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nor did Dr. Johnson—Virgilium vidi tantum. I never saw Cowper but twice. I used to visit a rich cousin who lived near Newport Pagnell, and who got an eye beat out by a cricket ball at Eton: it was all he got there. In one of these visits I learnt that my friend, Lady Hesketh, was staying with Cowper in his cottage at Weston, three miles off, and I supplicated her for a sight of her hermit, which she contrived to manage. On calling, I found him the very model of neatness: a suit of white cloth, ditto, and a snow-white quilted nightcap. It happened to be an auspicious day, for he conversed as if he had just written John Gilpin. But what was my surprise when I heard from Lady Hesketh, the next day, that the anchorite really meant to return my visit. Accordingly he came with her, and I contrived to get him all to myself in the shrubbery, and never passed two more interesting hours. Among other matters, I asked him how he determined on such an Herculean labour as his translation of Homer. ‘Sir,’ said the poet, ‘I will tell you. In one of my unhappy melancholies, I thought some great and laborious work might administer a salutary medicine to my mind. Accordingly, at intervals, and by snatches, I translated several books. Lady Hesketh transcribed, and urged me to proceed; finally, so many had been accomplished, that I determined to complete the translation.’

“On his return home, he said to Lady Hesketh, ‘Prejudice is a shameful thing. From his public politics, I had formed an opinion that Mr. —— was a caustic, sulky, acrimonious malcontent, and I have found him a gay, playful, candid, and merry companion.’ This opinion was embodied with initials, in one of his published letters.”

Edward Jesse.

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DIVORCE A VINCULO; or, THE TERRORS OF
SIR CRESSWELL CRESSWELL.

(Continued from p. 305.)

 

Portrait of the Respondent, from a sketch in
the possession of the Petitioner’s family.

he next morning the Court met for the despatch of business, and of Mr. Barber. Mr. Lamb introduced his fair client into Court in a quiet, unobtrusive way and according to the carefully-considered system upon which he usually acted, and from which he saw no reason for departing in the present instance, a seat was provided for the lady under the lee of the jury-box, but well out of sight of the Jury. The interest of the day’s proceedings was naturally concentrated upon that fellow Barber, who, not satisfied with having deserted, and abandoned, and beaten his wife, was to-day to stand up in the presence of a British jury and justify his acts. Before the Judges had taken their seats, there was the usual buzzing and murmuring sound in Court. My attention was called to the conversation of a knot of young and blooming barristers who stood near me, and who were conversing in a somewhat loud and emphatic tone, as though to call the attention of the bystanders to the conclusions at which they had arrived, as the result of their professional experience. “Why the dooce,” said Wig number One, “does Barber, if he’s sick of his wife, defend the second issue? He has only got to let her make her case good, and he is rid of her.”

“No, no, my dear fellow,” said Wig number Two; “’pinion of the world—’pinion of the world. Man goes a little wrong—everybody does that. Pure peccadillo—pure peccadillo. That’s all right. Whack a woman—’pinion of the world—’pinion of the world dead against you. That’s all wrong—that’s all wrong. Barber must fight second issue—’specially as he married his wife for her money.”

“The vara best thing that cud happen to Meester Barber,” struck in our old Scottish friend, the amicus curiæ of the other day, “wad be to mak oot a gud story, and have the vairdick just go agenst him. For you see, in that case, and if he plays his cairds wall, he’ll marry a leddy of fortin’ within the three months after the advantage of siccan a trial as this. But it wadna do to mak oot that he had bedeeveled and thumped his