Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XXIII.—April, 1852.—Vol. IV.: NoneVarious
General
Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XXIII.—April, 1852.—Vol. IV.: None
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Civilization -- Periodicals; Culture -- Periodicals
Who happen to be in the Lord Chancellor's court this murky afternoon
besides the Lord Chancellor, the counsel in the cause, two or three
counsel who are never in any cause, and the well of solicitors before
mentioned? There is the registrar below the Judge, in wig and gown; and
there are two or three maces, or petty-bags, or privy-purses, or
whatever they may be, in legal court suits. These are all yawning; for
no crumb of amusement ever falls from JARNDYCE AND JARNDYCE (the cause
in hand) which was squeezed dry years upon years ago. The short-hand
writers, the reporters of the court, and the reporters of the
newspapers, invariably decamp with the rest of the regulars when
Jarndyce and Jarndyce comes on. Their places are a blank. Standing on a
seat at the side of the hall, the better to peer into the curtained
sanctuary, is a little mad old woman in a squeezed bonnet, who is always
in court, from its sitting to its rising, and always expecting some
incomprehensible judgment to be given in her favor. Some say she really
is, or was, a party to a suit; but no one knows for certain, because no
one cares. She carries some small litter in a reticule which she calls
her documents; principally consisting of paper matches and dry lavender.
A sallow prisoner has come up, in custody, for the half-dozenth time, to
make a personal application "to purge himself of his contempt;" which,
being a solitary surviving executor who has fallen into a state of
conglomeration about accounts of which it is not pretended that he had
ever any knowledge, he is not at all likely ever to do. In the meantime,
his prospects in life are ended. Another ruined suitor, who periodically
appears from Shropshire, and breaks out into efforts to address the
Chancellor at the close of the day's business, and who can by no means
be made to understand that the Chancellor is legally ignorant of his
existence after making it desolate for a quarter of a century, plants
himself in a good place and keeps an eye on the Judge, ready to call out
"My lord!" in a voice of sonorous complaint, on the instant of his
rising. A few lawyers' clerks and others who know this suitor by sight,
linger, on the chance of his furnishing some fun, and enlivening the
dismal weather a little.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account