Mr. Gardener Stewart then approached Miss, Ridley, and made several observations to her in the best possible taste, and tone of elegant.inanity; and here ended, as he conceived, his domestic duties for the day; for he remained no longer in the room after wards than was necessary for taking his coffee, and the chasse' by which he always followed it, stealing away as unobtrusively - as might be.

It was then that Mr. Mortimer thought it time to assert his right to the undivided attention of Miss Ridley; and as no one thought proper to dispute it with him, Constance enjoyed the great delight of hearing him talk without interruption in his own sweet whisper, till the carriage of Mrs. Hartley was announced; when she again received the thanks of her gentle hostess for the favour she had

done her, and departed, deeply impressed with the conviction that her friend Penelope had never blundered so completely as when she mistook the soft languor of Mrs. Gardener Stewart for impertinence; and conscious only that from some cause or other the visit she had made her was by far more delight. ful than any other she had yet enjoyed. But whether this were owing to the flattering reception she had met from her, or from the marked attention of Mr. Mortimer, or to the pleasure she had felt from her conversation with Mr. Rolfe, or from the general interest of all she had listened to at the dinner-table, she was unable to decide; the only point upon which she had no doubt being, that the day must ever be remembered as one of the brightest of her life.

a

A

CHAPTER XX.

BILLET-DOUX AND AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE.

To Penelope, and Penelope alone, did Constance, on the following morning, relate the concluding circumstance of her last night's adventures, and to her confided the care of so arranging matters as to permit of her hearing whatever Mr. Mortimer might wish to say, without interruption.

As to what he wishes to say, Constance,' replied her friend, there cannot, as you must well know, be the slightest doubt; and therefore I would strongly advise your taking mamma into your confidence, who would settle the where, and the how, for you,

much better than I can.'

'Impossible!' cried Constance vehemently, and colouring to her very temples. • You are quite mistaken, Penelope, in supposing that I have not the slightest doubt-and just imagine my feelings and condition, if it should happen to turn out that I am wrong! Fancy my having to make a speech to Mrs. Hartley, to the effect that I must have mistak en Mr. Mortimer's obliging manners as being something more particular than he intended-for that he had only called to say something about-something else."

Penelope smiled, and fixing an earnest gaze upon her friend, said, 'Constance! You doubt, as you say, the nature of Mr. Mortimer's errand, and I, on my side, doubt your O no, Constance, you being in love. not speak thus, if you were.'

could

'What can make you say that, Penelope ? I am scarcely at this moment in a position to boast of a sentiment which as yet, you know, I ought, by every law of maidenhood, to conceal in my own breast. But should Mr. Mortimer really and truly ask me to become his wife, you will find that you have been altogether mistaken, if you suppose I shall refuse him,' said Constance, somewhat reproachfully.

Whether Constance looked lovelier than ever because she was so happy, or whether the admiration she evidently inspired in Mr. Fitzosborne, led Mr. Mortimer to be more aware than ever that he could not live without her, might also have been matter of doubt; but certain it is that as the poet escorted her to the carriage, he asked her, in tone and manner that to the most inexperienced could admit but of one interpretation, whether he might hope to find her disengaged, if he did himself the honour of calling on her at four o'clock on the following day? If any sound accompanied the assenting bow which replied to this agitating question, it was inaudible to Mr. Mortimer; but he 'I thank you for that opinion, most grateseemed satisfied, and bending low his uncovered head as the carriage drove off, sent her fully,' returned Constance, with something ered head as the carriage drove off, sent her in the slightest degree in the world approachhome with a heart throbbing so violently as to prevent her closing her eyes in sleep, tilling to a toss of her beautiful head; I may long after the hour which at Appleby was

wont to witness her waking.

Penelope, still looking at her with an inquiring and a puzzled eye, replied, Then you are in love with him, my Constance! For sure am I, that were he the first match in Europe, you would not accept him if it

were otherwise.'

hope, then, that your judgment of me is not exactly that of my admirable new friend, Lady Dort, who having, it seems, remarked that both Mr. Mortimer and Mr. Fitzosborne had done me the honour of offering

me an arm to get through the crowd, actually, mature female age, think it needful to check found time, in the midst of all her multitu- the eager feelings of manly prime, suggest dinous fine speeches, to whisper in my ear, to her remembrance that I am the same indi"Remember, belle des belles,"-(I do begin vidual, and no other, who almost in boyhood to think her very odious)-" remember that saved your "belle vie" (as the immortal the poet Mortimer is, comparatively speak- Molière calls the vital spark), and who, ing, a poor man, and not highly born; through nearly the whole course of his whereas the Fitzosborne is nobly connected, young life, has watched over you with care and immensely rich!" Was it not most beyond his years, and an interest almost too atrociously impertinent?' grave for one of his character to feel. But there are miracles besides those written in the lives of the saints!

'Pas mal,' replied Penelope, laughing. 'But to return to the real hero. You may depend, dearest Constance, upon my doing my very best to favour your wishes for a tête-à-tête-but, as you well know, I am not omnipotent. The best way will be for us both to decline the after-luncheon drive today. That will probably induce Margaret and Caroline to go-and then the business will be easy enough. I will be in my bedroom and you shall be in the drawing-room when Mr. Mortimer arrives.'

The flutter of spirits in which poor Constance passed the hours of this eventful morning may be imagined without much difficulty; her complexion varied from red to pale, and from pale to red, as if in the first state of a malignant fever, while her fingers trembled so as to make the mere appearance of using her needle a matter of difficulty.

In this state of things it was really a relief and a blessing to have her attention taken off from herself and her palpitations by having a letter presented to her. It was of delicate texture, and very highly scented, so that Constance, notwithstanding her absence of mind, immediately divined that it was from a lady-nay, even suspected that no hand less delicate than that of Mrs. Gardener Stewart could have despatched it to her. This idea, despite of all the more powerful emotions which at that moment filled her breast, gave her considerable pleasure, and she opened it eagerly; but instead of what she hoped for and expected, she found the following lines:

'I too well know that a soupçon-Ah, more than a soupçon of what has long existed, but has never yet met the blaze of day, must render the appearance of this little envoy a matter of less surprise than-thanAh! ma charmante demoiselle! where can I find une expression' assez douce, assez modeste, to suit at once your feelings and my own? Mais, où suis-je ? Moi? Moi, qui aime tellement la douce légèreté de la jeunesse, est-ce moi qui veut écrire comme un vieux radoteur? Forbid it, youth! forbid it, joy! In one word, I come to wait upon you; and lest your amiable friend Mrs. Hartley should, in the chilling prudence of

'Such being my claims, ma charmante demoiselle, I confess that I do not anticipate finding the doors which enclose you shut against me when I appear before them. In this hope, chantons, dansons! Ah, vive la folie!

Ever, with profound consideration,
'Your devoted

'WILLIAM WESTON.'

An epistle from such a correspondent at such a moment would have obtained little attention, had it been less absurd; but not all the gravity of the case to which the critical moment that was approaching gave birth, could altogether destroy its effect, and Constance laughed heartily; nor did she laugh alone; Mr. William Weston's letter was respectfully submitted to Mrs. Hartley, and counsel asked as to the answer to be returned to it.

Upon my word, my dear Miss Ridley,' she said, 'I feel the reasoning of this young Mr. Weston to be unanswerable; and I think that the only reply you can give, is an assurance that he will be welcome. be necessary to prepare yourself, my dear, But it will for what is to follow. Of course you perceive that it is the intention of this playful youth to offer himself to your acceptance?'

'Do you really think that he will ever be steady enough to do so grave a thing, Mrs. Hartley?' returned Constance.

'I do indeed, my dear. He hints that it will be a miracle, but, nevertheless, depend upon it, it will be done; and what shall say to him?'

you

"I shall tell him that he is too young.' 'And if he reminds you that every day will amend that involuntary fault, and assures you, morcover, as I am quite sure he will do, that his young life is in your hands, and that he shall infallibly die if you refuse him-what will you say then?'

'Why, then, I will tell him that, being conscious that the gravity of my character does not accord with the gaiety of his, I feel compelled by a sense of duty to decline the honour he offers me, but that, should I ever marry, I would endeavour so to educate one

of my daughters as to make her in all ways | self alone in Mrs. Hartley's drawing-room, worthy of becoming his wife.' with the knowledge that Penelope had told the man-servant who remained at home, that if any persons called and inquired for Miss Ridley, they were to be let in.

Luckily for her, the party were making themselves too heartily merry to remark it, and her sympathizing friend Penelope skilfully covered her retreat from the mirth of which she was the subject, by declaring it to be evident, that though she said little, she thought much on the proposal which was His first glance was round the room, to about to be made to her, and was preparing ascertain that they were alone; the next was herself to receive it comme il faut. 'Is not at the blushing face of Constance, wherein he this true, Constance?' she demanded, look-read-not strange matters, for full well he ing at her with a good deal of mischievous meaning.

it seeks to hide! Constance! my Constance! | pealing only to their own hearts for the exHow little need of words have hearts that speak as ours do now!'

ceeding rich reward which ever accompanies a righteous and conscientious discharge of duty. But there is another and a stronger should occupy our attention. It is because reason why such men as Judge Burton his conduct, if properly studied, and his example, if carefully followed, cannot fail to produce a salutary effect, for he is one of the greatest living instances of the fortune, fame, and honour which accompany laborious industry. An Englishman and a stranger among us, confiding only in his own abilior connexions, or any of those artificial aids ties, without patronage, without family ties which force up the young lawyer like a hothouse cucumber, he relied on himself-after all, the safest, surest, and most permanent of supports. He had none of those accessories to success which might whisk him aloft into that bright land to which so many aspire, and in which, after they have floated joyously for a moment, they come down like Bacon's rocket, a blackened stick, after the slight

combustible matter is exhausted. Not so with Judge Burton. Chancery friends or familiars he had none; he had to make them all for himself, and did make them. We venerate the man who could make the difficulties which would be ruinous to an ordina

WE have ranged over an ample space in our sketches of the eminent men of the past and present times who adorn the Irish barry disposition, serviceable in giving strength to us a not unpleasant task, and to the members of our profession we hope not unprofitable. The portraits which we attempted to

draw were limited to such characters as

and perfection to his qualities. He brought to the study of the law a resolute purpose and a philosophical mind, and never quitted it until by degrees the whole subject, in all its relations and consequences, was spread out before his view. At first timid and nervous, and with a mind apparently ill adapted for the struggles and contentions of the forum, he overcame this amiable weakness, and hardened himself gradually for the encounter. The courts of law are no theatre to be trodden by men of pensive spirits and delicate sensibilities. They are, to these countries, what the Olympic games were to Greece; and when a Pindar shall arise to sing the triumphs achieved in our modern Elis, he must chant the praises of heroes who have gloried in the dust, and sweat, and turmoil of blackletter strife of men thick-skinned, buoyant, bold, and fearless-intrepid in attack, quick in recovering from defeat, prompt in all kinds of resources, and unscrupulous in their application.

shone on the professional stage, their political conduct being merely incidental. The very names of such men are a confession of their great intellectual superiority; their deeds form a part, and a not unimportant part, of the national history, and it was just and necessary, both as a picture of the past and a guide to the future, to exhibit them in their amplest proportions. But we should only discharge half our duty if we were to confine ourselves to the characters of those men, unquestionable as were their merits, and great as were their services. There are others not less worthy of notice, even though they do not command the national reverence by public displays in the field of politics, whose tranquil but useful existence is spent in far different scenes, shunning the public gaze from a natural and modest reserve of disposition, but whose virtues for that very reason We have remarked that the example of are more deserving of record. They have Judge Burton is well worthy the attention of proceeded quietly on their mission of justice, our rising generation of lawyers. It is far avoiding the turbulence and inquietude of safer to take him as a model, and, by emulatpublic life, content to remain in the shade ing his industry and activity of mind, to acwhile others basked in the sunlight, and ap-quire that deserved success which followed

* Continued from vol. xi. p. 291,

his honourable efforts, than to strain after unattainable heights of excellence, which it is

firm for whom he was engaged, and which,
if concealed, would considerably lessen the
value of the property. Curran was no bad
judge of character-he saw in Mr. Burton
all the elements of professional power-he
made him an offer to enter his employment,
and it was accepted. That he discharged his
duties ably and faithfully, is proved by the
fact that a lasting friendship was the result-
that Curran adopted every means to promote
the interests of his friend, and when that
great man lay on his deathbed at Brompton,
he sent for Mr., then Serjeant, Burton, and
he was the last person whom he recognized.
All Curran's business passed through his
hands-he noted his briefs, and made
up
his
arguments. We heard an eminent solicitor
say, that he was once despatched with a very
heavy brief in a very important cause to
Curran, who was then circulating his flashes
of wit and merriment at the dinner-table, and
he wrote with a pencil on a slip of paper,
Carry the brief to Mr. Burton, but I will
thank you for the fee. Our informant did
so; Mr. Burton happened to be also at din-
ner-a very light one-a small roll, coffee,
and an egg or two. He had companions too
in the shape of a pile of law-books, which he
consulted alternately with a draught of the
sober berry's decoction.

very pleasant to aspire to, but not one in a land what pleased him above all was the thousand is destined to realize. Lord Brough- manly fairness and honesty with which he am somewhere relates a story which illus- developed circumstances known only to the trates what we say. A young and very ambitious gentleman, of no mean order of intellect, who had worked diligently to acquire the knowledge and habits of composition which are essential to oratorical distinction, and was entering on the profession of the bar, had never been present at any great display of those powers which he was anxious to acquire. He was accordingly taken by a friend to the gallery of the House of Commons when a subject of deep national interest was being discussed, and, as it happened, with a fair degree of eloquence. On his way back he became meditative, and when asked by his friend whether he might not go and do likewise, replied, 'It is useless to pursue the matter any further; such powers of eloquence I can never hope to attain, for I can not even form any notion how such things are done;' on which his lordship very pithily and appropriately remarks, that if this young man had heard a tolerable third-rate speaker, he would not, most probably, have arrived at the position in which the most eloquent thinker of his day, Gibbon, found himself, when the bad speakers filled him with alarm, and the great ones with despair. If this young man were Irish, and had listened to Plunkett or Bushe, he might have come to the same conclusion; but had he pitched on a lower and more sober level, like Judge He continued in Curran's employment for Burton, instead of yielding to despair, some years, and in the mean time prepared and abandoning the bar, he would have per- himself for the bar, to which he was called suaded himself to follow his example: though in 1792. Almost immediately he got into failing in the lines of exertion which led to excellent practice, and became remarkable the height where 'fame's proud temple for the conscientious application of his time shines afar,' and of making his name echoed and knowledge to the business with which through the world, yet the avenues to a he was entrusted. The attorneys are a samore solid though less dazzling success re-gacious and quick-scented race-they soon mained open to him, which laborious industry might reasonably lead him to attain.

It is not true, as is generally said, that Curran was introduced to Mr. Burton in England, and that he brought him over to this country. The facts, as we have heard, are these. Mr. Burton conducted the busi

ness of a very eminent firm in London, and was sent over to Ireland on the subject of a purchase of property. He had an interview with the Irish solicitor whose counsel Curran was, and by him he was first introduced to the great advocate. Curran, who was never a very profound lawyer, and did not comprehend the very intricate questions in which the purchase was involved, had various meetings with Mr. Burton on the subject, and found him not only shrewd and sensible on matters of fact, but deeply versed in matters of law, which excited his astonishment;

discovered in Mr. Burton, whose professional aptitude was before known to many of them from his connection with Curran, exactly that sort of man they wanted. Legal knowledge was then more sparingly dif fused through the bar than at present, while business was more abundant. Men's minds were too ambitiously directed-a seat in Parliament was of far more importance than the science of pleading-success in oratory was more highly prized than the tardy drudgery of the law. Like the prince in the fairy tale, all panted for the precious stones that hung on the boughs of the lofty palm tree, but spurned the more valuable but less dazzling gems that lay in their path. We are very far from saying that we had not then able lawyers-some even greater than we have had since; but as a profession the law was not the sole and separate pursuit of