And made me mount upon the bare ridge,

T' avoid a wretcheder miscarriage."

The lawyer approves his case, and would like to have it his own case.

"But we that practise dare not own;
The law severely contrabands

Our taking bus'ness off men's hands;
'Tis common barratry, that bears
Point-blank an action 'gainst our ears,
And crops them till there is not leather
To stick a pen in left of either;
For which some do the summer-sault,
And o'er the bar, like tumblers, vault:
But you may swear at any rate,
Things not in nature for the state;
For in all courts of justice here
A witness is not said to swear,

But make oath, that is, in plain terms,
To forge whatever he affirms.

I thank you, quoth the Knight, for that,
Because 'tis to my purpose pat;

For Justice, tho' she's painted blind,

Is to the weaker side inclin’d,

Like charity: else right and wrong

Cou'd never hold it out so long,

And like blind fortune, with a sleight,

Convey men's interest and right

From Stiles's pocket into Nokes's,

As easily as hocus pocus;

Plays fast and loose, makes men obnoxious;

And clear again, like hiccius doctius."

His lawyer also counsels him to

"Retain all sorts of witnesses,

That ply i' th' Temple, under trees;

Or walk the round, with knights o' th' posts,
About the cross-legg'd knights, their hosts;
Or wait for customers between

The pillar-rows in Lincoln's-Inn,
Where vouchers, forgers, common-bail,
And affidavit-men ne'er fail

T'expose to sale all sorts of oaths,
According to their ears and clothes,
Their only necessary tools,

Besides the Gospel, and their souls;
And when ye're furnished with all purveys,
I shall be ready at your service."

Of the nature of an oath, Hudibras says,

"Oaths were not purpos'd, more than law,
To keep the good and just in awe,
But to confine the bad and sinful,
Like mortal cattle in a pinfold."

In short, Hudibras bristles all over with accurate knowledge of law, and scathing sarcasms on its ministers and administration. Butler's correct use of law-phrases is not singular when we learn that he was for some years clerk to a justice, but nothing short of genius can account for his remarkable insight into the human mind and human motives.

РОРЕ.

Pope has immortalized one lawyer, Mr. Fortescue, to whom his First Satire is addressed :—

"I come to counsel learned in the law:

You'll give me like a friend, both sage and free,
Advice, and (as you use) without a fee."

Fortescue was the author of the humorous report in

Scriblerus, "Straddling versus Stiles," in which this nice.

point is discussed with professional phraseology and due gravity: "Sir John Swale of Swalehall, in Swaledale, by the river Swale, knight, made his last will and testament, in which, among other bequests, was this; viz., 'Out of the kind love and respect that I bear unto my muchhonored and good friend, Mr. Matthew Straddling, gent., I do bequeath unto the said Matthew Straddling, gent., all my black and white horses.' The testator had six black horses, six white horses, and six pied horses. The debate, therefore, was whether or no the said Matthew Straddling should have the said pied horses by virtue of the said bequest." The case is ably debated, though not at such length as legal cases usually are, when it is suddenly terminated by a motion in arrest of judgment, that the pied horses were mares; and thereupon an inspection. was prayed!

Fortescue in 1738 was master of the rolls, but he would never have been remembered by posterity had it not happened that he worked for a poet for nothing.

BLACKSTONE,

who had a great passion and genius for literature, gave up every thing for the law; but his legal acquirements and talents, although large, were not distinguished enough to have given him immortality, unless they had been joined with that elegant style which makes his Commentaries so delightful. The following is his melodious and playful "Farewell to the Muse," written in 1744:

"As by some tyrant's stern command
A wretch forsakes his native land,
In foreign climes condemned to roam,

An endless exile from his home;

Pensive he treads the destin'd way,
And dreads to go, nor dares to stay;
Till on some neighb'ring mountain's brow
He stops, and turns his eye below;
There, melting at the well-known view,
Drops a last tear, and bids adieu:
So I, thus doom'd from thee to part,
Gay queen of Fancy and of Art,
Reluctant move, with doubtful mind,
Oft stop, and often look behind.

Companion of my tender age,
Serenely gay and sweetly sage,
How blithesome were we wont to rove
By verdant hill or shady grove,
Where fervent bees, with humming voice,
Around the honey'd oak rejoice,
And aged elms with aweful bend
In long cathedral walks extend !
Lulled by the lapse of gliding floods,
Cheer'd by the warbling of the woods,
How blest my days, my thoughts how free,
In sweet society with thee!

Then all was joyous, all was young,
And years unheeded rolled along;
But now the pleasing dream is o'er,

These scenes must charm me now no more:
Lost to the field, and torn from you—
Farewell! — a long, a last adieu.

Me wrangling courts and stubborn Law
To smoak and crowds and cities draw:
There selfish Faction rules the day,
And Pride and Av'rice throng the way;
Diseases taint the murky air,
And midnight conflagrations glare;

Loose Revelry and Riot bold

In frighted street their orgies hold;
Or when in silence all is drown'd,
Fell murder walks her lonely round:
No room for Peace, no more for you;
Adieu, celestial nymph, adieu!

Shakespeare no more, thy sylvan son,
Nor all the art of Addison,

Pope's heav'n strung lyre, nor Waller's ease,
Nor Milton's mighty self must please;
Instead of these, a formal band

In furs and coifs around me stand:
With sounds uncouth and accents dry,
That grate the soul of harmony,
Each pedant sage unlocks his store
Of mystic, dark, discordant lore,
And points with tott'ring hand the ways
That lead me to the thorny maze.

There, in a winding, close retreat,
Is Justice doom'd to fix her seat:
There, fenc'd by bulwarks of the Law,
She keeps the wond'ring world in awe,
And there, from vulgar sight retir'd,
Like eastern queens is more admired.

Oh, let me pierce the secret shade
Where dwells the venerable maid!
There humbly mark, with rev'rent awe,
The guardian of Britannia's Law,
Unfold with joy her sacred page
(Th' united boast of many an age,
Where mix'd, yet uniform, appears
The wisdom of a thousand years).