in doing so, for he did not make himself known,) and I took care he should feel my gratitude." [It is stated in the Law Magazine, that Lord Eldon had once done an act of great kindness to the man's father.]

This was the period of Erskine's greatest triumph, and he availed himself of his popularity to come to the rescue of his antagonist. "I will not go on without the Attorney-General," was his frequent call to the mob, as they crowded round his carriage to attend him home. Some years afterwards he was relating, in Lord Eldon's presence, how his horses were taken out by the mob at the conclusion of Hardy's trial. "Yes," added Lord Eldon, "and I hear you never saw more of them." The laugh was against Erskine, though the fact may be regarded as apocryphal.

A CRYING SCENE.

At the above trial, in concluding his speech against Horne Tooke, the Attorney-General (Scott) fell into the habitual error of justifying his character. "It is the little inheritance I have to leave to my children, and, by God's help, I will leave it unimpaired." Here he shed tears; and, to the astonishment of the Court, the Solicitor-General (Mitford), began to weep in concert. "Just look at Mitford," said a bystander to Horne Tooke, "what on earth is he crying for?" "He is crying to think of the little inheritance Scott's children are likely to get."

LORD ELDON'S DOUBT.

It has been humorously said that Eldon loved an if as much as Tristram Shandy hated one. At the Bar, he lost all his opinion-giving business, by his attachment to this little word; on the Bench, he did all that in him lay to neutralize his utility by means of it. In allusion to Lord Erskine's fondness for the first person singular, the wits of the Antijacobin apologized for not reporting the whole of one of his speeches, because the printer had no I's left-they might have apologized for not reporting Lord Eldon's judgments for want of types to print his innumerable ifs, buts, and thoughs. As he grew older he grew worse; and, latterly, there was hardly any chance of getting him to utter a sentence without

So

a saving clause. Sir Samuel Romilly observes that this habit was the more provoking, because Lord Eldon was hardly ever known to differ from his first impression. well was this understood, that it was not at all unusual for parties to settle causes out of court, as soon as his impression could be collected.

LENDING BOOKS.

Lord Eldon lent two large volumes of precedents to a friend, and could not recollect to whom. In allusion to such borrowers, he observed, that "though backward in accounting, they seemed "to be practised in book-keeping."

HOW JEKYLL WAS MADE A MASTER IN CHANCERY.

one.

Lord Chancellor Eldon lived in No. 6, Bedford-square, from 1804 to 1815, and here occurred the memorable interview between his Lordship and the Prince Regent, afterwards George IV. The Prince came alone to the Chancellor's house, and, upon the servant opening the door, observed, that, as his Lordship had the gout, he knew he must be at home, and therefore desired that he might be shown up to the room where the Chancellor was. The servant said he was too ill to be seen, and that he had also positive orders to show in no The Prince then asked to be shown the staircase, which he immediately ascended, and pointing first to one door, then to another, asking, "Is that your master's room?" The servant answered "No," until he came to the right one; upon which he opened the door, seated himself by the Chancellor's bedside, and asked him to appoint his friend Jekyll, the great wit, to the vacant office of Master in Chancery. The Chancellor refused there could be no more unfit appointment. The Prince, perceiving the humour of the Chancellor, and that he was firm in his determination not to appoint him, threw himself back in the chair, and exclaimed, "How I do pity Lady Eldon!" "Good heaven!" said the Chancellor, "what is the matter?" "Oh, nothing," answered the Prince, "except that she will never see you again, for here I remain until you promise to make Jekyll a Master in Chancery." Jekyll, of course, obtained the appointment.-P. Cunningham.

LORD ELDON AS A WHIP..

We obtain a vivid idea of the bigoted but kindly old Chancellor, and the vast good humour of the Solicitor-General Campbell in his new honours-which, if Lord Eldon had had his way, he would never have reached-through an anecdote related by Lord Campbell himself. Eldon and his son are walking in Piccadilly, when some one drives past them in a cabriolet, takes off his hat, and makes a low bow. "Who is that who treats me with respect now I am nobody?" inquires Lord Eldon. His son replies, "It is Sir John Campbell, the Whig Solicitor-General.” "I wonder what they would have said of me," exclaimed the ex-Chancellor, "if I had driven about in a cabriolet when I was Solicitor-General?" "I will tell you what they would have said, 'There goes the greatest lawyer and the worst whip in all England.'"

LORD CHIEF JUSTICE TENTERDEN.

Lord Tenterden is placed in a very amiable point of view by Macready, the celebrated tragedian, in a lecture which he delivered to a Mechanics' Institute after he had retired from the stage. The lecturer gives an account of a visit paid by him to Canterbury Cathedral, under the auspices of a verger, who, by reading and observation, had acquired considerable knowledge of architecture and medieval antiquities. Having introduced us to his guide, the ex-tragedian thus proceeds: "He directed my attention to everything worthy of notice; pointed out with the detective eye of taste the more recondite excellence of art throughout the building, and with convincing accuracy shed light on the historical traditions associated with it. It was opposite the western front that he stood with me before what seemed the site of a small shed or stall, then unoccupied, and said, 'Upon this spot a little barber's shop used to stand. The last time Lord Tenterden came down here he brought his son Charles with him, and it was my duty, of course, to attend them over the cathedral. When we came to this side of it he led his son up to this very spot, and said to him, "Charles, you see this little shop; I have brought you here on purpose to show it to you. In that shop your grandfather used to shave for a penny! That is the proudest reflection of my life! While you live never forget

that, my dear Charles.'" And this man, the son of a poor barber, was the Lord Chief Justice of England. For the very reason, therefore, that the chances of such great success are rare, we should surely spare no pains in improving the condition of all whom accident may depress, or fortune may not befriend."

Of the few defects of Lord Tenterden, the greatest was his different measure of patience and courtesy for different classes -even for different individuals. It could not be said of him

that he was no respecter of persons; though his conduct in this matter was confined to mere accident of outward behaviour and manners-nothing beyond that. When, on one occasion, he had, with some roughness, addressed to a witness, who was looking another way, an advice not unusual with him, and not very delicately concluded, to "hold up his head, and speak out like a man," it was amusing to observe the fall of both countenance and voice when the witness turned upon the judge the face of the chairman of the Honourable East India Company.

Mr. Brougham, when at the bar, opened before Lord Tenterden an action for the amount of a wager laid upon the event of a dog-fight, which, through some unwillingness of dogs or men, had not been brought to an issue. "We, my Lord," said the advocate, were minded that the dogs should fight.' "Then I," replied the Judge, am minded to hear

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no more of it :" and he called another cause.

Lord Tenterden had been strongly advised, some time before his death, not to attend his Court; but he replied, "I have public duties to perform; and while it pleases God to preserve my mental faculties, I will perform those duties—physical suffering I can and will bear." A little more than a week before his death, he was told were he to continue to set the advice of his medical attendants at defiance, it was impossible he could live; but a little rest and retirement would restore him to comparative health. "I know better," he replied; "my days are numbered; but I will perform my duty to the last." The following occurrence is stated to have happened previous to his death. He had been sinking the whole night, but generally retained his faculties. Towards morning he became restless and slightly delirious; all at once he set up in his bed, and with a motion of his hand, as if dipping his pen in the inkstand, as he had been accustomed to do on the

bench, said distinctly, "Gentlemen of the jury, you are discharged." He then fell back in his bed, and almost immediately expired!

The last speech delivered by Lord Tenterden was upon the Reform Bill of 1831-2, when he concluded with his wellknown vow: "Never, never, my Lords, shall I enter the doors of this House after it has become the phantom of its departed greatness."

A COOL HAND.

When Mr. John Clerk (afterwards Lord Eldin,) was at the Bar, he was remarkable for the sang froid with which he treated the judges. On one occasion, a junior counsel, on hearing their Lordships give judgment against his client, exclaimed that he was 66 surprised at such a decision." This was construed into a contempt of court, and he was ordered to attend at the bar the next morning. Fearful of the consequences, he consulted his friend, John Clerk, who told him to be perfectly at ease, for he would apologise for him in a way that would avert any unpleasant result. Accordingly, when the name of the delinquent was called, John Clerk rose, and coolly addressed the assembled tribunal thus: "I am very sorry, my Lords, that my young friend has so forgotten himself as to treat your honourable bench with disrespect he is extremely penitent, and you will kindly ascribe his unintentional insult to his ignorance. You must see at once that it did originate in that. He said he was surprised at the decision of your Lordships. Now, if he had not been very ignorant of what takes place in this court every day— had he known you but half so long as I have done he would not be surprised at anything you did."

CURRAN'S WIT AND HUMOUR,

Curran is described as "the wildest, wittiest, dreamiest student of old Trinity," who, in the event of being called before the Fellows for wearing a dirty shirt, could only plead as an excuse that he had but one. Poverty followed his steps for some years after this; instead of briefs to argue before the judge, he was arousing the idle crowd in the path with his wit and eloquence.

When he lived upon Hog-hill, he used to say that his wife and children were the chief furniture of his apartments