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Mr. Justice Darling, whose witty remarks from the Bench are so much appreciated by his audiences in Court, and, it is rumoured, are not always received with approval by his brother judges, says, in his amusing book Scintillæ Juris:

"It is a common error to suppose that our law has no sense of humour, because for the most part the judges who expound it have none."

But law is, after all, a serious business—at any rate for the litigants—and it would appear also for the attorneys, for while witticisms of the Bench and Bar abound, very few are recorded of the attorney and his client. "Law is law" wrote the satirist who decided not to adopt it as a profession. "Law is like a country dance; people are led up and down in it till they are tired. Law is like a book of surgery—there are a great many terrible cases in it. It is also like physic—they who take least of it are best off. Law is like a homely gentlewoman—very well to follow. Law is like a scolding wife—very bad when it follows us. Law is like a new fashion—people are bewitched to get into it. It is also like bad weather—most people are glad when they get out of it."

From very early times there have appeared on the Bench expounders of the law who by the phrase "for the most part" must be acquitted of Mr. Justice Darling's charge of having no sense of humour; judges who, like himself, have lightened the otherwise dreary routine of duty by pleasantries which in no way interfered with the course of justice. One of the earliest of our witty judges, whose brilliant sayings have come down to us, was Henry VIII's Lord Chancellor, Sir Thomas More, who lost his head because he would not acknowledge his king as head of the Church. To Sir Thomas Manners, Earl of Rutland, who had made a somewhat insolent remark, the Lord Chancellor quietly replied, 'Honores mutant mores'—Honours change manners. Sir Thomas's humour was what may be called quiet, because its effect did not immediately show itself in boisterous merriment, but would undoubtedly remain long in the remembrance of those to whom it was addressed. Made with as much courtesy as irony, is it likely his keeper in the Tower would ever forget his remark? "Assure yourself I do not dislike my cheer; but whenever I do, then spare not to thrust me out of your doors." Nor did his quaint humour desert him at the scaffold: "Master Lieutenant," said he, "I pray you see me safe up; for my coming down let me shift for myself." Even with his head on the block he could not resist a humorous remark, when putting aside his beard he said to the executioner, "Wait, my good friend, till I have removed my beard, for it has never offended his highness."

Another judge of the sixteenth century, Sir Nicholas Bacon, who resembled Sir Thomas More in the gentleness of his happiest speeches, could also on occasion exhibit an unnecessary coarseness in his jocular retorts. A circuit story is told of him in which a convicted felon named Hog appealed for remission of his sentence on the ground that he was related to his lordship. "Nay, my friend," replied the judge, "you and I cannot be kindred except you be hanged, for hog is not bacon until it be well hung." This retort was not quite so coarse as that attributed to the Scottish judge, Lord Kames, two centuries later, who on sentencing to death a man with whom he had often played chess and very frequently been beaten, added after the solemn words of doom, "And noo, Matthew, ye'll admit that's checkmate for you."

To Lord Chancellor Hatton, also an Elizabethan judge who aimed at sprightliness on the Bench, a clever mot is attributed. The case before him was one concerning the limits of certain land. The counsel having remarked with emphasis, 'We lie on this side, my lord,' and the opposing counsel with equal vehemence having interposed, 'And we lie on this side, my lord'—the Lord Chancellor dryly observed, "If you lie on both sides, whom am I to believe?" It would seem that punning was as great a power in the Law Courts of that time as it is at the present day. When Egerton as Master of the Rolls was asked to commit a cause—refer it to a Master in Chancery—he would reply, "What has the cause done that it should be committed?"

Many witticisms of Westminster Hall, attributed to barristers of the Georgian and Victorian periods, are traceable to a much earlier date. There is the story of Serjeant Wilkins, whose excuse for drinking a pot of stout at mid-day was, that he wanted to fuddle his brain down to the intellectual standard of a British jury. Two hundred and fifty years earlier, Sir John Millicent, a Cambridgeshire judge, on being asked how he got on with his brother judges replied, "Why, i' faithe, I have no way but to drink myself down to the capacity of the Bench." And this merry thought has also been attributed to one eminent barrister who became Lord Chancellor, and to more than one Scottish advocate who ultimately attained to a seat on the Bench.

And to various celebrities of the later Georgian period has been attributed Lord Shaftesbury's reply to Charles II. When the king exclaimed, "Shaftesbury, you are the most profligate man in my dominions," the Chancellor answered somewhat recklessly, "Of a subject, sir, I believe I am."

Bullying witnesses is an old practice of the Bar, but for instances of it emanating from the Bench one has to go very far back. A witness with a long beard was giving evidence that was displeasing to Jeffreys, when judge, who said: "If your conscience is as large as your beard, you'll swear anything." The old man retorted: "My lord, if your lordship measures consciences by beards, your lordship has none at all."

A somewhat similar story of Jeffreys' bullying manner, when at the Bar, is that of his cross-examining a witness in a leathern doublet, who had made out a complete case against his client. Jeffreys shouted: "You fellow in the leathern doublet, pray what have you for swearing?" The man looked steadily at him, and "Truly, sir," said he, "if you have no more for lying than I have for swearing, you might wear a leathern doublet as well as I."

Instances of disrespect to the Bench are rarely met with in early as happily in later days. There is, perhaps, the most flagrant example of young Wedderburn in the Scottish Court of Session, when with dramatic effect he threw off his gown and declared he would never enter the Court again; but he rose to be Lord Chancellor of England. Scarcely less disrespectful (but not said openly to the Bench) was young Edward Hyde when hinting that the death of judges was of small moment compared with his chances of preferment. "Our best news," he wrote to a friend, "is that we have good wine abundantly come over; our worst that the plague is in town, and no judges die."

ALEXANDER WEDDERBURN, EARL OF ROSSLYN, LORD CHANCELLOR.

In squabbles between the Bench and the Bar there are few stories that match for personality the retort of a counsel to Lord Fortescue. His lordship was disfigured by a purple nose of abnormal growth. Interrupting counsel one day with the observation: "Brother, brother, you are handling the case in a very lame manner," the angry counsel calmly retorted, "Pardon me, my lord; have patience with me and I will do my best to make the case as plain as—as—the nose on your lordship's face." Nor did the retort of an Attorney-General to a judge, after a warm discussion on a point which the latter claimed to decide, show much respect for the Bench. The judge closed the argument with "I ruled so and so."—"You ruled," muttered the Attorney-General. "You ruled! You were never fit to rule anything but a copy-book."

Verse has been used as a medium of much amusing legal wit and humour, although law and law cases do not offer very easy subjects for turning into rhyme. But a good illustration is afforded by Mr. Justice Powis, who had a habit of repeating the phrase, "Look, do you see," and "I humbly conceive." At York Assize Court on one occasion he said to Mr. Yorke, afterwards Lord Hardwicke, "Mr. Yorke, I understand you are going to publish a poetical version of 'Coke upon Lyttelton.' Will you favour me with a specimen?"—"Certainly, my lord," replied the barrister, who thereupon gravely recited:

"He that holdeth his lands in fee

Need neither shake nor shiver,

I humbly conceive, for, look, do you see,

They are his and his heirs for ever."

In Sir James Burrows' reports is given a poetical version of Chief Justice Pratt's decision with regard to a woman of English birth who was the widow of a foreigner.

"A woman having a settlement,

Married a man with none,

The question was, he being dead,

If what she had was gone.

Quoth Sir John Pratt, 'The settlement

Suspended doth remain

Living the husband; but him dead

It doth revive again.'"

Chorus of Puisne Judges:

"Living the husband; but him dead

It doth revive again."

The Chief Justice's decision having been reversed by his successor, Chief Justice Ryder's decision was reported:

"A woman having a settlement

Married a man with none;

He flies and leaves her destitute,

What then is to be done?

Quoth Ryder the Chief Justice,

'In spite of Sir John Pratt,

You'll send her to the parish

In which she was a brat.'

Suspension of a settlement Is not to be maintained. That which she had by birth subsists Until another's gained."

Chorus of Puisne Judges:

"That which she had by birth subsists

Until another's gained."

EDWARD THURLOW, BARON THURLOW. LORD CHANCELLOR.

Many of the well-known witticisms attributed to great judges are so tinged with personality—even tending to malignity—that no one possessing respect for human nature can read them without being tempted to regard them as mere biographical fabrications. But such a construction cannot be put upon the stories told of Lord Chancellor Thurlow, whose overbearing insolence to the Bar is well known. To a few friends like John Scott, Lord Eldon, and Lloyd Kenyon, Lord Kenyon, he could be consistently indulgent; but to those who provoked him by an independent and fearless manner he was little short of a persecutor. Once when Scott was about to follow his leader, who had made an unusually able speech, the Chancellor addressed him: "Mr. Scott, I am glad to find you are engaged in the cause, for I now stand some chance of knowing something about the matter." This same leader of the Bar on one occasion, in the excitement of professional altercation, made use of an undignified expression before Lord Thurlow; but before his lordship could take notice of it the counsel immediately apologised, saying, "My lord, I beg your lordship's pardon. I really forgot for the moment where I was." A silent recognition of the apology would have made the counsel feel his position more keenly, but the Chancellor could not let such an opportunity pass and immediately flashed out: "You thought you were in your own Court, I presume," alluding to a Welsh judgeship held by the offending counsel.

As a contrast to Lord Thurlow's treatment of Scott's leader, the following story—given in Scott's own words—shows how the great Chancellor could unbend himself in the company of men who were in his favour. "After dinner, one day when nobody was present but Lord Kenyon and myself, Lord Thurlow said, 'Taffy, I decided a cause this morning, and I saw from Scott's face that he doubted whether I was right.' Thurlow then stated his view of the case, and Kenyon instantly said, 'Your decision was quite right.' 'What say you to that?' asked the Chancellor. I said, 'I did not presume to form a case on which they were both agreed. But I think a fact has not been mentioned, which may be material.' I was about to state the fact, and my reasons. Kenyon, however, broke in upon me, and with some warmth stated that I was always so obstinate there was no dealing with me. 'Nay,' interposed Thurlow, 'that's not fair. You, Taffy, are obstinate, and give no reasons. You, Jack, are obstinate too; but then you give your reasons, and d—d bad ones they are!'"

Another anecdote again illustrates the Chancellor's treatment of even those who were on a friendly footing with him. Sir Thomas Davenport, a great Nisi Prius leader, had long flattered himself with the hope of succeeding to some valuable appointment in the law; but several good things passing by, he lost his patience and temper along with them. At last he addressed this laconic application to his patron: "The Chief Justiceship of Chester is vacant; am I to have it?" and received the following laconic answer: "No! by G—d! Kenyon shall have it."

Scarcely less courteous was this Lord Chancellor's treatment of a solicitor who endeavoured to prove to him a certain person's death. To all his statements the Chancellor replied, "Sir, that is no proof," till at last the solicitor losing patience exclaimed: "Really, my lord, it is very hard and it is not right that you should not believe me. I knew the man well: I saw the man dead in his coffin. My lord, the man was my client." "Good G—d, sir! why didn't you tell me that sooner? I should not have doubted the fact one moment; for I think nothing can be so likely to kill a man as to have you for his attorney."

As Keeper of the Great Seal Thurlow had the alternate presentation to a living with the Bishop of——. The Bishop's secretary called upon the Lord Chancellor and said, "My Lord Bishop of—— sends his compliments to your lordship, and believes that the next turn to present to—— belongs to his lordship."—"Give his lordship my compliments," replied the Chancellor, "and tell him that I will see him d—d first before he shall present."—"This, my lord," retorted the secretary, "is a very unpleasant message to deliver to a bishop." To which the Chancellor replied, "You are right, it is so; therefore tell the Bishop that I will be d—d first before he shall present."

Lord Campbell in his life of Thurlow says that in his youth the Chancellor was credited with wild excesses. There was a story, believed at the time, of some early amour with the daughter of a Dean of Canterbury, to which the Duchess of Kingston alluded when on her trial at the House of Lords. Looking Thurlow, then Attorney-General, full in the face she said, "That learned gentleman dwelt much on my faults, but I too, if I chose, could tell a Canterbury tale."

But with all his bitterness and sarcasm Lord Thurlow had a genuine sense of humour, as the following story of his Cambridge days illustrates—days when he was credited with more disorderly pranks and impudent escapades than attention to study. "Sir," observed a tutor, "I never come to the window but I see you idling in the Court."—"Sir," replied the future Lord Chancellor, "I never come into the Court but I see you idling at the window."

WILLIAM MURRAY, EARL OF MANSFIELD, LORD CHIEF JUSTICE.

Mansfield was not credited with lively sensibility, but his humanity was shocked at the thought of killing a man for a trifling theft. Trying a prisoner at the Old Baily on the charge of stealing in a dwelling-house to the value of 40s.—when this was a capital offence—he advised the jury to find a gold trinket, the subject of the indictment, to be of less value. The prosecutor exclaimed with indignation, "Under 40s., my lord! Why, the fashion alone cost me more than double the sum."—"God forbid, gentlemen, we should hang a man for fashion's sake," observed Lord Mansfield to the jury.

An indictment was tried before him at the Assizes, preferred by parish officers for keeping an hospital for lying-in women, whereby the parish was burdened by illegitimate children. He expressed doubts whether this was an indictable offence, and after hearing arguments in support of it he thus gave his judgment. "We sit here under a Commission requiring us to deliver this gaol, and the statute has been cited to make it unlawful to deliver a woman who is with child. Let the indictment be quashed."

Having met at supper the famous Dr. Brocklesby, he entered into familiar conversation with him, and there was an interchange of stories just a little trenching on the decorous. It so happened that the doctor had to appear next morning before Lord Mansfield in the witness-box; and on the strength of the previous evening's doings the witness, on taking up his position, nodded to the Chief Justice with offensive familiarity as to a boon companion. His lordship taking no notice of his salutation, but writing down his evidence, when he came to summing it up to the jury thus proceeded: "The next witness is one Rocklesby or Brocklesby, Brocklesby or Rocklesby—I am not sure which—and first he swears he is a physician."

Lord Chief Baron Parker, in his eighty-seventh year, having observed to Lord Mansfield who was seventy-eight: "Your lordship and myself are now at sevens and eights," the younger Chief Justice replied: "Would you have us to be all our lives at sixes and sevens? But let us talk of young ladies and not old age."

Trying an action which arose from the collision of two ships at sea, a sailor who gave an account of the accident said, "At the time I was standing abaft the binnacle."—"Where is abaft the binnacle?" asked Lord Mansfield; upon which the witness, who had taken a large share of grog before coming into Court, exclaimed loud enough to be heard by all present: "A pretty fellow to be a judge, who don't know where abaft the binnacle is!" Lord Mansfield, instead of threatening to commit him for contempt, said: "Well, my friend, fit me for my office by telling me where abaft the binnacle is; you have already shown me the meaning of half-seas over."

On one occasion Lord Mansfield covered his retreat from an untenable position with a sparkling pleasantry. An old witness named ELM having given his evidence with remarkable clearness, although he was more than eighty years of age, Lord Mansfield examined him as to his habitual mode of living, and found he had been through life an early riser and a singularly temperate man. "Ay," remarked the Chief Justice, in a tone of approval, "I have always found that without temperance and early habits longevity is never attained." The next witness, the elder brother of this model of temperance, was then called, and he almost surpassed his brother as an intelligent and clear-headed utterer of evidence. "I suppose," observed Lord Mansfield, "that you are an early riser?"—"No, my lord," answered the veteran stoutly; "I like my bed at all hours, and special-lie I like it of a morning."—"Ah, but like your brother, you are a very temperate man?" quickly asked the judge, looking out anxiously for the safety of the more important part of his theory. "My lord," responded this ancient Elm, disdaining to plead guilty to a charge of habitual sobriety, "I am a very old man, and my memory is as clear as a bell, but I can't remember the night when I've gone to bed without being more or less drunk."—"Ah, my lord," Mr. Dunning exclaimed, "this old man's case supports a theory unheld by many persons—that habitual intemperance is favourable to longevity."—"No, no," replied the Chief Justice with a smile; "this old man and his brother merely teach us what every carpenter knows—that Elm, whether it be wet or dry, is a very tough wood."

JOHN SCOTT, EARL OF ELDON, LORD CHANCELLOR.

Lord Eldon's good humour gained him the affection of all counsel who practised before him, but there is one story—apocryphal it may be, coming from Lord Campbell—of a prejudice he had against Lord Brougham, who, in Scottish cases, frequently appeared before him in the House of Lords. Lord Eldon persisted in addressing the advocate as Mr. Bruffam. This was too much for Brougham, who was rather proud of the form and antiquity of his name, and who at last, in exasperation, sent a note to the Chancellor, intimating that his name was pronounced "Broom." At the conclusion of the argument the Chancellor stated, "Every authority upon the question has been brought before us: new Brooms sweep clean."

As Lord Chancellor, Lord Eldon's great foible was an apparent inability to arrive at an early decision on any question: it was really a desire to weigh carefully all sides of a question before expressing his opinion. This hesitancy was expressed in the formula "I doubt," which became the subject of frequent jests among the members of the Bar.

Sir George Rose, in absence of the regular reporter of Lord Eldon's decisions, was requested to take a note of any decision which should be given. As a full record of all that was material, which had occurred during the day, Sir George made the following entry in the reporter's notebook:

"Mr. Leach made a speech,

Angry, neat, but wrong;

Mr. Hart, on the other part,

Was heavy, dull, and long;

Mr. Parker made the case darker,

Which was dark enough without;

Mr. Cooke cited his book;

And the Chancellor said—I doubt."

This jeu d'esprit, flying about Westminster Hall, reached the Chancellor, who was very much amused with it, notwithstanding the allusion to his doubting propensity. Soon after, Sir George Rose having to argue before him a very untenable proposition, he gave his opinion very gravely, and with infinite grace and felicity thus concluded: "For these reasons the judgment must be against your clients; and here, Sir George, the Chancellor does not doubt."

The following was Lord Eldon's answer to an application for a piece of preferment from his old friend Dr. Fisher, of the Charter House:

"Dear Fisher—I cannot, to-day, give you the preferment for which you ask.—I remain, your sincere friend, Eldon." Then, on the other side, "I gave it to you yesterday."

According to his biographer, Lord Eldon caused a loud laugh while the old Duke of Norfolk was fast asleep in the House of Lords, and amusing their lordships with "that tuneful nightingale, his nose," by announcing from the woolsack, with solemn emphasis, that the Commons had sent up a bill for "enclosing and dividing Great Snoring in the county of Norfolk!"

Like Lord Thurlow, Lord Eldon was in close intimacy with George III in the days when his Majesty's mind was supposed to be not very strong. "I took down to Kew," relates his lordship, "some Bills for his assent, and I placed on a paper the titles and the effect of them. The king, being perhaps suspicious that my coming down might be to judge of his competence for public business, as I was reading over the titles of the different Acts of Parliament he interrupted me and said: 'You are not acting correctly, you should do one of two things; either bring me down the Acts for my perusal, or say, as Thurlow once said to me on a like occasion, having read several he stopped and said, "It is all d—d nonsense trying to make you understand them, and you had better consent to them at once."'"

It is not often, but it sometimes happens that a judge finds himself in conflict with members of the public who are under no restraint of professional privilege or etiquette. Some maintain the dignity of the Court by fining and committing for contempt. Occasionally this may be necessary, but it has been found that delicate ridicule is often more effective. An attorney, pleading his cause before Lord Ellenborough, became exasperated because the untenable points he continually raised were invariably overruled, and exclaimed, "My lord, my lord, although your lordship is so great a man now, I remember the time when I could have got your opinion for five shillings." With an amused smile his lordship quietly observed, "Sir, I say it was not worth the money."

The same judge used to be greatly annoyed during the season of colds with the noise of coughing in Court. On one occasion, when disturbances of this kind recurred with more than usual frequency, he was seen fidgeting about in his seat, and availing himself of a slight cessation observed in his usual emphatic manner: "Some slight interruption one might tolerate, but there seems to be an industry of coughing."

As an illustration of figurative oratory a good story is told of a barrister pleading before Lord Ellenborough: "My lord, I appear before you in the character of an advocate for the City of London; my lord, the City of London herself appears before you as a suppliant for justice. My lord, it is written in the book of nature."—"What book?" said Lord Ellenborough. "The book of nature."—"Name the page," said his lordship, holding his pen uplifted, as if to note the page down.

Moore relates the story of a noble lord in the course of one of his speeches saying, "I ask myself so and so," and repeating the words "I ask myself." "Yes," quietly remarked Lord Ellenborough, "and a d—d foolish answer you'll get."

The comparison of a father and son who have both ascended the Bench has afforded a good story of a famous Scottish advocate which is told later, and the following is an equally cutting retort from the Bench to any assumed superiority through such a connection. A son of Lord Chief Justice Willes (who rose to the rank of a Puisne Judge) was checked one day for wandering from the subject. "I wish that you would remember," he exclaimed, "that I am the son of a Chief Justice." To which Justice Gould replied with great simplicity, "Oh, we remember your father, but he was a sensible man."

When hanging was the sentence, on conviction, for crimes—in these days termed offences—which are now punished by imprisonment, some judges from meting out the sentence of death almost indiscriminately came to be known as "hanging judges." Justice Page was one of them. When he was decrepit he perpetrated a joke against himself. Coming out of the Court one day and shuffling along the street a friend stopped him to inquire after his health. "My dear sir," the judge replied, "you see I keep just hanging on—hanging on."

A Chief Justice of the "hanging" period, whose integrity was not above suspicion, was sitting in Court one day at his ease and lolling on his elbow, when a convict from the dock hurled a stone at him which fortunately passed over his head. "You see," said the learned man as he smilingly received the congratulations of those present—"you see now, if I had been an upright judge I had been slain."