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Updated: May 31, 2025
"You're sure you will never tell her anything about anything, until I'm gone? You promised me, you know." "Well, didn't I promise you?" "Not under any circumstances?" "You don't keep back anything about 'circumstances' when you make a promise," retorted Mr. Follett. The Gentile Issues an Ultimatum June went; July came and went.
Nothing excited more astonishment among those who had thoroughly known Sir William Follett, than the appearance of these attacks upon his memory, and the bad taste and feeling which alone could have prompted the perpetration of them, at a moment when the hearts of his surviving relatives and friends were quivering with the first agonies of their severe bereavement; when they had just lost one who had been the pride of their family, the pillar of their hopes, and who was universally supposed to have left behind him not a single enemy who had been distinguished for his courteous, mild, and inoffensive character, and its unblemished purity in all the relations of private life.
Whoever might forget facts, or lose the drift of the argument, Sir William Follett never did; and when he had the last word, he was almost always irresistible.
The above, with the exception of taking part in the debate of the House of Commons, was an average day's work of the late Sir William Follett! And was it not the life of a galley-slave chained to the oar? He had, however, chosen it, and would not quit his seat but at the icy touch of death.
The disappearance from the legal hemisphere of so bright a star as the late Sir William Follett, cast a gloom, not yet dissipated, over the legal profession, and all classes of society capable of appreciating great intellectual eminence.
The case had not been heard more than half an hour, Sir William Follett at once attentively listening to his opponent, and hastily glancing over his own papers, when he rose very quietly, and said "If my learned friend will pardon me, I think, my Lord, I can save the court a very long and useless enquiry for there is clearly a fatal objection in limine to these proceedings."
Audley, chancellor to the eighth Henry, Nicholas Hare, privy councillor to the latter monarch and Master of the Rolls under Mary, who resided in the court which now bears his name, the eminent lawyer Littleton and his no less famous commentator Coke, Lord Buckburst, Beaumont the poet, Sir William Follett, and Judge Jeffries of infamous memory, were all students within the Temple precincts.
However plausible, cogent, or even just, might be the suggestion thrown in by his adversary, Sir William Follett contrived to make it tell terribly against him, either harmonising it with his own case, or showing it to be utterly inconsistent with that of the interrupting party.
When he reached the house, they were sitting on the bench outside. "Sometimes," Follett was saying, "you can't tell at first whether a thing is right or wrong. You have to take a long squint, like when you're in the woods on a path that ain't been used much lately and has got blind.
"I'll see what my clients say," and then he consulted them, and resumed "No my people are peremptory." "Very well. Then keep your eyes wide open. I must bring you down as soon as possible, for I want to be elsewhere." "Ah I must take my chance about that" then, turning round to an experienced and learned junior, he whispered "You hear what Follett says? Are we really all right?"
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