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whilst the jury were being sworn in, address an attorney from the bench, and ask him whether he was disposed to part with his pony.

"Here even the counsel speak in the rudest manner to the attornies, as if they were really so many sharpers.

"MR. GARROW.

"If Mr. Garrow, one of the principal advocates here, were to dare to address the solicitors of our court as he does those in his own, he would convert his body into a target. This gentleman is the principal advocate. His voice is clear and silvery, and occasionally he is very eloquent. He is most celebrated for his talent for crossexamining witnesses, which he does with great dexterity; but his principal engines are an undaunted front, and a thorough contempt for the feelings of those who are placed under his lash. When I have seen a modest and respectable person, who has delivered his evidence clearly and conscientiously, forced into confusion, if not ensnared into contradiction, by the tricks and terrours of this advocate, I have blushed for my own profession, and reflected, that though the torture is abolished, a still more cruel and erring process for discovering the truth continues. I have been so disgusted with this man, that I am resolved, whatever may be the fate of my practice, I will never adopt the system he pursues: indeed, as you know, if I were, am sure my life would not be worth one day's purchase in my own country. I am told that he has been challenged two or three times by persons whom he has treat ed in this manner in publick, and that he has always placed himself under the broad shield of the court.

"ANECDOTE.

I

"I laughed heartily the other day, at the ingenuity and presence of mind by which an English serjeant at law, celebrated for bullying and browbeating wit nesses, saved himself from the indignity and corporal pain of a good flogging. He had, it appears, on the western circuit, most grossly insulted a very respectable gentleman in court, in the course of a cross-examination. The next morning, very early, the insulted party proceeded to the lodgings of the advocate, with a good horsewhip in his hand, and requested of the clerk to see his master, alleging that he had business of great importance with him. The clerk showed the gentleman into his bedroom, where he lay fast asleep, and upon his awaking was addressed by his visiter as follows:-" Sir, I am the person whom you so scandalously treated yester

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day, in court, without any reason, and I am come personally to chastise you with this horsewhip, for your insolence."" Are you, indeed?" replied the barrister, "but surely you will not strike a man in bed." No, Sir, I pledge my honour not to do that," said the gentleman." Then by G-d," exclaimed the serjeant," I will lie here till doomsday." The humour of the thought disarmed the anger of the affronted gentleman, and bursting into a fit of laughing, he said, "there, sir, you may lie as long as you like; I will not molest you this time; but let me recommend you never again to hold up a person of respectability, whose only object is to tell the truth, to the derision of a court of justice;" and left the man of law to console himself.

"Mr. Garrow commenced his legal career at the Old-Bailey; and the practice of that bar is said to impart to its pleader a considerable vulgarity of style, and to render him very much a fier-d-bras.

"Sir Vicary Gibbs, the attorney-gene. ral, ranks next to Mr. Garrow as a pleader, whose superiour he is by many thought, in profound legal knowledge. Owing to the acerbity of sir Vicary's manner towards witnesses, he is known to the common people by the name of sir Vinegar Gibbs. His mode of treating witnesses is, indeed, sometimes shockingly coarse and unjustifiable.

"Mr. Dallas is, in my opinion, the most elegant orator at the bar. Unfortunately he has much withdrawn himself from its practice. His voice is exquisitely sweet; his argument solid; and his language very chaste and beautiful. To all these quali ties he unites all the polite manners of a gentleman, and never degrades that character by his treatment of witnesses who are adverse to the side he is retained upon. Mr. Dallas is the only advocate who offers some indemnity for the heavy loss which the British bar sustained when Mr. Erskine, now lord Erskine, was elevated to the seals. How much do I regret that I never heard this distinguished orator before that event, in the early and habitual theatre of his great talents! I know of no other advocate much distinguished for ability in the court of King's Bench, or in any other court, except sir Samuel Romilly, in the court of Chancery, where his prac tice is very deservedly great. In depth of learning, and on all occasions where the subject will admit, in the effusions of genuine eloquence, this upright and excellent lawyer is unrivalled in the court of Equity. It is said of him, that, like the late Mr. Pitt, he is very fond of unbending his mind, by the perusal of novels, which

afford him so much relief in the hours of relaxation, that he has the reputation, amongst those who know him intimately, of perusing almost every novel that is published.

"The British bar is crowded with votaries for practice and distinction, hundreds of whom, in all probability, will never even have the felicity of making a halfguinea motion. Upon the whole I am much disappointed in the talent I expect ed to find. The best of the English plea ders would suffer by a comparison with Curran (whose elevation to the Rolls of Ireland I shall, for many reasons, regret) M'Nally, and others, whom I could name in our own country.

"WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

"From the courts, our party paid a visit to Westminster Abbey. With all the principal features of this august and venerable pile you are doubtless well acquainted, from the numerous descriptions which have been given of them. Our St. Patrick's cathedral would cut as miserable

a figure by the side of this stately and stupendous fabrick, as the monuments of

doctor Smith, formerly the earl of Cork, would, if they were within range of com parison, with those of the duke of Argyle and Mrs. Nightingale. The attendant shows the visiter a great deal of trash, such as the kings and queens of England in wax-work! General Monk, in armour, resembles a great stuffed bear.

“HENRY THE SEVENTH'S CHAPEL. "The interiour of Henry the seventh's chapel is exquisitely beautiful. The banners and helmets of the knights of the Bath conduct the mind back to the ages

of chivalrous romance. The seats of the stalls are double, and upon the uppermost being raised, I was told, but not till after I had left the chapel, the most abominably obscene subjects appear well carved upon the tops of the lower seats.

"ANECDOTE.

"A very intelligent friend of mine related the following circumstance, respecting this venerable pile, but little known. Many years since, when my friend was enjoying the three days and three nights hospitality which the monks of the rich convent of Affligham, between Ghent and Brussels, extend to all strangers who are disposed to tarry under their roof; the prior ordered one of the brethren to open a large iron bound trunk, and bring him

certain parchments. Upon their being produced, he placed them in the hands of the Englishman, and observed, 'there, sir, these are the title deeds of Westminster Abbey; which belongs to us; the priors of this convent are by right the priors of that abbey; and I have no doubt but that we shall one day or another recover our rights.' In corroboration of this curious declaration of the prior of Affligham mo nastery, the same gentleman, who is an antiquarian, assures me, that amongst the ancient tombs in Westminster Abbey, there are two that contain the ashes of the like number of priors of that monastery.

"After inspecting the abbey, which, by the destruction of several old houses, is now finely placed before the eye of the spectator, we adjourned to a coffee house in the neighbourhood, where we dined, and afterwards proceeded to the House of Lords, in an anti-room of which we were met by lord M-, who procured us admission into the house."

Our author falls into the common and vulgar errour respecting the pronunciation of Mr. Kemble. His authority for this seems to have been no higher than the witless editor of a Sunday newspaper, who occasionally prates with great_solemnity about theatrical matters. The author of the present volumes, following his wise original, tells us that Mr. K. calls beard, bird, and virtue, varchu. Really, those people have most perverse auditory nerves who talk thus, or else they never heard Mr. K. pronounce these words. But

our author also tells us that Mr. Kemble calls sovereign, suvran, and thee the. Wonderful errours! How would he have them called: Perhaps, if he be really an Irish student, he prefers the dear brogue of Ballynahinch!

There is a great deal of secondhand talk in these volumes about living celebrated characters, which seems to have been picked up at coffee-houses, the servants' hall, and from the newspapers of the day. The author has been diligent, and he deserves such praise as such diligence requires.

FROM THE MONTHLY REVIEW.

Vie de la Marquise de Courcelles, &c. i. e. The Life of the Marchioness de Courcelles, partly written by herself. With her Letters, and the Italian Correspondence of Gregorio Léti, relative to that Lady. 12mo. pp. 268. Paris. 1808. Price 6s. sewed.

IT is observed by the editor of this volume, in his avant-propos, that in the multitude of characters which have been preserved to us from the Augustan age of France, the gallery of gay ladies was still without the portrait of Madame de Courcelles; who attracted so much of the publick attention by her beauty, the charms of her wit, and the singularity of her adventures; and who, in fact, drew a historical sketch of herself. This painting has, indeed, hitherto been in the hands of a private connoisseur, from whose collection it is now first taken, for the purpose of exhibition; and it will, perhaps, be more admired for brilliancy of colouring than delicacy of touch, though the artist assures us that it is by no means flattering.

"Without being a great beauty," she says, "I am one of the most amiable creatures ever seen. There is nothing in my countenance, or my manners, which does not both please and interest. Every thing about me, even the sound of my voice, in spires love. Persons the most opposite to me in inclination and temperament, are all of one mind on this subject, and agree that no body can look at me without wishing me well.

"I am tall, have an admirable figure, and the best air possible; I have fine brown hair, which is disposed, as it ought to be, to shade my face, and relieve the handsomest complexion in the world, though it is marked by the small pox in several places. My eyes are sufficiently large, neither blue nor brown, but between those two colours, and have a particular hue of their own which is very agreeable. I never open them entirely; and, though there is no affectation in keeping them so, yet it is true that they thus gain a charm which makes my look the softest and the tenderest that can be seen. The regularity of my nose is perfect. My mouth is not the smallest in the world, but neither is it very large.

"Some censors have chosen to say that, according to the just proportions of beauty, my under lip may be called too protube

rant; but I believe that this fault is imputed to me because no other can be found; and that I must pardon those who say that my mouth is not quite regular, when they allow, at the same time, that this defect is infinitely agreeable, and imparts a lively air to my smile, and to all the movements of my face. In short, I have a well formed mouth, admirable lips, and teeth like pearl. My forehead, my cheeks, the turn of my countenance, are all beautiful; divine hands; tolerable arms, that is to say, rather thin: but I console myself for this misfortune, by the pleasure of having the handsomest legs in the world. I sing well, though without much method. I know enough of musick, indeed, to come off pretty successfully with connoisseurs. But the greatest charm of my voice is in the softness and tenderness which it inspires. In a word, I possess all the arms of pleasure, and have never yet exerted them in vain.

"I have more wit than any body. It is natural, pleasant, playful, and capable also of great things, if I chose to apply to them. 1 have a good understanding, and know better than any one what I ought to do, though I scarcely ever do it."

The reader may, perhaps, deem it fortunate, that charms so powerful were not presented to the gaze of an enamoured world in those early stages of society, in which the jealousy of lovers was synonymous with the hostility of nations, and the slaughter of embattled thousands: but he is still more likely to wonder that the beautiful marchioness did not obtain some degree of influence over the civilized kingdoms of modern Europe, through the medium of Louis's gallantry. This fair creature appeared at his court at the period when his passions were most easily excited. But, though he offered his protection, and a situation near the queen's person, with the view of our heroine becoming the wife of Colbert's brother (a connexion certainly not unfavourable to the chance of a subsequent more intimate acquaintance with his majesty)

it does not appear that he ever entertained any specifick views on her person. The actual history of the lady's life is, however, sufficiently curious, even as a series of romantick adventures; and since it throws additional light on the scandalous state of manners which prevailed in the polished court of Louis the Fourteenth, we shall lay a brief ab stract of it before our readers.

Marie Sidonia de Lenoncourt, having lost her father in her infancy, was addressed by numerous suitors, who were attracted by her possessions, as well as by her superiour beauty; and she was united, at the age of thirteen, to the marquis de Courcelles. She is said to have soon tasted all that could imbitter matrimony, without enjoying any of its pleasures. The celebrated Louvois endeavoured to profit by the mutual dissatisfaction of the ill assorted couple. But the marchioness found it impossible to return his ardour, though frequently pressed by her husband and his family, to adopt him as a lover. M. de Courcelles once went so far as to quarrel seriously with his wife, for declining to make the fortune of her family, by devoting her charms to the desires of a powerful minister, after the manner of madame de Humieres and other handsome wives. At length the duke de Villeroi, the marquis's first cousin, who suspected his relation of too great a familiarity with the dutchess, avenged himself by retaliation. Being, however, at this time, the professed adorer of the princess de Monaco, he was discovered in his intrigue, by her vigilance, and sacrificed his new passion to his interest with Louvois; to whom he solemnly swore that he would never again see madame de Courcelles. Our heroine then took some pains to revive the tenderness of Louvois, and succeeded. Their intimacy became excessive. But the most gratifying circumstance to the lady, consisted in the mortification of her mother-in-law and sister-inVOL. III.

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law, who had cruelly, and inconsist ently laboured to prevent this reconciliation. M. Louvois happened to call one morning, when these three ladies were on the point of setting out together to church; and he overwhelmed with confusion, by his sarcastick irony, the enemies of his mistress. The connexion, however, soon came to an end; for Lou vois detected his frail fair, in an equivocal situation, with the forgetful Villeroi, and determined to conquer his passion.

The injured husband, exasperated at an infidelity which deprived him of the benefits that he might have expected from making over the person and honour of his wife to a minister of state, resolved on a singular mode of revenge. He contrived to poison a lotion, that was used by her for washing her face; which was, in consequence, so completely scarified, that it did not recover its smoothness for nearly three months. The marchioness suspected a particular attendant of being the instrument employed for this odious purpose, and ordered her to drink the water. She refused, and was held down and gagged by footmen, who compelled her to swallow it. The result was, that she fell into convulsions, in which state the marquis saw her, and confessed his share in the attempt. His lady was in great danger, received exreme unction, and was reported to be dead.

"During this illness," says she, "M. de Courcelles was obliged, by his interest, to render me as much service and attention as should have been excited by affection. I was sixteen years old, and had not made my will. The loss of my property appeared so great a misfortune to him and his mother, that, after having exhausted all hu. man remedies, they had recourse to God; whom, till that period, they had little known, and of whom they never once thought after I was well. But Courcelles now made a vow to go on foot to Notre Dame de Chartres, if I recovered."

What a field for reflection on the high spirit, the generosity, and the

disinterested magnanimity of the vieille cour!-but we have no time for animadversion; the story itself hurries us forward, and indeed supplies its own comments.

We no longer proceed, however, on the authority of our heroine, of whose lively narrative we are sorry to take leave, though it is for some time not ill supplied. After having indulged herself in all the pleasures of the luxurious metropolis, she was shut up in the convent of the "filles de Sainte Marie de la Bastille," for some striking irregularity. The dutchess of Mazarine, her fellow prisoner for a similar offence, takes pleasure in relating, in her memoirs, the tricks that were played off against the harmless nuns, by the two "amiable recluses," such as putting ink into their holy water, that they might black their faces; awakening them out of their first sleep, by introducing little dogs into the dormitory, pouring water into their beds, &c. The dutchess, on being restored to her family, procured permission for the marchioness to pay her a visit, and Courcelles prevailed on her to return to his home: but he soon had reason to suspect her of partial ity to his friend, the marquis de Cavoy, whom he challenged and wounded: rather preposterously, we think, unless he acted as the champion of Louvois. The combatants were committed to the Conciergerie, where they lived on terms of great friendship for two years.

In the mean time, the marchioness was attended to her husband's country seat by his mother, who conceived suspicions of her becoming pregnant. Courcelles, being informed of this circumstance, instituted a process of adultery against her, and finally succeeded in proving his charge of an illicit intercourse with one of her servants; dissolving the marriage, and recovering large damages against her. It was thought, indeed, that her beauty and her interest might have led to a more favourable issue,

had she not imprudently escaped from prison, in company with a new admirer, Brûlart du Boulay, a captain in the Orleans regiment. With him she had the hardihood to remain sometime disguised in Paris: but at last they thought it prudent to retire to Geneva, where their affection does not appear to have been of long duration. On returning to France, she was again arrested, and imprisoned for some years; her trial being protracted by various appeals and revisions. Here the history concludes abruptly; stating that nothing farther is known respecting her, except that,after having several adventures, she fell in love, sur le retour de l'âge, with an officer, whom she married, and with whom she lived unhappily.

Some of this lady's letters, written from Geneva to Boulay, form a part of the volume. They were collected but not published by him, and the statement with which he accompanies them is curious:

"I have been induced to bring these perusal of my friends, not by the indiscre letters together, for the more convenient

tion that is common with those who think that they have quarrelled irreconcilably with the writer: but I wish to justify myself for having too faithfully, and too violently, loved the most beautiful creature in the universe, though the most treacherous and inconstant. I dreaded her elo. quence too much to apply to her alone for my justification; and the declarations which I daily made, to give a just idea of her talents, satisfied me so little that I saw they would convince nobody. In this perplexity, I one day fortunately recollected that I had certain means of producing this conviction; and that what she had written was so beautiful and so polished that by showing it I should entirely answer my purpose. I had none of the scruples that because, as the letters were full of talent often occur in taking such a resolution; and almost without passion, I did not betray, in producing them, those secrets which ought never to be revealed. Such persons of both sexes, as have censured me so severely for the extent of my affec tion, when fame had told me so much about her, will perhaps find themselves embarrassed, when they have read these letters, and I tell them that the understand

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