The remark has been made, in relation to the professions, that "physicians are the most learned, lawyers the most amusing, and then come the clergy." We can very readily answer for the eccentricity, good humor, wit and life, which have characterized the bar; and, if it be not beneath the dignity of our article, shall narrate a few of its anecdotes.

Sargeant Hill was altogether an odd fellow; abstraction was his forte. Arguing a point on one occasion, he drew out a plated candlestick from his bag, and gravely presented it to the court; some one having, it seemed, substituted a traveller's bag in place of the sargeant's. At another time, he appeared at court with some derangement of his dress; the counsel near him observing it, whilst he was conducting one of his most profound arguments, whispered, "your breeches are unbuttoned." The learned sargeant, thinking it a hint connected with his cause, proceeded with all possible gravity, "my lords, the plaintiff's breeches were unbuttoned."

Lamb was complaining that the more he spoke in public, the more diffident he grew; as if it were strange, rejoined Erskine, that a lamb should grow sheepish. A strange humor possessed Erskine to witness fires, so that, according to Sheridan, a chimney could not smoke in the borough without his knowledge.

Mansfield was remarkably handsome. He was sitting to Sir Joshua Reynolds for a portrait, and being asked if he thought the likeness a good one, "Really, Sir Joshua, I cannot tell," said the old lord, "I have not seen my face in a looking glass for thirty years: my servant dresses me."

But, perhaps, the happiest fellow for fun and frolic that the bar has ever produced, was the celebrated Irish barrister, Curran. A volume might be occupied almost with his bon mots alone. He was ready for every occasion, and seemed to draw upon resources that were inexhaustible. "I can't tell you, Curran," observed an Irish nobleman, who had voted for the Union, "how frightful our old house of commons appears to me." "Ah! my Lord," replied the other, "it is only natural for murderers to be afraid of ghosts." A deceased judge had a defect in one of his limbs, from which, when he walked, one foot described almost a circle round the other. Mr. Curran being asked how his lordship still contrived to walk so fast, answered: "Don't you see that one leg goes before like a tipstaff, and clears the way for the oth

er." Cross-examining a horse jockey's servant, Curran asked his master's age. "I never put my hand in his mouth to try," answered the witness. The laugh was against the counsel, till he retorted: "you did perfectly right, friend, for your master is said to be a great bite." A miniature painter, on his cross-examination by Mr. Curran, was made to confess that he had carried his improper freedoms with a particular lady so far, as to attempt to put his arm round her waist. Then sir, said the counsel, I suppose you took that waist (waste) for a common.*

When counsel, Mr. Curran would frequently be interrupted by the judge, Lord Avonmore, with expressions of fretfulness and impatience: "I see the drift of it all"—"you are giving yourself unnecessary trouble, Mr. Curran," etc., etc. On one of these occasions the counsel proceeded, "Perhaps, my lord, I am straying, but you must impute it to the extreme agitation of my mind. I have just witnessed so dreadful a circumstance, that my imagination has not yet recovered from the shock." His lordship was now all attention. "On my way to court, my lord, as I passed by one of the markets, I observed a butcher proceeding to slaughter a calf. Just as his hand was raised, a lovely child approached him unperceived, and terrible to relate I still see the life blood gushing out-the poor child's bosom was under his hand, when he plunged his knife into-into-" "Into the bosom of the child," cried out the judge, with much emotion. "Into the neck of the calf, my lord; but your lordship sometimes anticipates." +

Over the feelings of this good old judge Mr. Curran had a perfect command. They had been companions in early life, and members of a patriotic and convivial brotherhood, entitled "Monks of the Order of St. Patrick." Political rancor had suspended this intercourse for a while, but Curran was the advocate in a cause, and Avonmore the judge: here was a field for the honest-hearted advocate, and recollections of happier days crowded in to soften down and subdue all unkindliness. As he reverted to the past, his feelings were too much for him, his bosom heaved with emotion,—all that was tender prevailed. The presence of the judge called up a thousand associations. "From the dearest and tenderest recollections of my life," Mr. Curran warmly continued,―

* Life of Curran, p. 404.

+ Life of Curran, p. 85,

"from the remembrance of those Attic nights and those refections of the gods, which we have spent with those admired, and respected, and beloved companions, who have gone before us, and over whose ashes the most precious tears of Ireland have been shed. [Here Lord Avonmore could not refrain from bursting into tears.] Yes, my lord, I see you do not forget them. I see their sacred forms passing in sad review before your memory. I see your pained and softened fancy, recalling those happy meetings, where the innocent enjoyment of social mirth became expanded into the nobler warmth of social virtue, and the horizon of the board became enlarged into the horizon of man,-where the swelling heart conceived and communicated the pure and generous purpose, where my slenderer and younger taper imbibed its borrowed light from the more matured and redundant fountain of your's. Yes, my lord, we can remember those nights without any other regret than that they can never more return,—

'We spent them not in joys or lust or wine,

But search of deep philosophy,

Wit, eloquence and poesy,

Arts which I loved, for these, my friend, were thine.'" Cowley. The moment the court rose, his lordship sent for Mr. Curran and threw himself into his arms.

Let us conclude this long, but, we hope, not altogether uninteresting article, with an observation or two on the religious character of lawyers. Seldom has the world allotted an over-much of piety to any of this profession. If the world be right, it is a fact to be accounted for; perhaps there exists something in the atmosphere of courts unpropitious for the indulgence of religious feeling; it may be, but then we know that nothing is commoner than the same accusation against other professions. Medical men, for instance, have been charged with inclinations favorable to irreligion and even infidelity. Anatomy has arrayed itself against revelation. We shall not pause to explain. We point the modern lawyer, and we point the world, to the pious Hale-the pure Romily! We would have infixed upon the minds of all mankind, indelibly stamped there, the dying words of Selden: "I have my study full of books and papers on most subjects in the world, yet I can recollect no passage wherein I can rest my soul, save out of the holy scriptures," and the most remarkable passage that lay upon his heart, was from

2 Titus 11-14. The consolatory language of the great Erskine, is worthy of all acceptation: "My belief in the Christian religion, arises from the fullest and most continued reflections of my riper years and understanding. It forms at this moment the great consolation of a life, which, as a shadow, passes away; and without it, I should consider my long course of health and prosperity as the dust which the wind scatters, and rather as a snare than a blessing." Let the jurist be guided by these elevated truths,-let him receive instructions from the Book which can never fail,-let his path be illumined by

"this ray of sacred light

This lamp from off the everlasting throne,"

let him be pure in heart,-be incorruptible in integrity,high in honor,-giving "his days and nights, with a sincere and constant vigor, to the labours of the great masters of his own profession, and though he may now be but a humble worshipper at the entrance of the porch, he will entitle himself to the highest place in the ministrations at the altar, within the inner sanctuary of justice."

ART. VI.-1. The Jew. Translated from the German of SPINDLER. New-York. 1844.

2. The Beggar Girl of Pont des Arts. By Wilhelm HAUFF. New-York. 1844.

THE literature of Spain is rich in prose fiction; the French have "held their own,"-such as it is,-in the department of novel writing; Italy has produced several respectable writers, among the avowed followers of Walter Scott, and their leader, Manzoni, has obtained an extensive transalpine reputation; but it is singular that so imaginative and reflecting a people as the Germans, possessing a literature that surpasses in fertility and elevation that of almost any other European nation, among all their writers should have produced so few eminent novelists. They have none who have maintained a prominent place, within the last thirty years, among contemporary authors; far less any who have aspired to rival the proud distinction of the English. Goethe-the light of whose genius broke, like the gleam of morning, on the obscurity of scholastic and common-place learning,-has had many imitators; but no spirit, kindred to the author of Wilhelm Meister, has arisen, by original genius of the highest order, to redeem the country from the aspersions cast upon it. The Germans are still compelled to look back to the past generation, and to cherish such names as Musaeus, Jean Paul Richter, La Motte Fougné, and others, whose works, though highly estimated at home, have not obtained a wide European reputation, and are little known in this country.

Ludwig Tieck undoubtedly stands at the head of the German novelists. His genius, as he himself confesses, was nourished by the early works of Goethe. The impressions he received from the poetry of this great man, were deepened by Werther, that "poetic utterance of the world's despair," which threw a shadow into the young writer's soul, in which forms of majesty and power grew to giant stature. Tieck cultivated and improved his mind, not only by assiduous study of the works of foreign authors, but by travel over various parts of the world. He saw and observed men; and the philosophy he had learned, caused him to view their follies with a severe and impartial eye. Sensible of the errors of the popular mind of his own age, he set himself the