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BY JAS. CLARK,
WHAT IS LIFE.
The day grows pensive at its clone,
And wears a sober grey,
And on its fece•the languor show.,
Of autumn's yellow ray;
Soon night will spread its sable pall,
The day is dying fast.
now ghost-like are the shadows tall,
Thai on the ground are cast t
Like pilgrims to the shade of night,
The shades are hast'ning on,
To where the brightest grows the light,
When day begins to dawn;
A deeper; softer sadness shows,
In gentle eCening dew;
a And night o'er every feature throw.
A sad and sombre hue.
And now the sound of streams and floods,
Becomes a hollow moan;
The rushing of the trees and woods,
Bath now a wailing tone,
And plaintive through the air is heard,
The ni• ht-hawk's piping call;
There's not a leaf by zephyr stirred,
But hath a dying full.
An emblem of our life below,
Is every passing day;
More thoughtful of its end we grow,
When w e are growing grey,
Like pilgrim shadows to the shades,
We soon shall hence be gene ;
But when life's day the soonest fades,
A brighter day will dawn.
The darkness of the silent tomb,
To which we are consigned,
Will cast a lad and solemn gloom,
O'er those we leave behind,
Arid tears will then bedew the cheek,
And fall upon oar bier;
And sad will be the words they speak,
T. friends who.loved us here.
[From Graham's Magazine for Febrriory.]
THE YOUNG LAWYER'S FIRST
CASE.
DY JOS: , TODD.
In one of those lung, low, one-story,
utipainted houses which succeeded the
log houses in Vermont al: the second
generation of limner) habitations, lay a
sick woman. She knew, and all her
friends knew, that her days were nein
bared, and that when she left that room
it would be in her winding-sheet for the
grave. Yet her face and her spirit were
calm, and the tones of her voice, like
those of the dying swan, were sweeter
than those of life. She had taken an
affectionate leave of all her children, in
faith and hope, save one—her eldest
son —•a mother's 'boy and a mother's
pride. By great economy and unwearied
industry this son had been sent to 'col
lege. lie was a mild, innicensive„ pale
faced one i.but the bright eye did not
belie the spirit that dwelt in a casket so
- - .
frail. Ho badireernseht Art, but did not
reach home till the day before 412 mo
ther's death. As soon as she' knew of
his coming, sho immediately had'him
called to her room, and left alum, with
her. Long and tearful was their con
...
versution. - Sweet and tender *as thiS
last interview between a mother and
son" who bud never lacked any degree
of confidence on either side.
You know, my son, that it has al
ways been my most earnest wish and
prayer that you should be u prescher of
the.gospel, and thus a benefactor to the
souls of men. In choosing the law, you
art aware, you have greatly disaiOpoin ,
ted these hopes."
•• I know it, dear mother ; and I have
done it, Hot because I like the law so
much., bat beenuse I dare Lot undertake
a work so sacred as the ministry, Con
scious as I um that I am not gnalitied in
miud, or body, or spirit, for the work.
If I dared do it, for your sake, if for no
other reason, 1 would do it."
'•ln God's time, my dear son, in
God's time, 1 trust you will. I neither
urge it, nor blame you. But promise
ace now, that yon will never undertake
any cause which you think is unjust,
and that you will never nid in screening
wrong from coming to light and pun
ishment"
The son said something about every
man's having the right ro have his case
presented in the best light he could.
• 4 , I know 'what you mean," said slit ;
but I know that if a man has violated
the laWs . of Gorl and man helms no
moral right to be shielded from punish
ment. If he has confessions and ex-
planation, to offer, it is well. But for
you to take his side, and for money, to
shield him from the latts, seems to toe
no better than if, for money you con
cealed him from the officers of justice,
under the plea that every man had a
right to get clear of the law if he could.
But I am weak and cannot talk, my son;
and yet if you will give me the solemn
promise, it seems as if I should die
ruttier. But you must do as you think
best."
The young man bent over his dying
mother, and with much emotion, gave
her the solemn promise which she desi
red. Tender was the last kiss she gave
him, warm the thanks which she ex
pressed, and sweet the smile which she
wore, and which Was left on her coun
tenance after her spirit had gone up to
weer the smiles of the Redeemer.
Xorne menthe after the dsatt, it,a
:iiiii3iiiii r 4 iii iiithii
mother, the young mun left the shadows
of the Green Mountains, and toward
more sunny region, in a large and thrtf- ,
ty village, he opened his Office ;. the
sign gave his name, and under it, the
words, "Attorney at Law." There'he
was found early and late, his office clean
and neat, and his few hooks studied
over and over again, but no business.—
The first fee which he took was tor wri
ting a short letter for his black wood
snwyer, and for that he conscientiously
charged only a single sixpence! Peo
ple spoke well of him, and admired the
young man, but still no business came.
After waiting till " hope deferred made
the'heart sick," one bright morning a
coarse-looking, knock down sort of a
young 'man was seen making toward
the office. How the heart of the young
lawyer bounded at the sight of his first
client ! What success, and cases, and
fees danced in the vision in a moment !
"Are you the lawyer 1" said the man,
hastily taking off his hat."
"Yes, sir, that's my business. What
can I do for you 1"
" Why, something of a job, I reckon.
The fact is I have got into a little trou
ble, and want a bit of help." And lie
took out a five dollar bill, and laid it on
the table. The young lawyer made no
motion toward taking it.
" Why don't you take it 1" said lie.—
"1 don't call it pay, but to begin w4h—
a kind of wedge—What do you call it 1"
"Retention-fee ' 1 presume you mean."
" Just so, and by your taking it, you
are my lawyer. So take it."
" Not quite so fast, if you please.—
State your case, and then I will tell you
whether or not 1 take the reteation•fee."
The coarse fellow stared.
" Why, mister, the case is simply
this. Last spring I was doing a little
business by way of selling meat. So
bought a yoke of oxen of old Major
Farnsworth. I was to have them for
one hundred dollars."
Very weU-►what became of the
oxen 1"
46 Butchered and sold out, to be sure."
46 By you 1"
" Yes:"
" Well, where's the trouble l"
Why, they say, that as I only gave
my note for them, I need not pay it, and
I want you to help me to get clear of it."
" How do you expect me to do it I"
" Plain as day, man; just say, gentle
men of the jury, this young man was
not of age when he gave Maj. Farns
worth the note, and therefore, in law,
the note is good for nothing—that's
all!"
" And was it really so 1"
" Exactly."
How came Maj. Farnsworth to let
you have the oxen 'I"
" Oh, -the godly old man never sus
pected that I was under age."
What dial you get for the oxen in
selling. them out V'
" Why, somewhere between one hun
dred and thirty and ono hundred and
forty dollars—they were noble fellows!"
"And so you want me to help you
cheat that honest old man out of those
oxeh, simply because the law, this hu
man imperfection, giAs you the oppor
tunity to do it! No, air; put up your
retention-fee. I promised my dying
mother never to do such a thing, and I
will starlit first. And us for you--if I
wanted to help you to go to the state's
prison, I could take no cou rse au sure, as
to do what you offer to pay me fur do
ing. And, depend upon it, the lawyer
who does help you will be your worst
enemy. Plead minority ! No; go, sir,
and pay for your oxen honestly
end act on the principle, that let what
will come, you will be an honest man."
'1 he coarse young man snatched up
his bill, and muttering something about
seeing Squire Snapit 11, left the office.
. . .
So he lost his first fee and his first
case. He felt poor nod discouraged,
when left alone in the office but he felt
*that he had done right. His mother's
voice seemed to whisper, "Right, my
son, right." The next day he was in
old blaj. Farnsworth's, and saw a pile of
bills lying upon the table. The good old
man said lie had just received them for
a debt which he expected to lose, but a
kind Providence had interposed in his
behalf. The young lawyer said noth
ing, but his mother's voice scented to
come ag in, "Right, my son, right."
Some days after this a man called in
the evening, and asked the young man
to defend him in a trial just coming on.
" What is your case ?"
"'They accuse me of stealing a bee. ,
hive."
"A bee-hive!—surely that could not
be worth mach !"
No, but the bees and the honey were
in it."
" Then you really did steal it !"
" Squire are yon alone herd--nobody
to hear 1"
1 ant
444 t.A Gf.4B '; • £
HUNTINGDON, PA., TU.
"Are you bound by oats to keep the
secrets of your clients'!"
"Certainly I am."
" Well, then, 'ttvixt you and me, 1 did
have a dab at that honey. There Was
more than seventy pounds! But you
can clear me."
" How can I I"
hy, Ned Hazen, has agreed to
swear that I was with him fishing at
Squealed°lc Pond that night."
" So, by perjury, you hope to escape!
punishment. What can you afford to
pay a lawyer who will do his best
• The man took out twenty dollars. It
was a great temptation. The young
lawyet staggered for a moment—but
-only fora moment.
" No, sir, 1 will not undertake your
'ease. I will not try to shield a matt
whom I know to be a villain from the
punishment which he deserves. I twill
' starve first." ,
The man with an oath bolted out of
the office, and made his way to Snap
all's office. The poor lawyer sat down
alone, and could, have cried. But n few
dollars were left to him in the world,
and what to do when they,werz gone,
he knew not. In a few moments the
flush and bursting of the face was gone,
as if lie had been fanned by the wings
of angels, and again he heard his own
mother's voice, "Right, my son, right."
I Days and even weeks passed away,
and no new client made his appearance.
The stor) of his having reftmed to take
fees and defend his clients got abroad,
and many were the gibe's concerning
his folly. Luwyer Snapall declared that
such weakness would ruin any man.—
The multitude went against the young
I advocate. Bat a few noted and remcm
hered it in his favor.
On entering his office one afternoon,
the young man found a note lying ou his
table. It read thus—
" Mrs. Henshaw's compliments to Mr.
Loudon, and requests, if it be not too
much trouble, that he would call on her
at his earliest convenience, as she wishes
to consult him professionally, and with
as much privacy as mny be.
Rose Cottage, June 25th."
How his hand trembled while lie read
the note. It might lead to business—it
might be the first fruits ul an honora
ble life. But who is Mrs. Henshaw
He only knew that a friend by that name,
a widow lady, had lately arrived on a
visit to the family who resided in that
cottage. "At his earliest convenience."
If lie should go at once, would it not
look as it he were at perfect leisure 1—
If he delayed, would it not be a dishon•
esty which -he had vowed never to prac
tice I He whistled a moment, took up
his hat, and went toward " ose Cot
tage." On reaching the house, lie was
received by a young lady of modest,
yet easy manner. He inquired for Mrs.
Henshaw, and the young lady said,
"My mother is not well, but - 1 will
call her. Shell I carry your name, sirl"
"Loudon, if you please."
. .
.
The young lady cast a searching, sur
prised look at him, and left the room.
In a few moments the mother, a grace
ful, well-bred lady of about, forty, en
tered the room. She had a mild, sWeet
face, and a look that brought his own
mother so vividly to mind, that the tears
almost_started in his eyes. For . some
reason, Airs. Henshaw appearedember
ra seed. •
" It is Mr. London, the lawyer, I sup•
pose," said she.
"At your service. madam."
"Is there any other gentleman at the
Bar of your name, sir 1"
. .
" None that I know of. In what way
can yon command my services, tiradaml. ll
The lady colored. "I am afraid, sir,
there is some mistake. I need a lawyer
to look at a. difficult case, a man of pr in
cyle, whom I can trust. You were men
tioned to me—but—l expected to soean
older man." -
"If you will admit me," said Lou.:
don, who began to grow* nervous in his
turn, "so far into your confidence as to
state the case, I think I can promise not
to do any hurt, 'even if I do no good.—
And if on the whole, you think it best to
commit it to older and abler hands, I
will charge you nothing uad engage not
to be offended."
The mother looked at the daughter,
and saw on her face the loolc of confi
dence and hope.
The whole afternoon was spent in go
ing over the case, examining papers,
and the like. As they went along, Lou
don took notes and memoranda with his
pencil.
He will never do." thought Mrs.
llenshaw. « fie mites everything for
granted and unquestioned '
• and though
don't design to mislead him; yet it
seems to me, as if he would take the
moon to be green cheese, were I to tell
him so. tre will never do ;" and she
felt that she had wasted her thne and
4trength. How great then washer sun.
prise when London pushed aside the
FEBRUAEY 13, 184 g.
bundles of papers, and looking at his of the warfare now to be carried on
notes; again went over the whole ground 1 against him. He raved and -swore, but
—sifting and scanning every point, he also laid aside his cups, and went to
weighing every circumstance, pointing work to meet the storm like a man in
out the weak places, tearing and throw- the full consciousness of the justice of
ing off the rubbish, discarding what his'cause. There was writing and ri
was irrelevant, and placing the whole ding, posting and sending writs—for
'affair .in a light more luminous and both aides had much at stake. It was
clear am even she had ever seen it be- the last hope for the widow. It was the
fore, Her color came and went as her first case fur young Loudon. It was
hopes rose an 4 fell. After he had laid victory or state's prison for Brown. The
it open to her, he added, with uncon• , community, one and all took sides with
scions dignity— 1 Mrs. Henshaw. 11 a bias could reach a
"Mss. Henslitiiv, I think yours is a 1 jury, it must have been in her favor.
cause of right and justice. Even it' Mr. Snapall was engaged for 'Brown,
there should be a failure to convince a and was delighted to 'find that he hid
jury so that law would decide in your only that " white-fased boy," to cots
, favor, there are so many circumstantial tend with ; and the good public. felt aor
-1 proofs, that I have no doubt that justice ry that the widow bud not selected tr
will be with you. If you please to en- man of some age and experience ; but
trust it to me, I will do the best I, can, then they said, "women will have their
and :tilt, quite sure,,;[ shall work harder own way."
than jle k' . wcre on the opposite side." The day of trial came on. Great was
.f W ' ht do you say, Mary 1" said the the excitement to hear the great "will
mother to her daughter. " You are as case," and every horse in the region was
much, interested as I. Shall we coin- hitched somewhere neartlie court-house.
mit it to Mr. Loudon V . In rising to open the case, young Lou•
" You are the best judge, but it seems don wits embarassed ; but modesty al
to me that he understands the case bet- I ways meets with encouragement. The
ter than any one you have ever talked court gave him patient attention, and
with." soon felt that it was deserved. In a
Loudon thanked Mary with his eyes, !clear, concise and masterly manner, he
but for some reason or other, hers were laid open the case just as it stood in his
cast down upon the figures of the car- own mind, and proceeded with the evi
pet; and she did not see him. I deuce to prove the will to be a forgery.
" Well, Mr. Loudon, we will coma - fit It was easy to show the character of
the whole alTair to you. .11 you succeed Brodn to be one of great iniquity; and
we shall be able to reward you ; and if that for him to do this was only in keep
you do riot we shall be no poorer than ing with that general character. He at
we have been." tempted to prove that the Will could not
. .
.
For weeks and months Loudon ,stud- be genuine, because one of his witness
ied his case. He was often at Lose' es on his death-bed hid confessed that it
Cattage to ask questions on some point was a forgery, that he and his friend
not quite so clear. He found they were had been hired by Brown to testify and
very agreeable—the mother and the swear to its being genuine. Here he
daughter—aside from the lawsuit, and adduced the affidavit of a deceased wit
lam bot'sure that he did not find ores- ness, taken in full before James John
ston to aslc questions oftner than he son, Esq., Justice of the Peace, and ac'
would have done, laid it been otherwise.' kncrwledged by hits. So far all was
The case, briefly was this. Mr. Hen-' clear, and when the testimony was do
shaw had been an active, intelligent and sed it seemed clear that the case was
high-minded man of business. He had won. But when it came Mr. Sapp
dealt in iron, had large furnaces at dif- all's turn, he demolished all the hopes
fcrent places, and did business on an av- ,by proving that, though
,Jumes John
erage with three hundred different peo-lson,:Esq. had signed himself Justice of
ple a day. Among others, he had deal- the Peace, yet he was noongistrate, in
ings with a man by the name of Brown asnauch as his commission.had expired
—a plausible, keen, and as many thought . the very day before he signed the paper
an unprincipled man. But Henshaw, and although he had been re-appointed,
without guile himself, put all confidence yet he had not been legally qualified to
in him: in a reverse of times—sueh as act as magistrate—that he might or
occur in about ten years, let who be I might not have supposed himself to be
President—their affairs became ember- qualified to take an affidavit t and that
assail and terribly perplexed. In order' the law fpr very wise reasons, demand
to extricate his business, it was neces-! ed that an affictatil should be taken on
say for Henshaw to go to a distant ;ly by a sworn magistrate. He was
part of the laud, in company, with ; most happy he said, to acknowledge the
Brown: There he diet—leaving a ; cool assurance of his young brother in
young widow, and an only child, Mary, the law ; and` the only difficulty was that
then about ten years old, and his bu&i- his tender conscience permitted him to
ness in as bad a condition as need be. oiler as an affidavit a paper that was in
(By the kindness of their creditors their law not worth a stra n w, if any better
' beautiful home called Elm Glen, was than a forgery itself.
left to Mrs. Renshaw and, her little girl, I There was much sympathy felt for
while the rest of the property went to poor Loudon, but he took it very coolly
pay the debts, The widow and her or- and seemed no w.ty cast down. Mr:
phan kept the place of their joys' and Snapall then brought forward his oth
hopes in perfect order, and every body er surviving witness—a gallows look
said ‘it t 4d'nt look like a widow's house.' I mg fellow, but his testimony was clear,
But within four years of the death of Mr. decided, and consistent. 1f ke ‘l,as corn-
Hcrishaw, Brown returned. He had witting perjury, it was plain that he had
been detained by broken limbs and bu- been well drilled by Snapall. Loudon
siness, be said. What was the amaze- I kept his eye upon hint with the keen
inent *the widow to have him set up i ness of the lynx: And While Slope!
a claim for Elm Glen, as his property! wag commenting upon the case with
He had loaned Mr. Henshaw money, Ile great power, and while Mrs. Henshaw
said—he had been with him in sickness and Mary gave all for lost, it was
and in death ; and the high minded Hen- plain that Loudon, as he turned over
shaw had made his will on his death the will, and looked at it again and again
bed, and'bequeathed Elm Glen to Brown, was thinking of something else besides
as a payment for debts. The will was whet Snapall was saying. He acted
duly drawn, signed With Mr. Henshaw's something as a dog does when he feels
own signature, and also by two compe- sure he is near the right track of the
tent witnesses. Every one was nston- game, though he dare not yet bark.
ished at the claim—at the will—at eve- I When Snaps!! was through, Loudon
ry thing pertaining to it. It was con- requested that the witness might again
tested in court, but the evidence was be called to the silted: But lie was so
clear and the will was set up and es- mild, and kind, arid timid, that it seem
tablished. Poor Mrs. Henshaw was ed as if he was the one about to commit
stripped of every thing. With a sad I perjury.
heart she packed up her simple ward- " You take your oath that this instru
robe, and taking her child, left the vii- ment, purporting to be the will of Hen-
Inge and went tea distant State to teach ry Henshaw, was signed by hint in your
school. Por six years she had been ab- presence ?"
sent, and for six years had Brown en- "I do."
joyed nothing. He lived in it; but the "And you signed it with your own
haggard look—the frequent appeal to hand art witness at the time."
the bottle—the jealous feelings which " I did."
were ever uppermost—and his coarse " What is the date of the will ?"
profane 'conversation, showed that he " June 18, 1830."
Wes wretched. People talked, too, of " Whop did Henshaw die 1"
his lonely hours, his starting up in his "June 22, 1830."
sleep, Itie . clenching his list in his -o Were you Intim?: in the village
dreams, and defying "all hell' to prove whet.% he died tit the time 1" I
it, find the like.
---
Suddenly and privately, Are. Hen-' "How long had you lived there'!"
show returned to her much loved vil- About four years, I believe, or some
lege. She had obtained some informs- I where thereabouts."
tion by which she hoped to bring truth Here Loudon handed the judge a pa
to light, for she had never believed that per, which the judge unfolded and laid
her husband ever made such a will in I before him on the bench.
favor of Brown. To prove that this 1 ;;SA'as that village a large or small
will was a forgery was whut Loudon lone
was now to attempt. An action was « Not 'Try la , ge----prhapp fifty hor•
commenced, ittpi fir^ Sow had noties
F ! 't(i jot am ,
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' 4:\ i'P .7- - ' -- " 7 ' . ''''
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--
. "I was."
_
aoac
74 . 11 1-7,..!!'•A
• • r,
VOL. XI V, NO, sr.
"You knew all Moores well, I
presumel"
" . I did."
" Was the. house in which Mr. Ilen,
show died, one story or two 1"
Two, I believe."
But you know don't you 1 Was he
in the lower story or in the elnonlr
when you went to witness the deed t
Here the witnesS tried to catch the
eye of Stvall; but tintidon Very
ly held him to the point,. At length he
said, In the chamber."
. " Will you intorni the court What
was the color of the house
"I th;ulc, feel sure, it was'at painted,
but did'nt take partienlar notiee•."
" But you saw it every day fur four
years, and don't you know t"
It was not, painted!!
"Which side of the street did it stand I"
"I can't rknetnher.'' •
"Can yOu reinenibe? Which way the
street mil"
"It ran east and west."
The street ran east and west—the
ho'ise two story, and unpainted, and
Mr, tlenshaW was hi tile' uhtiniber when
you witnessed the will.• Well I have
but two things more whiel I will
request you to do. The first is to take
that pen and write your name on that
pier. of paper on the t ible."
The witness demure(' and so did
STII9IIII, but Lixic'e i insisted upon it.
I cant, my hand trembles to," F o d
the witness.
Indeed I !Alf yoU wrote a bold, pow . .
erful hand when yeti signed that will.
Come, you must try,- just to uhrli'g!l tie:"
After much haggling and sonic Brava
do, it came out that.he couldint write,
and never learned, and that he had re-.
gut wed Brown to sign thd paper fer hint I
" Oh, ho !" said Louden. "I thought
you swore that you signed it yourself.
Now one thing more and I hare done
with you. Just let the take the pocket
book in your pocket. I will open if
here before the court, and neither steal .
or lose a paper.
Again the witmss retuned, and ap•
pealed to Snap!l i but that - worthy'
man was grinding his teeth end mutter
ing something about the witness going
to the devil !
't he pocket-book came out, and in it'
was a regular discharge of the bearer,
John Ordiu ' from tthr years imprison
most in the Pennsylvania Pciiitentiary,
and dated June 15 c
.I[9l, and signed by
101 r. ood l the worthy warder?:
The young advocate now took the pa ,
For which he h'a'd handed to the judge,
and showed the Jury, that the house io
which Mr. Henshaw died was situated
in a street running Worth and south—
thnt it was a one stori, house—that it
was red, the only red !Yeas° iii the vil.
loge, and 'moreover,- that he thud in the.
front room of the lower story.
There was a mon - rents silence, and
then a stiffled murmer of joy nII oter
the room. Brown's eyes looked blood •
shot; the witness lookcd sullen and
dogged, and Mr. Snepnll tried to look
Very indifferent. He made no defence.
The work was done. A very brief, de
cided charge was given by the Judge,
and without leaving their seats, the jury
convicted Brown of foq•ery. •
"That young dog is keen, any, iwir
said Snapall:
%, hen his conscience tell, him he is
on-die joistict," . said Loudon,
overhearing the remark.
It was rather late in the evening .be
fore Loudon called on his clients to con
gratulate them on the termination of
their suit, and the recovery of Elm
Glenn. He was.met by Mary, who'
frankly gave him her band, and with
tears thanked and praised him, and felt
sure they could never sufficiently re
ward him. Loudon colored, and seem •
ed gore troubled than when in thecourt.
At length he said abruptly, " Miss Het
slum, you and your mother can now re-•
ward me. There is a friend of your:,
—a young lady whose hand I wish to
obtain. lam alone in the world; poor
and unknown.' This is my first law
(Ilse, - and when I rrnty hafe another is
more than I know."
Nary turned pale, : _And faintly prom
ised that she and her mother would aid
him to the extent of their power. Then
there was a pause, and she felt as if tiho
the only one who was supposed to be
onagitated and cool, must speak.
" Who is the fortunate friend of nine !"
" Don't pat suspect !"
" Indeed, I do not."
" WO, here is her portrait," hmid
ing her a miniature case. She touched
a spring mid it flew open. and in a little.
mirror, she saw her own face! Now the
crimson came over her beautiful face,
and the tears critic thick and fast, nod
she trernblei; but I believe she urvi•
wed the shock ; for the last time I wa.t
tha way, I aim the conscientious young
lawyer and his.eharruing wife living a:
Elm Wean; and hctard than
k;T
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