Part 21 (2/2)

From that popular gossiping establishment I heard a little story told by the son of Sydney Smith. His father had been sent for to see an old lady who was one of his most troublesome paris.h.i.+oners. She was dying.

Sad to say, she had always been querulous and quarrelsome. It may have been const.i.tutional, but whatever the cause, her husband had had an uncomfortable time with her. When Sydney Smith reached the house the old lady was dead, and the bereaved widower, a religious man in his way, and acquainted with Scripture, said,--

”Ah, sir, you are too late: my poor dear wife has gone to _Abraham's bosom_.”

”Poor Abraham!” exclaimed Sydney; ”she'll tear his inside out.”

As all these things pa.s.s through my memory, I recall another little incident with much satisfaction, because I was retained in the case.

It was a scandalous fraud in connection with the gaming-table. An action was brought by a cheat against a gentleman who was said to have lost 20,000 on the cast of the dice. I was the counsel opposed to plaintiff, who was said to have cheated by means of _loaded dice_. I won the case, and it was generally believed that the action was the cause of the appointment of the ”Gaming Committee,” at which tribunal all the rascality of the gaming-tables was called to give evidence, and the witnesses did so in such a manner as to shock the conscience of the civilized world, which is never conscious of anything until exposure takes place in a court of law or in some other legal inquiry.

Diabolical revelations were brought to light. However, as I have said, Lord Palmerston effectually cleared Crockford's, and it almost seemed, from the evidence of those who knew Crockford's best, that they never played anything there but old-fas.h.i.+oned whist for threepenny points, patience, and beggar-my-neighbour.

His Royal Highness the then Prince of Wales came into court during the trial I refer to, and seemed interested in the proceedings. I wonder if his Majesty now remembers it!

In those days Baron Martin and I met once a year, he on the Bench and I in court, with a hansom cab waiting outside ready to start for the Derby. It is necessary for Judges to sit on Derby Day, to show that they do not go; but if by some accident the work of the court is finished in time to get down to Epsom, those who love an afternoon in the country sometimes go in the direction of the Downs. There is usually a run on the list on that day.

There was another club to which I belonged in those old days, called ”The Hooks and Eyes,” where I met for the last time poor Douglas Jerrold. He was one of the Eyes, and always on the lookout for a good thing, or the opportunity of saying one. He was certainly, in my opinion, the wittiest man of his day. But at times his wit was more hurtful than amusing. Wit should never leave a sting.

He was sometimes hard on those who were the objects of his personal dislike. Of these Sir Charles Taylor was one. He was not a welcome member of the Hooks and Eyes, and Jerrold knew it. There was really no reason why Sir Charles should not have been liked, except perhaps that he was dull and prosaic; rather simple than dull, perhaps, for he was always ready to laugh with the rest of us, whether he understood the joke or not. And what could the most brilliant do beyond that?

Sir Charles was fond of music. He mentioned in Jerrold's company on one occasion ”that 'The Last Rose of Summer' so affected him that it quite carried him away.”

”Can any one hum it?” asked Jerrold.

CHAPTER XXIII.

ALDERSON, TOMKINS, AND A FREE COUNTRY--A PROBLEM IN HUMAN NATURE.

Alderson was a very excellent man and a good Judge. I liked him, and could always deal with him on a level footing. He was quaint and original, and never led away by a false philanthropy or a sickly sentimentalism.

Appealed to on behalf of a man who had a wife and large family, and had been convicted of robbing his neighbours, ”True,” said Alderson--”very true, it is a free country. Nothing can be more proper than that a man should have a wife and a large family; it is his due--as many children as circ.u.mstances will permit. But, Tomkins, you have no right, even in a free country, to steal your neighbour's property to support them!”

I liked him where there was a weak case on the other side; he was particularly good on those occasions.

In the a.s.size Court at Chelmsford a barrister who had a great criminal practice was retained to defend a man for stealing sheep, a very serious offence in those days--one where anything less than transportation would be considered excessive leniency.

The princ.i.p.al evidence against the man was that the bones of the deceased animal were found in his garden, which was urged by the prosecuting counsel as somewhat strong proof of guilt, but not conclusive.

It must have struck everybody who has watched criminal proceedings that the person a prisoner has most to fear when he is tried is too often his own counsel, who may not be qualified by nature's certificate of capacity to defend. However, be that as it may, in this case there was no evidence against the prisoner, unless his counsel made it so.

”Counsel for the defence” in those days was a wrong description--he was called the _friend_ of the prisoner; and I should conclude, from what I have seen of this relations.h.i.+p, that the adage ”Save me from my friends” originated in this connection.

The friend of this prisoner, instead of insisting that there was no evidence, since no one could swear to the sheep bones when no man had ever seen them, endeavoured to explain away the cause of death, and thus, by a foolish concession, admitted their actual ident.i.ty. It was not Alderson's duty to defend the prisoner against his own admission, although, but for that, he would have pointed out to the Crown how absolutely illogical their proposition was in law. But the ”friend” of the prisoner suggested that sheep often put their heads through gaps or breakages in the hurdles, and rubbed their necks against the projecting points of the broken bars; and that being so, why should the jury not come to a verdict in favour of the prisoner on that ground? It was quite possible that the constant rubbing would ultimately cut the sheep's throat. If it did not, the prisoner submitted to the same operation at the hand of his ”friend.”

<script>