some coarse observation on the delay both experienced; his answer was mild and unaffected, but I thought there was a shade of sorrow on his countenance, and the eye that used to glisten so cheerfully (let De Quincy say wherefore) was sad and downcast. I wished to heaven the note had had some ciphers attached to its unit, for it seemed as if they might have gladdened his heart at that moment. It was not the minister but the man I pitied; he had been accustomed to the most refined of all life's enjoyments: the idol of a nation at one time; the boon friend of royalty; the chief officer of the state; one whose efforts in the cause of liberty and whose eloquence can never be forgotten, and were as honourable to himself as beneficial to his country; yet he was then old, and I fear me poor.--What more would you?

Had Lord Erskine long left the bar then?

No, not so very long; yet it is curious enough, that it was not until after he had retired, that the late Lord Gifford appeared at it, so rapid was the rise of him who had attained the woolsack before be died.

He must have been a man of very extraordinary abilities, Ashley. Lord Gifford's powers were more solid than shining; and, great as were the difficulties that surrounded him in commencing his professional career, he brought courage to their encounter; and by industry, zeal, and perseverance, soon overcame them. He was brought up in a solicitor's office in Devonshire, (they are all solicitors now, as shopboys are pupils; actors, esquires; field-preachers, reverends; and Swiss, gentlemen ;) but the hopes he had entertained of being admitted a partner in the concern at the expiration of his time having been frustrated, in the bitterness of disappointment he abandoned the town wherein he had long resided, and determined to try his fortune in London. The aid afforded him by his family was, as I have understood, conformable to their circumstances, rather than costly; but he had industry and an enduring spirit; and, after the usual formalities, he commenced as a special pleader, without acquaintance or patronage; but by professional skill, natural acuteness, and unfailing accuracy, he acquired no inconsiderable practice, which, however, promised nothing of that great success he was shortly to acquire. That was owing entirely to a species of accident.

Did he write a speech on the Regency question, as Leach? or did he contrive to extricate a lady's carriage from the crowd, like

.?

set up a newspaper, like Stoddart? had he high connexions, as Jervis? or was he steward to a duke, as Raine? did he talk Lancashire, like Bell? or Irish, as Nolan?

Not so fast, I beg of you; there was nothing of the kind in Gifford's case only an opportunity, as fortunately as unexpectedly, occurred, which to most young legal men would have rather offered despair than hope; but he was resolved to grasp it boldly, and he did so.

What was it?

There had been for several years a question of property law under the consideration of Preston, the great conveyancer, (the former member for Ashburton,) filled with so many abstruse points, and, all together so difficult, that although aided by Hodgson, no dwarf either, (his high forehead, light blue eye, melodious tones, and lame leg, always made me remember Lord Byron,) they could scarcely make any thing of it.

It was a question under a will, wherein almost all the varieties of tenure were involved;-but the chief interests of the claimants resolved themselves into two, one that of a numerous family of brothers and sisters; the other, some then remoter connexion of the testator. Equity, and the moral conviction of the intention of him who had made the will, was in favour of the brothers and sisters; but it was necessary to recur to the Court of Chancery to decree a division; and thence it was sent to the King's Bench in the shape of what is termed a case. Preston was to argue what was deemed the more important question; while the other, after the law-list had been consulted, was sent to Gifford, for no other reason than that, like the solicitor in the cause, in sooth he was a West countryman. It seemed to Preston a legitimate child that he had long nursed and reared; but to Gifford it came in a far different character. While Preston pocketed his splendid fee, Gifford numbered his ones; and, when he regarded the tag-end of his brief, and beheld a list of the hundred and more abstruse questions, to which the case by legal abridgement had been reduced, he absolutely turned pale; but, screwing his courage to the sticking-place, he undertook it, brief as was the period allowed him for preparation; while Preston could recount all the beauties of its difficulties with the rapture of a thoroughbred flaw-finding conveyancer. The day arrived,

"The lawyers are met,

The judges all ranged (a terrible show).”

Hanging was nothing to it; but hanging brings fame, and so thought Gifford. Preston (you remember his attenuated and death-like face) rose to open; his eye glistened with joy; his lisp was even softer and sweeter than usual; and, while his self-approving glance was cast around him, he stated, "that notwithstanding his life had been devoted to the peculiar study of the law of property, yet the present case had almost put his learning and practice to the test; and he only hoped that he might be able to render it even intelligible to their lordships; (a pretty modest hint that! Garrow's wicked smile, as he said it, was worth a Jew's eye;) but," he added, "if he viewed, with some anxiety, the peculiar difficulties of the question, his adversary (however respectable he might be in other branches of his profession) peculiarly excited his commiseration; and, although advocating diverse interests, he assured the learned gentleman, he would render him such assistance as he might claim to comprehend the one and direct the other argument." What did Gifford say to that?

He was calm. His features neither expressed pride nor mortification; he listened in silence to the pitying and condescending terms of his antagonist, and, without observation or remark. The day passed in hearing the argument of Preston, and indeed it was a splendid exposition. When he concluded, Gifford was asked when he would be ready to answer. He modestly replied that he had already given the case the best attention in his humble power, and was ready. A few days after he rose: his speech was simple, clear, and concise; all the points raised by Preston were powerfully and learnedly met, and answered, before he commenced his own construction and the law in his mind applicable to the case. It was then that, as he went on, admiration increased. It was such a display as perhaps had never before been wit

nessed; the bench applied to him for information (for it is not to be expected that even the judges, with the general legal learning required of them, should be masters of such a subject); his elucidations were singularly erudite; and, when he finished, a murmur of approbation circulated throughout the court; and Lord Ellenborough deviated so far from ordinary observances, as to pronounce an eulogium as elegant and honourable, as merited. From that hour, Gifford's fortune and

fame were assured.

Did Preston say nothing?

He begged for time, and it was granted. A week was given; and at the expiration of it he prefaced his observations by saying, "My Lords, for three days and three nights I have not closed my eyes;' and no one could refuse him belief; he was careworn and humbled; and peccavi was written in forcible characters on his countenance. Instead of a tyro he had found a master.

I never heard the anecdote before.

Sir, the case was entitled "Mogg and Mogg," a vulgar amputated name for so great a concern. From that moment, as I said, his reputation was confirmed, and he rose rapidly. In less than seven years afterwards, he was the presiding judge of the highest tribunal of the realm; a peer of England; and showed himself there as well acquainted with the law of Scotland as with that of his own country.

I do not think he cut any great figure in the Queen's business. No, it was not suited to him; its details were foreign to his habits. As for Copley, his colleague, never was a man less adapted for such a disgusting process. A perfect gentleman in mind and manners, he entered upon the performance of his duty, with zeal no doubt; but his taste and principles must have revolted at the odiousness of its nature. It was making a hangman of a high sheriff. Brougham made a better thing of it. As for the Common Serjeant, it was to him merely an affair a few degrees more dirty than the dirtiest concern of the Old Bailey.

Was not Lord Gifford destined for the seals?

It has been always supposed so. He would have made an excellent judge; perhaps he would not have troubled the cabinet much, or meddled greatly with politics; no great harm either perhaps; for he knew his forte lay not that way.

They did not like him in the Common Pleas, as I have heard.

Perhaps not; the serjeants had got the upper hand there; but he brought them to their level. "Such is not the practice in this court, my Lord," pertly observed Brother Lawes, "Really!" was the sarcastic reply. "It has never been so, I assure your Lordship," repeated the Serjeant more warmly. "Then it shall be," coolly answered Lord Gifford; and the affair was settled, at once, as quietly as by the "Hold your tongue, Sir; or I shall commit you," of Lord Ellenborough, when a gallant and renowned admiral, Sir Sidney, after giving evidence, interrupted the court in wishing to indulge in a little quarter-deck logic. It was the only broadside that ever silenced him. A growl of the Emperor Paul himself could not have had a more instantaneous effect.

The Emperor Paul?

Yes, Stratford the master; I thought every one knew him by his title.

Old Lord Thurlow, in one of his fits of hatred against all mankind, inflicted him upon the profession; for no other reason, that I could ever find out, except that, next to his lordship, he was the very worsttempered man in it; yet the Chancellor made it up afterwards in some degree by appointing as a master the late Mr. Stanley, who was in all respects the reverse of his arbitrary colleague. On the death of the former, some poor devil of a clerk, who had suffered by the latter,

wrote

"Oh dear! Mr. Death, it was very unmanly

To leave Emperor Paul and take poor Master Stanley"—

a sentiment, which, I doubt not, was entertained by all who were acquainted with the two.

I suppose the Vice-Chancellor will succeed poor Lord Gifford at the Rolls?

Just as much chance of it as Brougham of a silk-gown. Why, Sir, he is in more 66 mauvaise odeur" than ever Dick Plowden himself was. No! he may take his fill at Naples; for I see, by the papers, he is on a visit to the Lazzaroni: figuring at San Carlos, or sauntering along the Chiaja. What a treat to see him eating his raviola under the gallery of the Città di Parigi; contemplating at the same time the fiery head of Vesuvius, some degrees less crimson than his own; or eating shell-fish with the Signorine of Santa Lucia! He is a perfect rake. The very wards of his court are not safe with such an irreclaimable fellow. There is as little hope of reform in him as there is of a dinnerparty at Eldon's; of old the cursitor's paying his creditors; of an oath from the Lord Chief Justice, or the want of one from B-; the resignation of the bench by Baron Graham, or a grand jury charge to the purpose from Lord Norbury. The Chancellor must absolutely take him in hand.

Talking of the Barons of the Exchequer, what was that Jekyll said of them?

That was in the time of the late Lord Chief Baron Richards, whom he characterized both as "a lawyer and a gentleman;" Baron Graham, as 66 a gentleman but no lawyer:" Wood, as "a lawyer and no gentleman ;" and Garrow, as "neither gentleman nor lawyer." Indeed Jekyll had a peculiar taste for making that lazy court his butt; for when old Hotham retired, be used to call Sir Archibald Macdonald (whose taste for rappee you know) "snuff-box;" Baron Thomson, "band-box," for he was as neat as a Sunday-milliner; and Graham, "chatter-box." They were all three, however, excellent men; and it was perfectly a pattern-court for courtesy from the bench.

I should have rather chosen the Irish Chancery, for they have Manners there.

Or, what do you think of their Common Pleas Court, where they have More?

Was not the late Lord Ellenborough imperative in his tribunal? No; I think not. It is true that a high personage declared that "he should be sorry to be tried by him;" but that had reference to his parliamentary conduct. You remember his "false as Hell;" but he was more polite on another occasion, when, apologizing for his warmth in addressing the House, he expressed the hope that he

might be pardoned, as he was led away on that occasion by the idea he was still in the exercise of those duties he had so frequently to perform, of condemning criminals in another place." He was, however, a great lawyer; but with the decline of life his irritability increased. It was more constitutional than otherwise. It is said that during his last illness he presented an affecting picture to his friends; for, at times, his powerful and comprehensive mind was wholly unstrung, and childishness came upon him; but at intervals it would revive in all its former vigour, and thus his faculties had their ebb and flow until he died. Some assert that he never recovered Hone's trial.

Was he not an admirable orator?

It is said he was so at the bar, and that the tones of his voice were as melodious as distinct; but after he ascended the bench his speech became thick; although his manner was eminently suited to his station.

God bless me! how time has slipped away, Ashley. forget our engagement for a sail on the Lake with past the hour.

We must not
It is already

I am at your service. We must contrive to get him to dine with us to-morrow, Morris; and see what he can furnish in the way of conversation. Come, I am ready.

TO DECEMBER.

The passing year, all grey with hours,
Ends, dull month, with thee;
Chilled his summer, dead his flowers,
Soon will his funeral be;

Frost shall drink up his latest breath,
And tempests rock him into death.

How he shivers! from his age
All his leaves have faded,

And his weary pilgrimage
Ends at last unaided

By his own sun that dims its ray,

To leave him dark in his decay.

Hark! through the air the wild storm bears

In hollow sounds his doom,

While scarce a star its pale course steers
Athwart the sullen gloom,

And Nature leaves him to his fate,
To his grey hairs a cold ingrate.

She goes to hail the coming year,

Whose spring-flowers soon shall rise

Fool thus to shun an old friend's bier,
Nor wisely moralize

On her own brow, where age is stealing,
Many a scar of time revealing

Quench'd volcanoes, rifted mountains,

Oceans driven from land,

Isles submerged, and dried up fountains,

Empires whelmed in sand,

What though her doom be yet untold,-
Nature like time is waxing old!