he only—­was in the habit of frequently taking.  A precisely-similar bottle he also procured—­the shop at which it was purchased was described—­and when he called in King Street, he found no difficulty, in an unobserved moment, of substituting one bottle for the other.  That containing the real cordial he was still in possession of, and it would be found in his valise The unexpected arrival of Mademoiselle de Tourville frustrated his design, and he rushed in fury and dismay from the house.  A few hours afterwards, he heard of the sudden death of M. de Tourville, and attributing it to his having taken a portion of the simulated cordial, he, La Houssaye, fearful of consequences, hastily and secretly changed his abode.  He had subsequently kept silence till the conviction of Eugenie left him no other alternative, if he would not see her perish on the scaffold, than a full and unreserved confession.  This done—­Eugenie saved, but lost to him—­he had nothing more to live for in the world, and should leave it.

This was the essence of the document; and all the parts of it which were capable of corroborative proof having been substantiated, a free pardon issued from the crown—­the technical mode of quashing an unjust criminal verdict—­and Mademoiselle de Tourville was restored to liberty.

She did not return to France.  Something more perhaps than a year after the demonstration of her innocence, she was married to Arthur Rushton in the Sardinian Catholic Chapel, London, the bridegroom having by her influence been induced to embrace the faith of Rome.  The establishments in Harley Street and Mayfair were broken up; and the newly-espoused pair settled in the county of Galway, Ireland, where Mr. Rushton made extensive landed purchases.  They have lived very happily a long life, have been blessed with a large and amiable family, and are now—­for they are both yet alive—­surrounded with grandchildren innumerable.

EXPERIENCES OF A BARRISTER.

THE LIFE POLICY.

Besides being the confidential advisers, attorneys are the “confessors” of modern England; and the revelations—­delicate, serious, not unfrequently involving life as well as fortune and character—­confided to the purchased fidelity and professional honor of men whom romancers of all ages have stereotyped as the ghouls and vampires of civilized society, are, it is impossible to deny, as rarely divulged as those which the penitents of the Greek and Latin churches impart to their spiritual guides and helpers; and this possibly for the somewhat vulgar, but very sufficient reason, that “a breach of confidence” would as certainly involve the professional ruin of an attorney as the commission of a felony.  An able but eccentric jurisconsult, Mr. Jeremy Bentham, was desirous that attorneys should be compelled to disclose on oath whatever guilty secrets might be confided to them by their clients; the only