might have their own way with the obnoxious profession if they planted a grand-piano on each staircase of the four Inns, kept brass-bands at full play in the immediate vicinity of our courts of justice, maintained a steady riot in Chancery Lane with hurdy-gurdies and serenaders, and made a lavish distribution of Jews' harps and penny trumpets amongst the more youthful clerks.

So alive are lawyers to the frightful consequences of such a wholesale exhibition of melodious irritants, that a natural desire for self-preservation has prompted them to raise numerous obstructions to the free development of musical science in their peculiar localities of town. In the Inns of Court and Chancery Lane professional etiquette forbids barristers and solicitors to play upon organs, harmoniums, pianos, violins, or other stringed instruments, drums, trumpets, cymbals, shawms, bassoons, triangles, castanets or any other bony devices for the production of noise, flageolets, hautboys, or any other sort of boys-between the hours of 9 A.M. and 6 P.M. And this rule of etiquette is supported by various special conditions introduced into the leases by which the tenants hold much of the local house property. Under some landlords, a tenant forfeits his lease if he indulges in any pursuit that causes annoyance to his immediate neighbours; under others, every occupant of a set of chambers binds himself not to play any musical instrument therein, save between the hours of 9 P.M. and 12 P.M.; and in more than one clump of chambers, situated within a stone's throw from Chancery Lane, glee-singing is not permitted at any period of the four-and-twenty hours.

That the pursuit of harmony is a dangerous pastime for young lawyers cannot be questioned, although a long list might be given of cases where musical barristers have gained the confidence of many clients, and eventually raised themselves to the bench. A piano is a treacherous companion for the student who can touch it deftly-dangerous as an idle friend, whose wit is ever brilliant; fascinating as a beautiful woman, whose smile is always fresh; deceptive as the drug which seems to invigorate, whilst in reality it is stealing away the intellectual powers. Every persevering worker knows how large a portion of his hard work has been done "against the

grain," and in spite of strong inclinations to indolence-in hours when pleasant voices could have seduced him from duty, and any plausible excuse for indulgence would have been promptly accepted. In the piano these pleasant voices are constantly present, and it can always show good reason-why reluctant industry should relax its exertions. After all, Pontifex was not without the support of facts when he likened a piano to a coffin.

As soon as a man is an ascertained professional failure, his friends are quick at discovering a sufficient and shameful cause for his want of success; and he meets their injustice either by attributing his ill fortune altogether to the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," or by setting it down to some circumstance which unbiassed bystanders are unable to regard as the cause of disaster. An able but disappointed member of the bar once gravely observed to this writer, "My failure is the consequence of my Cambridge degree; if I had not been amongst the first five wranglers of my year, I should have had clients and become a judge; but the attorneys found out that I was a mathematician." Another good friend said to this witness, "My first step did for me: after my call I took my first set of chambers on a bad staircase; attorneys dislike men who live on bad staircases; before I found out my mistake, the lower order of the profession took a dislike to me—and I never overcame the prejudice." Devotion to the polite arts is the most popular of the many imaginary causes to which barristers without briefs like to attribute the emptiness of their bags. It is a respectable reason, rather flattering to the victim, and not altogether disgraceful to his family. "He would give himself up to literature," observed honest George Wildman (M.R.C.S. and L.S.A., a respected medical officer of the Plumfuddle Union, co. Norfolk), when he recently explained why his brother Frank Amontillado Wildman (B.A. Oxon., Barrister-at-law, and the genius of the Wildman family) arrived at signal grief and Bright's disease, just about the time when he ought to have mounted to the woolsack; and this writer lacked the hardihood to speak the truth, and say that the special object of Frank Amontillado's devotion was not literature, but-gin-and-water. Young lawyers are not often ruined by the polite arts. The

fingers of two hands could mark the number of Templars who, possessing the sagacity and perseverance and tact and sound health that are requisite conditions for the achievement of forensic success, have in the present century wasted their powers on dilettanteism-and been led away by vanity or foolish imaginations to callings for which they lacked natural fitness.

One clever fellow might, however, be mentioned, who in a certain sense missed success at the bar through the dangerous gifts of a fine ear and taste for music, and an exquisite voice. As well-looking and well-read a young man as ever donned a barrister's gown, Fred Marshman joined the Home Circuit some thirty years since, and forthwith gained more than a lucky junior's "fair share of business." The son of a leading London solicitor, he had all the advantages of a good connexion; and systematic education had given him the special knowledge without which no connexion, however good, can secure a young lawyer success. Fred had moreover good address, some natural eloquence, and a smile that alone would have made his fortune in some departments of life. He could command briefs and do them justice. Naturally he loved pleasure, but he had shown himself not altogether incapable of self-control. With all these advantages he failed, and indirectly his ruin was brought about by his musical qualifications. It may not be supposed that these qualifications were of any but the highest order. His vocal power was such that the best operatic artists were delighted to sing with him in a private society to which none but the very best musicians could gain admittance. On circuit that voice made him very popular; and unfortunately it made him popular elsewhere. On an evil day, a great countess-no pen can do justice to the lady's social magnitude-heard him sing, and was so charmed with the performance, that she resolved on drawing him to her house, which, thirty years since, was a chief centre of fashionable society in London. It may be that the solicitor's son was snob enough to be dazzled by the splendour of the superb people who were good enough to "take him up." Certain it is that he delighted in his West End éclat: He soon became known as "the singing barrister;" and the singing barrister was a familiar visitor at the first houses of the town

on evenings when the reception-rooms were thronged with company, and also upon occasions when the owners of the "first houses" were open to none but a few especial favourites. When the great people went out of town, the singing barrister went with them. For thrice two years he did his best to be the efficient slave of Fashion and Law, and fearful at times were his exertions in this double servitude; but the struggle was so unsuccessful, that on entering the seventh year after his call he saw pretty clearly that preferment would never come to him through the ordinary channels of professional advancement, unless he turned away from the flatteries of his illustrious patrons and patronesses, and withstood " the allurements of gilded saloons." This sacrifice was beyond his fortitude, and he went on-hoping against hope, that the duke would get him a place, or that the marquis would speak in his behalf to the Prime Minister, or that by some magical process the countess's music-stool would be transformed into a judge's chair.

Ten years since this writer shook hands with poor Fred Marshman, and bade him farewell on the deck of the vessel which carried him out to Australia. For some time he had been losing influence in Mayfair. The grandest of the grand people who took him up at five-and-twenty, resolved to lay him down at five-and-forty years of age; and after many bitter and humiliating experiences-of which there is no need to speak minutely-he had come to the conclusion he ought to try his fortune at the colonial bar. Until the day of his departure from the white cliffs of Old England, he maintained much of his original buoyancy and brilliance; but as he pressed this writer's hand for the last time, an expression of sadness and defeat covered the face on which time had put some ugly marks, and the eyelids which framed his brightening eyes seemed strangely full of crows'-feet. "There, goodby," he said, reading my thoughts; "my hair is growing thin, my whiskers are iron-grey, my face is pasty, I have the body of an alderman, and the voice which ruined me..

Ah! if I hadn't been a singing barrister, I might ere this have been a growling judge."

STR

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE BATTLE OF THE ORGANS.

IR THOMAS MORE and Lord Bacon-the two most illustrious laymen who have held the Great Seal of England -were notable musicians; and many subsequent Keepers and Chancellors are scarcely less famous for love of harmonious sounds than for judicial efficiency. Lord Keeper Guildford was a musical amateur, and notwithstanding his low esteem of literature, condescended to write about melody. Lord Jeffreys was a good after-dinner vocalist, and was esteemed a high authority on questions concerning instrumental performance. Lord Camden was an operatic composer, and Lord Thurlow studied thorough-bass, in order that he might direct the musical exercises of his children.

In moments of depression More's favourite solace was the viol; and so greatly did he value musical accomplishments in women, that he not only instructed his first and girlish wife to play on various instruments, but even prevailed on the sour Mistress Alice Middleton "to take lessons on the lute, the cithara, the viol, the monochord, and the flute, which she daily practised to him." But More's love of music was expressed still more forcibly in the zeal with which he encouraged and took part in the choral services of Chelsea church-that old parish church of which so much might be said, and of which Mr. Henry Kingsley has written so well in one of his novels. Throughout his residence at Chelsea, Sir Thomas was a regular attendant at the church, and during his tenure of the seals he not only delighted to chant the appointed psalms, but used to don a white surplice, and take his place amongst the choristers. Having invited the Duke of Norfolk to dine with him, the Chancellor prepared himself for the enjoyment of that great