"The answer was immediate, unexpected, and, accompanied as it was by a dramatic glance at the outside of his brief, as if to refresh his memory, triumphant, 'Three and one, my lord!'"

"The following letter is to Mrs. Atkinson:

"Mr. Mellor vouches for the following story, which, as it illustrates Lockwood's humour and had gone the round of the newspapers, I will tell. It is the ancient custom of the new Lord Mayor of London, attended by the Recorder and Sheriffs, to come into the law-courts and be introduced to the Lord Chief Justice or, if he is not there, to the senior judge to be found on the premises, and, after a little lecture from the Bench, to return good for evil by inviting the judges to dinner, only to receive the somewhat chilling answer, 'Some of their lordships will attend.' On this occasion the ceremony was over, and the Lord Mayor and his retinue was retiring from the Court, when his lordship's eye rested on Lockwood, who in a new wig was one of the throng by the door. 'Ah, my young friend!' said the Lord Mayor in a pompous way (for in those days there was no London County Council to teach Lord Mayors humility); 'picking up a little law, I suppose?' Lockwood had his answer ready. With a profound bow, he replied: 'I shall be delighted to accept your lordship's hospitality. I think I heard your lordship name seven as the hour.' The Lord Mayor hurried out of Court, and even the policeman (and to the police Lord Mayors are almost divine) shook with laughter."

Counsel sometimes find their position so weak that their only hope of damaging the other side lies in ridiculing their witnesses. Serjeant Parry on one occasion was defending a client against a claim for breach of promise of marriage made a few hours after a chance meeting in Regent Street. According to the lady's story the introduction had been effected through the gentleman offering to protect her from a dog. In course of cross-examination Parry said: "You say you were alarmed at two dogs fighting, madam?"—"No, no, it was a single dog," was the reply. "What you mean, madam," retorted Parry, "is that there was only one dog; but whether it was a single dog or a married dog you are not in a position to say." With this correction it need not be wondered that the lady had little more to say.

A learned counsellor in the midst of an affecting appeal in Court on a slander case delivered himself of the following flight of genius. "Slander, gentlemen, like a boa constrictor of gigantic size and immeasurable proportions, wraps the coil of its unwieldy body about its unfortunate victim, and, heedless of the shrieks of agony that come from the utmost depths of its victim's soul, loud and reverberating as the night thunder that rolls in the heavens, it finally breaks its unlucky neck upon the iron wheel of public opinion; forcing him first to desperation, then to madness, and finally crushing him in the hideous jaws of mortal death."

Talking of his early days at the Bar, Mr. Thomas Edward Crispe, in Reminiscences of a K.C., relates how on one occasion he was opposed by a somewhat eccentric counsel named Wharton, known in his day as the "Poet of Pump Court." The case was really a simple one, but Wharton made so much of it that when the luncheon half-hour came the judge, Mr. Justice Archibald, with some emphasis, addressing Mr. Wharton, said: "We will now adjourn, and, Mr. Wharton, I hope you will take the opportunity of conferring with your friend Mr. Crispe and settling the matter out of Court."

But Wharton would not agree to this, and when at last he had to address the jury, he, in the course of his speech, made the following remarks, for every word of which Mr. Crispe vouches:

"Gentlemen, I think it only courteous to the learned judge to refer to the advice his lordship gave me to settle the matter out of Court. That reminds me of a case, tried in a country court, in an action for detention of a donkey. The plaintiff was a costermonger and the defendant a costermonger; they conducted the case in person. At one o'clock the judge said: 'Now, my men, I'm going to have my lunch, and before I come back I hope you'll settle your dispute out of Court.' When he returned the plaintiff came in with a black eye and the defendant with a bleeding nose, and the defendant said: 'Well, your honour, we've taken your honour's advice; Jim's given me a good hiding, and I've given him back his donkey.'"

Mr. F. E. Smith, M.P., tells a story of a County Court case he was once engaged in, in which the plaintiff's son, a lad of eight years, was to appear as a witness.

When the youngster entered the box he wore boots several sizes too large, a hat that almost hid his face, long trousers rolled up so that the baggy knees were at his ankles, and, to complete the picture, a swallow-tail coat that had to be held to keep it from sweeping the floor. This ludicrous picture was too much for the Court; but the judge, between his spasms of laughter, managed to ask the boy his reason for appearing in such garb.

With wondering look the lad fished in an inner pocket and hauled the summons from it, pointing out a sentence with solemn mien as he did so: "To appear in his father's suit" it read.

There have been few readier men in retort than the late Mr. Francis Oswald, the author of Oswald on Contempt of Court. After a stiff breeze in a Chancery Court, the judge snapped out, "Well, I can't teach you manners, Mr. Oswald."—"That is so, m'lud, that is so," replied the imperturbable one. On another occasion, an irascible judge observed, "If you say another word, Mr. Oswald, I'll commit you."—"That raises another point—as to your lordship's power to commit counsel engaged in arguing before you," was the cool answer.

The author of Pie Powder in his entertaining volume, tells us that he was once dining with a barrister who had just taken silk. In the course of after-dinner talk, the new K.C. invited his friend to tell him what he considered was his (the K.C.'s) chief fault in style. After some considerable hesitation his friend admitted that he thought the K.C. erred occasionally in being too long. This apparently somewhat annoyed the K.C., and his friend feeling he had perhaps spoken too freely, thought he would smooth matters by inviting similar criticism of himself from the K.C., who at once replied, "My dear boy, I don't think really you have any fault. Except, you know, you are so d—d offensive."

A judge and a facetious lawyer conversing on the subject of the transmigration of souls, the judge said, "If you and I were turned into a horse and an ass, which of them would you prefer to be?"—"The ass, to be sure," replied the lawyer.—"Why?"—"Because," replied the lawyer, "I have heard of an ass being a judge, but of a horse, never."

In some cases counsel receive answers to questions which they had no business to put, and these, if not quite to their liking, are what they justly deserve. The following story of George Clarke, a celebrated negro minstrel, is a case in point. On one occasion, when being examined as a witness, he was severely interrogated by a lawyer. "You are in the minstrel business, I believe?" inquired the lawyer. "Yes, sir," was the reply. "Is not that rather a low calling?"—"I don't know but what it is, sir," replied the minstrel; "but it is so much better than my father's that I am rather proud of it." The lawyer fell into the trap. "What was your father's calling?" he inquired. "He was a lawyer," replied Clarke, in a tone that sent the whole Court into a roar of laughter as the discomfited lawyer sat down.

At the Durham Assizes an action was tried which turned out to have been brought by one neighbour against another for a trifling matter. The plaintiff was a deaf old lady, and after a pause the judge suggested that the counsel should get his client to compromise it, and to ask her what she would take to settle it. Very loudly counsel shouted out to his client: "His lordship wants to know what you will take?" She at once replied: "I thank his lordship kindly, and if it's no ill convenience to him, I'll take a little warm ale."

A tailor sent his bill to a lawyer, and a message to ask for payment. The lawyer bid the messenger tell his master that he was not running away, and was very busy at the time. The messenger returned and said he must have the money. The lawyer testily answered, "Did you tell your master that I was not running away?"—"Yes, I did, sir; but he bade me tell you that he was."

A well-known barrister at the criminal Bar, who prided himself upon his skill in cross-examining a witness, had an odd-looking witness upon whom to operate. "You say, sir, that the prisoner is a thief?"—"Yes, sir—'cause why, she confessed it."—"And you also swear she did some repairs for you subsequent to the confession?"—"I do, sir."—"Then," giving a knowing look at the Court, "we are to understand that you employ dishonest people to work for you, even after their rascalities are known?"—"Of course! How else could I get assistance from a lawyer?"—"Stand down!" shouted the man of law.

At Worcester Assizes, a cause was tried as to the soundness of a horse, and a clergyman had been a witness, who gave a very confused account of the transaction, and the matters he spoke to. A blustering counsel on the other side, after many attempts to get at the facts, said: "Pray, sir, do you know the difference between a horse and a cow?"—"I acknowledge my ignorance," replied the clergyman. "I hardly know the difference between a horse and a cow, or between a bully and a bull. Only a bull, I am told, has horns, and a bully," bowing respectfully to the counsel, "luckily for me, has none."

"In Court one day," says Mr. W. Andrews in The Lawyer, "I heard the following sharp encounter between a witness and an exceedingly irascible old-fashioned solicitor who, among other things, hated the modern custom of growing a beard or moustache. He himself grew side-whiskers in the most approved style of half a century ago. "Speak up, witness," he shouted, "and don't stand mumbling there. If you would shave off that unsightly moustache we might be better able to hear what was coming out of your lips." "And if you, sir," said the witness quietly, "would shave off those side-whiskers you would enable my words to reach your ears.""

"My friend," said an irritable lawyer, "you are an ass."—"Do you mean, sir," asked the witness, "that I am your friend because I am an ass, or an ass because I am your friend?"

Counsel sometimes comes to grief in dealing with experts. "Do you," asked one of a scientist, "know of a substance called Sulphonylic Diazotised Sesqui Oxide of Aldehyde?" and he looked round triumphantly. "Certainly," came the reply. "It is analogous in diatomic composition of Para Sulpho Benzine Azode Methyl Aniline in conjunction with Phehekatoline." Counsel said he would pursue the matter no further.

An action was brought by the owner of a donkey which was forced against a wall by a waggon and killed. The driver of the donkey was the chief witness, and was much bullied by Mr. Raine, the defendant's counsel, so that he lost his head and was reprimanded by the judge for not giving direct answers, and looking the jury in the face. Mr. Raine had a powerful cast in his eye, which probably heightened the poor fellow's confusion; and he continued to deal very severely with the witness, reminding him again and again of the judge's caution, saying: "Hold up your head, man: look up, I say. Can't you hold up your head, fellow? Can't you look as I do?" The witness, with much simplicity, at once answered, "I can't, you squint." On re-examination, Serjeant Cockle for the plaintiff, seeing gleams of the witness's recovery from his confusion, asked him to describe the position of the waggon and the donkey. After much pressing, at last he said, "Well, my lord judge, I'll tell you as how it happened." Turning to Cockle, he said, "You'll suppose ye are the wall."—"Aye, aye, just so, go on. I am the wall, very good."—"Yes, sir, you are the wall." Then changing his position a little, he said, "I am the waggon."—"Yes, very good; now proceed, you are the waggon," said the judge. The witness then looked to the judge, and hesitating at first, but with a low bow and a look of sudden despair, said, "And your lordship's the ass!"

Serjeant Cockle, who had a rough, blustering manner, once got from a witness more than he gave. In a trial of a right of fishery, he asked the witness: "Dost thou love fish?"—"Aye," replied the witness, with a grin, "but I donna like cockle sauce with it." The learned serjeant was not pleased with the roar of laughter which followed the remark.

Mr. H. L. Adam in The Story of Crime says he remembers a very amusing incident in one of our police courts. A prisoner had engaged a solicitor to defend him, and while the latter was speaking on his behalf he suddenly broke in with, "Why, he dunno wot the devil he's talking abaht!" Thereupon the magistrate informed him that if he was dissatisfied with his advocate's capabilities, he could, if he chose, defend himself. This he elected to do, and in the end was acquitted, the magistrate remarking that had the case been left to counsel he would unquestionably have been convicted.

In cross-examining a witness, says Judge Parry in What the Judge Saw, who had described the effects of an accident, was confronted by counsel with his statement, and asked, "But hadn't you told the doctor that your thigh was numb and had no feeling?"—"What's the good o' telling him anything," replied the witness. "That's where doctor made a mistake. I told 'im I was numb i' front, and what does he do but go and stick a pin into my back-side. 'E's no doctor."

From the same source is the following story. Another man was testifying to an accident that had occurred to him at the works where he was employed. It was sought to prove that his testimony was false because he had a holiday that day, and this poser was put to him: "Do you mean to tell the Court that you came to work when you might have been enjoying a holiday?"—"Certainly."—"Why did you do that?" The reply was too obviously truthful. "What should I do? I have nowhere to go. I'm teetotal now."

A Jew had been condemned to be hanged, and was brought to the gallows along with a fellow prisoner; but on the road, before reaching the place of execution, a reprieve arrived for the Jew. When informed of this, it was expected that he would instantly leave the cart in which he was conveyed, but he remained and saw his fellow prisoner hanged. Being asked why he did not at once go about his business, he said, "He was waiting to see if he could bargain with Mr. Ketch for the other gentleman's clothes!"

A sign-painter presented his bill to a lawyer for payment. After examining it the lawyer said, "Do you expect any painter will go to heaven if they make such charges as these?"—"I never heard of but one that went," said the painter, "and he behaved so badly that they determined to turn him out, but there being no lawyer present to draw up the Writ of Ejectment, he remained."

This must be the lawyer who, being refused entrance to heaven by St. Peter, contrived to throw his hat inside the door; and then, being permitted to go and fetch it, took advantage of the Saint being fixed to his post as doorkeeper and refused to come back again.

A solicitor who was known to occasionally exceed the limit at lunch betrayed so much unsteadiness that the magistrate quickly observed, "I think, Mr. ——, you are not quite well, perhaps you had a little too much wine at lunch."—"Quite a mistake, your worship," hiccoughed Mr. ——. "It was brandy and water."

The son-in-law of a Chancery barrister having succeeded to the lucrative practice of the latter, came one morning in breathless haste to inform him that he had succeeded in bringing nearly to its termination a cause which had been pending in the Court for several years. Instead of obtaining the expected congratulations of the retired veteran of the law, his intelligence was received with indignation. "It was by this suit," exclaimed he, "that my father was enabled to provide for me, and to portion your wife, and with the exercise of common prudence it would have furnished you with the means of providing handsomely for your children and grandchildren."

CHAPTER THREE
THE JUDGES OF IRELAND

CHAPTER THREE
THE JUDGES OF IRELAND

In the days of Queen Anne corruption was rife among Irish judges, as it was also among members of the Scottish Bench at an earlier period, and it was not uncommon to find the former concurring in Privy Council reports issued contrary to evidence. Within the area of the Munster Circuit in the early years of the eighteenth century a petition was signed and presented to Parliament by clergy, resident gentry, and others in the district, because Lord Chancellor Phipps refused to be influenced in his decision of cases coming before him, and had thereby incurred the displeasure of a certain section of the Irish Parliament. Even a Lord Chief Justice was not above taking a gift; and in this connection O'Flanagan in The Munster Circuit tells a story of Chief Justice Pyne, who was a great cattle-breeder and owner of valuable stock. One day before starting for Cork Assizes to try a case in which a Mr. Weller and a Mr. Nangle were concerned, he received a visit from the former's steward, who had been sent with a herd of twenty-five splendid heifers for his lordship. The judge was highly pleased, and returned by the steward a gracious message of thanks to his master. On the way to Cork the Chief Justice's coach was stopped by a drove of valuable shorthorns on the road. Looking out, his lordship demanded of the drover, "Whose beasts are these, my man?"—"They belong, please your honour, to a great gentleman of these parts, Judge Pyne, your honour," replied the man. "Indeed," cried the Chief Justice in much surprise, "and where are you taking them now?"—"They are grazing in my master Mr. Nangle's farm, your honour; and as the Assizes are coming on at Cork my master thought the judge might like to see that he took good care of them, so I'm taking them to Waterpark (his lordship's estate) to show to the judge." The judge felt the delicacy of Mr. Nangle's mode of giving his present, and putting a guinea in the drover's hand said, "As your master has taken such good care of my cattle, I will take care of him." When the case came on it appeared at first that the judge favoured the plaintiff, Mr. Weller, but as it proceeded he changed his views and finally decided for the defendant, Mr. Nangle. On arriving home the judge's first question was, "Are the cattle all safe?"—"Perfectly, my lord."—"Where are the beasts I received on leaving for the Cork Assizes?"—"They are where you left them, my lord."—"Where I left them—that is impossible," exclaimed the judge. "I left them on the road." The steward looked puzzled. "I'll have a look at them myself," said Chief Justice Pyne. The steward led the way, and pointed out the twenty-five fine heifers presented by Mr. Weller, the plaintiff. "But where are the shorthorns that came after I left home?"—"Bedad, the long and the short of it is, them's all the cattle on the land, except what we have bred ourselves, my lord." And so it was. Mr. Nangle, the defendant, had so arranged his gift to meet the judge on the road, but as soon as his lordship's coach was out of sight the cattle were driven back to their familiar fields. The Chief Justice had been outwitted and had no power of showing resentment.

In the manners and customs of the legal profession of Ireland in the latter part of the eighteenth century, there is also a strong similarity between the members of the Scottish Bench and their Irish brethren, in that they were heavy port drinkers; and did not hesitate to indulge in it while sitting on the Bench. It is reported of one Irish judge that he had a specially constructed metal tube like a penholder, through which he sucked his favourite liquor, from what appeared to the audience to be a metal inkstand. Another judge on being asked if, at a social gathering, he had seen a learned brother dance, "Yes," he replied, "I saw him in a reel"; while Curran referring to a third judge, who had condemned a prisoner to death, said, "He did not weep, but he had a drop in his eye."

Unblushing effrontery and a bronzed visage gained for John Scott (Lord Clonmel) while at the Bar the sobriquet of "Copper-faced Jack." He took the popular side in politics, which ordinarily would not have led to promotion in his profession; but his outstanding ability attracted the attention of Lord Chancellor Lifford, and through his influence Scott was offered a place under the Government. On accepting it at the hands of Lord Townshend, he said, "My lord, you have spoiled a good patriot." Some time after he met Flood, a co-patriot, and addressed him: "Well, I suppose you will be abusing me as usual." To which Flood replied: "When I began to abuse you, you were a briefless barrister; by abuse I made you counsel to the revenue, by abuse I got you a silk gown, by abuse I made you Solicitor-General, by abuse I may make you Chief Justice. No, Scott, I'll praise you."

When Lord Clonmel was Lord Chief Justice he upheld the undignified practice of demanding a shilling for administering an oath, and used to be well satisfied, provided the coin was a good one. In his time the Birmingham shilling was current, and he used the following extraordinary precautions to avoid being imposed upon by taking a bad one. "You shall true answer make to such questions as shall be demanded of you touching this affidavit, so help you God! Is this a good shilling? Are the contents of this affidavit true? Is this your name and handwriting?"

The family of Henn belonging to Clare have been, generation after generation, since the first of the name became Chief Baron in 1679, connected with the Irish Bench and Bar. William Henn, a descendant of the Chief Baron, was made a Judge of the King's Bench in 1767, and when on Circuit at Wexford in 1789 two young barristers contended before him with great zeal and pertinacity, each flatly contradicting the other as to the law of the case; and both at each turn of the argument again and again referred with exemplary confidence to the learned judge, as so well knowing that what was said by him (the speaker) was right. The judge said, "Well, gentlemen, can I settle this matter between you? You, sir, say positively the law is one way; and you, sir (turning to the opponent), as unequivocally say it is the other way. I wish to God, Billy Harris (leaning over and addressing the registrar who sat beneath him), I knew what the law really was!"—"My lord," replied Billy Harris, rising, and turning round with great gravity and respect, "if I possessed that knowledge, I assure your lordship that I would tell your lordship with great pleasure!"—"Then," exclaimed the judge, "we'll save the point, Billy Harris!"

Although more appropriate in the following chapter, we may here introduce a story of the younger son of the Judge Henn of the previous story. Jonathan, who was more distinguished than his elder brother—another Judge Henn—did not attain to the Bench. In early years he was indifferent whether briefs were given him or not, and indeed on one occasion he is said to have sent a message to the Attorney-General, who had called to engage him in a case, to keep "his d—d brief and to take himself to the d—l." But later he became very industrious, and his natural ability soon brought him into a large and lucrative practice. He was counsel for the Government at the trial of John Mitchell, and at its close the wags of the Court declared that "Judge Moore spoke to the evidence, but Jonathan Henn charged the jury."

One day his lordship came into Court very late, looking very woeful. He apologised to the Bar for being obliged to adjourn the Court at once and dismiss the jury for that day. "Though," his lordship added, "I am aware that an important issue stands for trial. But, the fact is, gentlemen (addressing the Bar in a low tone of voice and somewhat confidentially), I have met with a domestic misfortune, which has altogether deranged my nerves. Poor Lady Carleton has, most unfortunately, miscarried, and—." "Oh, then, my lord," exclaimed Curran, "I am sure we are all quite satisfied your lordship has done right in deciding there is no issue to try to-day." His lordship smiled a ghastly smile, and, retiring, thanked the Bar for their sympathy.

Judge Foster was trying five prisoners for murder, and misunderstood the drift of the evidence. Four of the prisoners seem to have assisted, but a witness said as to the fifth, Denis Halligan, that it was he who gave the fatal blow: "My lord, I saw Denis Halligan (that's in the dock there) take a vacancy (Irish word for 'aim' at an unguarded part) at the poor soul that's kilt, and give him a wipe with a clehalpin (Irish word for 'bludgeon'), and lay him down as quiet as a child." They were found guilty. The judge, sentencing the first four, gave them seven years' imprisonment. But when he came to Halligan, who really killed the deceased, the judge said, "Denis Halligan, I have purposely reserved the consideration of your case to the last. Your crime is doubtless of a grievous nature, yet I cannot avoid taking into consideration the mitigating circumstances that attend it. By the evidence of the witness it clearly appears that you were the only one of the party who showed any mercy to the unfortunate deceased. You took him to a vacant seat, and wiped him with a clean napkin, and you laid him down with the gentleness one shows to a little child. In consideration of these extenuating circumstances, which reflect some credit upon you, I shall inflict upon you three weeks' imprisonment." So Denis Halligan got off by the judge mistaking a vacancy for a vacant seat, and a clehalpin for a clean napkin.

John Toler (Lord Norbury) was Chief Justice of the Common Pleas in Ireland. His humour was broad, and his absolute indifference to propriety often saved the situation by converting a serious matter into a wholly ludicrous one. His Court was in constant uproar, owing to his noisy jesting, and like a noted old Scottish judge he would have his joke when the life of a human being was hanging in the balance. Even on his own deathbed he could not resist the impulse. On hearing that his friend Lord Erne was also nearing his end at the same time, he called for his valet: "James," said Lord Norbury, "run round to Lord Erne and tell him with my compliments that it will be a dead-heat between us."

The best illustration of the almost daily condition of things when Lord Norbury presided at Nisi Prius is given by himself in his reply to the answer of a witness. "What is your business?" asked the judge. "I keep a racquet-court, my lord."—"So do I, so do I," immediately exclaimed the judge. Nor did he reserve his bon mots for Court merriment. Passing the Quay on his way to the Four Courts one morning, he noticed a crowd and inquired of a bystander the cause of it. On being told that a tailor had just been rescued from attempted suicide by drowning, his lordship exclaimed, "What a fool to leave his hot goose for a cold duck." The boastful statement of a gentleman in his company that he had shot seventy hares before breakfast drew from the Chief Justice the sarcastic remark, "I suppose, sir, you fired at a wig."

A son of a peer having been accused of arson, of which offence he was generally believed guilty, but acquitted on a point of insufficiency of evidence to sustain the indictment, was tried before Lord Norbury. The young gentleman met the judge next at the Lord-Lieutenant's levee in the Castle. Instead of avoiding the Chief Justice, the scion of nobility boldly said, "I have recently married, and have come here to enable me to present my bride at the Drawing-Room."—"Quite right to mind the Scripture. Better marry than burn," retorted Lord Norbury.

A barrister once pressed him to non-suit the plaintiff in a case; but his lordship decided to let it go to a jury trial. "I do believe," said the disappointed advocate, "your lordship has not the courage to non-suit."—"You say, sir," replied the irate judge, "you don't believe I'd have the courage to non-suit. I tell you I have courage to shoot and to non-shoot, but I'll not non-suit for you." This same counsel was once horsewhipped by an army officer at Nelson's Pillar in Sackville Street, and applied for a Criminal Information against his assailant. "Certainly he shall have it," said the witty judge. "The Court is bound to give protection to any one who has bled under the gallant Nelson."

On a motion before this judge, a sheriff's officer, who had the hardihood to serve a process in Connemara, where the king's writ did not run, swore that the natives made him eat and swallow both copy and original. Norbury, affecting great disgust, exclaimed: "Jackson, Jackson, I hope it's not made returnable into this Court."

While giving a judgment on a writ of right, Lord Norbury observed that it was not sufficient for a demandant to say he "claimed by descent." "Such an answer," he continued, "would be a shrewd one for a sweep, who got into your house by coming down the chimney; and it would be an easy, as well as a sweeping, way of getting in."

His lordship was attacked by a fit of gout when on Circuit, and sent to the Solicitor-General requesting the loan of a pair of large slippers. "Take them," said the Solicitor to the servant, "with my respects, and I hope soon to be in his lordship's shoes."

At the instigation of O'Connell, Lord Norbury was finally removed from the Bench. A flagrant case of partiality was brought to Lord Brougham's notice which exasperated Lord Norbury, and he is reported to have said, "I'll resign to demand satisfaction. That Scottish Broom wants to be made acquainted with an Irish stick."

Two notorious highwaymen were charged before Chief Baron O'Grady with robbery, and to the surprise of all the jury returned a verdict of not guilty. "Mr. Murphy," said the judge to the gaoler, "you will greatly ease my mind by keeping these two respectable gentlemen in custody until seven o'clock. I leave for Dublin at five, and I should like to have at least two hours' start of them." There is also the story of a barrister who made an eloquent speech and got his client off, but he was very anxious to know whether the prisoner was guilty or not. "Well, sir," said the man when applied to, "to tell the truth I thought I was guilty until I heard you speak, and then I didn't see how I could be." This at once recalls an old story. "Prisoner, I understand you confess your guilt," said the judge. "No, I don't," said the prisoner. "My counsel has convinced me of my innocence."

On hearing that some spendthrift barristers, friends of his, were appointed to be Commissioners of Insolvent Debtors the Chief Baron remarked, "At all events, the insolvents can't complain of not being tried by their peers." It was the same judge who caustically observed, after a long and dull legal argument: "I agree with my brother J——, for the reasons given by my brother M——." A prisoner once was given a practical specimen of his lordship's wit, and must have been rather distressed by it. He was passing sentence upon a pickpocket, and ordering a punishment common at that time. "You will be whipped from North Gate to South Gate," said the judge. "Bad luck to you, you old blackguard," said the prisoner. "—And back again," said the Chief Baron, as if he had been interrupted in the delivery of the sentence.

A cause of much celebrity was tried at a county Assize, at which Chief Baron O'Grady presided. Bushe, then a K.C., who held a brief for the defence, was pleading the cause of his client with much eloquence, when a donkey in the courtyard outside set up a loud bray. "One at a time, brother Bushe!" called out his lordship. Peals of laughter filled the Court. The counsel bore the interruption as best he could. The judge was proceeding to sum up with his usual ability: the donkey again began to bray. "I beg your lordship's pardon," said Bushe, putting his hand to his ear; "but there is such an echo in the Court that I can't hear a word you say."

In his charges to juries, O'Grady frequently made some quaint remarks. There was a Kerry case in which a number of men were indicted for riot and assault. Several of them bore the familiar names of O'Donoghue, Moriarty, Duggan, &c., while among the jurymen these names were also found. Well knowing that consanguinity was prevalent in the district, the judge began his address to the jury with the significant remark: "Of course, gentlemen, you will acquit your own relatives." In another case of larceny of pantaloons which was clearly proved, but in which the thief got a good character for honesty, he began: "Gentlemen, the prisoner was an honest boy, but he stole the pantaloons."

"I merely wish to address your lordship on the form of the indictment, if your lordship pleases," said a young barrister to the Chief Baron. "Oh, certainly, I will hear you with mighty great pleasure, sir; but I'll be after taking the verdict of the jury first," was the sarcastic reply.

The brother of Chief Baron O'Grady once caught a boy stealing turnips from one of his fields and asked his lordship if the culprit could be prosecuted under the Timber Acts. "No," said the Chief Baron, "unless you can prove that your turnips are sticky."

Yelverton, first Baron Avonmore, possessed remarkable rhetorical ability and a highly cultivated mind. He rose rapidly at the Bar, until he became Chief Baron of Exchequer. He was the founder of the convivial order of St. Patrick, called "The Monks of the Screw," of which Curran, who wrote its charter song, was Prior. Avonmore was a man of warm and benevolent feelings, which he gave vent to in an equal degree in private life, in the senate, and on the Bench.

Before giving an anecdote of Lord Avonmore it may interest readers, especially English and Scottish, to quote here the charter song of this famous Irish convivial club of the eighteenth century.

The last two lines hit off the appearance of the Abbot, a Mr. Doyle, and of the Prior, J. P. Curran. The former was a big burly man with a fat, jovial face, while Curran was a short and particularly spare man whose "lean face" always attracted attention.

On a Lent Circuit, one of the Assize towns happened to be a place, of which one of Lord Avonmore's college contemporaries held a living: at his own request, the Chief Baron's reverend friend preached the Assize sermon. The time being the month of March the weather was cold, the judge was chilled, and unhappily the sermon was long, and the preacher tedious. After the discourse was over, the preacher descended from the pulpit and approached the judge, smirking and smiling, looking fully satisfied with his own exertions, and expecting to receive the compliments and congratulations of his quondam chum. "Well, my lord," he asked, "and how did you like the sermon?"—"Oh! most wonderfully," replied Avonmore. "It was like the peace of God—it passed all understanding; and—like his mercy—I thought it would have endured for ever."

When Plunket was at the Bar his great friend and rival was C. K. Bushe. The former was Attorney-General at the same time as the latter was Solicitor-General, and it caused him much dissatisfaction when Plunket learned that on a change of Government Solicitor-General Bushe had not followed his example and resigned office. At the time this occurred both barristers happened to be engaged in a case at which, when it was called, Bushe only appeared. On the judge inquiring of Mr. Bushe if he knew the reason of Mr. Plunket's absence his friend jocosely remarked, "I suppose, my lord, he is Cabinet-making." This pleasantry, at his expense, was told to Plunket by a friend, when he arrived in Court, on which, turning to the judge, the ex-Attorney-General proudly said, "I assure your lordship I am not so well qualified for Cabinet-making as my learned friend. I never was either a turner or a joiner."

Two eminent Irish astronomers differed in an argument on the parallax of a lyræ—the one maintaining that it was three seconds, and the other that it was only two seconds. On being told of this discussion, and that the astronomers parted without arriving at an agreement, Plunket quietly remarked: "It must be a very serious quarrel indeed, when even the seconds cannot agree."

Once applying the common expression to accommodation bills of exchange, that they were mere kites, the judge, an English Chancellor, said "he never heard that expression applied before to any but the kites of boys."—"Oh," replied Plunket, "that's the difference between kites in England and in Ireland. In England the wind raises the kite, but in Ireland the kite raises the wind."

Everybody (says Phillips) knew how acutely Plunket felt his forced resignation of the chancellorship, and his being superseded by Lord Campbell. A violent storm arose on the day of Campbell's expected arrival, and a friend remarking to Plunket how sick of his promotion the passage must have made the new Chancellor: "Yes," said the former, ruefully, "but it won't make him throw up the seals."

Mr. Frankfort Moore, in his Journalist's Notebook, relates how Justice Lawson summed up in the case of a man who was charged with stealing a pig. The evidence of the theft was quite conclusive, and, in fact, was not combated; but the prisoner called the priests and neighbours to attest to his good character. "Gentlemen of the jury," said the judge, "I think that the only conclusion you can arrive at is, that the pig was stolen by the prisoner, and that he is the most amiable man in the country."

CHAPTER FOUR
THE BARRISTERS OF IRELAND