Chapter II: Part 2

The following letter, the reader must think very piquant and graphic, and it will, probably, tend to throw a new light upon his preconceived opinions and estimation of a certain great man. He must remember, too, whilst reading it, that Admiral Sir George Cockburn had the command of the ship which conveyed Napoleon and his suite to St. Helena.

This letter is dated,

_London_, 14 _Oct._ 1816.

To the same,--

"I am very much obliged to you for your excellent and most welcome
present [it is below the dignity of the Epopee to say goose and
sausages] which reached me on Sunday, and the note which you were so
kind as to send with it, I can only repay you in this the old paper of
unproductive thanks, but the sincerity of them will be held in some
estimation by the mind actuated by the kindness that has excited them,
and, therefore, flimsy as they are, I venture to beg your acceptance
of them. I have nothing new, Madam, to send you for your
entertainment from this great city. That the Regent is going to
divorce the Princess of Wales, and excite the hope of the husbands and
the fear of the wives--that under such an example, all the legal
restraints to repudiation will be removed, and the practice become
wide, and quite fashionable; you have, of course, heard long ago from
the newspapers, they are eternally depriving us by anticipation of the
power of writing agreeable and interesting letters to the Ladies in
the country.

Sir James Cockburn arrived in town last Saturday from Bermudas. He is
quite well, and neither seems nor believes himself an hour older for
having been three years at Bermudas, since he was last in England. I
have been much with him and his brother, the Admiral, lately. I have
not (for your sex has not ALL the curiosity, though all of a peculiar
kind) omitted to ply him with questions about Buonaparte. He is now
admirably qualified to be Emperor in that country of which I have
read, where they elect the fattest man in the state to the Empire. His
legs are as bulky as my body, the ribs in proportion; and since this
girth is all attained in little more than five-feet five-inches of
length, he is not what Miss Cruso or Miss Godfrey [the head milliners
of Norwich at the time] would call a very genteel figure. He eats
with voraciousness of the most luxurious dishes; he has, in Cockburn's
opinion, a very mean assemblage of features with something fearfully
black and vicious about the brows and eyes. His manners are coarse
and repulsive. Did you ever in a litter yard come suddenly on a lady
in the straw that starts up on her fore legs and, dropping fourteen
infant pigs from her teats, salutes you with a fierce jumble of
barking, grunting, and hissing? In exactly such a sound is this
amiable man represented to me to have always replied to every address
of Bertrand, Mouthoulon, and the others, who are his fools and
followers to St. Helena. Sometimes he neglected all restraint on his
nature, and gave the same ferocious and inarticulate answers to the
English officers. He played chess so badly, that Bertrand and
Mouthoulon, who had too much discretion to excel their patron, had, at
times, great difficulty to lose the game to him; after trying for many
nights he could not attain the rudiments of whist, and went back to
vingt-un; but this is the man who has been described to us all as ALL-
INTELLECT. The newspapers, too, said I remember, that at whist he
left all instruction behind him, and soon played so well, that he had
won very large sums of the Admiral by his superior play, even while he
was only a Tyro. I can tell you no more now; but the Admiral has had
the goodness to lend me a journal of his conversation with Buonaparte
on the passage out, and when I have the pleasure of seeing you in the
sessions week, I will give you some extracts from my memory. I am, I
believe, a little better, but the disorder in the upper part of my
stomach still continues and oppresses me. It is now inveterate, the
complaint commenced last March, a twelvemonth past. If I cannot rid
myself of it, it will kill me in time. My best duty to my father,
love to William and 'aliis,'

I am, dear Madam,
Yours very faithfully,
HENRY COOPER.

P.S.--I write in a great hurry for I am making up my parcel for
Bermudas. I should not write to you at all, but I do not like so long
to delay my due thanks to your kindness."

This letter is dated,

2, _Lamb's Buildings_,
27_th_ _January_, 1817.

To the same,--

I am scarcely warm in my place in London before I have to thank you
for your present to me; you hardly give me time, in the short
intervals of these marks of your kindness to me, to frame my thanks to
you for each. I have exhausted all my common-place forms and am
forced to rack my invention (so very often have you come forward with
these welcome claims on me) to give anything like a turn to the
expression in which to convey my thanks. Mr. Pope (in those rhymes
for the nursery which he has entitled the Universal Prayer) calls
enjoyment obedience: now if enjoyment be thankfulness, too, then never
was a being more completely thanked than yourself; for the ducks were
devoured with the most devout gust and appetite; they were the most
superb fowls that ever suffered martyrdom of their lives to delight
the palate and appease the hunger of the Lords of the creation. You
should have sent them to some imitator of the Dutch school, who could
have painted them before he ate them; the hare, too, is as good as it
can be, and you are agreeably thanked for it by an equal portion of
enjoyment.

I must beg you to excuse a very short, dull, and hasty letter, from
me. If I were not impatient at the thought of letting any longer time
elapse without expressing my lively sense of your frequent mark of
kind consideration of me, I should not write at all to day. I have
something to do at my chambers, and in ten minutes I must run down to
Westminster Hall; and whilst I am thus engaged, I am as much
disqualified for writing, by a dark fit of low spirits, as prevented
by want of leisure. I resist as much as I can these attacks of the
night-mare by day, but I cannot wholly succeed against them; my
circumstances may possibly change, and, if not, such gloominess is
unreasonable; if Fortune is never weary of persecuting me, I shall at
last be past the sense of her persecutions. In the meantime, whatever
is the colour of my life, I shall, if I can, continue to hope the
future cannot be the worse, and the present will be the more tolerable
for it. I shall, therefore, cling to her while I live, and to apply a
beautiful thought of Tibullus--

'Dying, clasp her with my failing hand.'

In endeavouring to recollect me of the many fine things that have been
said of hope to crown my declaration of attachment to that first place
of our lives, I remember Cowley has observed 'that it is as much
destroyed by the possession of its object as by exclusion from it.'
This is very ingenious and very true, and though not to the purpose
for which I was seeking it yet will very well serve another. I wish
my dear Madam, very sincerely, that the former mode of destruction may
speedily befall all your present hopes, and that in future you will be
surrounded by so many blessings as will leave you no room for the
exercise of any hope but their continuance, My duty to my father, and
my love to William, I trust that he improves in Latin; pray tell him
that I was vexed not to find him so good a scholar in that language as
I expected; when I next see him I hope my expectations will be
exceeded.

I am, my dear Madam,
Yours very truly,
HENRY COOPER."

The following letter I have previously made reference to. It is written, evidently, in despondency, and heartfelt sorrow, under the shock of the frightful calamity. It relates to the disastrous death of poor Alfred, his youngest brother. It is dated from, and bears date

2, _Elm Court_, _Temple_,
25_th_ _June_, 1822.

To the same,--

I received your letter yesterday, but I was so ill (that important as
the occasion is) I could not answer it. To-day, nothing less than the
urgency of the subject could prevail upon me to make the smallest
exertion, for I am scarcely able to drag one limb up to the other. I
have a violent catarrh, the glands of my throat are further inflamed
and ulcerated, and I am burning with fever.

With regard to divulging to Harriet the disastrous event, for which,
when once known to her, she can never be consoled; I am in a very
unfit state to give advice. I am as I have always been of opinion,
that it should be concealed from her as long as it can. It is a more
generous cause of grief than the loss of a lover; and as Harriet's
mind is built, I think more likely to shock and destroy her. You
state only one reason for breaking the secrecy which has hitherto been
observed--that it appears strange, the event public, that you are not
in mourning for it. I cannot but think that if any good can
reasonably be expected from withholding the knowledge of this dreadful
incident, it would be wrong and trifling to forego it, for the
senseless custom of putting yourself in black for a few months. I
have no crape about me. If any one were to ask the cause of my
disregard of a paltry decorum, I should either turn on my heel from
him, or explain to him that I did not put on the mockery of sorrow,
lest it should get to my sister's ear; that I was in outward mourning,
and she had to be discovering for whom.

It is, surely, easy for you to say that you do not put on black for
the same reason, to all who may enquire, or to all those to whom you
wish to appear decorous. [He then writes on family matters, but,
after a few lines, again recurs to the painful subject of his letter.]
It is known to several with whom I am acquainted in London; but, it is
easy, as Harriet restricts herself to a very narrow intercourse, to
keep it still from her knowledge, till she has recovered strength of
body to contend anew with severe and heavy affliction. How much I
have suffered from the intelligence I shall not attempt to describe to
you. I had but little interest in life before; it is now heavy and
sickening to me. I feel as if I never should smile again; every
circumstance of aggravation attends it. To perish on the verge of the
shore, when he was just about to embark, after six years in the
climate, when we thought the danger past. With letters from him full
of felicitation of himself, and rapture at the hope of soon meeting us
again, and when we were expecting him every moment in our embrace, to
be struck cold to the heart with the news that we should never see him
again. I owe little to man--I shall soon owe nothing to any other
being. I hate the cant of the doctrine of Providence 'your brother
may be snatched by a merciful power from impending evil.' Bah! why
not the merciful being continue life to my brother, and destroy the
impending evil? Well, I shall soon be as he is, and though there is
no consolation in that feeling, it is some assuagement of grief,
because sorrow will then be at an end. My duty to my father. I write
in great pain.

I am, dear Madam,
Yours very truly,
HENRY COOPER."

The following makes the last of the letters I possess, and is written six months previous to his death; and in answer to a letter, of my mother to him, respecting the appointment of a paid chairman, and he, a barrister of some standing, to preside at Quarter Sessions, and to have besides (if my recollection be correct) some civil power. This was then in the contemplation of the Ministry; and as the poet says "coming events cast their shadows before" evidently the shadow of the present county courts. The letter is dated from and bears date,

5, Hare Court, Temple.
6th March, 1824.

To the same,--

"I did not return to Town till Sunday morning, when I found your
letter at my chambers. I hope you will accept, as a sufficient
excuse, the extreme fatigue and languor which I felt all yesterday for
not answering it immediately.

I lament exceedingly, that my father should not have been early enough
in his application to the Lieutenant of the County, in whose gift, by
the frame of the bill, the appointment is placed, and in whose hand, I
fear, by the act itself it will remain.

I cannot conjecture to whom it has been promised by Col. Wodehouse. To
Alderson is not at all probable, from the part he has taken against
the Wodehouse's, who are the most bigoted and relentless Tories in
existence. To Preston [another provincial barrister in Norwich, and
the late Jermy, who was shot by Rush], ought not to be probable,
because he is not competent either in law or common sense to fill the
office; and the favour to him would be an injury to the public. My
father has every claim to it, and I think that it would have been no
more than what was due from Col. Wodehouse, both to the county and my
father, to offer it to him before he promised it to another.

I wish you might be right in your surmise, that the patronage will be
placed in another quarter; but, of that there is the faintest chance,
I should advise you to press my father to exert himself to procure the
appointment, as it will be an office of the most agreeable kind,
affording considerable profit at very little trouble. I, myself, know
not a soul in the world who could influence any one of the present
government: and any enquiries or attempt by me would have, in all
probability, an adverse operation. I am of no importance whatever to
any party, but my opinions, humble and insignificant as they are, have
been noticed and recorded; and I am down in the black book for
persecution, rather than in the red for favour. Of little note and
importance as I am, such is the consciousness, in their own infirmity,
in those who rule us, that the very lowest who have denounced their
system, are objects of their hatred, for they are the objects of their
fear; and those who have put them to the pain of apprehension, are
marks for their revenge. I should think that the best course that my
father could take would be to apply to Mr. John Harvey, to induce his
brother, Onley Harvey, Esq. (a brother barrister of my father too), to
ask it of the Home Department; if he asked it (supposing the gift to
be there), I think, without doubt it would be given. [The rest of the
letter relates to family matters, and concludes my love to William. He
attributes too much honour to me by looking to me with any
admiration.] My duty to my father.

I am, dear Madam,
Yours very truly,
HENRY COOPER."

My task is all but accomplished. I have but now to lay before the reader the promised verses; those on Buonaparte are characteristic of the writer, who, with his high intellectual powers, possessed to the last, a noble and independent spirit, which despised even the appearance of servility. I shall then add the notices that appeared in the _Morning Chronicle_, and _Gentleman's Magazine_, soon after his decease, which clearly show that He, whose death they record, was no common person; as, also, the high estimation he was held in by the profession, to which he was an honour; and by the public who admired him for his eloquence, and prized him for his independence of character. In the sketches I have given of the two lives, which were, of necessity intermingled,--it is true, I have given but a rough outline of each, and my hope is they will portray the lineaments and character as effectually as a more lengthened biography; as I have seen, and often the character of a friend's face better given in a few mere outlines, than in the finished likeness. In looking at a small duodecimo edition I possess of Plutarch's lives, I perceive that the lives of his greatest heroes and statesmen, are comprised within a hundred pages, and yet how clearly does he portray their lives to the reader. He gives a few anecdotes of their youth, a few salient points of their character in manhood, and then concludes with their actions and their deaths; and leaves the rest to the imagination and "the mind's eye;" and who, after, reading them, does not see clearly before him the man whose life has been so ably delineated? I mean not, by this, to compare myself for an instant, with that great writer; but, having, as I said before, such slender materials to deal with, I have, as far as I was able, and after re-perusing the writer referred to, done my best, with my small abilities to follow his example, and pursue his arrangement; I can only hope I may have in part succeeded.

After the notices referred to, I shall end by laying before the reader the verses written on my brother, after his death, by my mother and Mr. Wing; and in the appendix I shall refer the reader to the life of Erskine before alluded to; as, also, to the trial of Mary Ann Carlile, which will show, and clearly, the style of the eloquence of her advocate on the occasion, combined as it is with powerful argument, and that clearness and lucid order which were his forte. And now, reader, to use the words of Cicero, in concluding one of his epistles to a friend, "vale et valeas."

"IN BONAMPARTEM."

He ne'er shall be extoll'd by me, Whom wealth and fortune raise to power; But he, alone who will be free From sordid shame, or live no more. Let him with wreaths of song be crown'd, Who life, deflower'd of glory, spurn'd, And breaking from his kindred round, To Carthage and to death return'd.

With him, who when his righteous hand, In vain the splendid blow had given, The tyrant, only chang'd, disdain'd The light of unregarded Heaven. And Cato--thou, who tyranny All earth besides enslaved, withstood; And failing to high liberty, Pour'd fierce libation of thy blood.

Oh, Godlike men! you leave no praise For him who to the king could bend, To add a few unhonor'd days To life, at latest--soon to end. Nor him self-raised to Gallia's throne, Who, rushing with his martial hordes, Cast Europe's ancient sceptres down, And made his slaves her sov'reign lords.

For his was not the heart that dar'd When with the battle all was lost, Plunge in the whirlpool of the war, And share the slaughter of his host; Nor his, the indignant soul with brave And Roman arm, his life to shed; But still he sought by flight to save His outlaw'd and unlaurell'd head.

With face to earth his vet'rans' lay In ruins all who bore his name; His mighty Empire past away, And blasted, as a Chief, his fame. Yet--yet--(so let him live) content The sentence of his foes he bore, Like a vile felon to be sent An exile to a wretched shore.

FROM THE PORTUGUESE.

Where silver hairs no reverence meet, Where to the weary stranger's feet To cross the threshold 'tis denied. And at the genial board, her place No kerchief'd matron takes to grace Her savage husband's haughty side; Where Niger hides, or on the shore Of dark and stormy Labrador. O Castres,--I with thee would rove, And, blest, thus wand'ring, if my mind Could leave her galling bonds behind; The bonds of an unworthy love. Not like a Gambian slave that fled (Of the pale Creole's lash in dread) From Rio, strives in fearful haste The mountain's woody side to gain; But with him drags the clinking chain, Lock'd at his waist or ancle fast.

THE WOES OF THE RIVERS.

"To each his suff'rings." Heaps of dead Trojans were Scamander's bane, Dead dogs, dead cats, and dung-boats shame the Seine, Ten thousand shores and jakes the Thames defile, And gradual mud is working woe to Nile; Yet harder Duddon's fate, her hapless stream Of fifty strains by Wordsworth is the theme.

* * * * *

The following _jeu d'esprit_ was written on a certain nobleman, who, leaving the Whig party, of which up to that time he had been a strong adherent, and for the sake, it was supposed, of gaining the Regent's favour, not only voted, but took a strong part against the Queen.

TO LORD L---.

What caused you L---, to rush in, Through thick and thin, to give your Queen a splashing For this your party, to the devil gave you, And yet the rav'nous Tories will not have you. So in that country (where with hopes you fool Your second infancy, you yet shall rule) A sect of devotees there is who tell ye The way to heaven is through a fish's belly; And in the surges, on a certain day, They give themselves to rav'nous sharks a prey. Among the rest, an ancient beldame went,-- Weak, wither'd, wrinkled, tawny, tough, and bent (Your very self in breeches she would be, Put on her petticoats, and you were she); She waded in the water to her haunches, Hoping the sharks would pass her through their paunches; But out of fifty, not a shark would have her, Tho' she implored them, as a special favour; They came and smelt, and did not like her savour, She threw their stomachs into such commotion, They would not even bear her in the ocean. But down they pushed her--roll'd her o'er and o'er, And shovel'd with their snouts again to shore; Alike your fate: to be by sharks abhorr'd Was her's, and your's by Minister's old _Lord_.

* * * * *

In the _Chronicle_ of September 27th, 1824, appeared the following notice of my brother's death, headed:--"Death of Henry Cooper.--We regret to have to announce the death of a gentleman warmly beloved by all who knew him, Mr. Henry Cooper the barrister. He died on Sunday the 19th, at the cottage of his friend, Mr. Hill, of Chelsea, after a short illness which brought on an inflammation in his bowels that proved fatal; he was interred on Friday last.

"Mr. Cooper had overcome the difficulties of his profession, and was rising fast into eminence. He was already leader on the Norfolk circuit, and with his readiness, his powerful memory, and his forcible and fluent delivery, the most distinguished success was universally anticipated for him: his vein of pleasantry was particularly rich, as an instance we may refer to a case on the very last circuit in which a hairdresser of Newmarket was one of the parties, and which he made irresistibly amusing. We appeal confidently to those of our readers who have attentively considered the signs of the times, if there was not much distrust of the bar about the period when Mr. Henry Cooper came into notice, and if he did not by his exertions contribute greatly to remove it.

"He had been sometime employed procuring materials for a life of Lord Erskine, with whom he was particularly intimate, which he had undertaken to write; we suspect he had not made much progress in the work when death erminated all his labour."

The next notice of his death is taken from the _Gentleman's Magazine_, from July to December, 1824; vol. 94, part 2.--"On the 19th of September, 1824, at Chelsea, Henry Cooper, barrister-at-law, in the vigour of life and with every prospect of reaching the highest honors in his profession. The death of this rising barrister has been recorded in page 381 [as above]. He died of inflammation of the bowels, at the house of his friend, Mr. Hill, at Chelsea. His age was about thirty-eight or thirty- nine, and he had been about twelve years at the bar. He was the son of a counsel of eminence residing at Norwich. He went to sea with Lord Nelson, and was present at the battle of the Nile, but he early quitted the naval profession for that of the law, though he retained much of the frankness and gaiety of manner which distinguish seamen, and the activity and strength of frame which a seaman's habits create. He was afterwards Attorney General of the Bermudas, at the time when one of the Cockburn's was governor. On the appointment of the late Mr. Serjeant Blossett to the Chief Justiceship of Bengal, Mr. Cooper, who was then rapidly rising on his circuit (the Norfolk) became one of the leaders; and at the two last assizes, was in every cause.

"He possessed great activity and versatility of mind; no one, according to the testimony of those who saw most of him, combined with a fluent and powerful eloquence, a better judgment and nicer skill in conducting a cause. But his best and highest forensic quality, and that which, combined with his talents, make the loss a national one, was his great moral and professional courage, his unshaken attachment to what he considered a good cause. No consideration ever warped him from his duty. He was proof not merely against those speculations on the best probable means of personal advancement which many men reject as well as he did, but against that desire of standing well with the judges, of getting the ear of the judge, of obtaining the sympathy of men of professional standing, which it requires much more firmness to resist; there was no one on whom a defendant exposed to the enmity of government, or to the judges, or to any prejudices, could rely with greater certainty; that he would not be compromised or betrayed by his advocate. In a word, there was no man less of a sycophant. He had a confidence that he could make himself a name by his own merits, and he would have it.

"But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears
And slits the thin spun life."

The following verses, soon after my brother's death, headed, "On the death of Henry Cooper, Esq.," appeared in the provincial papers; they were composed by my mother, and had not only the tacit consent of all, but the universal praise, and that openly expressed, for their spirit and truthfulness which all felt, for all then knew and admired him they mourned.

The pride of the Circuit is gone,
The eloquent tongue is at rest;
The spirit so active is flown,
And still lies the quick heaving breast.

The mind so gigantic and strong,
Is vanish'd like vapour or breath;
And the fire that shone in his eye,
Is quenched by the cold hand of death.

Yet a balm to his friends shall arise,
That so soon he acquired a name;
For he dropp'd like a star from the skies,
Untarnished in lustre or fame.

The following verses also, on the death of my brother, appeared in the provincial papers, and were written by Frederic Wing, Esq., attorney-at- law, residing at Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk, and headed, "On the death of the late Henry Cooper."

"Ye friends of talent, genius, hither come,
And bend with fond regret o'er Cooper's tomb;
Closed are those lips, and pow'rless that tongue,
On whose swift accents you've delighted hung.
Cold is that heart,--unthinking now, the brain,
But late the seat of thought's mysterious train,
For by the stern, relentless hand of death,
Is stopt the inspiring, animating breath:
And he whose powers of rhetoric all could charm,
Fail'd to arrest the Tyrant's conquering arm.
Cooper,--Farewell!--
Transient, yet splendid, was thy short career,
Unfading laurels twine thy early bier.
To mourn thy exit, how can we refrain,
For seldom shall we see thy like again!
Who, to deep learning, and the soundest sense,
Join'd the rare gift of matchless eloquence.
Thy wit most keen, thy penetration clear,
Thy satire poignant, made corruption fear.
And such thy knowledge of the human heart,
So prompt to see, and to unmask each art.
Oppression shrunk abash'd, while innocence
Call'd thee her champion--her sure defence.
Once more, farewell, long shall thy name be dear,
And oft shall Independence drop a tear
Of grateful memory o'er departed worth,
And selfish, wish thee back again to earth.
To abide the important issue of that cause,
Fix'd not by mortal, but celestial laws,
Thou'rt summon'd hence, may'st thou not plead in vain,
But from our Heavenly Judge acceptance gain,
And sure admittance to those courts on high,
Where term and time are lost in blest eternity.

APPENDIX. THE LIFE OF LORD ERSKINE. AS COMMENCED BY MY BROTHER

Thomas Erskine, the only advocate, and, almost, the only orator, whose speeches are likely to survive the interest of the occasion that gave them birth in a country, where forensic litigation abounds, and political institutions render the study and exercise of eloquence important and necessary, was born on the in --- the year 175, at ---, in Scotland; he was the third son of the Earl of Buchan, by ---. This family is ancient, and connects, with its pedigree, the sovereigns, both of Scotland and England, related to the former. The marriage of the daughter of James the First with the Palatine, mixed his line with the descendants, and, consequently, united him with the family that now reigns in England. He thus brought with him to the profession of the bar, the advantage of all the prejudice in favour of illustrious descents, and found easier way yielded to his powerful talents by the diminution of envy which attended it.

Of his very early years, I am unable to supply the public with any information, and I regret it,--not that any very important lesson of utility can be derived from the anecdotes of childhood, but they are amusing, and amusing without harm; and I agree with Dr. West that he has a very imperfect knowledge of human nature who is not convinced, that in a state of refined society, it is impossible to amuse innocently. All that I have been able to learn distinctly, is, that the most playful vivacity, and the same good humour, which ever after accompanied him even in the keenest rivalry of the bar, displayed itself in his words and actions, and made him the delight of all, but those who morose and splenetic, from their own disgust of existence, conceive offence at others for that enjoyment of the present, which can only subsist upon ignorance, and the hope of the future that MUST BE disappointed. To this vivacity, he, perhaps, owed as much as to those endowments, which are deemed more solid qualifications for the bar. It imparted itself to his eye, his mouth, his tone, and his action, and held his hearers engaged, when his periods were such as pronounced by an ordinary speaker, would not have preserved the audience from that listnessness, which is instantly seen and felt by the speaker, and soon adds embarrassment and confusion to feebleness. In private society, to the last months of his existence, it gave him rather the air of a youth inexperienced in the realities of life, and entering it under the ardour of hope, than of a man who had almost reached the limits of human existence, in the exercise of a profession, which lays the human breast naked to inspection. It was said of Pope, from his primitive habits of reflection and gravity, that he was never young; and, on the contrary, it may be said with equal justice, from the playfulness and vivacity of Erskine, that he was never old. At the age of he entered the navy as a midshipman, and served in the ---, commanded by Captain ---, in America. While in this station he was employed in making a survey under one of the lieutenants of the ship, off the coast of Florida. He had some acquaintance with geometry; and, as he tells us himself in his "Armata," always retained a fondness for that science. Whether this fondness grew in acquiring the knowledge of navigation, indispensable to his profession, or subsequently at the university in which it forms so much the greater part of education, I am ignorant; but that he was versed to a degree both in geometry and astronomy, is evident, from the work I have named, and some pieces of his poetry, which I have had access to. The cause that led him to leave the navy and enter the army is unknown; it is most likely to have been disgust and impatience of the subordination, which in our fleets is rigid in the extreme, and never softened by that alternation of social intercourse, at a common table at which in the army, all the officers of the regiment meet daily, and from which they rise with a feeling, not only that insulting and overbearing command upon duty would be a violation of an implied pledge of kindness, but injury to themselves, as diminishing in the gloom that would spread over their next meeting, the common stock of enjoyment. The condition of our naval service is, in some respects, improved since Erskine was a member of it; but then all knowledge beyond that of the conduct of a ship, was deemed unnecessary, impertinent, and even adverse to the attainment of nautical skill. The intercourse of the officers even on the shore, was confined almost entirely to one another, for not to speak of the uncouthness of their habits, which made them as incapable of mingling in society on land, as the beings of their element on which their avocation lay, are of living in the air, their language was technical to a degree that rendered it to all, except themselves, almost unintelligible. With such persons for companions, and to use Terence's expression, quotidian and tedious sameness of a life at sea, we need look no further for Erskine's desire to change his profession. When we consider the great capacity which he possessed for observation, and his extraordinary power of combining the knowledge that he so acquired, the period which he gave to the naval service must have been, to a spirit so active, a period of painful constraints. I remember that in a conversation upon Lord Erskine, with Mr. Capel Loft, after enumerating the many great causes in which the great advocate had been engaged, he exclaimed, "what an infinite multitude of ideas must have passed through that man's mind." The remark is not an empty one; I doubt whether there ever was a man who exercised the faculty of reasoning more, who drew a greater number of distinct conclusions, or whose materials of thought were more the collection and property of his own observation. Cicero, in his speech for Archias, appeals to the judges whether he could possibly supply the demands upon him for daily exertions of eloquence, unless he assidiously refreshed his mind with studies, in which he was assisted by Archias and other rhetoricians, and that he read copiously is manifested in all his works. The accomplished academician, the able balancer of the different schools of philosophy and morals, and the studied Rhetor is obtruded upon us. He was, in every sense of the term, learned; Erskine, on the contrary, cannot be discovered by any of his speeches, or writings, to have read much, and most probably had read very little. He was in no sense of the word learned. He has, indeed by acuteness of observation, vigour of combination, and the ready power of deduction that he possessed, been able to produce and leave behind him what will become the learning of others, but he was not learned himself. His qualities, from his earliest years were quickness and acuteness, unchecked and insatiable curiosity, retentive memory, and busy reflection; his mind was never still. In the coffee-room he conversed and indulged in humour with all round him. However important or heavy the causes which were to occupy him in court, they never oppressed his mind with a load of anxiety; his was not like ordinary minds under great affairs, so absorbed that he could perceive nothing round him; his, till the hour of solemn exertion arrived, was disengaged and indulged in pleasantry; after the toil of the day, the passion of eloquence and the intensity of technical argument, he was full of spirits and waggery at dinner and in the evening. And light as his topics sometimes were, his thoughts were always distinct, and his expressions full; you never from him heard any imperfect thoughts expressed, that (like tadpoles, before they are complete, must go through other processes of animation) required the exertion of your own conceptions to attain their sense and spirit. The activity of his mind was like that of the swallow, which either in sport or pursuit is upon the wing for ever. With this character it may readily be believed that young Erskine received his discharge with feelings like those that attend the cessation of a long and painful disease from a state which called for no exercise of his great talents, and, neither yielded scope for the communication of his own attainments nor opportunity to increase them from the communications of others.

He became an ensign of the Royals and married not long after. He was sent with his corps to the Mediterranean, and stationed either with his regiment or a detachment of his regiment, at Minorca; there, under the influence of an ardent feeling of religion, which he owed to the anxious inculcations of his mother, from whom he received the rudiments of education, he is said in the absence of the chaplain, to have composed more than one sermon, and to have delivered them to the assembled officers and privates of his regiment. It never occurred to me to ask him whether there was truth in this report; but he has frequently talked to me of anecdotes which were circulated of him, some of which he confirmed while he contradicted others, and never spoke of this as unfounded; from my knowledge of his character it is highly probable, and I believe it is true. About three years ago he was at Tunbridge Wells with Mr. Coutts, and while there, pointed out to a friend of mine a building, and said, "There, when it was a public room, I preached a sermon of my own composition to the company;" this was for a wager. He returned to England in 17-- with his regiment, the father of three children. The anxiety of his mother, whose affections and care for her family rendered her most estimable, and have endeared her memory to her descendants, was excited by Thomas, who had nothing but his pay for the support of his wife and his children, likely soon to become more numerous. Her prudence suggested to her another profession for him by the gains of which he might avoid the destitution which she saw hanging over his head. With this design, she sent for Mr. Adam, the barrister (now the Commissioner of the Scotch jury courts), that she might receive the assistance of his experience and advice. On his arrival she said, "My son Tom has been thoughtless enough to marry a woman without fortune, and she has brought him a family which he cannot support himself, nor I for him,--what is to be done? And I have been thinking that he must sell his commission, go to the bar, and be Lord Chancellor." It is interesting to reflect, that while this excellent woman was endeavouring to conceal the bitterness of an affectionate mother's anguish for her son's imprudence, she was unconsciously pronouncing a prophecy. Nor will it be less to see how trifling an event would have prevented its accomplishment; Mr. Adam told her that there were a great many steps from the entrance of the profession and the very high rank which she purposed, many of which he should be happy to congratulate her son on attaining. The conference proceeded, the obstacles to success at the bar were weighed against the certainty of domestic calamities if he remained in his present profession, and they parted, both of opinion, that in the direction of the bar, Thomas Erskine was most likely to leave behind his present embarrassment and reach prosperity. It remained, however, to procure the consent of her son; that was not easy: he had no predilection for the bar, and was attached to the army, and his regiment, to the officers of which his sprightly and amiable manners had endeared him, and in which he was soliciting promotion and expecting it. At last, however, his conditional consent was drawn from him. He agreed to let his mother dispose of him as she wished, if he should be unsuccessful in his application for the vacant captaincy in the Royals. This was far from satisfying his mother, but he was peremptory, and she could not induce him to more positive terms; thus, if Erskine could have gained the rank of captain in the Royals, the destination of which was, then, an American colony, by which he might have gained the privilege of being scalped by the savages, or perishing in the swamps or forests of North America, the country would never have known that splendid eloquence, which is its boast and its pride; Tooke, Thelwall, Hardy, and the rest of those unfortunate men who were held so long under the terror of death, would probably have been hanged, and the country oppressed by a gloomy precedent of constructive treason, under which no man who has raised himself in opposition to a corrupt and sinister government could have been safe; one is inclined to shudder, like a man whom a shot has missed only by the breadth of a hair, in contemplating how near so much danger was incurred, and so much benefit lost. But it is not on the magnitude, but continuity of the chain, that great results depend; on examining the past, we shall find that as small a link struck out at one point or other of succession, would have disappointed the most important events of history. Happily for Erskine and his country, his claims from the merit of his services were eluded, and though he was more urgent in his applications, since the alternative was to be the bar, he was refused promotion. There was a singular coincidence in the fortune of the late Lord Chatham and Erskine: the former was sent into parliament and driven into violent opposition to Sir Robert Walpole, because that minister had deprived him of a company of horse, and dismissed him the service, an act of which the minister had reason to repent. He was like the emblem of envy with the recoiled dart in his own bosom; except Charles I., who stopped Hampden and Cromwell from embarking upon the Thames to follow liberty into the wilderness of America, no man had ever so much reason to curse himself for his own acts. In the same manner a slight of Erskine's claims to promotion sent him to display an eloquence that had never yet been heard at the English bar. His fame as an advocate, drew the notice of the Whig party on him; he was enlisted in their ranks and added an importance to the opposition, which not unfrequently increased the embarrassment of the minister. While he was held in suspense by those who had the disposal of commissions, he was quartered at Maidstone, and entering the court during the assizes there, was placed in his military uniform upon the bench, beside the great Lord Mansfield, to whom he was distantly related, and who at intervals of business, conversed with him on the proposed change of arms for the gown. This was another of the accidents which, by minds of a certain frame would be regarded as an omen. After relating this anecdote, he added, "Only four years from that time, I was at the place in the lead of that very circuit." All his hopes of promotion at an end, the commission so unequal to the demands for subsistance upon it, was disposed of, and he was at once entered a student of the Law Society of Lincoln's Inn, and a Commoner at --- College, Cambridge

* * * * *

A few days before he was called to the bar, a friend came and invited him to accompany him to dine at the villa of a wine merchant, a few miles from London. The allurements were a good dinner, and wine not to be procured but by a dealer, who could cull his own stock from thousands of pipes, and they were not to be resisted by a young man fond of pleasure, to whom such luxuries must come gratuitously, if they come at all. Economy, which was important to Erskine, was not quite beneath the regard of his friend, and after many proposals of several modes of conveyance, which were all rejected, either for their expense, or their humbleness, they agreed to walk; I have heard playful exertions of the mind or body attributed to what was denominated an excessive flow of animal spirits, a phrase that sounds significantly in the ear, but gives no information to the understanding. Those who use it, mean, I suppose, to express that when the body has received more nutriment than is necessary to promote its growth, or maintain it the redundancy is thrown off in almost involuntary exertions of the limbs or of mind. If this physiology be just, Erskine had an extraordinary surplus of supply,--that regular discharge like the back water of a mill, and it found vent in various gambols and effusions of humour on the way to the wine merchant's. While Erskine, buoyed by high health and ardent hope, scarcely felt the ground that he trod, the sight of a ditch by the side of the road, tempted him to exercise his agility. The impulse, and obedience to the impulse, were the same. He made the attempt, but the ditch was too wide for his spring, and he leaped a little short of the opposite bank. His dress above was splashed with foul water, and his legs booted in mud. Nothing was to be done on his part but to return, and his companion with a kindness that does him honour, would have returned with him, but this, Erskine was too generous to allow; and while his friend continued his journey to the wine merchant's house and sumptuous dinner, Erskine solitary and in pain (for he had severely sprained his leg) returned to town; on reaching his lodgings Mrs. Erskine proposed a change of dress, and urged him yet to go to dinner at the wine merchant's. He objected his lameness from the sprain, which she answered by proposing a coach and the expense, which he hinted, was not to be weighed against the benefit he might derive from the friends which his manners and spirits were likely to make him in the mixed and numerous company he would meet there. This was a consideration so important to a young man on the verge of the bar, that Erskine's disinclination was overcome by these reasonings of his wife. A coach was procured, and he again set out, but he did not arrive till dinner was half over, and found himself placed by this accident by the side of Captain Bailey, of Greenwich Hospital. With the modesty which is always united with true genius, Lord Erskine always spoke of this event as the greatest instance of good fortune which ever befel him. But for this, he said to me, "I might have waited years for an opportunity to show that I had any talent for the bar; and when it occurred I should not have pleaded with such effect, depressed and mortified as I might have been by long expectation, and its attendant evils, instead of seizing it with all the energy and confidence of youth elated with hope." I record this to show how little he was actuated by arrogance or presumption; I by no means assent to his opinion, on the contrary, I think he would have waited a very short time for occasion to exert his prominent talents. He slipt from high ground into the profession. His rank would have drawn notice upon him, and he had friends full of eagerness, and not altogether without power. No more is the partiality which, it is said, was manifestly shown him by Lord Mansfield, to be deemed a main cause of his success. On the contrary I am so little inclined to attribute such an effect to it, that I believe even the hostility of the bench could not have kept Erskine from rising. His mind was not of the ordinary mould,--he was excited by obstacles. Such was his temperament, that the damp slight of discouragement which would have quenched common spirits, by the ardour of his mind would have been converted into fuel, and have increased the splendour with which he burst forth at once at the English bar. How was the delay of opportunity, or the frown of the judge to suppress the eloquence whose first essay excelled, both in matter and delivery, the latest efforts of the most experienced speakers in our courts? when he rose Dunning, Bearcroft, Wallace and others, were in the height of their reputation as speakers in Westminster Hall. They were even eloquent, according to the judgment of the day gazed at as the luminaries of the profession; but, brilliant as they were, they were combust in the splendour of Erskine, on his first appearance as an orator. This considered, it is in vain to pretend, that, but for favourable conjunctions which have happened to him and not to others, the prosperous and devious career on which he immediately entered, could have been prevented or even long delayed.--[Alas, no more!]

BRIDGE STREET BANDITTI, _v._ THE PRESS.

REPORT OF THE TRIAL OF MARY-ANNE CARLILE, FOR PUBLISHING A NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS TO THE REFORMERS OF GREAT BRITAIN; WRITTEN BY RICHARD CARLILE; AT THE INSTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL ASSOCIATION: BEFORE MR. JUSTICE BEST, AND A SPECIAL JURY, AT THE _Court of King's Bench_, _Guildhall_, _London_, _July_ 24, 1821.

WITH THE NOBLE AND EFFECTUAL SPEECH OF MR. COOPER, IN DEFENCE, AT LARGE.

LONDON: PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY R. CARLILE, 55, FLEET STREET. 1821.

DEDICATION.

TO HENRY COOPER, ESQ., BARRISTER AT LAW;

For the noble stand and more noble attitude which he took on this trial--for the very eloquent, very bold, and very honest style of his defence--and, above all, for the manly resistance which he made to, and the contempt which he showed for, the menacing frowns of those persons who conducted, advocated, and supported this prosecution: and to those HONEST JURYMEN who resisted their fellows in the attempt to throw the defendant into the hands of her enemies, and the enemies of their country; and who, by their honesty and independence, have given a death blow to those corrupt, wicked, and malignant _would-be_-censors of the Press, calling themselves a Constitutional Association; this report of the proceedings is gratefully dedicated by, and the sincere and heartfelt thanks is hereby offered to them, of

MARY-ANNE and RICHARD CARLILE.

REPORT, &c., &c.

This was an indictment at the prosecution of "The Constitutional Association," and their first attempt to obtain a verdict. The defendant pleaded Not Guilty.

The following are the names of the Jurors:--

SPECIAL.

John Stracey, of Smithfield Bars, Merchant, Philip Jacob, of the Crescent, Cripplegate, ditto, James Byrne, of Dyer's Court, ditto, Charles Wright, of the Old Jury, ditto, (foreman) Henry Houghton, of King's Arms Yard, ditto, John Webb, of Coleman-street, ditto.

TALESMEN.

Joseph Blackburn, Russia Mat Dealer, John Davis, Painter, John Williams, Cheesemonger, Bryan Mills, Packer, Michael Williams, Agent, Frederick Bennet, Smith.

Mr. Justice BEST, at the request of the defendant, enquired if either of the Jurors was a member of the Constitutional Association. The answer was in the negative.

Mr. TINDALL opened the pleadings.

Mr. GURNEY appeared to conduct the prosecution, and Mr. COOPER was for the defendant.