Part 10 (2/2)

He perused it, and rather astonished the peace officer by a.s.serting, that so far from its proving the man's guilt, it clearly established his innocence. ”This,” said the learned gentleman, ”is the fair and obvious reading of the sentence:

”Mangan said he never robbed; _But twice said it was Crawford_.”

This interpretation had its effect on the jury, and the man was acquitted.

There were two barristers at the Irish Bar who formed a singular contrast in their stature--Ninian Mahaffy was as much above the middle size as Mr. Collis was below it. When Lord Redsdale was Lord Chancellor of Ireland these two gentlemen chanced to be retained in the same cause a short time after his lords.h.i.+p's elevation, and before he was personally acquainted with the Irish Bar. Mr. Collis was opening the motion, when the Lord Chancellor observed, ”Mr. Collis, when a barrister addresses the Court, he must stand.”--”I am standing on the bench, my lord,” said Collis. ”I beg a thousand pardons,” said his lords.h.i.+p, somewhat confused. ”Sit down, Mr. Mahaffy.”--”I am sitting, my lord,”

was the reply to the confounded Chancellor.

A barrister who was present on this occasion made it the subject of the following epigram:

”Mahaffy and Collis, ill-paired in a case, Representatives true of the rattling size ace; To the heights of the law, though I hope you will rise, You will never be judges I'm sure of a(s)size.”

A very able barrister, named Collins, had the reputation of occasionally involving his adversary in a legal net, and, by his superior subtlety, gaining his cause. On appearing in Court in a case with the eminent barrister, Mr. Pigot, Q.C., there arose a question as to who should be leader, Mr. Collins being the senior in standing at the Bar, Mr. Pigot being one of the Queen's Counsel. ”I yield,” said Mr. Collins; ”my friend holds the honours.”--”Faith, if he does, Stephen,” observed Mr.

Herrick, ”'tis you have all the tricks.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: DANIEL O'CONNELL, ”THE LIBERATOR.”]

It is told by one of O'Connell's biographers that he never prepared his addresses to judges or juries--he trusted to the inspiration of the moment. He had at command humour and pathos, invective and argument; he was quick-witted and astonis.h.i.+ngly ready in repartee, and he brought all these into play, as he found them serviceable in influencing the bench or the jury-box.

Lord Manners, Lord Chancellor of Ireland, stopped several of the many counsels in a Chancery suit by saying he had made up his mind. He, in fact, lost his temper as each in succession rose, and he declined them in turn. At last O'Connell, one of the unheard counsel, began in his deepest and most emphatic tone: ”Well then, my lord, since your lords.h.i.+p refuses to hear my learned friend, you will be pleased to hear ME”; and then he plunged into the case, without waiting for any expression, a.s.sent or dissent, or allowing any interruption. On he went, discussing and distinguis.h.i.+ng, and commenting and quoting, till he secured the attention of, and evidently was making an impression on, the unwilling judge. Every few minutes O'Connell would say: ”Now, my lord, my learned young friend beside me, had your lords.h.i.+p heard him, would have informed your lords.h.i.+p in a more impressive and lucid manner than I can hope to do,” etcetera, until he finished a masterly address. The Lord Chancellor next morning gave judgment in favour of O'Connell's client.

He was engaged in a will case, the allegation being that the will was a forgery. The subscribing witness swore that the will had been signed by the deceased ”while life was in him”--that being an expression derived from the Irish language, which peasants who have long ceased to speak Irish still retain. The evidence was strong in favour of the will, when O'Connell was struck by the persistency of the man, who always repeated the same words, ”The life was in him.” O'Connell asked: ”On the virtue of your oath, was he alive?”--”By the virtue of my oath, the life was in him.”--”Now I call upon you in the presence of your Maker, who will one day pa.s.s sentence on you for this evidence, I solemnly ask--and answer me at your peril--was there not a live fly in the dead man's mouth when his hand was placed on the will?” The witness was taken aback at this question; he trembled, turned pale, and faltered out an abject confession that the counsellor was right; a fly had been introduced into the mouth of the dead man, to allow the witness to swear that ”life was in him.”

O'Connell was defending John Connor on a charge of murder. The most incriminating evidence was the finding of the murderer's hat, left behind on the road. The all-important question was as to the ident.i.ty of the hat as that of the accused man. A constable was prepared to swear to it. ”You found this hat?” said O'Connell.

”Yes.”--”You examined it?”--”Yes.”--”You know it to be the prisoner's property?”--”Yes.”--”When you picked it up you saw it was damaged?”--”Yes.”--”And looking inside you saw the prisoner's name, J-O-H-N C-O-N-N-O-R?” (here he spelt out the name slowly).

”Yes,” was the answer. ”There is no name inside at all, my lord,”

said O'Connell, and the prisoner was saved.

Explaining to a judge his absence from the Civil Court at the time a case was heard, in which he should have appeared as counsel, O'Connell said he could not leave a client in the Criminal Court until the verdict was given. ”What was it?” inquired the judge. ”Acquitted,” responded O'Connell. ”Then you have got off a wretch who is not fit to live,” said the judge. O'Connell, knowing his lords.h.i.+p to be a very religious man, at once replied: ”I am sure you will agree with me that a man whom you regard as not fit to _live_ would be still more _unfit_ to die.”

There was a young barrister--a contemporary of O'Connell--named Parsons, who had a good deal of humour, and who hated the whole tribe of attorneys. Perhaps they had not treated him very well, but his prejudice against them was very constant and conspicuous. One day, in the Hall of the Four Courts, an attorney came up to him to beg a subscription towards burying a brother attorney who had died in distressed circ.u.mstances. Parsons took out a one-pound note and tendered it. ”Oh, Mr. Parsons,” said the applicant, ”I do not want so much--I only ask a s.h.i.+lling from each contributor. I have limited myself to that, and I cannot really take more.”--”Oh, take it, take it,” said Parsons; ”for G.o.d's sake, my good sir, take the pound, and while you are at it bury twenty of them.”

There is a terseness in the following which seems to be inimitable.

Lord Norbury was travelling with Parsons; they pa.s.sed a gibbet.

”Parsons,” said Norbury, with a chuckle, ”where would _you_ be now if every one had his due?”--”Alone in my carriage,” replied Parsons.

Here is a young Irishman's first Bar-speech. ”Your lords.h.i.+ps perceive that we stand here as our grandmothers' administrators _de bonis non_; and really, my lords, it does strike me that it would be a monstrous thing to say that a party can now come in, in the very teeth of an Act of Parliament, and actually turn us round, under colour of hanging us up, on the foot of a contract made behind our backs.”

A learned Serjeant MacMahon was noted for his confusion of language in his efforts to be sublime. He cared less for the sense than the sound.

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