Of course it was a subject to admit of various modes of telling, according to the tastes, the opportunities, and the prejudices of the tellers. The popular version of the story, however, was this: that Sir William declined to press a claim that could not have been resisted, on account of the peculiarly retiring, unambitious character of him who should be his immediate successor. His very profession--adopted and persisted in, in despite of his father's wish--was a palpable renunciation of all desire for hereditary honor. As the old Judge said, “The _Libro d, Oro_ of nobility is not the Pharmacopoeia;” and the thought of a doctor in the peerage might have cost “Garter” a fit of apoplexy. Sir William knew this well,--no man better; but the very difficulties gave all the zest and all the flavor to the pursuit. He lived, too, in the hope that some Government official might have bethought him of this objection, that he might spring on him, tiger-like, and tear him in fragments. “Let them but tell me this,” muttered he, “and I will rip up the whole woof, thread by thread, and trace them! The noble duke whose ancestor was a Dutch pedler, the illustrious marquess whose great-grandfather was a smuggler, will have to look to it. Before this cause be called on I would say to them, better to retain me for the Crown! Ay, sirs, such is my advice to you.” While these thoughts agitated Sir William's mind, the matter of them was giving grave and deep preoccupation to the Viceroy. The Cabinet had repeatedly pressed upon him the necessity of obtaining the Chief Baron's retirement from the bench,--a measure the more imperative that while they wanted to provide for an old adherent, they were equally anxious to replace him in the House by an abler and readier debater; for so is it, when dulness stops the way, dulness must be promoted,--just as the most tumble-down old hackney-coach must pass on before my Lord's carriage can draw up. “Pemberton must go up,” said the Viceroy. “He made a horrid mess of that explanation t' other night in the House. His law was laughed at, and his logic was worse; he really must go on the bench. Can't you hit upon something, Balfour? Can you devise nothing respecting the Chief Baron?” “He 'll take nothing but what you won't give him; I hear he insists on the peerage.” “I'd give it, I declare,--I 'd give it to-morrow. As I told the Premier t' other day, Providence always takes care that these law lords have rarely successors. They are life peerages and no more; besides, what does it matter a man more or less in 'the Lords'? The peer without hereditary rank and fortune is like the officer who has been raised from the ranks,--he does not dine at mess oftener than he can help it.” Balfour applauded the illustration, and resolved to use it as his own. “I say again,” continued his Excellency, “I'd give it, but they won't agree with me; they are afraid of the English bar,--they dread what the benchers of Lincoln's Inn would say.”