there are seldom very special accounts, for these things were not made the object of much inquiry anywhere. A remarkable feature, however, in the old French system, was the difficulty of getting a noble punished for anything he might do, even against people of his own rank. That principle of fellowship which the French call esprit de corps, influenced the judges who had no responsibility, such as our parliamentary system imparts; and they could not find it in their hearts to condemn to ignominious punishments people of their own order, however base their crimes might be.

In the old series of the Causes Célèbres, there are many remarkable instances of the difficulty of getting justice done by these courts; and conspicuous among them stands the tragedy of the De Gange family, belonging to the last quarter of the seventeenth century. It is a long story; but the broad outline is simple. The Marquis of Gange married a young, beautiful, and accomplished woman of large fortune. He had two brothers, one of them an abbé, who each attempted to seduce his wife; and being disappointed, prepared for revenge. The marquis himself joined them, disappointed that his wife did not make a sufficient sacrifice of fortune to him, and take some unusual steps under the old French feudal law, for putting all her estates out of her own power and into his. The three brothers made repeated attempts to poison her, which failed. They compelled her at last to drink a 'powerful corrosive poison, one of them holding a sword, and the other a pistol. It did not take immediate effect. She escaped, and was pursued. The house where she took refuge being inhabited by women only, and unprotected, the two brothers of her husband broke in and repeatedly stabbed her. Though many professed efforts were made, and there was much public outcry, none of the three was punished or even tried. The only person who suffered was a wretched priest of inferior rank, who had connived at their crimes, and he was sent to the galleys.

The seignorial jurisdictions throughout France were so numerous, that Voltaire said, a traveller had to change laws as often as he changed horses. The tyranny and fraud executed by the great nobles who presided in these local courts, can scarcely be conceived. Sometimes it became so flagrant, as to rouse the indignation of the central government, and a royal commission was sent to make a clean sweep of the mass of iniquities, release persons unjustly imprisoned, restore the dispossessed, and punish the tyrants. But the nobles all connived with each other; and when the royal commission had finished its business and departed, the reign of injustice was soon restored. One of the protections which the people of this country enjoy, is, as we have seen, the open jury system; another has been casually alluded to, in the judges being appointed by the crown, independent of local influences, and in reality responsible only to parliament, which represents all the interests and classes in the community. If mere local bodies had

supreme authority, there is reason to believe that they would be supremely tyrannical. They might not be so selfishly flagitious as the aristocratic judges of France, because their proceedings would be more open, and subject to the influence of public opinion; but they would be extremely bigoted towards the prevailing public opinion among themselves, and very intolerant and cruel to those who opposed it.

It is hoped that the foregoing sketches of the most prominent and remarkable features that have presented themselves to a reader of criminal proceedings and law-books, may amuse as well as instruct. In speaking of barbarous customs, or the proceedings under despotic governments, the author's views have naturally had a tendency to shew the method of administering justice in this country at the present day, in elevated contrast to such instances; but he would not have it supposed, that he is therefore blind to the many secondary defects which still attach to the system.

OME three hundred years ago, there lived in the good old city of Ghent a rich clothier and banker, by name Karl Rosenfelt. He was a man of mark and note, sage in counsel and eloquent in speech, a shrewd man of business, but, above all, a good and just citizen. His temper was merry, and no man at proper times was more jovial and pleasant. He was stout, rather tall, and altogether the very type of his class. His countenance was the reflection of the reality. It was intellectual, benevolent; and about his eyes and mouth there was an expression which warmed at once all who had occasion to address him. He had his faults -and who has not? He was obstinate to the last degree upon occasion, and rather timid in presence of physical danger. A bolder or firmer merchant, when facing commercial difficulties, has been rarely seen; but he shuddered at the sight of a sword, and when he travelled, lived in continual apprehension of attack and pillage. He was a widower, with one daughter, Edith, a very charming, simple, unaffected girl of seventeen, with a very peculiar education. Karl Rosenfelt intended her to be his successor. He certainly hoped that she would marry in due time, but he wished her to be able to carry on the business, if necessary, herself; at all

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events, to be able to understand her husband's affairs, and to aid with counsel and advice if needful.

Karl Rosenfelt lived in a grand old house, where he kept a good table, and where many a state affair had been discussed, to say nothing of the money that had changed hands. Karl negotiated loans even to princes; and although not an illiberal man, taking care where he lent, he became rich. He dealt in almost all the wholesale articles of the day; sold silks, and cloths, and spices, and even jewellery. There was then bustle and activity enough in Rosenfelt House. When Edith was seventeen, the house was in its most palmy days. Its reputation was European, and it had correspondents in every part of the known world; and yet Karl could never discover by their means any trace of his elder brother Paul, once a wild and passionate youth, who had in a moment of anger abandoned his father's residence, to seek fortune in the distant colonies, as a soldier. Now Karl loved his eccentric elder brother, and would have given much to have found him; but search was vain: so he contented himself with talking to Edith, and regretting the fate of the other. Karl was very rich, and he felt that, were his brother alive and poor, or dead, having left children behind him, he had enough for all. In the same benignant spirit, when one Rigardin, a French clerk, robbed him and fled, he made no active search, for he said: 'Ungrateful rascal though he be, he has injured himself most. I am not less considered, or even much less rich, while he is ruined. Let him go.'

To replace Rigardin, who had been a confidential clerk, Karl took, on the strong recommendation of a Paris correspondent, one Leon Gondy, a well-educated youth, who, wishing to learn business in Ghent, came gladly to the place. Leon Gondy, when our story commences, had been six months with the house of Rosenfelt. He was about nineteen, an eager scholar, attentive, but silent and thoughtful. He never neglected business; but often when his occupation was over, he would retire to his room, and remain for hours shut up, there devoting himself to meditation and the study of the poetical romances of the day, which, however crude and vapid in general, were the forerunners of great things. But Leon was none the worse at his figures, wrote a clear, good letter, and prepared the private books of his employer with diligence and patience. Karl liked him at once, and soon treated him as one of his own family, admitting him regularly into his intimacy, and making him the constant companion of his daughter. The two young people were soon great friends, and were a great mutual resource. Karl had too much good sense not to be fully prepared for the consequences. He knew many young men whom he would, in one sense, have preferred as a husband for his daughter, but Leon was the only one who was placed in the circumstances which he thought likely to conduce to her happiness. Karl had

no idea of happiness apart from the house: he wished his children to grow up identified with it-a part of it; and as the education

of Leon was in his hands, he thought he could insure the continued prosperity of his fortune and the future wellbeing of his child at the same time.

As yet, however, he interfered in no way; he allowed things to take their course, and seemed occupied only with the commercial education of the young people. He soon had the satisfaction of perceiving that what he wished was likely to happen. Leon and Edith seemed never happy save in each other's society. They talked, they read, they sang, and they played the spinet together; they were often silent and contemplative; Leon would watch the door with unwearied patience when she was out; and, in fact, there were very evident signs of what was going on. Leon began soon to be sad, very sad: Edith naïvely asked him what was the matter, but he did not know. At last he said, that he thought his native air would do him good, and that he must return to France.

But

Karl was astonished to find his daughter in tears one morning, and still more so that she could not explain why. Some time after, however, she mentioned timidly, by the way, that Leon was about to ask for his dismissal on the plea of ill health. Karl smiled, and thought the time was come for him to interfere.

II.

Karl was wont to sit in the evening in a large old-fashioned arm-chair, by a table, in a room furnished in the antique Flemish style, richly but heavily. A lamp illumined the table, on which rested some books, either of devotion or travels. Near him sat knitting a kind of half-attendant, half-duenna, who had waited on Edith from infancy, and was privileged to be wherever she pleased. Leon and Edith in general sat near a spinet, by the side of which was a table; here she worked when he read to her or talked. Sometimes they turned to the spinet, and played or sang. On the evening in question, things were as I have described. Leon was speaking in a low tone to Edith, who scarcely answered.

'Has anything happened while you have been in my house to displease or offend you?' asked Karl, suddenly raising his head, and addressing Leon.

'No, sir, nothing,' replied the young man, colouring up, and looking very much amazed, while Edith continued steadfastly at

her work.

Then why do you propose leaving us?' continued Karl.

"Why, sir, I do not feel very well; and I fancied-I thought -that-that my native air'

'Hum! Now my idea, Master Leon, is, that you are as well as ever you were in your life, but that you have some secret cause of regret that you wish for something which you suppose you cannot have. Now be a man, and speak out!'