At a country a.s.size, where he was presiding in the Crown Court, a man was indicted for murder. He pleaded "Not guilty." The evidence contained in the depositions was terribly clear, and, of course, the judge, who had perused them, was aware of it.

The case having been called on for trial, counsel for the prosecution applied for a postponement on the ground of the absence of a most material witness for the Crown.

I should mention that in those days counsel were not allowed to speak for the prisoner, but the judge was always in theory supposed to watch the case on his behalf. In the absence of a _material_ witness the prisoner would be acquitted.

The learned Mr. Justice Graham asked the accused if he had any objection to the case being postponed until the next a.s.sizes, on the ground, as the prosecution had alleged, that their most material witness could not be produced. His lordship put the case as somewhat of a misfortune for the prisoner, and made it appear that it would be postponed, if he desired it, as a favour to _him_.

Notwithstanding the judge's courteous manner of putting it, the prisoner most strenuously objected to any postponement. It was not for him to oblige the Crown at the expense of a broken neck, and he desired above all things to be tried in accordance with law. He stood there on his "jail delivery."

Graham was firm, but polite, and determined to grant the postponement asked for. In this he was doubtless right, for the interests of justice demanded it. But to soften down the prisoner's disappointment and excuse the necessity of his further imprisonment, his lordship addressed him in the following terms, and in quite a sympathetic manner:--

"Prisoner, I am extremely sorry to have to detain you in prison, but _common humanity_ requires that I should not let you be tried in the absence of an important witness for the prosecution, although at the same time I can quite appreciate your desire to have your case speedily disposed of; one does not like a thing of this sort hanging over one's head. But now, for the sake of argument, prisoner, suppose I were to try you to-day in the absence of that material witness, and yet, contrary to your expectations, they were to find you guilty. What then? Why, in the absence of that material witness, I should have to sentence you to be hanged on Monday next. That would be a painful ordeal for both of us.

"But now let us take the other alternative, and let us suppose that if your trial had been put off, and the material witness, when called, could prove something in your favour--this sometimes happens--and that that something induced the jury to acquit you, what a sad thing that would be! It would not signify to you, because you would have been hanged, and would be dead!"

Here his lordship paused for a considerable time, unable to suppress his emotion, but, having recovered himself, continued,--

"But you must consider what my feelings would be when I thought I had hanged an innocent man!"

At the next a.s.sizes the man was brought up, the material witness appeared; the prisoner was found guilty, and hanged.

The humane judge's feelings were therefore spared.

At the Old Bailey he was presiding during a sessions which was rather light for the times, there being less than a score left for execution under sentence of death. There were, in fact, only sixteen, most of them for petty thefts.

His lordship, instead of reading the whole of the sixteen names, omitted one, and read out only fifteen. He then politely, and with exquisite precision and solemnity, exhorted them severally to prepare for the awful doom that awaited them the following Monday, and p.r.o.nounced on each the sentence of death.

They left the dock.

After they were gone the jailer explained to his lordship that there had been _sixteen_ prisoners capitally convicted, but that his lordship had omitted the name of one of them, and he would like to know what was to be done with him.

"What is the prisoner's name?" asked Graham.

"John Robins, my lord."

"Oh, bring John Robins back--by all means let John Robins step forward. I am obliged to you."

The culprit was once more placed at the Bar, and Graham, addressing him in his singularly courteous manner, said apologetically,--

"John Robins, I find I have accidentally omitted your name in my list of prisoners doomed to execution. It was quite accidental, I a.s.sure you, and I ask your pardon for my mistake. I am very sorry, and can only add that you will be hanged with the rest."

CHAPTER XIII.

GLORIOUS OLD DAYS--THE HON. BOB GRIMSTON, AND MANY OTHERS--CHICKEN-HAZARD.

The old glories of the circuit days vanished with stage-coaches and post-chaises. If you climbed on to the former for the sake of economy because you could not afford to travel in the latter, you would be fined at the circuit mess, whose notions of propriety and economy were always at variance.

Those who obtained no business found it particularly hateful to keep up the foolish appearance of having it by means of a post-chaise. You might not ride in a public vehicle, or dine at a public table, or put up at an inn for fear of falling in with attorneys and obtaining briefs from them surrept.i.tiously. The Home Circuit was very strict in these respects, but it was the cheapest circuit to travel in the kingdom, so that its members were numerous and, I need not say, various in mind, manner, and position.

But it was a circuit of brilliant men in my young days. Many of them rose to eminence both in law and in Parliament. It was a time, indeed, when, if judges made law, law made judges.

I should like to say a word or two about those times and the necessary studies to be undergone by those who aspired to eminence.

In the days of my earliest acquaintance with the law, an ancient order of men, now almost, if not quite, extinct, called Special Pleaders, existed, who, after having kept the usual number of terms--that is to say, eaten the prescribed number of dinners in the Inn of Court to which they belonged--became qualified, on payment of a fee of 12, to take out a Crown licence to plead under the Bar. This enabled them to do all things which a barrister could do that did not require to be transacted in court. They drew pleadings, advised and took pupils.

Some of them practised in this way all their lives and were never called. Others grew tired of the drudgery, and were called to the Bar, where they remained _junior_ barristers as long as they lived, old age having no effect upon their status. Some were promoted to the ancient order of Serjeants-at-Law, or were appointed her Majesty's Counsel, while some of the Serjeants received from the Crown patents of precedence with priority over all Queen's Counsel appointed after them, and with the privilege of wearing a silk gown and a Queen's Counsel wig.

There was, however, this difference between a Queen's Counsel and the holder of a Patent of Precedence: that the former, having been appointed one of her Majesty's Counsel, could not thenceforth appear without special licence under the sign-manual of the Queen to defend a prisoner upon a criminal charge. The Serjeant-at-Law is as rare now as a bustard.

I mention these old-fashioned times and studies, not because of their interest at the present day, but because they produced such men as Littledale, Bayley, Parke (afterwards Lord Wensleydale), Alderson, Tindal, Patteson, Wightman, Crompton, Vaughan Williams, James, Willes, and, later, Blackburn.

The contemplation of these legal giants, amongst whom my career commenced, somewhat checked the buoyant impulse which had urged me onward at Quarter Sessions, but at the same time imparted a little modest desire to imitate such incomparable models. Those of them who were selected from the junior Bar were good examples of men whose vast knowledge of law was acquired in the way I have indicated, and who were chosen on their merits alone.

But even these successful examples, however encouraging to the student, were, nevertheless, not ill-calculated to make a young barrister whose income was small, and sometimes, as in my case, by no means _a.s.sured_ to him, sicken at the thought that, study as he liked, years might pa.s.s, and probably would, before a remunerative practice came to cheer him. Perhaps it would never come at all, and he would become, like so many hundreds of others of his day and ours, a hopeless failure. All were compet.i.tors for the briefs and even the smiles of solicitors; for without their favour none could succeed, although he might unite in himself all the qualities of lawyer and advocate.

The prospect was not exhilarating for any one who had to perform the drudgery of the first few years of a junior's life; nevertheless, I was not cast down by the mere apprehension, or rather the mere possibility of failure, for when I looked round on my compet.i.tors I was encouraged by the thought that dear old Woollet knew more about a rate appeal than Littledale himself, while old Peter Ryland, with his inimitable Saxon, was quite as good at the irremovability of a pauper as Codd was in accounting for the illegal removal of a duck, and both in their several branches of knowledge more learned than Alderson or Bayley. But here I was, launched on that wide sea in which I was "to sink or swim," and, as I preferred the latter, I struck out with a resolute breast-stroke, and, as I have said, never failed to keep my head above water. It was some satisfaction to know that, if the judges were so learned, there was yet more learning to come; much yet to come down from, the old table-land of the Common Law, and much more from the inexhaustible fountain of Parliament.

The Quarter Sessions Court was the arena of my first eight years of professional life. I watched and waited with unwearied attention, never without hope, but often on the very verge of despair, of ever making any progress which would justify my choosing it as a profession. My greatest delight, perhaps, was the obtaining an acquittal of some one whose guilt n.o.body could doubt. All the struggle of those times was the fight for the "one three six," and the hardest effort of my life was the most valuable, because it gave me the key which opened the door to many depositories of unexplored wealth.

There were many men who outlived their life, and others who never lived their lives at all; many men who did nothing, and many more who would almost have given their lives to do something.

There was, however, one man of those days whom I cannot here pa.s.s over, as he remained my companion and friend to his life's end, and will be remembered by me with affection and reverence to the end of my own. It was old Bob Grimston, whom I first met at the benefit of "the Spider," one of the famous prize-fighters of the time. The Hon.

Bob Grimston was known in the sporting world as one of its most enthusiastic supporters, and acknowledged as one of the best men in saddle or at the wicket. But Bob was not only a sportsman--he was a gentleman of the finest feeling you could meet, and the keenest sense of honour.

Having thus spoken of some of the eminent men of my early days, I would like to mention a little incident that occurred before I had fairly settled down to practise, or formed any serious intention as to the course I should pursue--that is to say, whether I should remain a sessions man like Woollet, or become a master of Saxon like old Peter Ryland, a sportsman like Bob Grimston, or a cosmopolitan like Rodwell, so as to comprehend all that came in my way. I chose the latter, for the simple reason that in principle I loved what in these days would be called "the open door," and received all comers, even sometimes entertaining solicitors unawares.

Accordingly I laid myself open to the attention of kind friends and people whose manner of life was founded on the Christian principle of being "given to hospitality."

But before I come to the particular incident I wish to describe, I must briefly mention a remarkable case that was tried in the Queen's Bench, and which necessarily throws me back a year or two in my narrative.

It was a case known as "Boyle and Lawson," and the incident it reveals will give an idea of the state of society of that day. I am not sure whether it differs in many respects from that of the present, except in so far as its _honour_ is concerned, for what was looked upon then as a flagrant outrage on public morality is now regarded as an error of judgment, or a mistake occasioned by some fortuitous combination of unconsidered circ.u.mstances. Such is the value in literature and argument of long words without meaning.

However, the action was brought against the proprietors of the _Times_ newspaper for libel. The libel consisted in the statement that the respectable plaintiff--a lady--had conspired with persons unknown to obtain false letters of credit for large sums of money.

The hospitable friends I refer to lived in excellent style in Norwich.

How they had attained their social distinction I am unable to say, but they were, in fact, in the "very best set," which in Norwich was by no means the fastest.

I was travelling at this time with Charles Willshire and his brother Thomas, who was a mere youth. There was also an undergraduate of Cambridge of the name of Crook with us, and another who had joined our party for a few days' ramble.

We were enjoying ourselves in the old city of Norwich as only youth can, when we received an invitation to pa.s.s an evening in a very fashionable circle. How the invitation came I could not tell, but we made no inquiry and accepted it. Arrived at the house, which was situated in the most aristocratic neighbourhood that Norwich could boast, we found ourselves in the most agreeable society we could wish to meet. This was a group of exalted and fashionable personages arrayed in costumes of the superb Prince Regent style. Nothing could exceed this party in elegance of costume or manners. You could tell at once they were, as it was then expressed, "of the quality." Their cordiality was equalled only by their courtesy, and had we been princes of the blood we could not have received a more polite welcome.

There was an elegance, too, about the house, and a refinement which coincided with the culture of the hosts and guests. Altogether it was one of the most agreeable parties I had ever seen. There were several gentlemen, all Prince Regents, and one sweet lady, charming in every way, from the well-arranged blonde tresses to the neatest little shoe that ever adorned a Cinderella foot. She was beautiful in person as she was charming in manner. You saw at once that she moved in the best Norwich society, and was the idol of it. Crook was perfectly amazed at so much grace and splendour, but then he was much younger than any of us.

I don't think any one was so much smitten as Crook. We had seen more of the world than he had--that is to say, more of the witness-box--and if you don't see the world there, on its oath, you can see it nowhere in the same unveiled deformity.