able in so complicated a case, and professed himself instantly
ready to go through that correspondence, and prove that it was in
form and substance exactly applicable to the view of the case he had
submitted to their lordships. He applied to his father, who sat behind
him, to hand him, from time to time, the letters, in the order in which
he meant to read and comment upon them.

Old Counsellor Tough had probably formed an ingenious enough scheme to
blunt the effect of the young lawyer's reasoning, by thus obliging him
to follow up a process of reasoning, clear and complete in itself, by
a hasty and extemporary appendix. If so, he seemed likely to be
disappointed; for Alan was well prepared on this as on other parts of
the cause, and recommenced his pleading with a degree of animation which
added force even to what he had formerly stated, and might perhaps have
occasioned the old gentleman to regret his having again called him up,
when his father, as he handed him the letters, put one into his hand
which produced a singular effect on the pleader.

At the first glance, he saw that the paper had no reference to the
affairs of Peter Peebles; but the first glance also showed him, what,
even at that time, and in that presence, he could not help reading; and
which, being read, seemed totally to disconcert his ideas. He stopped
short in his harangue--gazed on the paper with a look of surprise and
horror-uttered an exclamation, and flinging down the brief which he had
in his hand, hurried out of court without returning a single word of
answer to the various questions, 'What was the matter?'--'Was he taken
unwell?'--'Should not a chair be called?' &c. &c. &c.

The elder Mr. Fairford, who remained seated, and looking as senseless as
if he had been made of stone, was at length recalled to himself by the
anxious inquiries of the judges and the counsel after his son's health.
He then rose with an air, in which was mingled the deep habitual
reverence in which he held the court, with some internal cause of
agitation, and with difficulty mentioned something of a mistake--a piece
of bad news--Alan, he hoped would be well enough to-morrow. But unable
to proceed further, he clasped his hands together, exclaiming, 'My son!
my son!' and left the court hastily, as if in pursuit of him.

'What's the matter with the auld bitch next?' [Tradition ascribes this
whimsical style of language to the ingenious and philosophical Lord
Kaimes.] said an