Markham, whose mind was in no very enviable state, did not prolong his visit; but hastily and almost abruptly took his leave of Mr. Martindale, when, after waiting a reasonable time, he saw no more of Clara. The time was now arrived for Markham to go the circuit. He was anxious lest by his absence from England he had injured his circuit practice, and lost his provincial clients. Agreeably disappointed was he to find that instead of that practice being injured or those clients being lost, his practice was increased and his clients were more numerous. Some other young barristers on the circuit were rather angry that Markham should return again after having for a time left the circuit; but that anger could not prevent Markham from having briefs. In every place on the circuit he obtained something, and in some he had as much business as often falls to the lot of older men. He had the advantage of being familiar with law, far beyond his age and standing; he had read much and had thought much, and his memory was good, and his readiness in reference and quotation was surprising. It is true that in order to acquire this he had given hard labor and study; and that for knowledge in his profession he had sacrificed much other knowledge, and many of those amusements in which young gentlemen in that profession do indulge. But he knew that nothing was to be done without labor, and that every thing was to be done by it. When he first embraced the profession, his friends and acquaintants made the common-place remark that the profession was overstocked; but he knew that it was not overstocked with severe and laborious applicants, and that in that profession, as well as in every other, there was room enough for those who would make room for themselves. With this feeling he commenced his studies, and with this encouragement he pursued them. And though he was sometimes laughed at for his simplicity and for his ignorance of every thing but his profession, he knew that in the end he should find his turn to laugh at those who at the beginning laughed at him.

"Every man to his taste," as the proverb has it. Let those who like to laugh and play enjoy themselves in their own way, only let them not suppose that their indolence and levity shall reap and gather the solid advantages and honors of laborious and serious diligence. It may be well that in every profession there should be those who by their negligence and listlessness make room for such as are more diligently disposed: therefore, we should not speak or think contemptuously of those who are not what are called an honor to their profession. They make way and room for others. Life is not quite so much of a lottery as the indolent and unsuccessful think it to be. It is not to be doubted that there are indeed some instances where real application and serious diligence have been unsuccessful. It is sad that there are any such, but there are not so many as is usually supposed.

Markham, we have said, went the circuit, and soon discovered that his temporary absence had not lost him much or any thing. Briefs flowed in upon him in abundance, and one of them was to a young gentleman in his circumstances somewhat curious. It was an action for breach of promise of marriage. Markham always read his briefs attentively, and endeavoured not only to put himself in possession of the facts there stated, but attempted also to understand the real merits of the case; that is to say, he made himself a judge as far as he could from an ex-parte statement, in order that he might thereby be the better able to anticipate his adversary's arguments. He saw very plainly in the case now submitted to him, that this was one of those not uncommon instances, in which a young gentleman of more passion than judgment forms a hasty engagement, and soon finds occasion to repent of his precipitation; where the attachment of the lady increases in proportion as that of the gentleman decreases. Instead, therefore, of meditating and spouting a very fine flowery harangue, which might tend rather to set off the barrister than to aid the cause which he professed to advocate, he thought it best to leave the jury to find out by the force of their own judgment, that to make a promise of this nature and not to fulfil it was altogether improper, and worthy of reprehension and punishment. An action being brought implied an injury; and therefore he did not think it necessary to dwell very prosingly and eloquently on that topic; but rather, he thought it best to anticipate the defence, and neutralise that as much as lay in his power. This he did most effectually; and with an air of the greatest candor and readiness to make every concession and allowance, he succeeded in making the jury believe and feel that the case was abominable. This proceeding crippled the defence, inasmuch as there was in Markham's statement and address none of that tawdry nonsense called pathos and sublimity, but a straightforward, or at least an apparently straightforward, statement of a very common case, in which he did not seem to be making more of the subject than it required or would well bear. The consequence, partly we may suppose of the justice of the cause, and partly of the dexterous manner in which Markham managed it, was, that he had a verdict with as much damages as were claimed. This was a great triumph of plain common sense: for Markham did not by foolishly attempting to make too much of the business overdo and destroy it. His speech which was rather long, and which in its delivery was very clear and distinct, and in its sentences and construction lucid and intelligible, so much pleased and attracted the reporters who were present, that they gave it in the papers at very great length, and especially as trials of this nature are generally highly interesting to the public.

The country trials are read in London. Few young ladies pass over a trial for breach of promise of marriage, without attentively studying the arguments of the case, and delightedly dwelling upon the eloquence and pathos in which the agonies of a broken heart are described and painted to an attentive jury of honest though obtuse agriculturists. Some young ladies were disappointed at Markham's speech, for they had heard that he was a clever man, and they were astonished not to find any more sublimity or sentimentality in his speeches at trials. These young ladies take it as a settled matter, that all clever men who make speeches must by virtue of their cleverness be very flowery and sentimental and figurative in their language. Markham knew better. The jury which he addressed was not composed of tender-hearted, susceptible young gentlemen, overdone with poetry and romance, but of twelve blunt, honest, hard-handed, close-fisted, cool-hearted, dry-souled, middle-aged farmers, who scarcely knew what was meant by a broken heart. It would have been nonsense then to have addressed to them a trumpery fine spoutification, such as young apprentices and journeymen apothecaries administer to one another at their sixpenny debating-clubs and public-house wisdom-shops. Markham spoke to what he knew to be the purpose. A young lady brought an action against a young gentleman for breach of promise of marriage; the first question which the jury would wish to have answered was, is it true that such promise was given and broken? They did not want to hear a school-boy theme on the subject; and if they had heard one, and if they had heard Markham labor very hard to prove the young gentleman one of the most hard-hearted, wicked, abominable creatures that ever lived, and to set forth the young lady as the most cruelly afflicted and tormented of all the broken-hearted daughters of Eve, they might have stared with astonishment at Markham's very wonderful display, but they would not have understood one-half of his fine words, and would not have believed one-half of his fine story. But when it was proved as stated, that there actually had been a breach of promise, then the next question was, may there not be some business, and after conceding all that could be claimed, proved or well argued that the extenuations to be set up were not sufficient: he showed the jury there could be no valid excuse; and therefore, when the defendant's counsel came to make and furnish out the excuses, he found that he had been so anticipated as to be much hampered in the defence: and it answered well. An eloquent man would have spoiled the cause by exaggeration and bombast: therefore, though the young ladies did not think Markham's speech the production of a clever man when they first read it, yet afterwards they were convinced that he was right; and they were very much pleased with those pure and generous principles which he unostentatiously and calmly avowed. They all thought that Mr. Markham must be so very pure in his principles, and so very chivalric, as he expressed such strict notions of the principles of honor as applicable to promises of such a sacred nature as promises of marriage: for in excuse found for the young gentleman? Markham took up this part of the the course of his speech he had said, "You will find that a promise of marriage has in this case actually been made formally, explicitly, and decidedly. There was not an implied intention, but an actual promise. Some men there are, to their shame be it spoken, who by constant attentions and assiduities, without making any promises, gain the affections and excite the hopes of those whom they desert at last with legal impunity, but not without bitter self-reproach."

The young ladies in general admired Mr. Markham for this expression, and they thought that he deserved their best thanks for thus reprehending and exposing such wanton and cruel wickedness. Miss Henderson was among the foremost to admire this sentiment. More than once or twice did she take up her pen to write Markham a letter of compliment and congratulation; to compliment him on his virtue, and to congratulate him on his success. But she had her fears and distrusts. She really did condescend to think that peradventure there might be some little impropriety, or some appearance of forwardness, if she should be the first to commence a correspondence; and yet she did very much wish for an opportunity of expressing to Markham her high sense of his professional talents, and her admiration of the moral beauty of his mind. What a pity it is that custom has so ordered it, that the lady must always wait till the gentleman takes it into his head to propose the question! it is very arbitrary. Perhaps many a worthy, modest, diffident gentleman, who would willingly, if he dared be so presumptuous, offer his hand to some beautiful, intelligent, amiable one of the other sex, is by this social, or rather unsocial regulation, doomed to live single, or to give his hand at last to some less worthy object. This, for aught Miss Henderson knew to the contrary, might be poor Markham's case. The young lady was aware that Markham was of humble origin, and to that she partly attributed his diffidence. She also thought that very likely he was waiting till by his professional exertions he had acquired a competency to live in a certain style. She was quite charmed with the beauty of his sentiments, and the sublimity of his mind; and whenever his name was mentioned, she was copious and fluent in his praise. It was the subject of her constant thoughts, and the theme of her frequent talk. So that most persons of her acquaintance thought that if there was not an absolute engagement, there was at least an implied understanding between them; and whenever, by her young friends, any sportive insinuations to that purpose were thrown out, she did not contradict them or set them right. Herein the young lady was obviously and decidedly wrong, and laid the foundation of some after perplexity, embarrassment, and mortification. It was wrong, very wrong indeed, and it was scarcely honest, inasmuch as she thought to make doubly sure of him, by suffering every one to take it for granted that there subsisted an engagement between them. But as honesty is the best policy, and as all deviations from that strict line are attended more or less with some inconvenience and disadvantage, Miss Henderson found that her object was far from being attained by this contrivance: for as she suffered this implied or supposed engagement to become common-talk among her friends, the rumor went farther, and reached the ears of Markham himself.

Great, unspeakably great, was his astonishment, when on his return from the circuit, and just as he was seated in his chambers and meditating on the sorrow which had afflicted him at parting from Clara, and thinking also of the sad change there now seemed to be in his prospects as they regarded her, great was his astonishment to see Mr. Martindale enter the apartment, and to hear him, before he had well uttered the ordinary salutation, exclaim,

"So my grave counsellor, I find you have lost your heart. A very pretty story; why you never condescended to honor me with the information. I suppose you thought I could not keep a secret. Well, well, you did wisely to keep your own counsel so long. If people can't keep their own secrets, nobody is likely to keep them for them. But methinks, young gentleman, you were rather in a hurry. You will not stand any great chance for making your fortune by the match; but that is your own concern. Nobody has any business with that but yourself. If you go on as you have begun, you will make a fortune in your profession; and perhaps, after all, that is the best way of making a fortune. You will enjoy it much more than if you have a fortune ready made for you."

Thus said Mr. Martindale to the astonished and perplexed Horatio Markham, who, as soon as he had recovered from the surprise with which this greeting overwhelmed him, replied,

"My good sir, you astonish me beyond measure. What can you allude to? I have not the slightest idea of what you can refer to. I assure you, sir, that you have been much misinformed if you have heard of any matrimonial engagement of mine."

With equal, if not greater astonishment, Mr. Martindale returned,

"My good sir, you astonish me beyond measure. Not know what I allude to? What, do you pretend to say that your attentions to Miss Henderson have meant nothing? All the world says that you are engaged to her, and that during the whole winter you have been assiduously attending her to the Opera, and perpetually dangling about with her. Indeed, some of your friends have observed that your attention was more occupied on Miss Henderson, than on the performances on the stage or orchestra: so it is absolutely ridiculous in you to affect to deny what every body knows to be the truth. And why should you deny it? you have a right to offer your hand to whomsoever you please. I know no objection to Miss Henderson."

Thereupon a flood of light burst in upon the mind of the young barrister, and he trembled in every limb, when he thought of the manner in which he had been so long and so carelessly committing himself. He saw that there was no room for denial, unless accompanied with very copious explanation; and he actually feared, that no explanation which he could give would be sufficient to exonerate him from the charge of having trifled with Miss Henderson's feelings, and having severely interrupted her happiness. This was not an enviable state of mind for a young gentleman who was very anxious to preserve a high moral reputation, as well as to acquire a high intellectual reputation. He was perplexed beyond measure; and he was for some minutes unable to say a word in continuation, denial, or defence. But thinking it absolutely necessary to say something after the very decided manner in which Mr. Martindale had brought the matter home to him, he replied,

"It is very true, sir, that I did accompany Miss Henderson several times to the Opera; but I am not at all aware that my attention was more taken up by the young lady than good manners absolutely required. I have a recollection that Miss Henderson did very frequently address herself to me on the subject of the performance, more frequently perhaps than was consistent with a proper attention to the stage, and of course I could do no less than reply: that was the substance of the attention which I paid to Miss Henderson in public. I am surprised to find that any one should from such circumstances have raised the story of my intention of marrying the young lady."

"You may be as much surprised as you will; but the fact is, that the story comes from Miss Henderson herself, or at all events she has not denied it when it has been mentioned to her, and that is nearly the same."

Markham knew that Mr. Martindale was not addicted to playing off practical jokes, and therefore he did not disbelieve what he said; and he was also aware that the old gentleman would not take up a story merely at random, without some good authority, therefore it appeared that the information was correct; and then, for the first time in his life, Markham began to think it possible that there were such beings as forward young ladies, and that all individuals of the sex were not equally difficult to woo and to win. All that he could do at present was to assure Mr. Martindale that Miss Henderson had formed an incorrect conclusion, and to take blame to himself for not having wisdom and attention to see before that which was now so very obvious. Mr. Martindale, however, who was a more experienced man than the young barrister, presently saw how the case stood, and pitied the unfortunate young man most sincerely.

"I see," said he, "how the matter is. The fact is, you have unwarily committed yourself; and the young lady is of opinion that your attentions meant more than you designed them to mean. I do not know how to advise you, you must use your own judgment, and do the best you can for yourself. If you have no objection to the young lady, there is no harm done; and if you require a little help at the commencement of housekeeping, I will stand your friend. I have no doubt of your success in your profession; but perhaps at present, as Miss Henderson cannot have any fortune, you may find a friend's assistance not unacceptable."

This was uttered in Mr. Martindale's usual frank and abrupt manner; and on the part of Markham, it was felt to be very generous and kind, and he acknowledged it accordingly. But there were two matters to which he felt strong objections; viz. to marrying where there was not on his part much or indeed any affection, and also to the accepting pecuniary favors from a comparative stranger. These were certainly difficulties not easy to be surmounted. And when Mr. Martindale left the young gentleman to his meditations, those meditations were not the most pleasant.