While in town, he always dined in the hall—twelve at noon being the hour of dinner—and supped there again at six; after which “case-putting” began in the cloister walks; and he acquired the character of a great “put-case.” He kept a commonplace book, which seems to have been almost as massive as Brooke’s “Abridgment of the Law.” He made himself well acquainted with the Year Books, although not altogether so passionately attached to them as Serjeant Maynard, who, when he was taking an airing in his coach, always carried a volume of them along with him, which, he said, amused him more than a comedy. He attended all famous legal arguments, particularly those of Sir Heneage Finch, and taking notes in the morning in law French, he employed himself at night in making out in English a report of the cases he had heard.
By way of relaxation he would go to music meetings, or to hear Hugh Peters preach. Nothing places him in such an amiable point of view as the delight he is said to have taken, on rare occasions, in “a petit supper and a bottle,” when there really seems to have been a short oblivion of anxiety about his rise in the world; but, to show his constitutional caution, his brother Roger assures us that, “whenever he was a little overtaken, it was a warning to him to take better care afterwards.”
Long before he was called to the bar, “he undertook the practice of court-keeping;” that is, he was appointed the steward of a great many manors by his grandfather and other friends, and he did all the work in person, writing all his court-rolls, and making out his copies with his own hand. I am afraid he now began his violation of the rights and liberties of his fellow-subjects by practising some petty extortions upon the bumpkins who came before him. “His grandfather,” says Roger,[83] with inimitable simplicity, “had a venerable old steward, careful by nature and faithful to his lord, employing all his thoughts and time to manage for supply of his house and upholding his rents,—in short, one of a race of human kind heretofore frequent, but now utterly extinct,—affectionate as well as faithful, and diligent rather for love than self-interest. This old gentleman, with his boot-hose and beard, used to accompany his young master to his court-keeping, and observing him reasoning the country people out of their pence for essoines, &c., he commended him, saying, ‘If you will be contented, Master Frank, to be a great while getting a little, you will be a little while getting a great deal;’ wherein he was no false prophet.”
Having been the requisite time on the books of the society of the Middle Temple, and performed all his moots, (upon which he bestowed great labor,) Francis was called to the bar.
The allowance of sixty pounds a year which he had hitherto received from his father was now reduced to fifty, in respect of the pence he collected by court-keeping and the expected profits of his practice. He highly disapproved of this reduction, and wrote many letters to his father to remonstrate against it. At last he received an answer which he hoped was favorable, but which contained only these words, “Frank, I suppose by this time, having vented all your discontent, you are satisfied with what I have done.” The reduced allowance, however, was continued to him as long as his father lived, who said “he would not discourage industry by rewarding it when successful with loss.”
The young barrister was now hard put to it. He took “a practising chamber” on a first floor in Elm Court, “a dismal hole—dark next the court, and on the other side a high building of the Inner Temple standing within five or six yards of the windows.” He was able to fill his shelves with all useful books of the law from the produce of certain legacies and gifts collected for him by his mother,[84] and he seems still to have had a small pecuniary help from his grandfather. For some time he had great difficulty in keeping free from debt; but he often declared that “if he had been sure of a hundred pounds a year to live upon, he had never been a lawyer.”
He is much praised by his brother, because it is said “he did not, (as seems to have been common,) for the sake of pushing himself, begin by bustling about town and obtruding himself upon attorneys, or bargaining for business, but was contented if chance or a friend brought him a motion, as he was standing at the bar taking notes.” These, however, came so rarely that he fell into a very dejected and hypochondriacal state. Thinking himself dying, he carried a list of his ailments to a celebrated physician, Dr. Beckenham of Bury, who laughed at him and sent him away, prescribing fresh air and amusement.
He was in danger of utterly sinking in the slough of despond, when he was suddenly taken by the hand by the great lawyer, Sir Jeffrey Palmer, who was made attorney general on the restoration of Charles II., and who if he had lived must have been lord chancellor. His son Edward, a very promising young man, lately called to the bar, died about this time in the arms of Francis North, who had been at college with him, and had shown him great attention during his illness.
All the business destined for young Palmer now somehow found its way to his surviving friend. His powerful protector, the attorney general, rapidly brought him forward by employing him in government prosecutions, and even when he himself was confined by illness, by giving him his briefs in smaller matters to hold for him in court. North, we may be sure, was most devotedly assiduous in making a suitable return for this kindness, and in flattering his patron. Instead of the sentiments he had imbibed from his family in his early days, he now loudly expressed those of an ultra prerogative lawyer, exalting the power of the king both over the church and the Parliament.
Being considered a rising man, his private friends and near relations came to consult him. He was once asked if he took fees from them. “Yes,” said he; “they no doubt come to do me a kindness; and what kindness have I if I refuse their money?”