Reminiscences of a Lawyer

Front matter

■ ■ ■ ■ I I ■ ■ I ■ I ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ I BY FRANCIS SINCLAIR. LONDON: SAUNDERS, OTLEY, AND CO., .66, BROOK STREET, HANOVER SQUARE. 1861. LONDON ; ParNTED BY/ W. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET, AND CHARING CROSS. gjeiruation. TO THE REY. JAMES WILLIAM BELLAMY, B.D. Rev. and dear Sir, I am grateful to you for permitting me to dedicate to yourself the following pages. Would that the work were more worthy of your acceptance ! It is of course not free from faults, and the opinions I have ventured to express may not receive your entire approval. It has been my aim, however humble the execu tion, to inculcate the principles of religion and morality ; and if I shall have failed, to my want of power and ability to accomplish that end, and not to my motives, the failure must be attributed. I conceived that there was no one so fitting as yourself, to whom I should inscribe the "Remi niscences " of my past life, because to the " Old DEDICATION.

VI School " over which you for so many years presided, I am principally indebted for my early education ; and of you, my old Master,, with whom I was for some eight years resident, I entertain an affectionate remembrance, which time tends rather to increase than to diminish. I know that you dislike all that looks like strong eulogy ; and whatever I may feel, in a Dedication which you so kindly accept, it may perhaps be out of place to give expression to those feelings. I pray that now, in the evening of your days, every blessing may attend you. Believe me to be, Rev. and dear Sir, Yours sincerely, Francis Sinclair. \Zth April, 1861. CONTENTS.

Chapter I. Hemokies Op Childhood

" Pace the lamp-lit streets of some sleeping city, The multitude of cressets shall seem one in the false picture of perspective : Even so in sweet treachery dealeth the aged with himself ; He gazeth on the green hill-tops while the marshes beneath are hidden ; And the partial telescope of memory pierceth the blank between, To look with lingering love at the fair star of childhood. Tupper's 'Proverbial Philosophy.' Is there a human being who does not " look with lingering love on the fair star of childhood ?" Misery must indeed have early made his acquaintance whose retrospective glance at childhood's days has not in memory placed many a treasured recollec tion of the scenes of youth — of the kind and gentle and loving being7 who bore the sacred name of mother — of the happy hours spent in the sunshine of a father's approving smile — of the days of unalloyed B EEMINISCENCES OF A LAWYER. tranquillity of mind, which, after the first launch into the wide world, became destroyed or marred by the waters of strife and turmoil that so suddenly boil and bubble up around the bark committed to the ocean of life!

That some such there are, the knowledge of life in all its phases, which my career has of later years forced upon me, is too melancholy a truth. The great towns of this England of ours, of whose advancement in education and scientific knowledge we may perhaps fairly boast, alas ! abnegate the as sertion that as a moral nation we have progressed. Look at the miserable alleys and wretched abodes of many of the poorer classes in such places as London and Liverpool ! Great and philanthropic though the exertions have been which the good men of the age have made to stem the tide of increasing corruption which infest those localities, and strenuous though the efforts ex erted to provide schools for the pauper children, and free libraries and reading-rooms for those whose means do not allow them to pay for such institutions — the rapid increase in our population, and other causes, which it is not part of my present task to in quire into, seem to outstrip all efforts to better the standard of morality, and to teach man his duty to his God and his neighbour.

Let me not be misunderstood to mean that the demoralization of this present time is confined to what we are pleased to call the poorer class of the community. We have only to look daily at the police reports, the bankruptcy and insolvency cases that are given publicity to, and the convictions of men of position and talent at very recent periods, of the frightful crimes of murder, felony, and breaches of trust, to fimd a too-convincng proof that neither education nor position in society has been any guarantee for a life of honesty and religious improve ment. It is a bitter experience that is forced upon us that even the days of childhood are in too many instances unassociated with any " fair star." The first dawn of reason and intelligence, too often, is ushered into existence in the cellar of the drunkard and felon, and the opening bud of innocence is crushed in its birth.

But is it poverty alone that breeds and fosters the cankerworms of wickedness ? God forbid that, because poverty exists, to it should be assigned the chief cause of promoting their growth ! God forbid, too, that it should be asserted that innocence and happiness are strangers to the homes of the poor ! Oh, no ! Virtue unsoiled by the rust of iniquity is, probably, as often found in their humble dwellings as in the splendid mansions of the rich, or B the comfortable abodes of the middle class. But with the aid of wealth and position the latter are enabled to gloss over and hide, at least from the eye of the world, the deeds of evil that too often are by their means alone so concealed. But I would " gaze on the green hill-tops " of my younger days, while the marshes beneath are hidden, And the partial telescope of memory pierceth the blank between."

Old Winchester ! seat of learning, once the me tropolis of this land, and over whose soil so oft have trod kings and prelates ! Now thou containest but the ashes of those great departed ! Within the sub lime precincts of thy grand and solemn cathedral there rest the remnants of poor mortality, and prince and prelate have become levelled with the meanest of their species. Reader, hast thou visited Winchester Cathedral ? If not, and thy mind lead thee to contemplate the grand and sublime — if thy thoughts at times delight to compare the past with the present — if thou hast pleasure in pondering over the sculptured marble or elaborate brasses which proclaim the virtues and hand down to posterity the deeds of fame and the erudition of the mighty ones of ancient times — go thither. Here canst thou satiate thine appetite.

Look at those gorgeous urns containing the mouldering remains of what once formed parts of living tene ments, of those who in their brief career in life held sway over our Saxon ancestors — then indisputable sovereigns of a rude and ancient people ! Now what are ye ? Your immortal spirits have winged their way to that great unknown hereafter, to give an account of the deeds done in the flesh. And fit em blems of mortality, in these gilded sarcophagi — a theme for contemplation for after-generations — there abide a few crumbling bones, and dust that has already returned to the dust from which your Maker formed you ! Let us look a little farther. Here, in the beautiful chapels and solemn nave of that magnificent memorial of our ancestors' skill and architectural know ledge, are recorded the brief epitome of the exalted fame of those who in Church and State, in days gone by, occupied eminent positions.

And, in too many instances, how often were those spiritual and temporal positions abused, instead of being used as gifts be stowed upon them by a Supreme Being, and honours and authority showered upon and entrusted to them by temporal powers ! Well, indeed, hath the principle " De mortuis nil nisi bonum " been respected, both in times past and present ; and admiring, as I have ever done, such a principle, far be it from me to cast further reflection on those who were, but who are long since numbered with the dead ! In oblivion may their past misdeeds rest, and may their good deeds, in the eye of the Great Judge, counterbalance all such evil as their dereliction from their duty as churchmen, statesmen, or warriors might otherwise have entailed upon them ! Man's judgment or condemnation can not now alter or amend, neither can it punish, those actions, which, without knowing the secret springs of the heart that dictated them, the world may have stigmatised.

How often, in later years, have I listened with a sublime feeling of awe to the swelling notes of the organ, and the sweet voices of the choristers mingling in praise to the great Author of Good in this so lemn place of worship ! I have stood as it were entranced, with chastened feelings and with an over flowing heart, as the beautiful Liturgy of the Church has been chanted forth within its walls, and echoing and re-echoing amongst its lofty arches, has seemed to ascend on high, as if endeavouring to join the song of man's praise and thanksgiving with that of the heavenly host, who, we are taught to believe, are continually praising God. My earliest memories not only recall to me recol lections of that which I have so imperfectly endea voured to portray, but in the vista of the past I can re-contemplate my daily association with the surrounding scenery.

I can yet discern the green hills of St. Catherine, St. Giles, and St. Mary Magdalene ; and, above all, the glorious Common with its memories of "Oliver's Battery," where I have spent so many happy hours with those whom I loved and respected, and in boyish pic-nics and cricket whiled away the summer days unalloyed by any pang of trouble, and without one thought or care of the after-trials with which my life was to become associated. Gladsome days, too, long looked forward to — the holding of the pleasure-fairs, with their accompanying shows, theatres, whirligigs, gingerbread kings and queens, and other innumerable attractions for the youthful mind ! Oh ! shades of St. Giles and St. Mary Magdalene, whither have they departed ? Wander now with me, reader, to the monument of William of Wykeham's charity and wrorth. — " Winchester College !

" — thou that hast nurtured and brought up and sent forth to the world many who have since become bright ornaments to society — many an old Wintonian, I will dare to say, can now look back with delight to the days spent within thy precincts — many remember the meandering stream where trout have been surreptitiously secured afterwards to be disposed of as opportunity offered. All recollect the bath near the "Locks," the "Clump" on St. Catherine's Hill; and most have unwillingly obeyed the " Domum " call, as it has been shouted and re-shouted on hill and in dale, to return to the studies of the day. And say, some of ye grave senators and ermined judges, are there not many of you whose hearts, even in the midst of your brilliant career in the legislature, or in the temporary cessation from the onerous duties devolving upon you in the discharge of your responsible offices, have been touched, and bright and happy memories of " long ago " per vaded your breasts, by a passing allusion to the song you have often chanted in the most joyous moments of your college probation — " Concinamus, O Sodales, Eja quid silemus, Nobile canticum Dulce melos, Domum ; Domum, Domum, dulce Domum, Domum, Domum, dulce Domum, Resonemus !"

You have realised the truth of " Palmam qui meruit ferat," and the knowledge that your positions are attributable to your merits, will, doubtless, in duce you to remember how early, and when and where, that motto was grafted on your minds. Adjacent to the College (which, for the purpose of accommodating " Commoners " not on the foundation, has recently been much enlarged) are the deeavinowalls of the palace of the once proud and haughty Cardinal Wolsey. Around a portion of its base silently steals along, in crystal brightness, a small rivulet, reflecting on its surface the ivy-clad remnants of that palatial resi dence, which has often witnessed the gatherings of wealth and rank, and from which possibly has emanated many an edict of intolerance and bigotry. Now, how changed ! but shadowing out as it were the fallen pride and pomp of priestly domination.

Leaving these relics of the past, and continuing our course in a southerly direction, and following the tortuous windings of the river Itchen, which irrigates the rich meadows on either side, after a pleasant walk of a mile, we are brought to one of the most glorious institutions (and more glorious and extensive would it be, had its revenues been faithfully adminis tered) that the county of Southampton, or any other county, can boast of— the Hospital of St. Cross. On entering the massive gateway on the north side you find a venerable old man, with his black serge gown and silver cross ; and, accosting him, are told that, as a stranger, a horn of ale and crust of bread and cheese are prepared for you, or others who may claim it. You accept of the refreshment, and, in conversation, learn from the good old man that this custom is part of the Founder's bequest to this b noble institution; that at certain holydays in the year in addition a " dole " of bread is made to the poor in the vicinity; that the hospital contains a small number of old men (small indeed for the present revenues derived from the Founder's munificence), who are likewise clothed and fed; that there is a resident chaplain ; that daily service is performed for the benefit of the inmates of the hospital ; and that certain other privileges exist on the granting new lives to the tenants of the manor, in which the Master, Chaplain, and Brethren (as the inmates are denominated), participate : a division of the fines charged upon such grants being made amongst them pro raid according to theft relative positions.

Enter we now the beautiful quadrangle. In the centre is a well-kept and carefully-rolled lawn, sur rounded with a spacious gravel-walk ; and there is the old sundial, upon which have been reflected many,.many passing hours. Who shall tell the events that have happened during such lapse of time ? Facing you, on the south side, is a fine iron palisading, with an entrance-gate into the park adjoining, where many an aged and towering elm offers shade to the traveller as he passes on his way to the neighbouring village of Twyford. On the western side of the quadrangle are the pretty cottages of the Brethren, uniformly built, and each having its little garden, bright with many a blossom, and clustering around the entrances are the rose, the honeysuckle, and the clematis. On the north side, adjoining the gateway where you have entered, is the Refectory, and next thereto, forming a junction with the western side of the quadrangle, the chaplain's residence.

The whole is in beautiful order, and, so far as the external portion of this noble institution is concerned, gives evidence of careful attention. Let us go into the Chapel (which forms the eastern part of the quadrangle) by the western entrance. You are struck with the massive Norman pillars and general style of architecture, to be found hardly any where else but here. A plain, unornamented screen, which divides the nave from the chancel, for the moment hides the latter from view. You, how7ever, pass through. Alas, alas ! though almost lost in ad miration at the grandeur of the ancient edifice, you are grieved to see the unsightly pews and lumbering reading-desk — all in a filthy condition — and you pause to wonder why these things should so be. You in quire of the Brother who accompanies you — " Are the revenues of the institution insufficient to remedy this state of things ?

Were there by the Founder no provisions made for an organist and staff of choristers ? Where is your organ, and wherefore do things bear the poverty-stricken appearance which is presented to you ?" The old Brother shakes his head, but knows not. Report says there is a great and noble Master of the hospital who himself is admitted to the ministry of the Church ; but he has not seen him, nor does he know how (if at all) his personal superintendence is given to fulfil the duties of a responsible position, or how the appropriation of the revenues is watched over and tended with due regard to the Founder's charitable intentions and munificent bequest. No, poor old man ! nor does it possibly become part of your duty to inquire into these things. You are grateful for the quiet place of repose which you have found.

Your earthly wants are supplied, and time and opportunity are afforded you in this sheltered spot and peaceful retreat — unassailed, as you are, by the cares, and trials, and troubles with which pro bably your early life has made you acquainted — to prepare for that great change which in the course of nature must with you soon occur. On the north side of the chancel is the exquisitely beautiful chapel formerly used as the confessional. It is the gem of the Chapel. But here I pause — this solemn place of worship is deeply and intimately connected with all my earliest reminiscences ; and around the spot seem to hover the spirits of those loved departed ones, whose kind and fostering care should have made me a better man and a better Christian. Many a bitter tear could I here shed ; and oh ! what woidd I give to recall much of that which is now irreclaimable !

Severe have been the trials and troubles with which my after-life has been visited. Severed and disunited have been most of the ties which should have bound me to those who were once near and dear to me, and thus, therefore, the retrospective glance that I have taken at the memories of my childhood has been miugled with " still lingering love and sorrowful reflection." I may hope, however, that the future may yet brighten ; that the clouds and darkness which have long surrounded my path may be dispelled ; that the sun of prosperity may yet arise, with " healing on its wings," and that the dismemberment to which I have alluded may be but temporary.

Chapter II. School Days

" Life is a strange avenue of various trees and flowers, Lightsome at commencement, but darkening at its end in a distant massy portal ; It beginneth as a little path, edged with the violet and primrose, A little path of lawny gTass, and soft to tiny feet : Soon spring thistles in the way, those early griefs of school, And fruit-trees ranged on either hand show holiday delights." Tupper's ' Proverbial Philosophy.' I shall pass over, briefly, the first parting from my childhood's home, though I can well remember a lengthened visit amongst kind and dear friends at a small country-town, at that time a long day's journey from my birthplace. I was then very young, but I can nevertheless recall the almost parental affection bestowed upon me, and the holy teaching of one who has long since taken her departure from this world of woe, whose pure and bright spirit I cannot but think is now numbered with the blessed.

One valued memorial I have of her, which has often in the hours of my deepest distress reminded me to bless her memory, and almost to recall her bodily to my vision. How in my childish innocence I have often watched her lovely countenance, and wondered why she was considered an invalid ! Little did I then understand that fell disease which has since summoned from life so many of my own family ; nor could I comprehend that, when the face was so brilliantly beautiful, the destroying angel was nigh at hand, and that deceitful hectic flush was a fatal evidence that consumption was assuredly accom plishing its task. I shall likewise pass by the short period that elapsed between the termination of my visit and my first start for the school to which my present chapter is intended to have special reference.

During that interval I was sent to an academy, where I managed to drudge through the early part of the Latin gram mar, having just dipped into Propria quæ maribus. As soon as I attained my eighth year, it was determined that I should be forthwith sent to a public school, and upon the presentation of an old friend of my father I was entered as a scholar at "Merchant Taylors'." To say that the leaving home for this new scene of study did not cause me some little dread and dis comfort, would be to tell an untruth. In the days I speak of, London, to those residing at a distance of sixty or seventy mdes therefrom, was a sort of un known land ; but, unknown though it was, the nursery tale of " Whittington and his Cat " had en dowed it in my mind's eye with all sorts of extra ordinary splendours.

I don't know that I thought its streets were literally paved with gold, as I had heard, but still the fortunes of the famed Whittington had, even at that early period of my life, induced me to build many castles in the air, in connection with it ; and imagination created the idea that I should welcome almost as old friends the celebrated Bow Bells which had so considerately invited the Whittington aforesaid to " turn again," and insist upon his becoming " thrice Lord Mayor of London." After the usual preliminary preparations iu the clothing department, and with a pocket more heavily laden with money than my youthful fancy had con ceived it probable I should so early possess, the day for departure had arrived. My elder brother, who had been for some two years a Merchant Taylors' boy, was to accompany me ; and that circumstance, together with the antici pations to which I have referred — not a little aided, too, by the money-laden pocket — tended, as I have said, to mitigate if not temporarily to disperse the feelings of boyish sorrow naturally forced upon a youngster who is leaving a happy home, where the tender affection of kind and loving parents has seemed to form an essential part of his actual existence.

The last warm shake of the hand had been given me by my good father (accompanied by an admoni tion to my elder brother as to proceedings on our arrival in London), and the last kiss and parting benediction by my gentle mother — the good old 'Independent' coach was at the gate, and my brother and myself had mounted the roof, and been assigned to the care of " Hall " (a well-known and careful "whip" on the London and Southampton Road for many years), when the cheery words of my father's " Good bye, boys— good morning, Hall !" caused me a little heaving of the heart, which, however, was soon, though painfully, suppressed, as being inconsistent with the dignity of a Merchant Taylors' boy. The horses' hoofs rang merrily on the hard ground, and the transient gloom of leaving those I so dearly loved was soon dispelled by the rapidity of the travelling and the brilliancy of the sun shine, which was slowly thawing the hoar-frost that had besprinkled the trees, hedges, and blades of grass, and creating amongst them a host of diamond drops that sparkled and glittered with many a brilliant hue.

Basingstoke and other intermediate places were rapidly passed by, my excitement being meanwhile kept up by the novelty of the scene, the conversation of the passengers, and the kindly jokes of " Hall ;" for we had secured front seats, and were thus enabled to enjoy what not only then was, but has ever since been to me, the pleasure of seeing four good horses skilfully handled and working well together. Arrived at Bagshot twenty minutes were allowed for dinner, and I gladly availed myself of the oppor tunity of stretching my limbs, which were somewhat benumbed by so long a sitting, as well as by the coldness of the atmosphere, for, though bright, the sun had long since passed the meridian, and the air was keen and cutting. I do not know that I can specially record the com plaint against the caterer for the dinner, very usually made under similar circumstances — of the soup being too hot to partake of during the short time allotted for refreshment; or, in regard to the often-com plained-of inability of those intending " to dine " not being able to accomplish so important and necessary a portion of the day's duties for want of time or from other impediments.

The " Now, gentlemen, if you please," of the coachman, which, in these days of steam-engines, has been superseded by the railway guard's " Take your seats !" and "Any more going on ?" warned us that the horses were put to. My brother and myself had taken our seats, and once more com posed ourselves for the continuance of our journey. And here I may remark, that I often afterwards travelled the same road ; and at Bagshot, on my way to London, as w7ell as at Basftigstoke, on my returning to the country (the former being the dining-place for the up journey, and the latter for the down), I always found twenty minutes ample time for refresh ing the inner man, and good dinners for those who chose to partake of them, with fair charges, accompanied by attention and civility from waiters and servants.

There are, unfortunately, a class of people in the world who seem to delight in finding fault with others where no real cause of complaint exists, and who, instead of endeavouring to accommodate them selves to circumstances, seem to claim it as a matter of right to utter invective when they find the possibility of creating a disturbance in consequence of any fancied slight committed against theft dignity or personal comfort. For my own part, it was a principle inculcated in me by kind parents, thrashed into me at school, and since practised as being the wisest and most sensible course to pursue, the adoption of that doctrine which old Horace afterwards taught me, viz. : — " Non mini res, sed me rebus subjungere conor." A modern writer, it is true, says, — " For the being that ia master of himself bendeth events to his will ; But a slave to selfish passion is the wavering creature of circumstance."

Well— even so — "the wavering creature of circumstance" doubtless is "a slave to selfish passion." There are, however, inevitable circumstances that occur to every man, to cavil at or dispute which would be supreme selfishness, too ; while the adoption of the opposite course of submission to those cir cumstances would imply the very converse of selfish ness. And now, evening began to draw on apace ; the sun had sunk to rest, and the excitement attendant upon my novel situation having somewhat subsided, my hands and feet began to complain of the cold. Hounslow, however, was soon reached, and on chang ing horses, the coach-lamps were lighted, and the last stage of my first joiu-ney to London had com menced. Hyde-park Corner was shortly in sight, and the time occupied seemed briefer to me than in reality it was, as I had fallen asleep, and in spirit had returned to my home-fireside, surrounded by those loved ones whose thoughts doubtless had followed my brother and myself many times in the course of the day which had just closed.

As we approached Apsley House, my brother nudged me into w7akefulness, and now the brilliancy of the lights, and the magnificent mansions which were presented to our view, together with the gay equipages which we were constantly meeting and passing, quite restored me to consciousness. The coach now stopped, and I certainly imagined that we had traversed a sufficiency of streets to have taken us through London from one end to the other. My brother, however, told me that the queer looking place into which the coachman had suddenly disappeared, after having quitted the box, was the " White Horse Cellar," where passengers desiring to stop at the extreme west end of London usually alighted, and all parcels destined for the same locality were deposited for delivery. Off again we soon were, along Piccadilly, the Strand, Fleet Street, and up Ludgate Hill, to St. Paul's Churchyard.

Was I really awake? Were the streets interminable ? Where could all the gas come from to supply the shop and other lamps? What on earth was the matter ? Where were the people all going to and coming from ? Surely some great and unexpected event must have emptied the houses of theft tenants ! No ! that could not be so, for many of the shops were crowded with buyers and sellers. Similar wonder was excited in my young mind by the constant flow of all kinds of vehicles— omnibuses, hackney-coaches (for these were then in theft glory, if indeed any glory were ever attached to them), cabs (very different affairs from the " Hansoms " and other well-appointed carriages of the present day), waggons, and carts. Why were such a vast medley of men, horses, and vehicles driving and crushing, and press ing, and apparently constantly threatening each other with total annihilation ?