearing of
the change in his father’s fortune, he observes, that he has kept his
resolution of living within his pay; and, after entering into some other
family details, he continues as follows: “Now, my dear mother, prepare
to hear me recant what I have said against Lord Oldborough. I forgive
his lordship all his sins, and I begin to believe, that though he is a
statesman, his heart is not yet quite _ossified_. He has recalled our
regiment from this unhealthy place, and he has promoted Gascoigne to be
our lieutenant-colonel. I say that Lord Oldborough has done all this,
because I am sure, from a hint in Alfred’s last letter, that his
lordship has been the prime mover in the business. But not to keep you
in suspense about the facts.
“In my first letter to my father, I told you, that from the moment
our late lethargic lieutenant-colonel came to the island, he took to
drinking rum, pure rum, to waken himself--claret, port, and madeira,
had lost their power over him. Then came brandy, which he fancied was
an excellent preservative against the yellow fever, and the fever of the
country. So he died ‘boldly by brandy.’ Poor fellow! he was boasting
to me, the last week of his existence, when he was literally on his
deathbed, that his father taught him to drink before he was six years
old, by practising him every day, after dinner, in the sublime art of
carrying a bumper steadily to his lips. He, moreover, boasted to me,
that when a boy of thirteen, at an academy, he often drank two bottles
of claret at a sitting; and that, when he went into the army, getting
among a jolly set, he brought himself never to feel the worse for any
quantity of wine. I don’t know what he meant by the worse for it--at
forty-five, when I first saw him, he had neither head nor hand left for
himself or his country. His hand shook so, that if he had been perishing
with thirst, he could not have carried a glass to his lips, till after
various attempts in all manner of curves and zigzags, spilling half of
it by the way. It was really pitiable to see him--when he was to sign
his name I always went out of the room, and left Gascoigne to guide
his hand. More helpless still his mind than his body. If his own or
England’s salvation had depended upon it, he could not, when in
the least hurried, have uttered a distinct order, have dictated an
intelligible letter; or, in time of need, have recollected the name
of any one of his officers, or even his own name--quite imbecile and
embruted. But, peace to his ashes--or rather to his dregs--and may there
never be such another British colonel!
“Early habits of temperance have not only saved my life, but made my
life worth saving. Neither Colonel Gascoigne nor I have ever had a day’s
serious illness since we came to the island--but we are the only two
that have escaped. Partly from the colonel’s example, and partly
from their own inclination, all the other officers have drunk hard.
Lieutenant R---- is now ill of the fever; Captain H---- (I beg his
pardon), now Major H----, will soon follow the colonel to the grave,
unless he takes my very disinterested advice, and drinks less. I am
laughed at by D---- and V----and others for this; they ask why the
deuce I can’t let the major kill himself his own way, and as fast as he
pleases, when I should get on a step by it, and that step such a great
one. They say none but a fool would do as I do, and I think none but a
brute could do otherwise--I can’t stand by with any satisfaction, and
see a fellow-creature killing himself by inches, even though I have the
chance of slipping into his shoes: I am sure the shoes would pinch me
confoundedly. If it is my brother-officer’s lot to fall in battle--it’s
very well--I run the same hazard--he dies, as he ought to do, a brave
fellow; but to stand by, and see a man die as he ought not to do, and
die what is called an _honest fellow_!--I can’t do it. H---- at first
had a great mind to run me through the body; but, poor man, he is now
very fond of me, and if any one can keep him from destroying himself, I
flatter myself I shall.
“A thousand thanks to dear Caroline for her letter, and to Rosamond
for her journal. They, who have never been an inch from home, cannot
conceive how delightful it is, at such a distance, to receive letters
from our friends. You remember, in Cook’s voyage, his joy at meeting in
some distant island with the spoon marked _London_.
“I hope you received my letters, Nos. 1 and 2. Not that there was any
thing particular in them. You know I never do more than tell the bare
facts--not like Rosamond’s journal--with which, by-the-bye, Gascoigne
has fallen in love. He sighs, and wishes that Heaven had blessed him
with such a sister--for _sister_, read wife. I hope this will encourage
Rosamond to write again immediately. No; do not tell what I have
just said about Gascoigne, for--who knows the perverse ways of
women?--perhaps it might prevent her from writing to me at all. You may
tell her, in general, that it is my opinion ladies always write better
and do every thing better than men--except fight, which Heaven forbid
they should ever do in public or private!
“I am glad that Caroline did not marry Mr. Barclay, since she did not
like him; but by all accounts he is a sensible, worthy man, and I
give my consent to his marriage with Lady Mary Pembroke, though, from
Caroline’s description, I became half in love with her myself. N.B. I
have not been in love above six times since I left England, and but once
any thing to signify. How does the Marchioness of Twickenham go on?
“Affectionate duty to my father, and love to all the happy people at
home.
“Dear mother,
“Your affectionate son,
“G. PERCY.”