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LLOYD KENYON, BARON KENYON, LORD CHIEF JUSTICE.

Some of the stories respecting Lord Kenyon's historical allusions and quotations are surely greatly exaggerated, or are pure inventions. In addressing a jury in a blasphemy case, he is reported to have said that the Emperor Julian "was so celebrated for the practice of every Christian virtue that he was called 'Julian the Apostle'"; and to have concluded an elaborate address in dismissing a grand jury with the following valediction: "Having thus discharged your consciences, gentlemen, you may return to your homes in peace, with the delightful consciousness of having performed your duties well, and may lay your heads on your pillows, saying to yourselves 'Aut Cæsar, aut nullus.'" And this was his remark on detecting the trick of an attorney to delay a trial: "This is the last hair in the tail of procrastination, and it must be plucked out."

Among other failings attributed to this Lord Chief Justice was the extreme penuriousness he practised in his domestic arrangements and his dress. His shoes were patched to such an extent that little of their original material could be seen, and once when trying a case he was sitting on the bench in a way to expose them to all in Court. It was an action for breach of contract to deliver shoes soundly made, and to clinch a witness for the pursuer he suddenly asked, "Were the shoes anything like these?" pointing to his own. "No, my lord," replied the witness, "they were a good deal better and more genteeler."

As an example of his (Lord Kenyon's) style of addressing a condemned prisoner we have the following. A butler had been charged and convicted of stealing his master's wine.

"Prisoner at the bar, you stand convicted on the most conclusive evidence of a crime of inexpressible atrocity—a crime that defiles the sacred springs of domestic confidence, and is calculated to strike alarm into the breast of every Englishman who invests largely in the choicer vintages of Southern Europe. Like the serpent of old, you have stung the hand of your protector. Fortunate in having a generous employer, you might without discovery have continued to supply your wretched wife and children with the comforts of sufficient prosperity, and even with some of the luxuries of affluence; but, dead to every claim of natural affection, and blind to your own real interest, you burst through all the restraints of religion and morality, and have for many years been feathering your nest with your master's bottles."

Lord Kenyon was warmly attached to George III, who had a high opinion of him; but like many of his lordship's contemporaries, his Majesty strongly deprecated the frequent outbursts of temper on the part of his Chief Justice. "At a levee, soon after an extraordinary explosion of ill-humour in the Court of King's Bench, his Majesty said to him: 'My Lord Chief Justice, I hear that you have lost your temper, and from my great regard for you, I am very glad to hear it, for I hope you will find a better one.'"

Of Lord Chief Justice Tenterden, Lord Campbell asserts that he once, and only once, uttered a pun. A learned gentleman, who had lectured on the law and was too much addicted to oratory came to argue a special demurrer before him. "My client's opponent," said the figurative advocate, "worked like a mole under ground, clam et secretè." His figures only elicited a grunt from the Chief Justice. "It is asserted in Aristotle's Rhetoric—."—"I don't want to hear what is asserted in Aristotle's Rhetoric," interposed Lord Tenterden. The advocate shifted his ground and took up, as he thought, a safe position. "It is laid down in the Pandects of Justinian—." "Where are you got now?" "It is a principle of the civil law—." "Oh sir," exclaimed the judge, with a tone and voice which abundantly justified his assertion, "we have nothing to do with the civil law in this Court."

Judges sometimes stray into humour without intending it. At an election petition trial one allegation was, that a number of rosettes, or "marks of distinction," had been kept in a table drawer in the central committee-room. To meet this charge it was thought desirable to call witnesses to swear that the only table in the room consisted of planks laid on trestles. "So that the table had no proper legs," said counsel cheerfully. "Never mind whether it had proper legs," said one of the learned judges. "The more important question is: Had it drawers?"

And in The Story of Crime the author recalls an instance of a judge unconsciously furnishing material for laughter in Court. "At the beginning of the session at the Old Baily a good deal of work is got through by the judge who takes the small cases, and it may be this fact that accounted for the confusion of thought which he describes. One of the prisoners was charged with stealing a camera, and after all the evidence had been taken his lordship proceeded to sum up to the jury. He began by correctly describing the stolen article as a camera, but had not gone very far before the camera had become a concertina, and by the time he had finished the concertina had become an accordion. And he never once saw his mistake. The usher noticed it at the first trip, and kept repeating in a kind of hoarse stage-whisper, 'Camera! Camera!' but his voice did not reach the Bench, and so the complicated article remained on record."

Mr. Andrews in his book, The Lawyer in History, Literature, and Humour, relates that a leader of the Bar on rising to address the drowsy jury after a ponderous oration by Sir Samuel Prime, said: "Gentlemen, after the long speech of the learned serjeant—" "Sir, I beg your pardon," interrupted Mr. Justice Nares, "you might say—you might say—after the long soliloquy, for my brother Prime has been talking an hour to himself."

THOMAS ERSKINE, BARON ERSKINE, LORD CHANCELLOR.

Thomas, Lord Erskine was the youngest of three brothers, who were all distinguished men. The eldest was the well-known Earl of Buchan, one of the founders of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, whose eccentricities formed the subject of much gossip in the Scottish capital. To an English nobleman he declared: "My brothers Harry and Tom are certainly remarkable men, but they owe everything to me." Seeing a look of surprise upon his friend's face he added: "Yes, it is true; they owe everything to me. On my father's death they pressed me for an annual allowance. I knew this would have been their ruin, by relaxing their industry. So making a sacrifice of my inclinations to gratify them I refused to give them a farthing, and they have thriven ever since—owing everything to me."

Henry, the second brother, was universally beloved and respected, and one of the most popular advocates at the Scottish Bar. He was twice Lord-Advocate for Scotland—on the second occasion under the Ministry of "All the Talents," when his younger brother was Lord Chancellor. He was famous in the Parliament House and outside of it for his witticisms, a selection of which will be given later.

Thomas, who became Lord Chancellor, obtained an unique influence while practising at the Bar, and, like his older brother, he was a universal favourite. "Juries have declared," said Lord Brougham, "that they have felt it impossible to remove their looks from him when he had riveted, and as it were fascinated, them by his first glance. Then hear his voice, of surpassing sweetness, clear, flexible, strong, exquisitely fitted to strains of serious earnestness." Yet although he did not rely on wit, or humour, or sarcasm in addressing a jury, he could use them to effect in cross-examination. "You were born and bred in Manchester, I perceive," he said to a witness. "Yes."—"I knew it," said Erskine carelessly, "from the absurd tie of your neckcloth." The witness' presence of mind was gone, and he was made to unsay the greatest part of his evidence in chief. Another witness confounding 'thick' whalebone with 'long' whalebone, and unable to distinguish the difference after counsel's explanation, Erskine exclaimed, "Why, man, you do not seem to know the difference between what is thick or what is long! Now I tell you the difference. You are thick-headed, and you are not long-headed."

Lord Erskine's addiction to punning is well known, and many examples might be cited. An action was brought against a stable-keeper for not taking proper care of a horse. "The horse," said counsel for the plaintiff, "was turned into the stable, with nothing to eat but musty hay. To such the horse 'demurred.'"—"He should have 'gone to the country,'" at once retorted Lord Erskine. For the general reader it should be explained that "demurring" and "going to the country" are technical terms for requiring a cause to be decided on a question of law by the judge, or on a question of fact by the jury. Here is another. A low-class attorney who was much employed in bail-business and moving attachments against the sheriff for not "bringing in the body"—that is, not arresting and imprisoning a debtor, when such was the law—sold his house in Lincoln's Inn Fields to the Corporation, of Surgeons to be used as their Hall. "I suppose it was recommended to them," said Erskine, "from the attorney being so well acquainted 'with the practice of bringing in the body!'"

Perhaps one of his smartest puns he relates himself. "A case being laid before me by my veteran friend, the Duke of Queensberry—better known as 'old Q'—as to whether he could sue a tradesman for breach of contract about the painting of his house; and the evidence being totally insufficient to support the case, I wrote thus: 'I am of opinion that this action will not lie unless the witnesses do.'"

He was also fond of a practical joke. In answer to a circular letter from Sir John Sinclair, proposing that a testimonial should be presented to himself for his eminent public services, Lord Erskine replied:

"My dear Sir John—I am certain there are few in this kingdom who set a higher value on your public services than myself; and I have the honour to subscribe"—then, on turning over the leaf, was to be found—"myself, your most obedient faithful servant,

"Erskine."

"Gentlemen of the jury," were his closing words after an impassioned address, "the reputation of a cheesemonger in the City of London is like the bloom upon a peach. Breathe upon it, and it is gone for ever."

Among many apocryphal stories told of expedients by which smart counsel have gained verdicts, this one respecting a case in which Mr. Justice Gould was the judge and Erskine counsel for the defendant is least likely of credit. The judge entertained a most unfavourable opinion of the defendant's case, but being very old was scarcely audible, and certainly unintelligible, to the jury. While he was summing up the case, Erskine, sitting on the King's Counsel Bench, and full in the view of the jury, nodded assent to the various remarks which fell from the judge; and the jury, imagining that they had been directed to find for the defendant, immediately did so.

When at the Bar, Erskine was always encouraged by the appreciation of his brother barristers. On one occasion, when making an unusual exertion on behalf of a client, he turned to Mr. Garrow, who was his colleague, and not perceiving any sign of approbation on his countenance, he whispered to him, "Who do you think can get on with that d—d wet blanket face of yours before him."

Nor did he always exhibit graciousness to older members. One nervous old barrister named Lamb, who usually prefaced his pleadings with an apology, said to Erskine one day that he felt more timid as he grew older. "No wonder," replied Erskine, "the older the lamb the more sheepish he grows."

When he was Lord Chancellor he was invited to attend the ministerial fish dinner at Greenwich—known in later years as the Whitebait Dinner—he replied: "To be sure I will attend. What would your fish dinner be without the Great Seal?"

When a stupid jury returns an obviously wrong verdict the judge must feel himself in an awkward position; but in such cases—if they ever occur now—a good precedent has been set by Mr. Justice Maule who, when in that predicament, addressed the prisoner in these terms:

"Prisoner, your counsel thinks you innocent, the prosecution thinks you innocent, and I think you innocent. But a jury of your own fellow-countrymen, in the exercise of such common sense as they possess, have found you guilty, and it remains that I should pass sentence upon you. You will be imprisoned for one day, and as that day was yesterday, you are free to go about your business."

"May God strike me dead! my lord, if I did it," excitedly exclaimed a prisoner who had been tried before the same justice for a serious offence, and a verdict of "guilty" returned by the jury. The judge looked grave, and paused an unusually long time before saying a word. At last, amid breathless silence, he began: "As Providence has not seen fit to interpose in your case, it now becomes my duty to pronounce upon you the sentence of the law," &c. When somewhat excited over a very bad case tried before him he would delay sentence until he felt calmer, lest his impulse or his temper should lead him astray. On one such occasion he exclaimed, "I can't pass sentence now. I might be too severe. I feel as if I could give the man five-and-twenty years' penal servitude. Bring him up to-morrow when I feel calmer."—"Thank you, my lord," said the prisoner, "I know you will think better of it in the morning." Next day the man appeared in the dock for sentence. "Prisoner," said the judge, "I was angry yesterday, but I am calm to-day. I have spent a night thinking of your awful deeds, and I find on inquiry I can sentence you to penal servitude for life. I therefore pass upon you that sentence. I have thought better of what I was inclined to do yesterday."

There are instances of brief summing up of a case by judges, but few in the terms expressed by this worthy judge. "If you believe the witnesses for the plaintiff, you will find for the defendant; if you believe the witnesses for the defendant, you will find for the plaintiff. If, like myself, you don't believe any of them, Heaven knows which way you will find. Consider your verdict."

To Mr. Justice Maule a witness said: "You may believe me or not, but I have stated not a word that is false, for I have been wedded to truth from my infancy."—"Yes, sir," said the judge dryly; "but the question is, how long have you been a widower?"

In the good old days a learned counsel of ferocious mien and loud voice, practising before him, received a fine rebuke from the justice. No reply could be got from an elderly lady in the box, and the counsel appealed to the judge. "I really cannot answer," said the trembling lady. "Why not, ma'am?" asked the judge. "Because, my lord, he frightens me so."—"So he does me, ma'am," replied the judge.

He was as a rule patient and forbearing, and seldom interfered with counsel in their mode of laying cases before a jury or the Bench, but once he was fairly provoked to do so, by the confused blundering way in which one of them was trying to instil a notion of what he meant into the minds of the jury. "I am sorry to interfere, Mr. ——," said the judge, "but do you not think that, by introducing a little order into your narrative, you might possibly render yourself a trifle more intelligible? It may be my fault that I cannot follow you—I know that my brain is getting old and dilapidated; but I should like to stipulate for some sort of order. There are plenty of them. There is the chronological, the botanical, the metaphysical, the geographical—even the alphabetical order would be better than no order at all."

Baron Thomson, of the Court of Exchequer, was asked how he got on in his Court with the business, when he sat between Chief Baron Macdonald and Baron Graham. He replied, "What between snuff-box on one side, and chatterbox on the other, we get on pretty well!"

Sir Richard Bethel, Lord Westbury, and Lord Campbell were on very friendly terms. An amusing story is told of a meeting of the two in Westminster Hall, when the first rumour of Lord Campbell's appointment as Lord Chancellor was current. The day being cold for the time of the year, Lord Campbell had gone down to the House of Lords in a fur coat, and Bethel, observing this, pretended not to recognise him. Thereupon Campbell came up to him and said: "Mr. Attorney, don't you know me?"—"I beg your pardon, my lord," was the reply. "I mistook you for the Great Seal."

RICHARD BETHEL, BARON WESTBURY, LORD CHANCELLOR.

Lord Cranworth, Vice-Chancellor, after hearing Sir Richard Bethel's argument in an appeal, said he "would turn the matter over in his mind." Sir Richard turning to his junior with his usual bland calm utterance said: "Take a note of that; his honour says he will turn it over in what he is pleased to call his mind."

Sir James Scarlett, Lord Abinger, had to examine a witness whose evidence would be somewhat dangerous unless he was thrown off his guard and "rattled." The witness in question—an influential man, whose vulnerable point was said to be his self-esteem—was ushered into the box, a portly overdressed person, beaming with self-assurance. Looking him over for a few minutes without saying a word Sir James opened fire: "Mr. Tompkins, I believe?"—"Yes."—"You are a stockbroker, I believe, are you not?"—"I ham." Pausing for a few seconds and making an attentive survey of him, Sir James remarked sententiously, "And a very fine and well-dressed ham you are, sir."

In a breach of promise case Scarlett appeared for the defendant, who was supposed to have been cajoled into the engagement by the plaintiff's mother, a titled lady. The mother, as a witness, completely baffled the defendant's clever counsel when under his cross-examination; but by one of his happiest strokes of advocacy, Scarlett turned his failure into success. "You saw, gentlemen of the jury, that I was but a child in her hands. What must my client have been?"

Sir James was a noted cross-examiner and verdict-getter, but on one occasion he was beaten. Tom Cooke, a well-known actor and musician in his day, was a witness in a case in which Sir James had him under cross-examination.

Scarlett: "Sir, you say that the two melodies are the same, but different; now what do you mean by that, sir?"

Cooke: "I said that the notes in the two copies are alike, but with a different accent."

Scarlett: "What is a musical accent?"

Cooke: "My terms are nine guineas a quarter, sir."

Scarlett (ruffled): "Never mind your terms here. I ask you what is a musical accent? Can you see it?"

Cooke: "No."

Scarlett: "Can you feel it?"

Cooke: "A musician can."

Scarlett (angrily): "Now, sir, don't beat about the bush, but explain to his lordship and the jury, who are expected to know nothing about music, the meaning of what you call accent."

Cooke: "Accent in music is a certain stress laid upon a particular note, in the same manner as you would lay stress upon a given word, for the purpose of being better understood. For instance, if I were to say, 'You are an ass,' it rests on ass, but if I were to say, 'You are an ass,' it rests on you, Sir James." The judge, with as much gravity as he could assume, then asked the crestfallen counsel, "Are you satisfied, Sir James."—"The witness may go down," was the counsel's reply.

Lord Justice Holt, when a young man, was very dissipated, and belonged to a club, most of whose members took an infamous course of life. When his lordship was engaged at the Old Baily a man was convicted of highway robbery, whom the judge remembered to have been one of his early companions. Moved by curiosity, Holt, thinking the man did not recognise him, asked what had become of his old associates. The culprit making a low bow, and giving a deep sigh, replied, "Oh, my lord, they are all hanged but your lordship and I."

We have already given examples of personalities in the retorts of counsel upon members of the Bench, and if the same derogatory reflection can be traced in the two following anecdotes of judges' retorts on counsel, it is at least veiled in finer sarcasm. A nervous young barrister was conducting a first case before Vice-Chancellor Bacon, and on rising to make his opening remarks began in a faint voice: "My lord, I must apologise—er—I must apologise, my lord"—"Go on, sir," said his lordship blandly; "so far the Court is with you." The other comes from an Australian Court. Counsel was addressing Chief Justice Holroyd when a portion of the plaster of the Court ceiling fell, and he stopping his speech for the moment, incautiously advanced the suggestion, "Dry rot has probably been the cause of that, my lord."—"I am quite of your opinion, Mr. ——," observed his lordship.

On the other hand, judges can be severely personal at times, and Lord Justice Chitty was almost brutal in a case where counsel had been arguing to distraction on a bill of sale. "I will now proceed to address myself to the furniture—an item covered by the bill," counsel continued. "You have been doing nothing else for the last hour," lamented the weary judge.

And Mr. Justice Wills once made a rather cutting remark to a barrister. The barrister was, in the judge's private opinion, simply wasting the time of the Court, and, in the course of a long-winded speech, he dwelt at quite unnecessary length on the appearance of certain bags connected with the case. "They might," he went on pompously, "they might have been full bags, or they might have been half-filled bags, or they might even have been empty bags, or—."—"Or perhaps," dryly interpolated the judge, "they might have been wind-bags!"

HENRY BROUGHAM, BARON BROUGHAM AND VAUX, LORD CHANCELLOR.

When Lord Brougham attained the position of Lord Chancellor he was greatly addicted to the habit of writing during the course of counsel's argument of the case being heard before him. On one occasion this practice so annoyed Sir Edward Sugden, whenever he noticed it, that he paused in the course of his argument, expecting his lordship to stop writing; but the Chancellor, without even looking up, remarked, "Go on, Sir Edward; I am listening to you."—"I observe that your lordship is engaged in writing, and not favouring me with your attention," replied Sir Edward. "I am signing papers of mere form," warmly retorted the Chancellor. "You may as well say that I am not to blow my nose or take snuff while you speak."

When counsel at the Bar, a witness named John Labron was thus cross-examined by Brougham at York Assizes:

"What are you?"

"I am a farmer, and malt a little."

"Do you know Dick Strother?"

"No."

"Upon your oath, sir, are you not generally known by the name of Dick Strother?"

"That has nothing to do with this business."

"I insist upon hearing an answer. Have you not obtained that name?"

"I am sometimes called so."

"Now, Dick, as you admit you are so called, do you know the story of the hare and the ball of wax?"

"I have heard it."

"Then pray have the goodness to relate it to the judge and the jury."

"I do not exactly remember it."

"Then I will refresh your memory by relating it myself. Dick Strother was a cobbler, and being in want of a hare for a friend, he put in his pocket a ball of wax and took a walk into the fields, where he soon espied one. Dick then very dexterously threw the ball of wax at her head, where it stuck, which so alarmed poor puss that in the violence of her haste she ran in contact with the head of another; both stuck fast together, and Dick, lucky Dick! caught both. Dick obtained great celebrity by telling this wondrous feat, which he always affirmed as a truth, and from that every notorious liar in Thorner bears the title of Dick Strother. Now, Dick—I mean John—is not that the reason why you are called Dick Strother?"

"It may be so."

"Then you may go."

The same turbulent spirit (Lord Brougham) fell foul of many other law lords. It is well known that in a speech made at the Temple he accused Lord Campbell, who had just published his Lives of the Chancellors, of adding a new terror to death. Lord Campbell tells an amusing story which shows that he could retort with effect upon his noble and learned friend. He says that he called one morning upon Brougham at his house in Grafton Street, who "soon rushed in very eagerly, but suddenly stopped short, exclaiming, 'Lord bless me, is it you? They told me it was Stanley'; and notwithstanding his accustomed frank and courteous manner, I had some difficulty in fixing his attention. In the evening I stepped across the House to the Opposition Bench, where Brougham and Stanley were sitting next each other, and, addressing the latter in the hearing of the former, I said, 'Has our noble and learned friend told you the disappointment he suffered this morning? He thought he had a visit from the Leader of the Protectionists to offer him the Great Seal, and it turned out to be only Campbell come to bore him about a point of Scotch law.' Brougham: 'Don't mind what Jack Campbell says; he has a prescriptive privilege to tell lies of all Chancellors, dead and living.'"

According to the same authority, Brougham was at one time very anxious to be made an earl, but his desire was entirely quenched when Lord John Russell gave an earldom to Lord Chancellor Cottenham. He is said to have been so indignant that he either wrote or dictated a pamphlet in which the new creation was ridiculed, and to which was appended the significant motto, "The offence is rank."

The common feeling with regard to Sir James Scarlett's (Lord Abinger) success in gaining verdicts led to the composition of the following pleasantry, attributed to Lord Campbell. "Whereas Scarlett had contrived a machine, by using which, while he argued, he could make the judges' heads nod with pleasure, Brougham in course of time got hold of it; but not knowing how to manage it when he argued, the judges, instead of nodding, shook their heads."

And it is Lord Campbell who has preserved the following specimen of a judge's concluding remarks to a prisoner convicted of uttering a forged one-pound note. After having pointed out to him the enormity of the offence, and exhorted him to prepare for another world, added: "And I trust that through the merits and the mediation of our Blessed Redeemer, you may there experience that mercy which a due regard to the credit of the paper currency of the country forbids you to hope for here."

Campbell married Miss Scarlett, a daughter of Lord Abinger, and was absent from Court when a case in which he was to appear was called before Mr. Justice Abbot. "I thought, Mr. Brougham," said his lordship, "that Mr. Campbell was in this case?"—"Yes, my lord," replied Mr. Brougham, with that sarcastic look peculiarly his own. "He was, my lord, but I understand he is ill."—"I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Brougham," said the judge. "My lord," replied Mr. Brougham, "it is whispered here that the cause of my learned friend's absence is scarlet fever."

JOHN CAMPBELL, BARON CAMPBELL, LORD CHANCELLOR.

In his native town of Cupar, Fife, Lord Chancellor Campbell's abilities and position were not so much appreciated as they were elsewhere. This was a sore point with his father, who was parish minister, and when the son was not selected by the town authorities to conduct their legal business in London the future Lord Chancellor also felt affronted. On the publication of the Lives of the Chancellors some of his townsmen wrote asking him to present a copy to the local library of his native town, which gave Campbell an opportunity to square accounts with them for their past neglect of him, for he curtly replied to their request that "they could purchase the book from any bookseller." An old lady of the town relating some gossip about the Campbell family said, "They meant John for the Church, but he went to London and got on very well." Such was the good lady's idea of the relative positions of minister of a Scottish parish and Lord Chancellor of England.

The difference in the pronunciation of a word led to an amiable contest between Lord Campbell and a learned Q.C. In an action to recover damages to a carriage the counsel called the vehicle a "brougham," pronouncing both syllables of the word. Lord Campbell pompously observed, "Broom is the usual pronunciation—a carriage of the kind you mean is not incorrectly called a 'Broom'—that pronunciation is open to no grave objection, and it has the advantage of saving the time consumed by uttering an extra syllable." Later in the trial Lord Campbell alluding to a similar case referred to the carriage which had been injured as an "Omnibus."—"Pardon me, my lord," interposed the Q.C., "a carriage of the kind to which you draw attention is usually termed a 'bus'; that pronunciation is open to no grave objection, and it has the great advantage of saving the time consumed by uttering two extra syllables."

SIR SAMUEL MARTIN, BARON OF EXCHEQUER.

Mr. Martin (afterwards Baron Martin), when at the Bar, was addressing the Court in an insurance case, when he was interrupted by Baron Alderson, who said, "Mr. Martin, do you think any office would insure your life?"—"Certainly, my lord," replied Mr. Martin, "mine is a very good life."—"You should remember, Mr. Martin, that yours is brief existence."

This judge's reason for releasing a juryman from duty was equally smart. The juryman in question confessed that he was deaf in one ear. "Then leave the box before the trial begins," observed his lordship; "it is necessary that the jurymen should hear both sides."

Baron Martin was one of the good-natured judges who from the following story seem to stretch that amiable quality to its fullest extent. In sentencing a man convicted of a petty theft he said: "Look, I hardly know what to do with you, but you can take six months."—"I can't take that, my lord," said the prisoner; "it's too much. I can't take it; your lordship sees I did not steal very much after all." The Baron indulged in one of his characteristic chuckling laughs, and said: "Well that's vera true; ye didn't steal much. Well then, ye can tak' four. Will that do—four months?"—"No, my lord, but I can't take that neither."—"Then take three."—"That's nearer the mark, my lord," replied the prisoner, "but I'd rather you'd make it two, if you'll be so kind."—"Very well then, tak' two," said the judge; "and don't come again. If you do, I'll give you—well, it'll all depend."

FREDERICK THESIGER, BARON CHELMSFORD, LORD CHANCELLOR.

Lord Erskine's punning upon legal terms has already been noticed, but no better quip is recorded than that of Lord Chelmsford, when as Sir Frederick Thesiger, and a leader at the Bar, he took exception to the irregular examination of a witness by a learned serjeant. "I have a right," maintained the serjeant, "to deal with my witness as I please."—"To that I offer no objection," retorted Sir Frederick. "You may deal as you like, but you shan't lead."

On all occasions Samuel Warren, the author of Ten Thousand a Year, was given to boasting, at the Bar mess, of his intimacy with members of the peerage. One day he was saying that, while dining lately at the Duke of Leeds, he was surprised at finding no fish of any kind was served. "That is easily accounted for," said Thesiger; "they had probably eaten it all upstairs."

Walking down St. James's Street one day, Lord Chelmsford was accosted by a stranger, who exclaimed, "Mr. Birch, I believe."—"If you believe that, sir, you'll believe anything," replied his lordship as he passed on.

SIR ALEXANDER COCKBURN, BART., LORD CHIEF JUSTICE.

In the recently published Cockburn Family Records the following is told of the Chief Justice's ready wit:

"At a certain trial an extremely pretty girl was called as a witness. The Lord Chief Justice was very particular about her giving her full name and address. Of course he took note. So did the sheriff's officer! That evening they both arrived at the young lady's door simultaneously, whereupon Sir Alexander tapped the officer on the shoulder, remarking, 'No, no, no, Mr. Sheriff's Officer, judgment first, execution afterwards!"

There never was a barrister whose rise at the Bar was more rapid or remarkable than that of Sir Alexander Cockburn, and along with him was his friend and close associate as a brother lawyer of the Crown and Bencher of the same Inn, Sir Richard Bethel, who became Lord Chancellor a few years after Sir Alexander was made Chief Justice. Sir Richard once said to his colleague, "My dear fellow, equity will swallow up your common law."—"I don't know about that," said Sir Alexander, "but you'll find it rather hard of digestion."

Although the wit of Lord Justice Knight Bruce was somewhat sarcastic it was rarely so severe as that of Lord Westbury. There was always a tone of good humour about it. He had indeed a kind of grave judicial waggery, which is well exemplified in the following judgment in a separation suit between an attorney and his wife. "The Court has been now for several days occupied in the matrimonial quarrels of a solicitor and his wife. He was a man not unaccustomed to the ways of the softer sex, for he already had nine children by three successive wives. She, however—herself a widow—was well informed of these antecedents; and it appears did not consider them any objection to their union; and they were married. No sooner were they united, however, than they were unhappily disunited by unhappy disputes as to her property. These disputes disturbed even the period usually dedicated to the softer delights of matrimony, and the honeymoon was occupied by endeavours to induce her to exercise a testamentary power of appointment in his favour. She, however, refused, and so we find that in due course, at the end of the month, he brought home with some disgust his still intestate bride. The disputes continued, until at last they exchanged the irregular quarrels of domestic strife for the more disciplined warfare of Lincoln's Inn and Doctors Commons."

Of this judge the story is told that a Chancery counsel in a long and dry argument quoted the legal maxim—expressio unius est exclusio alterius—pronouncing the "i" in unius as short as possible. This roused his lordship from the drowsiness into which he had been lulled. "Unyus! Mr. ——? We always pronounced that unius at school."—"Oh yes, my lord," replied the counsel; "but some of the poets use it short for the sake of the metre."—"You forget, Mr. ——," rejoined the judge, "that we are prosing here."

Mr. Justice Willes was a judge of kindly disposition, and when he had to convey a rebuke he did so in some delicate and refined way like this. A young barrister feeling in a hobble, wished to get out of it by saying, "I throw myself on your lordship's hands."—"Mr. ——, I decline the burden," replied the learned judge.

One day in judge's chambers, after being pressed by counsel very strongly against his own views, he said with quaint humour: "I'm one of the most obstinate men in the world."—"God forbid that I should be so rude as to contradict your lordship," replied the counsel.

Mr. Montague Williams in his Leaves of a Life relates the following story of Mr. Justice Byles. He was once hearing a case in which a woman was charged with causing the death of her child by not giving it proper food, or treating it with the necessary care. Mr. F——, of the Western Circuit, conducted the defence, and while addressing the jury said:

"Gentlemen, it appears to be impossible that the prisoner can have committed this crime. A mother guilty of such conduct to her own child? Why, it is repugnant to our better feelings"; and then being carried away by his own eloquence, he proceeded: "Gentlemen, the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, suckle their young, and——"

But at this point the learned judge interrupted him, and said:

"Mr. F——, if you establish the latter part of your proposition, your client will be acquitted to a certainty."

And to the same authority we are indebted for a judge's gentle but sarcastic reproof of a prosing counsel. In an action for false imprisonment, heard before Mr. Justice Wightman, Ribton was addressing the jury at great length, repeating himself constantly, and never giving the slightest sign of winding up. When he had been pounding away for several hours, the good old judge interposed, and said: "Mr. Ribton, you've said that before."—"Have I, my lord?" said Ribton; "I'm very sorry. I quite forgot it."—"Don't apologise, Mr. Ribton," was the answer. "I forgive you; for it was a very long time ago."

A very old story is told of a highwayman who sent for a solicitor and inquired what steps were necessary to be taken to have his trial deferred. The solicitor answered that he would require to get a doctor's affidavit of his illness. This was accordingly done in the following manner: "The deponent verily believes that if the said—— is obliged to take his trial at the ensuing sessions, he will be in imminent danger of his life."—"I verily believe so too," replied the judge, and the trial proceeded immediately.

Some judges profess ignorance of slang terms used in evidence, and seek explanation from counsel. Lord Coleridge in the following story had his inquiry not only answered but illustrated. A witness was describing an animated conversation between the pursuer and defendant in a case and said: "Then the defendant turned and said, 'If 'e didn't 'owld 'is noise 'ed knock 'im off 'is peark.'"—"Peark? Mr. Shee, what is meant by peark?" asked the Lord Chief Justice. "Oh, peark, my lord, is any position when a man elevates himself above his fellows—for instance, a bench, my lord."

Another story illustrating this alleged ignorance of every-day terms used by the masses comes from the Scottish Court of Session. In this instance the explanation was volunteered by the witness who used the term. One of the counsel in the case was Mr. (now Lord) Dewar, who was cross-examining the witness on a certain incident, and drew from him the statement that he (the witness) had just had a "nip." "A nip," said the judge; "what is a nip?"—"Only a small Dewar, my lord," explained the witness.

Lord Russell of Killowen, himself a Lord Chief Justice, tells some amusing stories of Lord Coleridge in his interesting reminiscences of that great judge in the North American Review. When at the Bar he was counsel in a remarkable case—Saurin against Starr. The pursuer, an Irish lady, sued the Superior of a religious order at Hull for expulsion without reasonable cause. Mr. Coleridge cross-examined a Mrs. Kennedy, one of the superintendents of the convent, who had mentioned in her evidence, among other peccadilloes of the pursuer, that she had been found in the pantry eating strawberries, when she should have been attending some class duties.

Mr. Coleridge: "Eating strawberries, really!"

Mrs. Kennedy: "Yes, sir, she was eating strawberries."

Mr. Coleridge: "How shocking!"

Mrs. Kennedy: "It was forbidden, sir."

Mr. Coleridge: "And did you, Mrs. Kennedy, really consider there was any great harm in that?"

Mrs. Kennedy: "No, sir, not in itself, any more than there was harm in eating an apple; but you know, sir, the mischief that came from that."

When as Lord Chief Justice, Lord Coleridge visited the United States, he was continually pestered by interviewers, and one of them failing to draw him, began to disparage the old country in its physical features and its men. Lord Coleridge bore it all in good part; finally the interviewer said, "I am told, my lord, you think a great deal of your great fire of London. Well, I guess, that the conflagration we had in the little village of Chicago made your great fire look very small." To which his lordship blandly responded: "Sir, I have every reason to believe that the great fire of London was quite as great as the people of that time desired."

There are few of Lord Bowen's witticisms from the Bench in circulation, but his after-dinner stories are worth recording, and perhaps one of the best is that given in Anecdotes of the Bench and Bar, as told by himself in the following words: "One of the ancient rabbinical writers was engaged in compiling a history of the minor prophets, and in due course it became his duty to record the history of the prophet Daniel. In speaking of the most striking incident in the great man's career—I refer to his critical position in the den of lions—he made a remark which has always seemed to me replete with judgment and observation. He said that the prophet, notwithstanding the trying circumstances in which he was placed, had one consolation which has sometimes been forgotten. He had the consolation of knowing that when the dreadful banquet was over, at any rate it was not he who would be called upon to return thanks."

The following story cannot be classed a witticism from the Bench, but the judge clearly gave the opening for the lady's smart retort.

Mrs. Weldon, a well-known lady litigant in the Courts a generation ago, was on one occasion endeavouring in the Court of Appeal to upset a judgment of Vice-Chancellor Bacon, and one ground of complaint was that the judge was too old to understand her case. Thereupon Lord Esher said: "The last time you were here you complained that your case had been tried by my brother Bowen, and you said he was only a bit of a boy, and could not do you justice. Now you come here and say that my brother Bacon was too old. What age do you want the judge to be?"—"Your age," promptly replied Mrs. Weldon, fixing her bright eyes on the handsome countenance of the Master of the Rolls.

On Charles Phillips, who became a judge of the Insolvent Court, noticing a witness kiss his thumb instead of the Testament, after rebuking him said, "You may think to desave God, sir, but you won't desave me."