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so ugly as you are!' the exquisite neatness and point of this reply, you observe, causes the crowd in court to hee-haw loudly. This question and answer, the reporter of the Morning Muffin,' with an accurate estimate of the mental calibre of his readers, will to-morrow record in full, and will further add that it was received in court with 'roars of laughter.'

Of course the result of all this newspaper puffing is, that the readers of the 'Morning Muffin,' from the frequency with which they see Mr. Serjeant O'Moore's name in the columns of that newspaper, come to regard him as being at the head of his profession, and wonder how it is that (to them) unknown men, like Mr. Hardhead, Q.C., should somehow be made judges, whilst Mr. Serjeant O'Moore is still left to adorn the English bar. Still more astonished would these good readers be could they but obtain a sight of Mr. Hardhead's fee-book, which they would find records an income of seven thousand pounds a year, while poor Serjeant O'Moore's never reaches within a fourth of that Of course, the explanation is, that whereas Mr. Hardhead is engaged in heavy commercial cases, in which the interests involved are enormous, and his fees correspondingly large, Mr. Serjeant O'Moore's practice lies exclusively in a class of cases

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which, although they possess what reporters call 'great interest for the general public,' are studiously avoided by all barristers of real ability who are aiming at the great rewards of their profession.

The work which goes on every day during termtime in the courts of Common Pleas and Exchequer is precisely similar to that which I have endeavoured to describe in the Court of Queen's Bench, and therefore we need not trouble to enter either of these first-named courts.

Let us, however, walk up to the highest door on the right-hand side of Westminster Hall, for that will lead us to a court the constitution and practice of which are alike different to those of the common law-courts. As we pass through the door, and climb the stairs to which it gives access, you hear in the distance a sound which recalls to your mind the solitary occasion upon which you went down to the sea in ships (in voyaging from London to Boulogne), and suffered horribly in so doing from the pangs of sea-sickness. But there is at present no cause for alarm. You are safe upon dry land, and the sound which recalls to your mind the terrible past is only the voice of the master of the good collier-brig 'Betsy Jane,' who is engaged in giving evidence in the Admiralty Court, the door of which we are now entering. The 'Betsy Jane' has, in the opinion (of

course) of her master, been run down in a most foul and unseamanlike way by the screw-steamer 'Seaton,' of which last-named vessel and her crew he (the master of the 'Betsy Jane') can scarcely speak in terms of sufficient reprobation. As we enter the court, the master of the 'Betsy Jane' is under cross-examination, and is being besought by the learned counsel for the defendants to explain how if the wind was north-north-west, as the master of the 'Betsy Jane' asserted, and the Betsy Jane' herself was steering west-south-west, she could possibly be close hauled on the starboard tack? Of course the master of the 'Betsy Jane' begins to edge out of this difficulty by saying that he can't tell 'to half a point' how the wind was. He is then earnestly entreated by his antagonist to 'try,' which, however, he vows he can't do 'no nearer than he has done,' &c.

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Those two old gentlemen dressed in nautical uniform, who are seated alongside of the judge, and who are such amused spectators of a contest in which all the nautical knowledge is on one side, and all the practised skill of an examiner upon the other, are the two Trinity masters, whose duty it is to advise the judge of the Admiralty Court upon all nautical matters which may come before him, and who, in fact, form a kind of skilled jury by whom the facts

in each nautical case are decided. The matters discussed in the Admiralty Court (of which the foregoing illustration may be taken as an example) are too technical, you say, to interest you much; so let us leave the master of the 'Betsy Jane' to his fate, and pass down yonder staircase. Arrived at the foot thereof, we take a turn to the left, and are then in a court, the crowded state of which contrasts wonderfully with the handful of people who were assembled in the Admiralty Court.

Your wonder ceases, however, when I tell you that this is the Divorce Court-that that fair lady who is seated upon a chair upon the left of the judge is the petitioner in the famous case of De Vere v. De Vere. All London is here; for are not even the very highest names mixed up in this trial, and are not the most eminent counsel-with huge fees marked upon their briefs-retained on one side or the other? That man with the prominent nose and acute face is the successor of Sir Cresswell Cresswell on the judgment-seat, and watch with what wonderful patience he attends to the evidence which is being given. Occasionally, however, even he loses temper at the wide line of cross-examination adopted by one of the counsel, whom he peremptorily requests 'to stick to the point.' This, as his lordship ought

to know, is really a cruel request, for it is asking the counsel in question to do what he has never yet succeeded in accomplishing, and probably never will be able to accomplish! As the day wears away in the Divorce Court, the crowd of spectators momentarily increases; the knocks at the outer door of the court become so frequent, that the life of the policeman on duty there is burdensome to him; the atmosphere inside grows hourly more and more stifling; but the judge works on steadily, until at length the last link in the chain of evidence is completed, and his lordship feels himself able to pronounce the two words, which practically, though not technically, dissolve the marriage tie. 'Rule nisi,' exclaims his Lordship; and thereat there drops from the fair petitioner that matrimonial chain which she found too grievous to be borne.

Perhaps the best time to see Westminster Hall is about two or three o'clock on a fine June afternoon. Parliament is then sitting; and the scene which the hall presents, dotted from top to bottom with groups of visitors, whilst M.P'.s rush to and fro in haste from their parliamentary duties, and pretty country cousins are escorted around it by London friends, under the admiring gaze of numerous members of the great Briefless family, who, attired

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