"Behold the Saviour of mankind Nailed to the shameful tree! How vast the love that Him inclined To bleed and die for me! Hark how He groans! while nature shakes, And earth's strong pillars bend: The temple's veil in sunder breaks; The solid marbles bend. 'Tis done! the precious ransom's paid-- 'Receive my soul,' He cries; See where He bows His sacred head! He bows His head, and dies! But soon He'll break death's envious chain, And in full glory shine: o Lamb of God! was ever pain, Was ever love like Thine!" There was a haze before my sight. I did not see the bolt withdrawn; only as through a mist see the quivering, swaying form. A long drawn sigh, that ended in a sob like one deep breath from a thousand hearts, proclaimed the end, and Mr. Webster and I made our way from that tragic scene. CHAPTER XIV. AFTER this, life for many months was very grey at Holme. We did not talk much about the grim days we had passed through. They were pleasant neither to talk of nor think on. My father's mind was chiefly exercised about the portentous length of Mr. Blackburn's bill of costs, and upon some of the items he delivered himself at large: "'Attending you,'" he quoted, "'when you instructed me to see John Quarmby and James Eagland with a view to procuring their proofs for this defence, 6s. 8d.'" "Think o' that now," he would say, "actually charging me for calling to tell him what to do, to put him up to his work, so to speak. My certy, lawyers may well ma' their brass quick! Aw've a good mind to ha' it taxed." "What's that?" asked my mother. "Why, there's a chap i' London 'at's put on by th' Lord Chancellor to go through 'torneys' bills an' see they ha' not charged too much." "He'll be a lawyer hissen, 'aw reckon?" queried my mother. "Aye, aye," said my father, 'set a thief to catch a thief,' tha knows." "Tha'd best pay up, aw doubt na, awn heard folk tell o' fallin' out wi' the devil an' goin' below for justice, an' this taxin' 'll be after th' same fashion. Th' first loss is th' least loss, an' 'what can't be cured mun be endured.' If folk will ha' law they mun pay for their whistle, an' you've had yo'r run for yo'r money." "Aw could ha' thoiled it better if they'd let Mr. Brougham speik to th' jury. Here's twenty guineas to him, to say nowt o' two guineas for his clerk, that did nowt 'at aw can hear tell but draw th' brass for his mester, an' him never allowed to oppen his mouth to th' jury!!" "But he's had th' brass ha' not be?" asked the partner of my father's joys and sorrows. "Aye, he's had it safe enough." "Well, by all accounts," concluded my mother, "it's ill gettin' butter out o' a dog's throat." And the bill was paid: the only discount my father got being a pinch of snuff from Mr. Blackburn's silver box.