regular prentice, but had only engaged for a voyage to see how I'd like it."

"Here was an end of all my hopes of home for many a long day, and many a long year passed over before I saw the Gantocks or the Castlehill again. The old man at home, I never saw more. Year after year we were knocked about the world in the old Thunderer, and many's the hard gale and bloody sight Neil Grey weathered. We were in the East and West Ingies, Merikay, and other outlandish parts; no rest for the Thunderer; but what vexed me worse than all was, that I got no tidings from home, altho❜ I wrote sometimes. For the life of me, I could not learn whether the old man was dead or alive. I wrote from England when the Thunderer was in port twice, but all to no purpose; because, before an answer came back, we had sailed to some distant country, and if a letter was sent, why it never came to hand. Howsomdever, at the long run, when our ship was knocking about the Mediterranean, a packet ship hailed us; she had letters for our ship, and among the rest there was one for Neil Grey. But when I read it, sir, I was quite downhearted. It was from an old acquaint. ance at home, one as had fished round the Gantocks with me when a boy; and it told me how the poor old man my father was dead and buried, and how much he sorrowed before his death, that there wasn't one of his eight sons with him, to lay his old head in the grave. Well, as I said, I was quite downhearted, thinking on his words when we parted, but it was all of no use you know-what was done couldn't be undone."

"I had little heart for work that day, so I stood leaning on one of the guns looking to the sea, thinking of home, of him that was in his grave, and of times that I couldn't bring back, when our first lieutenant comes past, and he says to me, 'why, what's the matter with you Neil? you've got a letter from home, and your quite downhearted.' Then,' I says to him, 'your honour,' says I, 'I've got a letter from home, and my old father's dead, and he hadn't a soul that belonged to him, to lay his head in the grave.' Well,' Neil,' says he, 'I'm sorry for what you say, but it's God's will, you know, and you musn't take on or be downhearted; there's no use in it, Neil; what's done can't be undone; howsomdever,' says he, order you a double allowance of grog, and you'll do no work to day, so keep yourself up, Neil, and you'll soon get over it. Now, wasn't that kind of him your honour, to be so good to a poor fellow he saw had got bad news, and was quite down? Aye, he was the gentleman could feel for a sailor, and though he was an Englishman, he had a warm heart, as if he had been a natural born Scotsman."

I'll

"And why not," said I, for the first time interrupting the talkative old man.

"Aye why not your honour," said he, "I'm sure I know no reason: why, only it's more naturaler you know to care for our own countryman, than either an Englishman or an Irishman, jist as one's heart warms to them again, afore any foreignder that ever was hatched. Though, for the matter of that, I've known many a good fellow in my time, that had been born in England and Ireland, but they couldn't help that, you know. It was their misfortune. But, as I was saying, I loved our lieutenant jist for all the world as if he had been my own father, and good reason I had; for he was kind to all man and boy, though he seemed to care for me more than all the rest, and I was always ready to do what he ordered, whether it could be done or not."

"But I find I'm spinning a rather long yarn, your honour, so I must haul close, and belay.” "Not at all Neil," said we all: "take another glass of grog," said the old gentleman.

"And what has become of your old officer, Neil," said I," is he still fit for service?" "Ah! your honour," said Neil," he lies many a fathom down in the salt sea.

He was killed in an engagement which the Thunderer had in the West Ingies, with a Mexican frigate, and a bloody affair it was; tho' our ould jack flew highest that day after all. Our lieutenant fell at my side, and I carried him down to the surgeon, but he could do nothing for him, except comforting him a little, poor soul. I had to leave him at the time, for I had my duty to attend to, but, when the business was done, I went down again to see how he was. He was still alive for he knew me, and called me faintly to him. 'I hope your honour will soon get the better of this turn,' said I. 'Never in this world Neil,' said he; life is fast going, and I'm glad you've come down to see me before I died.' I couldn't speak, let the consequence be what it might, but I knelt down at his side, and I prayed to myself as well as I could, that God would be kind to the poor gentleman, who had always felt so much for the distresses of a brother seaman. 'Neil,' said he again, open my shirt at the breast,' I did so, and I found a small piece of gold tied around his neck by a ribbon. A locker he called it, but it was no more like a seaman's loker, than my hat's like the Gantocks. Will you get that safely delivered to my mother?' said he; I'll do it myself if I live to get home,' said I; and if not, I'll give it to a sure hand, who will do it for me. Trust to Neil Gray your honour.' Thank you Neil,' said he; and if you see my mother tell her,' said he, 'tell Emily, that I blessed them both with my dying breath.' 'Better not talk your honour,' said I-he never talked more. He became weaker and weaker, and I saw life was going fast. I held one of his hands in mine, watched him, and wiped his poor parched lips with a spunge soaked in vinegar, till his brave soul took flight to a better life, I hope, than ever he had, knocking about on board the old Thunderer."

After a short pause, Neil resumed his story. "The locker," said he, "I was determined to deliver with my own hand to the Leiftenant's mother, for it should never be said that I had been careless in obeying the wishes of a dying seaman, cost what it would. I examined it one night, on the outside there was hair, fair hair it was, and twined with it was the dark hair of poor Mr. Willoughby. In the inside was the picture of a lady, an angel rather, your honor, for I've seldom seen any thing so very beautiful. I guessed it was the Emily he mentioned when dying. Well, when the Thunderer had got all made right after the action, we were ordered home with our prize, and a glad day it was for all on board, when we spread the canvass for old England. We arrived safely at Portsmouth. The Thunderer would be some time repairing before she would again be ready for sea, I got leave of absence to go home, but I determined first to pay a visit to Mr. Willoughby's mother."

"When I got to the Hall, as they called it, where the old lady lived, and a grand old house it was, with many a hall inside of it, I asked a grey-headed old gentleman, in black, if I could see her. He shook his head, asked me civilly in, but I saw that he was quite down-hearted. He told me that his lady could not be seen, she was so ill in consequence of the death of his young master. The tears fell fast down the old gentleman's cheeks as I told all; he blest me for my kind ness to his poor dear master; but I told him I had done nothing but my duty as a man, and what every true seaman would do for another. He said, he would tell his mistress, and let me know what she said. The old chap was very kind, and, as I was both tired and hungry, he let me want for nothing.

"After partaking of some refreshment, I was shown up to the old lady, and an elderly grand old lady she was, just fit to be mother to a brave seaman. The beautiful young lady whose picture I had with me, Emily Willoughby, the cousin of poor Mr. Willoughby, was also there. I can never forget her she was so pale and so lovely; so like an angel rather than a mortal woman. The tears fell from both their eyes fast

and freely as I told them my story, and I assure your honour, I never had more inclination to make a woman of myself than at that time, and I'm not sure if I didn't after all. Well, I gave them the locker, and they both pressed it; and they wept, and thanked me so, that I was glad to get out of the room for I couldn't stand it longer." The tears stood in Mary's beautiful eyes: her father puffed out the smoke violently, but Neil went on with his story.

"Well, after spending some days there, I set off for Scotland, and came back to see Dunoon. It was the first time I had been in it for fifteen years. I was now a boatswain, and had a power of prize-money, so I married the old woman that's now my wife, left the prize-money with her, and returned to my duty in the Thunderer. Well, Sir, at last I was discharged with a pension, and then I come to Dunoon to the old woman, and now I am laid up safe for the remainder of my life. I was back at the Hall since; the old lady was dead, and Miss Emily was mistress of the whole. She pled hard that I would come and live there; but I can't, ma'm, said I, for I must see the old Gantocks again, and lay my bones beside those of my old father. And the old woman, your honour knows, she could never have lived away from the Gantocks and the Castle Hill, more than myself. So Miss Emily has settled a pension on me too, besides what I get from the King; and I only wish that every seaman may be so well psovided for at the end of his voyage, as ould Neil Grey."

Neil took his glass of grog, and, bidding us good night, walked away to the old woman who had been his wife, as he said, for so many years.

THE THREE FRIENDS. (From the German.)

PLACE not thy faith in thy friends, till thou hast put them to the proof-more numerous are they at the table of the banquet, than at the portal of the prison.

A man had three friends, two of them he fondly loved, the third he cared not for, although, in attachment, he was the most sincere of them all.

Once upon a time, it happened, that he was accused of a heinous crime-unjustly indeed-yet, on the instant, he was unable to prove his innocence of the charge, and he exclaimed to his friends: "which of you, my friends, will accompany me to the seat of judgement, there to bear testimony to the purity of my actions, and to prove my innocence of this crimecome! oh, come! for appearances are against me, and the King waxeth very wroth."

And the first of his friends answered, and said, that he was busied with his merchandice, and therefore could not come; and the second accompanied himbut only to the door of the judgement hall; for, beholding the stern visage of the angry judge, he turned and he fled; but the third-he who had never been loud in his professions, or ostentatious in his offers of friendship, now undauntedly stood with him before the judgement seat of the irritated Prince, spoke for his innocent friend, and spoke so well, that the Judge dismissed him from the tribunal, and loaded him with his presents.

Man hath three friends here below. How do they comport themselves at the hour of death-when God calleth him away to his final account? Riches, the friend whom through life he had always esteemed the most, forsake him the first, and go not with him to the tomb. Friends and Relations attend his body to the grave perhaps, but there they leave him, and careless and unconcerned they return to their homes. His Deeds of Charity and of Mercy, his third friend-in health and vigour, alas! but too often forgotten and too much neglected-there attend him to the judge

ment seat of the Almighty, place themselves in his front, and at his side, plead his cause, palliate his faults, and (may we hope it?) obtain for him the pity and the favour of the Omnipotent Judge of All.

PARISIAN FASHIONS FOR MARCH.

MANTLES, though fashionable, are not so exclusively so as last month, many ladies appearing in silk or merino dresses, with Cachemire shawls; and others with pelisses, either of rich silk or Cachemire, trimmed with fur. Although sable is considered more elegant, there are various other kinds in favour, as grey squirrel, chinchilla and marten. In general the muff, tippet, and trimming of the dress corresponds, but some elegantly dressed women appear with all three different. This, however, is a whim which will not be generally copied.

Bonnets have changed only in their trimmings: a good many are now adorned with ribbons arranged in rosettes, which resemble heads of wild endive; or else disposed in bows without ends, which rise one above another, and are placed three or four together. There are also a good many trimmed with a single long, curled, ostrich feather, which being placed nearly at the back of the crown, partially encircles it, and falls over on the other side of the brim.

The most admired ball dresses are of crape or gauze, trimmed with a mixture of flowers and ribbons in the manner we are about to describe:-A light trimming, formed of ends of cut gauze rib. bon, goes round the back and shoulders of the dress, and falls rather low over the sleeves; it is surmounted by a wreath of cockle shells, formed also of ribbon. A corkscrew roll of ribbon is disposed in the Egyptian style round the border, having in each compartment a light bouquet of flowers.

Flowers are employed almost exclusively to decorate ball coiffures, except at Court, where feathers, intermingled either with diamonds or other precious stones, are more frequently adopted. Fashionable colours are ponceau, ruby, vert d'acanthe, bird of paradise, some new shades of yellow brown; and for evening dress, rose, azure-blue and white.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

LINES ADDRESSED TO CHILDE HAROLD.

(By a Lady, during Lord Byron's life-time.)

O, FORTUNE! what avail thy smiles,
No smiles to Harold's cheek they bring;
O, beauty, cease thy blandish wiles;
For Harold, only, feels their sting.

O, nature! why on him bestow
Gifts, more than mortal minds adorn;
In vain for him thy roses blow;
For Harold, only, feels the thorn.
O, genius! why, with rays divine,
And magic power his soul illume;
In vain thy starry lamp may shine;

For Harold, only, feels its gloom.
Yet still one boon the Childe may claim,
A boon, to mortals, rarely given
On earth, to hear his deathless fame,
And feel, at last, a ray from heaven.
Dear wayward Childe, I read, I weep,
And almost feel thy fancied woes;
Nay, even thy image, when I sleep,

Dwells in my dreams, and breaks repose.
But dream not of some Leman fair,
With snowy arms and eyes of blue;
Know, fifty summers o'er my hair,
And on my cheeks have blanched their hue.
Yet in my heart, nor pain, nor age,

I feel, tho' both have marked my brow;
When, gazing o'er thy witching page
With pleasure, never felt till now.
And, wert thou, Childe, a child of mine,
I'd sooth thee with a mother's love;
And pray-not to the tuneful Nine-

But to the blessed powers above.
That hope in heaven, and peace on earth,

And social bliss, may still be thine;
And feeling which, from conscious worth,
Can raise the soul to joys divine.
Then, Harold, strike again the lyre,

And pour sublime thy flood of song;
And let each chord thy genius fire,
As o'er its strings thou sweep'st along.
No gloomy thoughts of men's decay,
Shall, then, thy spotless pages soil;
But wreaths, unfading, crown thy lay,
And fame, immortal, bless thy toil.

GLASGOW GOSSIP.

GREAT alarm has been caused among the ladies of Glasgow, by the report that the gay and gallant 4th are about to be withdrawn from the society of this city, which they have now, for a considerable time, adorned by their presence. We have no doubt that, while real testimonials of gratitude are awarded to this regiment for the correct and orderly behaviour of its privates during its sojourn among us, the handsome and spirited officers will not be permitted to depart without sighs from fair lips and tears from bright eyes. We only hope that en revanche for the breaking hearts which they will leave behind them, they will carry along with them the remembrance of our belles engraven upon their own hearts, and that, if they do not deprive our fashionable circles of any of their female ornaments, they will take with them pledges of affection, to be redeemed at some future period, when the calls of their service may permit them to obey a scarcely less imperious duty, and pay another visit to Glasgow.

CHAMPOLLION.

EVERY individual, who has paid any attention to the study of Hieroglyphics, will regret to hear that M. Champollion, member of the Academie des Inscriptions, bade adieu to this life, last week, at Paris, after a long and painful illness. By his death the scientific world sustains an irreparable loss. The obscurity of Egyptian History had only acquired sufficient intensity, to point to us the treasures which were concealed there, without enabling us to examine and render them available.

ROYAL SOCIETY OF LITERATURE.

DURING the present session, the pious and learned President of this Society, the Bishop of Salisbury, has resigned the chair, in which he has sat since its foundation by his late Majesty. The reasons assigned were, his advanced age, and the probability of his being less in town than heretofore. The Council addressed a letter of grateful thanks to his Lordship, for his unwearied zeal and valuable services to the Institution; and the temporary presidency devolved upon his Grace the Duke of Rutland, the first upon the list of vice-presidents. Having witnessed the labours of the most estimable Prelate, from the beginning to this time, we venture humbly to express our high admiration of the ability and finelytoned judgment with which he has throughout adorned his office. February 1st.-W. Sothbey, Esq. in the chair. Mr. Hamilton read a memoir by Mr. Millingen, royal associate, on the origin of the Roman divinities. While many of the gods of ancient Rome retained their Greek names unchanged, others received appellations wholly different. This remarkable fact Mr. Millingen endeavours to reconcile with the acknowledged identity of the religious system of the Greeks and Romans. In a variety of learned remarks on the derivation of the names of the twelve principal deities of the latter people, as well as on those of many of the gods of an inferior order, he shews that they were all alike of Greek origin; thereby confirming the identity above mentioned, and, by consequence, strengthening the existing testimony in regard to the Greek origin of the Roman race. A letter was read from Mr. S. Angell, containing a description of the ruins of one of the temples at Selinus, in Sicily, in reference to a notice read at the meeting of January 4, relative to the subjects of several sculptured metopes, lately examined among those ruins, the existence of which was discovered by Mr. Angell, in the year 1823. February 15th.-W. R. Hamilton, Esq. in the chair. A memoir was read by Mr. J. P. Thomas, in which much light was thrown upon the moral and allegorical meanings of the fabulous mythology of Greece and Rome. Part of a memoir by the Rev. Dr. J. Jamieson, royal associate, was likewise read, on the earliest Scottish coins now extant. Wise, in his catalogue of the Bodleian collection, referring to those coins which by Anderson, in his Diplomata Scotia, have been assigned to Alexander and David, each the first of his name, has strongly expressed his doubts whether any of them go further back than to the age of William the Lion, who began his reign in 1165; for, observes that writer, those commonly given to Alexander I. and David I. were probably struck by Alexander II. and David II. This opinion, which is also maintained by Snelling and De Cardonnel, is combated, and, as it appears to us suceessfully, by Dr. Ja

mieson.

LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

THE Voice of the West Indies and the Cry of England, or Compensation or Separation considered, is in the Press.

Flowers of Fable, culled from the works of Epictetus, Croxall, Dodsley, Pope, Moore, Merrick, Dennis; with original transla

tions from La Fontaine, Krasicki, and others; selected for the instruction of Youth, and embellished with engravings on wood, is announced for immediate publication.

CONSTABLE'S MISCELLANY.

THE remaining stock and copy-right of this well-conducted Miscellany were sold in London, in consequence of the state of the copartnery by which it was carried on, at £3428, 13s. 4d. for a private individual, unconnected with the bookselling trade; for whom the work is to be published in future-in London by Whittaker and Co., and in Edinburgh by Constable and Co. The copyright belonged to Messrs. Hurst, Chance, and Co. four shares, Mr. H. Constable one share, and Mr. J. Aitken, the very able and efficient editor, one share. The past vols. were taken at eightpence. We have seen a small pamphlet with testimonials of the merits of Mr. Aitken (among others those of Professor Wilson, Mr. Lockhart, Mr. James, Mr. Motherwell, Mr. Charles Maclaren, Mr. Robert Chambers, Mr. M'Diarmid, &c.) in the sentiments contained in which we take this public opportunity, from long observation of his taste and judgment, of expressing our entire concurrence. Should he resign the helm, it will not be easy to substitute an equally able steersman.-Lit. Gaz.

MISCELLANEA.

BENEFITS OF LITERATURE.-Literature, like Virtue, is its own reward, and the enthusiasm some experience in the incalculable and permanent enjoyments of a vast library, have far outweighed the neglect or the calumny of the world, which some of its votaries have received. From the time of Cicero, in his well-known oration for the poet Archias, innumerable are the testimonies of men of letters of the pleasurable delirium of such researches; that delicious beverage which they have swallowed, so thirstily, from the Circæan cup of literature. Richard de Bury, bishop of Durham, chancellor and high treasurer of England, so early as 1341, was so enamoured of his large collection of books, that he has expressly composed a treatise on his love of books, under the title of Philobiblion, a great effort for the times, and an honourable tribute paid to literature, in an age not literary.

PORTRAIT PAINTING.-Lord Orford preferred an interesting portrait, to either landscape or historical painting. A landscape, said he, however excellent in its distribution of wood and water and buildings, leaves not one trace in the memory. Historical painting is perpetually false in a variety of ways, in the costume, the grouping, the portraits, &c. and is nothing more than fabulous painting; but a real portrait is truth itself; and calls up so many collateral ideas as to fill an intelligent mind, more than any other species.

FRENCH LOTTERIES.-The ladies in France assist the poor occasionally by lotteries. Ths Countess of Bondy, lady of the Prefect of the Seine, had a lottery a week or two ago at her hotel, by means of which several works of fancy were disposed of amongst the contributors, which were wrought by some of the most lovely hands in Paris, including those of the Queen, and of the Princesses, her daughters. The contributions on the whole amounted to about £160, and every subscriber won something of more or less value.

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.

We have been favoured with the Epistle of Umbra, and will be glad to hear from him more fully on a subject which he appears so competent to give an opinion. If he will turn to Müchler, Miller and some of the more modern German Poets, he will find equally glaring proofs of German plagiarism from the English, as that which he has sent us from Kosegarten.

"T. O.'s" communication has been put into the hands of our Gaelic Critic.

"Spero's" Stanzas have been received, and will probably appear

soon.

The first portion of "O. P. Q.'s" communication will be inserted, but the latter part will not do for us.

"J. L.'s" verses do not come up to the standard of our Poetical Critic.

The Enigma of our Edinburgh correspondent "C." will probably appear when other more important claims on our columns are answered.

All communications for the Editor of " THE DAY" are requested to be left with the Publisher, MR. JOHN FINLAY, No. 9, Miller Street.

PUBLISHED, every Morning, Sunday excepted, by JOHN FINLAY, at No. 9, Miller Street; and Sold by JOHN WYLIE, 97, Argyle Street; DAVID ROBERTSON, and W. R. M'PHUN, Glasgow; THOMAS STEVENSON, and the other Booksellers, Edinburgh: DaVID DICK, and A. Gardner, Booksellers, Paisley: A. LAING, Greenock; and J. GLASS, Bookseller, Rothsay.

PRINTED BY JOHN GRAHAM, MELVILLE PLACE.

LAW, LAWYERS AND LITIGANTS.

We have strict Statutes, and most biting Laws.
The needful bits and curbs for head strong steeds.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

In this mercantile community, every third man in any business, of ordinary extent, is engaged in some legal dispute, and must of necessity have recourse to the service of a lawyer; yet, no where are lawyers and every thing relating to the legal profession, more sneeringly, and unfeelingly talked of than in our own good city. It is impossible to account for this, except on the score of prejudice; for, in no other profession is there more learning, more ability, or men, in any walk of life, of higher honour and integrity, or who by the zealous and laborious discharge of their duties, confer more lasting and important benefits on those, who timeously ask their assistance. And yet, it is not uncommon, to see many an ignorant dealer in ginghams, lawns, and lappets, rum puncheons and tobacco, raise his small voice against a profession, embracing men, of whose learning, ability and honour, he may not be capable of forming even a conception.

The "glorious uncertainty of the law," au expression first introduced by the lamented Canning, has been much used, and used too, as an expression of reproach against the profession-yet, the law is not uncertain. As a science, it embodies the principles of the most exalted morality, and its study, so far from being dry and uninteresting, as is generally and vulgarly believed, is perhaps more instructive, and better calculated, than any other branch of human knowledge, to impress upon the mind of the student, the principles of justice, equity and truth. It is no doubt true, that there is a great degree of uncertainty, attending the result of every legal dispute, but this does not arise from the law itself. It arises from the facts of every individual case as they may be brought out in evidence, and from the light in which these established facts may be viewed, by the presiding judge, as either supporting or not supporting, the legal arguments raised by the parties. The untrue statements, too, made by the litigants themselves, the concealment sometimes of part of the truth, the breaking down of evidence, on which the parties confidently relied; these and other causes, which we might enumerate, serve to throw a great share of uncertainty around the result of every legal fight, while the law itself, and its principles of right and wrong, as applicable to all the various and intricate transactions of men, stand free of all mystery, uncertainty or doubt. The conflicting and opposite opinions of judges is a matter of every-day occurrence. Those in the provinces give judgement one way, those of the supreme court give it another way, while last of all, the Lord Chancellor may give it a third way; but, all this difference of opinion does not prove the uncertainty of the law as a judicial code, or as a branch of science, but merely the different impressions, made upon the minds of different judges, by the same evidence, or by the same arguments used by the same parties. There is no way of helping this; for it is impossible to force men, conscientiously, to view the same thing in the same light." As a question becomes more complicated and involved," says Dr. Johnson, "and extends to a greater number of relations, disa

greement of opinion will always be multiplied, not because we are irrational, but because we are finite beings, furnished with different kinds of knowledge, exerting different degrees of attention, and one discovering consequences which escape another." So long, therefore, as the minds of men are differently constituted, so long must difference of opinion exist-so long must different views be taken of the same subject, and so long must there be uncertainty, as to the issue of every legal dispute, without attaching to the law itself, or to those of the profession, the slightest degree of blame or discredit.

It is a common remark, but not the less true, that no man can judge soundly, or disinterestedly, in his own cause; for the feelings of self-interest bias his judgment, which, in any matter betwixt other parties, might be firm, decided and impartial. Lawyers, generally, are fully sensible of this, and, accordingly, even the most intelligent of them entrust their personal cases to the more cool and dispassionate judgment of some professional brother. But there are litigants, and that too a numerous class, who do not follow the same wise example, but who, contrary to the advice of those whom they consult, push on every legal question to which they are parties, while the injustice of their pleas, and the monstrous absurdity of their demands, are obvious and plain to every one but themselves. A litigant of this description (an enthusiast in a cause which he cannot estimate dispassionately) soon learns, to his cost, the ruinous result, and wonders at a termination so very opposite to his most sanguine expectations. Unable to account for the accuracy of the decision, and believing it impossible that he could have been wrong, or that he could have been asking any thing unjust, or resisting any thing fair and proper, his only resource is, to impute his discomfiture in Court to the stupidity of the Judge, to the carelessness or want of ability on the part of his advisers, or to the absurdity and injustice of the principles of law on which the case may have been decided. All this very frequently occurs. It occurs too, sometimes, with persons who, in every thing but their own law pleas, have sound, vigorous and well-informed minds, and probably one half of the idle and vulgar abuse directed against the legal profession originates in the way we have mentioned, and, from the chagrin of litigants thus defeated through the absurdity and injustice of their own demands, and who, through obtuseness and obstinacy, despised the advice of their counsel, and would, right or wrong, litigate to the last.

But there are another description of litigants more entitled to sympathy, although their conduct is far from being either prudent or blameless. We allude to those who generally resort to legal advice when it is too late, and who, like the victim of some malignant disease, in place of resorting to medical aid when the malady was in its opening bud, has allowed it to fester and increase, until all chance of cure and recovery has been lost and abandoned. How many broken hearts might have been prevented, how many virtuous and industrious men might have been saved from ruin and dishonour, had they timeously resorted for advice to some honourable and disinterested lawyer? We have observed men who have risen themselves in the world, much to their own honour, by their own

merit and exertion, and others, who have risen by some lucky stroke in the wheel of fortune, which they little deserved, become puffed up with such notions of their own ability and importance, and with such a conviction of their own infallibility, that they have played

"Such fantastic tricks before high Heaven,

As make the Angels weep." And, believing it impossible to err, or that any thing to which they put their hand, should not prosper—we have seen these persons, with a recklessness perfectly distressing, become parties to legal obligations, without either being able or disposed to estimate, fairly, their legal nature, import, or tendency. Had they only paused at the threshold of this vortex of ruin, for legal advice, and for a little sober reflection, how much after regret, misery, and pain, might have been avoided. Yet, there is a vulgar prejudice against applying early for legal opinion, and it is only when difficulties begin to draw around certain individuals, and when they begin to see how they have been over-reached and duped, by those who had an interest to do so, that they resort to those legal consultations which they formerly held so cheap. But, alas! they come for counsel, at the twelfth hour. They come when they are bound, hand and foot, and when no legal ability or learning can relieve them from the grasp of their merciless opponent; and, if a legal question is raised in such cases, it is raised not with any chance of success, but merely to put off the evil hour. Tired and sickened with discussion, defeated and vanquished in all their attempts to soften their legal obligations, this description of litigants, in the bitterness of their sorrow, curse all law and all lawyers; and to this state of feeling not a little of the abuse, to which we have alluded, is to be attributed.

"The law's delay" seems to have been a subject of complaint, even in the days of the immortal Shakespeare, for in one of the finest of Hamlet's soliloquies, it is mentioned as one of the many ills "that flesh is heir to." That there is delay, and great expense too, is not to be denied, but it is equally undeniable that these cannot be attributed to those of the profession, but to the tedious forms and modes of procedure observed in our courts, which can only be remedied by a legislative enactinent. The day for these and other improvements is fast approaching. The present enormous expense is occasioned by extravagant fees paid to useless servants, and understrappers of court, and this state of things is nearly as prejudicial to the profession itself, as to the litigants themselves. There is no lawyer of respectability, therefore, but who would willingly lend a helping hand to remove "the law's delay, the insolence of office," and the present profuse and extravagant payment to useless officers and supernumeraries, whose services are not necessary to the fair administration of justice betwixt man and man.

We have heard it stated as a ground of charge, against lawyers, that they are obliged, at times, to use all their ingenuity in defence of what is wrong, and that this indiscriminate justification of every thing, either good, bad, or indifferent, destroys all moral principle, and degrades those of the profession as passive instruments in the hands of the unworthy and the knavish. But we believe that there is no honourable lawyer (and it is of them, only, that we speak) who would, willingly, deceive any client, or who would hold out any chance of success in a suit, which he sincerely and privately believes to be essentially bad, either as to fact, law, or equity. There are cases litigated, which, no doubt, are considered to be hopeless, but this is done as before explained, at the request of the party himself. And, even in cases totally bad, it is proper for counsel to make a stand, were it for nothing else than to keep the court and the jury (if there be one) in check, and from trespassing beyond all law and all justice. For example, at the trial of Burke, that prince of murderers, the first counsel at the bar appeared for the defence, and these great men did so,

not to screen the criminal from justice, but to shew to the world that a monster, guilty of crimes before unheard of, should have a fair and honourable trial, so far as their ability could secure it, and that the public voice, which cried aloud for vengeance, should not be allowed to overstep the strict letter of the law, so far as the first talent in the country could prevent it. In a bad case, this is all that the lawyer can do. He can only watch that no unfair or improper advantage is taken of the guilty party, and that there is no departure from the law on the part of the judge. He can do nothing more, and those who talk of the indiscriminate defence of right or wrong, as destructive of all moral principle on the part of the lawyer, talk of what never occurs, and of that which is not known.

In thus, briefly, pointing out some of the sources from which the common abuse of the legal profession arise, we do not mean to say, that it has not its quacks, and its bad men, like every other profession and occupation. But, quackery, in the law, is but a poor business. These gentry are soon discovered, and soon crushed by the court; and, it so happens, that the existence of legal quacks is but short lived, and never profitable, and, that they are not nearly so numerous as political, clerical, and medical quacks, or any other description of such persons.

As a profession, the law has both its pains and its pleasures. It demands uncommon industry, perseverance, and a fair share of talent; and, no young lawyer, who has these, coupled with honourable, and independent feelings, may be afraid, however humble, at the commencement of his career, of ultimate success, and of lasting honour. Of all things, he must be studious, honourable, and independent. He must not allow his opinion to be moulded by the influence, the whim, and the caprice of "the blown-up fool above him," nor must he turn a deaf ear to "the abject wretch beneath him." He must neither be oppressive to the poor, nor obsequious to the rich. He must do his duty, which is often painful, fairly, firmly, and honourably to all. In short, to be a good and successful lawyer, he must be a good man, and, although his reward may be distant, still, it will be sure; for, in the words of old John Kemble, "study and honourable feeling will always work wonders."

THE STAMMERING PARVENU.

THE following is part of a long communication, sent us by a correspondent. The subject of the story is, a very sensitive young man, who labours under the double misfortune of an awkward manner, and a stammering pronunciation. By a piece of fortune, which proves to him any thing rather than a service, he has been raised from a humble situation in life, to the possession of great wealth; and the miseries to which this change exposed him are very pathetically described. Among other things, he mentions, that, if it fell to his lot to carve any thing, at a dinner table, his awkwardness was so extreme, that, after puffing and toiling till he had helped every one, he would lay down his knife and fork, not daring to help himself. This is, certainly, a suffering which no epicurean would, willingly, endure, but it is only the first of the inconveniences to which our friend was exposed. Sometimes, when he was walking in the street, he would meet some friend who would ask him to dinner, and, often, his hesitation was so great, that, instead of saying no, he would say yes. The consequence was, that, when the dinner hour arrived, he would leave home, with the purpose of going, but, before he could get half way, he would, almost invariably, return again, for fear of meeting people whom he did not know. Even this does not exhaust the catalogue of his dining disasters; for, when he was obliged to visit, he would always go, either half an hour too soon, or as much too late; and, often, when the latter occurred, if told the company had already sat down to dinner,