Punch (7.1844)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

45

PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER.

LETTER VTL

?rom a gentleman to his friend on being called to thk

purpose—such true nobility of aim in the profession to which with
a lover's fondness you have bound yourself—that in a measure I
feel myself glorified by the advancement of my friend !

You are now called to the bar ! Yes, you are of the happy few
chosen by the solemn election of the law as the privileged champions
of humanity. To you the widow and the orphan may prefer their
prayers ; in you they are taught to look for an adviser and a bene-
factor. Injured lowliness may claim the bounty of your counsel,
and innocence betrayed demand the lightning of your words.

With these thoughts, what strengthening comfort must support
you through the paths of study still to be adventured ! Feeling the
dignity of your mission, your mind will instinctively reject whatever
is mean and mercenary—will assimilate to itself all that is beautiful,
and pure, and good. In your hours of study you will feel that you
are arming yourself for the overthrow of craft, oppression, and all
the numerous brood of ignorance and ill: you will be sustained by
the thought, that you are dedicating the powers you have received
from Heaven to the noblest vindication of its grandest truth,—justice
to all men. With this belief, you will labour rejoicingly : you will
dedicate your night to study, and the early lark will greet you at
your book.

It is, I know, averred that the study of law is dry and harsh—a
barren, thankless theme ; that " the Books " have that within them
to weary the most patient spirit. And so, indeed, it may be to those
who as mere wordcatchers would study them ; who, incapable of
considering them in a philosophic light as operative on the social
mass, would seek their pages as Indians seek poison berries,—only |
for better means to slay their game with.—But you, my dear friend,!
have nobler aspirations ; you contemplate law as the discreet and
virtuous daughter of Justice, and not as her Abigail.

When you look around and consider the various occupations of
men, how sweet must be your self-complacency ! You cannot but
observe how thousands are doomed to a plodding obscurity ; how
thousands pass from birth to death with no one action of their lives
•to signalize themselves among their fellows : how, like corn, they
grow, ripen, and are cut down, leaving behind them no mark of their
.past existence. Again, how many pass their days in acts of violence,
making life one scene of wrong and tumult; whilst others creep
and wind through the world, timorous and cunning, with little of
the majesty of man to glorify them. Forgetful of the greatness of
their mission as human creatures, they dwell within the small circle
of their selfishness, all things beyond mere things of fable.

How different is your lot ! You are " called to the bar :" you are
chosen to play a part before the eyes of the whole world. You
are to uplift your voice in defence of all that dignifies our nature:
you are to work the daily champion of the weak and the distressed.
Is it possible that man can have a more glorious vocation ? Is it
within the ambition of a truly virtuous mind to achieve greater
triumphs !

Again, how beautiful will be the study of human nature laid before

you ! Every day \ou will be called to read that wondrous volump,
the human heart, in all its strange yet fascinating contradictious
And when, in the fulness of fame, distinguished by every attribute
of moral goodness, you are summoned to the bench,—you will display
to the world one of its noblest spectacles, a great and good man
honoured for his worth. Your elevation, whilst it rewards the labours
of your own clear spirit, will, star-like, shine upon the hopes of
others, inciting them to act your worthiness again and again. Thus
will your excellence be multiplied, and example beget example.

Believe me, my dear Tom,

Your sincere friend,

Justus Hartley.

LETTER VIII.

replv of the gentleman called to the bar to hia friend.

My dear Hartley,

You are, I find, the same enthusiastic, unsophisticated
creature that I left at Cambridge. May you never meet with aught
to change the noble simplicity of your nature !

True it is, I am " called f and most true I may, if I would wish
I to starve, dub myself knight of all distressed matrons, virgins, and
orphans. Unfortunately, however, for your rhapsody, it will always
lie in the breast of the mother of accidents, whether I champion the
wronged or the wronger ; whether I am to pour oil and honey into
wounds, or to be the humble instrument that adds another bruise :
whether, indeed, I fight on the side of Virtue, or lustily take arms
against her. This, however, is the accident of my fate ; and sc
that good retainers come in, I am content to bow to it. In your
noble philanthropy, Justus, please to consider the condition of the
world, if only what seemed virtuous and innocent were defended—
if all who by the force of circumstance appeared knaves were left
to scramble for themselves. Look at the wrong committed UDder
this ignorant devotion to abstract right. Virtue making victims by
her very bigotry !

As for the hours of study, they certainly bring their sweets ; but
verily not after the fashion you, in your blithe ignorance, imagine.
Law, my dear fellow, is not a region of fairy to be searched for golden
fruits and amaranthine flowers ; no, it is a deep, gloomy mine, to be
dug and dug, with the safety lamp of patience lighting us, through
many a winding passage—a lamp which, do what we will, so fre-
quently goes out, leaving us in darkness.

I grant you many of the high, ennobling privileges of the profes-
sion that your eloquence has dwelt upon ; but there are others which,
if you know not, permit me in the freedom of friendship to say, you
know nothing of the pleasures of the bar. Consider, what invulner-
able armour is a wig—a gown ! When they are once donned,you are
permitted, by the very defence you wear, to play with the characters
and feelings of men even as little girls play with dolls ; ripping their
seams, blackening their faces, making sport with them in any way
for the prosperity of your cause, and the benefit of your client. By
virtue of your profession, you are emphatically a gentleman ; and
the very mode in which you are permitted to exercise your calling
proves you to be a slanderer for so much money. You are protected
by the Court, and, taking full advantage of your position, you may
say in the face of Justice that which a regard for your anatomy
would not permit you to utter even in a tavern. You are protected,
and may to your heart's full wish enjoy your abuse. You are pistol-
proof, and may therefore throw what mud and call what names you
please. You have the privilege of the bar, which in this case means
—the privilege of cowardice ; and to the last letter you avail your-
self of its immunity.

You have likewise forgotten another privilege, that of cross-exa-
mination. Ha ! my frieud, you know my love of a joke, and truly I
anticipate much enjoyment from the freedom of tongue allowed me
when I shall have a witness to practise upon. How I will " torture
him with my wit "—how turn him inside out for the benefit of my
client! Indeed, the true heroism of the advocate is only shown by
his contempt of all things in honour of his fee. nence, if retained
by homicide to wash white and, if possible, to sweeten the blood-
dyed ruffian for the world, I shall not hesitate (though assured of
my client's guilt) to blacken all the witnesses against him. In pur-
suit of this high duty, I shall think it onerous upon me to impugn