of the defendants, or are watching the case in the interest of legatees."

Here a decided titter interrupted him.

"I may add that the interests involved in this case are very large indeed, which accounts for the number of counsel connected in one way or other with the defence."

"Quite so, Mr. Attorney," said the Judge; "but, really, the forces seem a little out of proportion. Of course the matter is not one in which the Court can interfere."

"If your Lordship will allow me," said James, "the only reason that the plaintiff is so poorly represented is that the funds to brief other counsel were, I understand, not forthcoming. I am, however, well versed in the case, and, with your Lordship's permission, will do my best with it."

"Very well, Mr. Short," said the learned Judge, looking at him almost with pity; "state your case."

James, in the midst of a silence that could be feltunfolded his pleadings, and, as he did so, a sickening sense of nervousness took hold of him for the first time and made him tremble, and, of a sudden, his mind became dark. Most of us have undergone this sensation at one time or another, with less cause than had poor James. There he was, put up almost for the first time in his life, to conduct, single-handed, a very important case, upon which it was scarcely too much to say the interest of the entire country was concentrated. Nor

was this all. Opposed to him were about twenty counsel, all of them men of experience, and including in their ranks some of the most famous leaders in England; and, moreover, the court was densely crowded with scores of men of his own profession, all of whom were, he felt, regarding him with curiosity not unmixed with pity. Then there was the tremendous responsibility, which literally seemed to crush him, though he had never quite realised it till this moment.

"May it please your Lordship," he began; and then, as has been said, his mind became a ghastly blank, in which dim and formless ideas flitted vaguely to and fro. There was a pause. —a painful pause.

"Read your pleadings aloud," whispered a barrister who was sitting next him and realised his plight.

This was an idea. One can read pleadings when one cannot collect one's ideas to speak. It is not usual to do so. The counsel in a cause states the substance of the pleadings, leaving the Court to refer to them if it thinks necessary. But still there is nothing absolutely wrong about it; so he snatched at the papers, and promptly began:

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"(I.) The plaintiff is the sole and universal legatee under the true last will of Jonathan Meeson, deceased, late of Pompadour Hall, in the county of Warwick, who died on the 23rd of December 1885, the said will being undated, but duly executed on, or subsequent to, the 22nd day of December 1885.'

Here the learned Judge lifted his eyebrows in re

monstrance, and cleared his throat preparatory to interfering; but apparently thought better of it, for he took up a blue pencil and made a note of the date of the will.

"(II.)," went on James. "On the 21st day of May 1886, probate of an alleged will of the said Jonathan Meeson was granted to the defendants, the said will bearing date the 10th day of November 1885. The plaintiff claims

"(1.) That the Court shall revoke probate of the said alleged will of the said Jonathan Meeson, bearing date the 10th day of November 1885, granted to the defendants on the 21st day of May 1886.

(2.) A grant of letters of administration to the plaintiff with the will executed on or subsequent to the 22nd day of December 1885, annexed.

"May it please your Lordship," James began again, feeling dimly that he had read enough pleadings, "the defendants have filed an answer pleading that the will of the 22nd of December was not duly executed in accordance with the statute, and that the testator did not know and approve its contents, and an amended answer pleading that the said alleged will, if executed, was obtained by the undue influence of Augusta Smithers," and once more his nervousness overcame him, and he pulled up with a jerk.

Then came another pause even more dreadful than the first.

The Judge took another note, as slowly as he could, and once more cleared his throat; but poor James could not go on. He could only wish that he might then and there expire, rather than face the hideous humiliation of such a failure, But he would have failed-for his very brain was whirling like that of a drunken man— had it not been for an occurence that caused him ever after to bless the name of Fiddlestick, Q.C., as the name of an eminent counsel is not often blessed in this ungrateful world. For Fiddlestick, Q.C., who, it will be remembered, was one of the leaders for the defendants, had been watching his unfortunate antagonist, till, realising how sorry was his plight, a sense of pity filled his learned breast. Perhaps he may have remembered some occasion in a dim and distant corner of the past when he had suffered from a similar access of frantic terror, or perhaps he may have been sorry to think that a young man should lose such an unrivalled opportunity of making a name. Anyhow, he did a noble act. As it happened, he was sitting at the right-hand corner of the Queen's Counsel seats, and piled up on the desk before him was a tremendous mass of law reports that his clerk had arranged there, containing cases to which it might become necessary to refer. Now, in the presence of these law reports, Mr. Fiddlestick, in the goodness of his heart, saw an opportunity of creating a diversion, and he created it with a vengeance; for, throw

ing his weight suddenly forward as though by accident, or in a movement of impatience, he brought his bent arm against the pile with such force that he sent every book-and there must have been more than twenty of them-over the edge of the desk, right on to the head and shoulders of his choleric client, Mr. Addison, who was sitting on the solicitors' bench immediately beneath.

Down went the books with a crash and a bang, and, carried away by their weight, down went Mr. Addison on to his nose among them—a contingency that Fiddlestick, Q.C., by the way, had not foreseen, for he had overlooked the fact of his client's vicinity.

The Judge made an awful face, and then, realising the ludicrous nature of the scene, his features relaxed into a smile. But Mr. Addison did not smile. He bounded up from the floor, books slipping off his back in every direction, and holding his nose (which was injured) with one hand, came skipping right at his learned adviser.

"You did it on purpose!" he almost shouted, quite forgetting where he was. "Just let me get at him; I'll have his wig off!" and then, without waiting for any more, the entire audience burst into a roar of laughter which, however unseemly, was perfectly reasonable; during which Mr. Fiddlestick could be seen apologising in dumb show, with a bland smile upon his countenance, while Mr. News and Mr. Roscoe between them dragged the outraged Addison to his seat, and proffered him handkerchiefs to wipe his bleeding nose.