cried Frances. 'Then, mamma, I shall hate England, where I once thought everything was good.' Everything is not good anywhere, my love; and Society, I fear, above all, is far from being perfect not that your poor dear aunt Charlotte can be said to be in Society,' Lady Markham added, recovering her spirits. 'I don't think they see anybody but a few lawyers like themselves.' 'But, mamma, why do you go to see her? Why do you endure it? You promised for me, or I should never go back, neither on Thursday nor any other time.' 'Oh, for goodness' sake, Frances, my dear! I hope you have not got those headstrong Waring ways. Because she hates me, that is no reason why she should hate you. Even Con saw as much as that. You are of her own blood, and her near relation, and I never heard that he took very much to any of the young people on his side. And they are very rich. A man like that, at the head of his profession, must be coining money. It would be wicked of me, for any little tempers of mine, to risk what might be a fortune for my children. And you know I have very little more than my jointure, and your father is not rich.' This exposition of motives was like another language to Frances. She gazed at her mother's soft face, so full of sweetness and kindness, with a sense that she was under the sway of motives and influences which had been left out in her own simple education. Was it supreme and selfdenying generosity, or was it something else? The girl was too inexperienced, too ignorant to tell. But the contrast between Lady Markham's wonderful temper and forbearance and the harsh and ungenerous tone of her aunt, moved her heart out of the region of reason. 'If you put up with all that for us, I cannot see any reason why we should put up with it for you!' she cried indignantly. She cannot have any right to speak to my mother so-and before me.'" Ah, my darling, that is just the sweetness of it to her. If we were alone, I should not mind; she might say what she liked. It is because of you that she can make me feel a little. But you must take no notice; you must leave me to fight my own battles.' Why?' Frances flung up her young head, till she looked about a foot taller than her mother. I will never endure it, mamma: you may say what you like. What is her fortune to me?' 'My love!' she exclaimed; why, you little savage, her fortune is everything to you! It may make all the difference.' Then she laughed rather tremulously, and leaning over, bestowed a kiss upon her stranger-child's half-reluctant cheek. It is very, very sweet of you to make a stand for your mother,' she said, and when you know so little of me. The horrid people in Society would say that was the reason; but I think you would defend your mother anyhow, my Frances, my child that I have always missed! -But look here, dear. You must not do it. I am old enough to take care of myself. And your poor aunt Cavendish is not so bad as you think. She believes she has reason for it. She is very fond of your father, and she has not seen him for a dozen years; and there is no telling whether she may ever see him again; and she thinks it is my fault. So you must not take up arms on my behalf till you know better. And it would be so much to your advantage if she should take a fancy to you, my dear. Do you think I could ever reconcile myself, for any amour propre of mine, to stand in my child's way?' Önce more, Frances was unable to make any reply. All the lines of sentiment and sense to which she had been accustomed seemed to be getting blurred out. Where she had come from, a family stood together, shoulder by shoulder. They defended each other, and even revenged each other; and though the law might disapprove, public opinion stood by them. A child who looked on careless while its parents were assailed would have been to Mariuccia an odious monster. Her father's opinions on such a subject, Frances had never known; but as for fortune, he would have smiled that disdainful smile of his at the suggestion that she should pay court to any one because he was rich. Wealth meant having few wants, she had heard him say a thousand times. It might even have been supposed from his conversation that he scorned rich people for being rich, which of course was an exaggeration. But he could never, never have wished her to endeavour to please an unkind, disagreeable person because of her money. That was impossible. So that she made no reply, and scarcely even, in her confusion, responded to the caress with which her mother thanked her for the partisanship, which it appeared was so out of place. POPULAR LEGAL FALLACIES. BY AN EXPERIENCED PRACTITIONER. PERSONS pretending to be clergymen, although they have not been ordained, have occasionally brought trouble upon innocent persons; not substantial trouble, but anxiety, which for the time being amounts to the same thing in effect. We have frequently had occasion to advise persons who were in doubt as to the validity of their marriage, because the person who officiated as clergyman on the occasion was not really what he pretended to be. We may at once say that marriage is far too sacred a thing in the eye of the law to be left dependent upon the chapter of accidents for its validity. If two persons, who are free to enter into a matrimonial engagement, and are not within the prohibited degrees, go through the marriage ceremony in good faith, they become legally husband and wife, notwithstanding any defect on the part of the Church which has assumed to unite them in holy matri e consent to or acquiesce in the solemnisation of a marriage by any person not being in holy orders, the marriage of such persons shall be null and void to all intents and purposes whatsoever. It will be seen that this enactment puts the matter upon its proper footing. Innocent parties are not affected by the fact of the marriage having been performed by an impostor; but if they were aware of the fact before the ceremony is performed, the marriage is very properly void, because they were parties to the wrong-doing. official experience-the young lady has to take The offence now under consideration is fre We notorious fortune-hunters have had occasion to Whether this offence will ever be altogether abolished or not, is very doubtful; though it concerned to remember that a career begun in might be an advantage to some of the parties falsehood and perjury is not likely to end well. But it is not our province to preach. If it were, probably we should do no good to the lovers. The punishment provided by this Act for those who take upon themselves to perform the sacred offices of the Church in the celebration of matri- quently spoken of as venial, and indeed as being mony without being legally qualified to do so, calling a crime; but this is a fallacy. As we of so trifling a nature as scarcely to be worth is sufficiently severe, being fourteen years' trans- have shown, it is a crime which may be punished portation, now replaced by the same term of penal very severely; but it has also civil consequences servitude. When the Sheffield sham-clergyman of a serious character. Whenever any marriage was convicted at Leeds assizes recently, the judge is accomplished by means of a false oath or statuwho presided at the trial considered that he had tory declaration, the guilty party thereby forfeits no option, and this rigorous sentence was pro-wise have derived from the marriage; and certain all pecuniary advantage which he might othernounced; but it was afterwards found that a subsequent enactment more general in its terms covered the offence in question, and the sentence was reduced to five years' penal servitude, which may well act as a deterrent, as the offence is one which is very likely to come out sooner or later. By the Marriage Act of 1836, which applies more especially to marriages at register offices and in nonconformist places of worship, and to marriages in churches when the certificate of the superintendent registrar is substituted for the publication of banns, there are some provisions for the punishment of any person who shall unduly celebrate any marriage either at an unauthorised time or in an unauthorised place; and any marriage unduly celebrated with the knowledge of the parties thereto is to be void. Thus churchmen and dissenters are placed upon the same footing. When any person under the age of twenty-one years-not being a widow or widower-intends to get married, the consent of the parent or guardian of the 'infant' is necessary; and before the necessary license or certificate can be granted, or banns published, a declaration or affidavit must be made to the effect that the requisite consent has been given; or, that the parties are respectively of legal age; or, that there is no person who can give a valid consent to the marriage of the minor. When a false declaration is made, the offence is the same in its legal consequences as perjury. We shall have something to say on the subject of perjury in a subsequent chapter on 'Kissing the Book. Now, the penalty for perjury is not entirely nominal, being not more than two years' imprisonment with hard labour, or seven years' penal servitude; and we should think that a young man must be rather far gone who These irregular connections are so frequent, would risk this punishment, rather than wait until that it appears desirable to explain the law on his girl attains the age of twenty-one years, if her the subject clearly. When two persons are father or guardian will not consent to their being married, they become husband and wife for their married previously. We have put the matter joint lives, unless the marriage should be dissolved in this shape, because the natural course appears by the appointed court in which the power of to be that the man should take the risk upon granting relief from the burden of marriage is himself, if it is to be run at all. Practically, vested. Whatever either party may have to however, we think that in the majority of cases- complain of, the mutual relationship continues; judging from our own observations during a long they took each other for better, for worse, and Dangerous delusions are numerous, but few are more widely spread, or entail more pernicious consequences, than the one next under consideration. A man deserts his wife, with or without just cause for doing so; and after he has been away seven years or more, the deserted wife enters into what she believes to be a legal marriage with another man. Supposing the husband to be alive at the time that the second ceremony of so-called marriage is performed, it is absolutely void; the parties live together without being lawfully married; and if they should have any children, such children are illegitimate, and could not be made legitimate, even in Scotland, by the subsequent marriage of their parents, because, when the children were born, the parents were not free to enter into the state of matrimony with each other. In England, as we have before had occasion to observe, the status of a child as to legitimacy or otherwise is irrevocably fixed at the moment of its birth. they must endure the worse as well as enjoy the better, unless the union be legally dissolved. The origin of the 'seven years'' delusion is not involved in any obscurity, and therein it differs from some other popular legal fallacies. Marrying any other person while actually married already is a criminal offence, punishable with penal servitude not exceeding seven years; or imprisonment with or without hard labour for not exceeding two years. But no person can be convicted of this offence if at the time of the commission thereof his wife or her husband shall have been continually absent for the space of seven years then last past, and shall not have been known to have been living within that time. Hence, some wiseacre jumped to the conclusion, that if there was no danger of conviction for bigamy, a valid marriage might be contracted; and as error is more readily propagated than truth, this fallacy became extensively spread abroad and acted upon, the consequence being a large increase to the illegitimate portion of the population of the kingdom. We have reason to know that the evils arising from this mistake are to be found in abundance wherever the false impression has taken root. It is natural that a person who has found matrimony a failure should wish to try again, in the hope of drawing a prize next time; and many deserted wives--and husbands also-who would not on any account knowingly become the parents of children that were not legitimate, fall into the trap inadvertently; and when the mischief is done and cannot be remedied, they find, to their unutterable dismay, that, while they have been most severe in their reflections on the depraved who live a life of sin, they have themselves unwittingly been doing the very thing which has been the subject of their reprobation. We have known ladies upon whom the discovery of their illegalised position has even had a fatal effect; although the great majority survive the terrible disclosure, and thenceforth pass through life as blighted beings, who only desire to live because they cannot bear the thought of leaving their children to face the sneers of the world alone. Be the consequences what they may, absence for seven years is quite a sufficiently valid excuse with many for re-marrying; and if within that time they have heard that the lost sheep was still wandering in the wilderness of this world, they ignore the information, and enter into a second alliance which might expose them to the pains and penalties incident to a conviction for bigamy. It ought never to be forgotten that absence alone is not sufficient to avoid the danger, if the erring one has been known to be alive within the stipulated time, and his death has not been known to have occurred subsequently. The consequences of these void marriages to the offspring thereof may be more serious than the unpleasantness to which the parties themselves are subjected. One instance will suffice to illustrate this. A gentleman in the west of England, who was possessed of large estates, married a lady who was supposed to be a widow, her husband having left her many years before, and died-it was thought-abroad. After several years of married life, the second husband, as he was believed to be, died intestate, and soon afterwards the lady also died. Then the brother and heir-at-law came forward and claimed the estates; and his claim being resisted, on behalf of the children of the deceased, the marriage was proved to be void, by the production of the lady's husband, with whom the brother of his successor had been in communication for many years. The husband, it appeared, had in the first instance come back to England in order to claim his wife; but having been met with by the unprincipled heir, the latter persuaded him to make no sign, but to subsist upon a weekly allowance from him (the heir), in order that the supposed husband might go to his grave in the belief that he was the lawful husband of the mother of his children; for the brother knew that no will had been made, and feared that if his elder brother-then a hopeless invalid-knew of the invalidity of his marriage, he would make a will in favour of his children and their mother. This scheme was successful; the gentleman died without making a will, a neglect which is always foolish, and often wicked. The heir succeeded to his brother's estates, both real and personal, being the sole next of kin as well as heir-at-law; and the poor children were left utterly destitute. Many similar cases have come to our knowledge; but it would be useless to repeat incidents so common and so sad. We can only strive to impress upon our readers that such things are happening around them through the means of a delusion which is believed in as implicitly as gospel truth by many thousands of our fellowcountry men and women. The neglect to dispose of property by a will is a subject to which we intend to devote a future chapter; but we cannot close this without drawing attention to the irreparable mischief which was occasioned in the instance under notice by neglecting this simple duty. SWEET GILLIAN. A TALE OF THE BEGINNING OF THE CENTURY. CHAPTER I. EDWARD TRENT, the most unpopular man in the little east-county village of Hingleton, swaggered up the street one bright morning in the month of April, in the year 1815. His brows were bent, his head was cast down, and he was slashing savagely in the air with his stick, so that the business he had on hand-and he was rarely seen abroad except on business-was evidently of an unpleasant nature. Not a bad-looking man at a casual glance was Edward Trent. He was tall, well built, hair and eyes dark; but a closer observation revealed that the eyes were furtive, and that the lips were thin and relentless. Unpopular he undoubtedly was. Firstly, because he was a lawyer, and rustics were as distrustful of lawyers at the beginning of this century as they are now. Secondly, because he was unsociable, overbearing, and, being town born and bred, regarded rustic folk and rustic institu tions as beneath contempt. Thirdly and chiefly, because he was rumoured to be the future husband of Miss Ramsden of the Hall, known far and wide, from her gentle manner and winning ways, as Sweet Gillian. He appeared to notice nothing as he hastened along the village street; but under his black brows he could see very well the scowling faces and the pointed fingers in the windows and doorways of the houses, and strode on, past the old gray church and its red parsonage; past the trim house of the doctor; past the almshouses, the pound, and the stocks, until he came to the Gaskell Arms, inn and posting-house, round the corner of which he struck into a pleasant path which crossed the tiny stream known by the villagers as 'the River,' and was in the open country. Beautiful as the fields were in their fresh, bright garb of spring, they had no apparent attraction for the absorbed lawyer. He went on, crushing sweet flowers beneath his feet, scaring early butterflies from their resting-places on the blossom heads, and slashing relentlessly with his stick at any bit of colour which showed itself above the rest-straight towards the stately demesne of Hingleton Hall. The lodge-dame opened the gate to him as to a privileged person, but did not drop a courtesy; the gardeners at work knew that he was passing, but did not raise their heads. He who had never had a kind nod or a cheery word for any one, was not the sort of man to be made obeisance to, thought these sturdy toilers. He went on, under the avenue of tall elms, yet but sprinkled with 'How can there be difficulties?' asked Trent. 'It's all as clear as noonday. Look here. I got you this position of squire of Hingleton.' 'So you did; confound it!' muttered the squire. Confound it! why, "confound it?" exclaimed the lawyer. It's been a precious good bargain for you, and a cheap one. You were poor and ambitious; now you're rich and independent, and the price you pay is to marry your daughter to me. Many hundred men would think themselves lucky to get such a bargain at such a price.' 'Yes, that sounds right enough,' said the squire, more firmly and determinedly; but I wish I'd never made this marvellous bargain, all the same. It was very mean, to begin with, to take advantage of poor old Gaskell's mental prostration, and get him to re-indite his will as he did.' 'Don't say mental prostration,' interposed Trent. When he made that will, giving Hingleton to you as his next of kin, he was as right as you and I are.' at the news that young Lionel was killed at 'Well, at any rate, he was almost heart-broken Talavera,' said the squire; and when a man's heart's broken, his mind can't be over-strong. What I mean is, that he was taken advantage of. I don't blame any one more than myself. I was hungry after Hingleton, and ready to consent to anything you proposed. And, say what you like, And to it was mean, unmanly, un-English. young because you bring me the certificate of Lionel crown all, I sell-yes, I sell you my daughter, Gaskell's death. Pah!' leaves, skirted the broad velvety lawn, and paused not to bestow a glance on the exquisite, typically English scene spread around him, until he arrived at the quaintly carved oak portal of the Hall, above which appeared in stone the arms of the famous old family of Gaskell of Hingleton. The servant who admitted him ushered him without introduction into a snug little room, of which the sole occupant was a fresh-faced, grayhaired man of fifty, who was seated at a table strewn with papers, and who was John Ramsden, squire of Hingleton. 'Ha, Trent!' exclaimed the squire, rising and offering his visitor a broad, sunburnt hand. 'Punctual, as usual.' 'Yes; it's a professional virtue,' said the lawyer in a low, soft voice, which properly should have belonged to the most amiable of men. 'You sent for me?' 'Yes,' said the squire, returning to his chair and wheeling himself round so as to face his visitor. I sent for you because I felt that it was time some clear and definite conclusion should be arrived at between us.' manners. The relationship existing between the two men was sufficiently expressed by their respective The big, burly, cross-country-looking squire of Hingleton was almost deprecating in his tone and manner of speech; the lawyer spoke boldly and confidently, although in a low, soft The lion was evidently at the mercy of voice. the mouse. I thought that was settled a long time ago,' Baid the lawyer. 'Yes; so I thought,' said the squire, hesitatingly; but well, in short, there seem to be some little difficulties in the way.' The lawyer merely shrugged his shoulders and raised his black eyebrows, muttering something about the end justifying the means, and asked 'But surely, squire, the difficulty isn't one only of conscience? Men of the world can't afford to be bothered with too much conscience-at least lawyers can't.' 'Right for you,' said the squire quietly. It How would matters stand were Gillian to refuse you?' isn't one of conscience entirely. The lawyer was apparently startled at the suggestion of this eventuality. Refuse me!' he exclaimed. Why, the thing's impossible! She's been taught, I believe, for the last five years that I'm to be her husband. She can't-she daren't refuse me!' 'Why dare she not?' 'Because she knows-that is to say, she ought to know, if you've kept your promise to methat if she doesn't marry me, I have it in my power to ruin and disgrace you, by publishing the means by which you became squire of Hingleton,' replied Trent. 'One moment,' said the squire, placing his hand on the lawyer's knee. Don't you think that by such a move you would be tarring yourself with the same brush?' 'Not a bit of it,' replied Trent. I only negotiated the old gentleman's change of will; I only' 'Who suggested the idea to me? Who obtained with extraordinary alacrity a certificate of the death of Lionel Gaskell, the rightful heir to the estate?' asked the squire. 'I did,' replied Trent. 'I've loved Gillian far longer than you think. She didn't care for me. I knew that young Lionel had almost broken his father's heart with his excesses and extravagance, and finally with his running off and enlisting. I saw a chance. If I could do you a service, you would buy it. I named my price, and you accepted it. The youngster's dead -there can't be a doubt of it, or he'd have turned up before now.-But look here, squire; what makes you think that Gillian would refuse me? Has she any personal objection to me? Does she love any one else?' 'I don't think she loves any one else-no,' replied the squire evasively. 'Well, I'll find out for myself. Where is she?' asked Trent. 'In the garden, I believe.' The lawyer, without another word, left the room, passed through the Hall, and out by an open door into the pleasant, formal, old-fashioned garden, a favourite haunt of Gillian's. He soon espied her, seated on a quaintly carved stone bench at some distance, deeply engrossed in a book a bright-faced, rosy-cheeked girl, with curly brown hair. She heard his footsteps, and closing her book, rose and turned away. Trent, however, was not thus to be baffled by the caprice of a mere country girl; so, taking a short-cut, he presently confronted her. "Good-morning, Miss Ramsden.' 'Good-morning, Mr Trent,' she replied, with the slightest possible inclination of the head. "That must be an interesting work, to keep your eyes off the beauties of nature on this bright morning,' he continued. She made no answer. 'I won't take the answer, and I won't let go your arm,' said the lawyer, with so marvellous a change of voice that a stranger might have been excused for doubting if it was the same person speaking as before. Look here!' he went on. If you refuse to marry me, I have it in my power to ruin and disgrace both you and your father.' Ruin and disgrace me-and papa!' repeated Gillian, amazed. 'What do you mean, Mr Trent?' 'What I say—every word of it.' 'Don't insult me, please, Mr Trent,' said the girl, struggling to be free. 'My father never was disgraced, and never can be. And now, let me go.' She struggled hard; but the lawyer's grasp was firm, and only when his mocking laughter taunted her to greater efforts did she get loose, leaving a piece of her dress in his hand. Then she ran on, straight into the arms of a tall, soldierly man, whose bronzed face was furrowed with anger. 'Hillo!' he cried; 'what does this mean? Sweet Gillian and Lawyer Trent!-Why, man, what have you been doing?' Edward Trent, so far from being abashed and confused, replied with perfect coolness: 'And pray, what is that to you, colonel?' The old soldier made a step forward with So he continued: Miss Ramsden, could you uplifted cane. Why, you mean, petty, skulking spare me a few moments?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I really don't think it should,' she interposed. Trent, unheeding the interruption, went on I am a lawyer; but I can't beat about the bush in matters which pertain to a very different court from that of justice.' Gillian merely raised her eyebrows, as if puzzled by his ambiguous mode of speech. 'Do you know that you are beloved very dearly?' he continued. 'Yes; I believe my father'— she began. 'No, no; I don't mean by your father,' said Trent warmly. 'Of course he loves you; it would be strange if he didn't; but some one else' Here Gillian, shutting her book, stopped short in her walk, and looking him straight in the face with her honest brown eyes, said: Mr Trent, you are going to tell me that you love me, and to ask me to be your wife. Please, spare yourself the trouble, for I have never loved you, and I never can. I want to tell you this as kindly and as gently as possible.' For a moment the lawyer stood irresolute and silent. He was not crushed, for he had never expected any other answer from the girl, with whom every young squire in the neighbourhood was in love. But he said: 'Is that your final answer, Miss Ramsden?' attorney, how dare you make such an answer to me-to Colonel Adamthwaite of His Majesty's Service? I see this poor girl struggling to get away from you; I ask you what it means, and you tell me that it is no business of mine! Egad, man, I've a good mind to give you the soundest caning you ever had in your wretched career, and I daresay you've had several.' 'Yes,' said Trent quietly; and I made the performers pay for it.'' "O yes, of course, you're a lawyer; I forgot,' said the colonel. That, and that alone, prevents me from hiding you.' So saying, the colonel linked Gillian's arm with his own, and turned towards the Hall, leaving Edward Trent smiling, as if the interview had been of the pleasantest character possible, and saying softly to himself: All right, all right, my gray-haired veteran! All right, my haughty beauty! But it will be a strange thing if I'm not squire of Hingleton before long, nevertheless! What a neat little case it would have been, if he'd struck me.' Colonel Adamthwaite and Gillian went straight to the Hall, the girl telling him, with the freedom of an old friend as they went, all that had taken place. The old soldier pushed into the squire's study, and without any preliminaries, launched out into characteristic invective against that 'rascally land-shark,' as he called Trent, and a denunciation in no measured terms of his conduct towards Gillian. The squire listened without any remark or any token of astonishment. When the colonel paused, he rose, and said: 'John, we have been friends since boyhood. Don't say anything more |