nulla vestigia retrorsum-the Court of Chancery. There are at this moment between forty and fifty millions of money, part of which has been thus impounded for a quarter of a century or more; while threefourths of the whole will probably find its way into the pockets of those legal gentlemen who will tell you without a blush, that in happy England justice can neither be sold nor delayed!

When I become King of Barataria, I will compel all decisions to be prompt and final. Thus shall I have an equal chance of doing justice in the first instance, while an unjust sentence will only injure one of the parties; whereas delay and cost are an injustice and probable ruin to both parties. No upper courts-no chancery, no appeal to the lords in my well-governed island; for what is the use of new trials, when you cannot escape from the all-pervading influence and exactions of the law?

The Persian merchant recorded by Saadi, was too wise to fall into this error. Complaining heavily of some unjust sentence in the lower court he was told by the judge that he might go to the cadi. "But the cadi is your uncle," urged the plaintiff.

"Then you may go to the grand vizier." "But his secretary is your cousin."

niece."

"Then you may go to the sultan."
"But his favourite sultana is your
"Well then, you may go to the devil."
"But your father died last week!"

H.

SONNET.

THE LOVER APPEALS TO NATURE.

YE winds, that waft upon your gentle wings
The mingling voices of ten thousand throats,
When sweet Aurora golden radiance flings

On earth's fair bosom, over which she floats
From the young east triumphant, like a Queen
That rises early from her virgin bed,
To meet her lover in their marriage morn;
Ye pearly drops, that spangle on the sheen
Of the green wood and flowers, and softly spread
Your milkier gems around the blooming thorn;
Ye streams that murmur in your pebbly bed,
Ye hills that echo to the huntsman's horn,

Your healing balm, in pity, round me shed,

And screen me from yon maiden's pride and scorn!

"Back her!" shouted the Captain, from the paddle-box of the Lively to the cabin-boy on the deck, who repeated the command to the engineer in the hold-and the paddles being reversed to order, the packet, with a retrograde motion, began to approach the pier, to which she was soon secured by a hawser. Her passage across the Channel had been a rough one: but as all passages come to an end at last, she had arrived in a French harbour and smooth water.

There is this advantage in a stormy voyage by sea, that it makes one land on a foreign soil as cordially as if it were native; and accordingly with the most perfect satisfaction, I found myself standing, high and dry in that seaport, the name of which Queen Mary of England, surnamed the Bloody, declared would be found engraven on her heart— the earliest instance, by the by, of lithography. For my own part, my heart was also deeply interested in the locality, which, to an Englishman is classical ground, and associated with literary fictions as well as historical facts. Not to name a certain slender figure of a Traveller in black, with a clerical wig and hat, my mind's eye was filled with the familiar phantoms of personages, almost as real to me as the place itself; and the very scenery in which they had played their parts, was shortly to be before me. With the help of a Calais touter, I had found my way to the wrong Hotel, the master of which stood bowing to me, as only a Frenchman can bow, and congratulating me—or rather all France -if not all Europe-on my safe arrival. In compliment to my nation, he pretended to use our native language, but of course it was a strange jargon-for it seems to be the pleasure of "our Sweet Enemy France" -as Sir Philip Sidney called her-since she cannot break our ranks, or our banks, or our hearts, winds, or spirits, to break our English. But my head and heart were too full of Monsieur Dessein, the Mendicant Monk, the Désobligeant, the Remise, the Fair Fleming, and the SnuffBox to notice or resent the liberties that were taken with our insular tongue.

"And now, Monsieur," said I, after bandying civilities which employed us to the top of the first flight of stairs-" and now, Monsieur, be pleased to show me the chamber which was occupied by the Author of the 'Sentimental Journey.'"

"La journée ?"

"Yes, the apartment of our Tristram Shandy." "L'appartement—triste—”

Exactly the room where he had that memorable interview with the Monk of the Franciscan order."

"Order?-ah!-oui-yes-you shall order, sare, what you will

please-"

"All in good time, Monsieur,-but I must first see the room that was tenanted by our immortal Sterne."

"Sterne !" ejaculated my host-" eh ?-Sterne ?-Diable l'emporte ! -it is de oder Hotel. Mon Dieu! c'est une drôle de chose-but de English pepels when dey come to Calais, dey always come Sterne foremost!"

IN Southampton-buildings, Chancery-lane, and near to that stronghold of lawyers called Staples Inn, stands a huge mass of buildings I called the Master's Offices. It is built in an unassuming style, and many a man from its appearance would pass it by as a place of no importance. He might, perhaps, take it for an overgrown banking-house, or an insurance-office of extraordinary dimensions. Those whose business has led them within its walls know the importance of it, to their cost-or rather by their costs.

Herein many a poor victim to the delays of Chancery has taken his last oath "before the Master." From its portals many a ruined suitor has rushed to hide his miseries-the results of "hope deferred”—beneath the turbid waters of the Thames, or paced silently and mournfully back to his wretched garret, to put an end to an existence which the troubled mind and wasted body rendered irksome and unbearable.

Thence, too, occasionally might have been seen to issue the joyful steps of the successful suitor, careless of the cost and trouble to which he has been put by some envious relative, to establish a claim to thousands of pounds-to broad acres and fertile lands, bequeathed to him by some near and dear relative. He has triumphed, and the joys of victory are his. All the delays, the irritating opposition, the fearful expenses, are forgotten-he has gained his suit. For the moment he is a happy man-he has not yet received his solicitor's bill.

On arriving at the passage which opens on the top of a flight of six or seven stone steps, you see on your left hand a door, which tells you in large black letters that it gives you access, if you wish it, to "The

Public Office."

Within, if you enter it, you will find a stout little gentleman, who stands with a small, black-bound testament in his hand, ready to administer an oath, which runs thus

"You swear that the contents of this your affidavit are true, so help you G-d, give me a shilling."

The former portion of this speech, which is repeated some sixty, seventy, or one hundred times a day while the Chancellor is sitting, is hurried over as rapidly as possible in order that the fat little man may have breath enough left to lay a proper emphasis on the latter part of it-the most important to himself, "Give me a shilling;" he sometimes adds, "and see that it is a good one." But that depends Jan.-VOL. LXIV. NO. CCLIII.

C

on his supply of wind, and the reputable or disreputable appearance of the swearer.

A little further on, a pair of folding-doors open on the left hand and disclose a large entrance-hall, with a comfortable stove burning to warm the hearts and hands of those whose fears of failure render them chilly and uncomfortable. Beyond this hall is a long wide passage, with doors in its walls placed at certain distances; each indicating by a name above it that it closes the offices of one of those fortunate individuals a Master in Chancery.

Into one of these, the first on the right hand, the chambers of "Master Snug," we will enter. The chambers comprise a suite of three apartments-not over sweet, as every room smokes and smells fusty-redolent of stale deeds and time-tinged parchments. The first or outer room is appropriated to the copying-clerk and his sub. The next to the Master's clerk, and the third and innermost room to the Master himself.

Our business, reader, is to be carried on in the outer room-the office of the copying-clerk.

Under a lofty, circular-topped window-a fine specimen of the chiaro-scuro from filth and smoke-are two desks, protected from invasion and the pressure from without, by a high screen of painted deal. At one of these sits the copying-clerk, Mr. Matthew Scrawler: vis-à-vis, and at the other desk lolls his sub, who is occupied, between the heats of copying some mysterious facts revealed by a deponent, in trying to wheedle a long, lank mass of hair on either side of his pale and unwholesome face, into a curl, such as he has seen worn by some fashionable in the West, whom he would fain make his model.

Matthew Scrawler was a pains-taking, industrious man, who had risen from a parish schoolboy in a country village to the dignity-for such he deemed it-of copying-clerk in a Master's office.

He had not been unpatronised in his early youth. Squiress Farmington, the most important personage in, and owner and Lady Bountiful of, the parish of Ashmoor, the place of his nativity, had observed and been pleased with the progress made by little Mat Scrawler in the parish school which she herself had founded and endowed.

66

She induced her husband to furnish her favourite and favoured pupil with a letter to his old friend and college chum, Mr. Snug, barristerat-law, and M.P. for the borough of Lotsofbiere, who wanted a clerk to brush his clothes and clean hie boots, answer the door," and run of errands. No other work had Mr. Snug's clerk to perform, because Mr. Snug had no work to do himself, and consequently could not employ a deputy.

With five shillings and this important note in his pocket, little Matthew, at the age of fifteen, was placed in the space behind the London wagon, which passed through the village of Ashmoor once a week in its way to the great metropolis. Being only fifty-seven miles from London, the wagon did the distance in three days-if we include the greater portion of the nights belonging to those three days.

Matthew arrived in town with just seven pence-halfpenny left out of Mrs. Farmington's gift of five shillings. He bought a tempting, an irresistible bun at a pastry-cook's in Holborn, as he passed along on his

way to Lincoln's Inn, and knocked somewhat timorously-gingerly, as he termed it, at the chambers of Mr. Snug.

That gentleman was fortunately within, getting up a speech which the prime minister had suggested on the "shameful practice of grumbling at taxation."

Mr. Snug had been staunch to his party, and he had had hints given him of suitable rewards to be bestowed upon him for his services. He determined to deserve those rewards, and to get up this his most important speech in a most praiseworthy and perfect manner.

He was haranguing his book-case, which he "made believe" was the assembled senate, in loud and energetic tones, rendered more forcible by an accompaniment of the favourite action called "the pump-handle movement," just as Matthew Scrawler gave the timid rap, which I have noticed, at his outer door. He dropped the arm which was working the imaginary pump-handle, and let his little clerk in.

Snug was pleased with the boy-the boy was fascinated with Snug. He was kind and condescending, and gave but little trouble, kind words, and what appeared to the boy an enormous salary, seven shillings a week. But in addition to this, Matthew had a warm room to sit in and a snug bed to sleep upon. Matthew was a happy boy; in him were illustrated the good effects of a scriptural education-for Matthew, like other boys, was exposed to many temptations; but unlike most boys, was able to resist them. Idleness is the root of evil, so our copy-books tell us; and Matthew might have been very idle, and tasted-and perhaps eaten largely of the root alluded to, had he not been taught to labour with his own hands. Though often tempted to join the little rogues who whistle cheerfully, and play at marbles, and pitch and toss everlastingly round the great pump in Lincoln's Inn, Matthew mustered resolution enough to resist so powerful a temptation.

An honest and worthy law-stationer, who lived nearly opposite to the pump-the fountain of joy to the idlers-had often seen Matthew's struggles, and by intuition-for he had once been a poor boy himself -understood the meaning of the wistful glances cast upon the taws and alleys, and the resolute closing of the mouth, which ensued as the little self-denier left them behind him, and retreated to his master's chambers.

He at last called the boy into his house, and having learnt his situation, offered to give him some work to do-namely, affidavits, bills of costs, and statements of facts to copy out, at one penny for every ninety words, figures being a bit of fat in "folio."

Matthew jumped, literally sprang off his feet at the offer, and soon proved himself to be one of the most industrious and efficient copiers that the law-stationer employed.

Little Matthew Scrawler worked on steadily and saved every shilling he earned, except what he remitted to his mother and father, until the time arrived when his master, Mr. Snug, was made a real "Master" in Chancery, as a reward for his unrelaxing support of his party, and his admirable and often-quoted speech on the "shameful practice of grumbling at taxation."

Then Matthew's years of toil and self-denial were rewarded. He