Part 50 (1/2)

After condoling with me on my loss and showing her sweet womanly sympathy, she concluded her letter by informing me that she had ”one of the sweetest pets eyes ever beheld, a darling devoted to her with a faithfulness which would really be a lesson to 'our specie,'” and that, in the circ.u.mstances, she would let me have her little darling for _five pounds_. I was so astonished and angry at the meanness of this ”lady of fas.h.i.+on” that I said--Well, perhaps my exact expression had better be buried in oblivion.

BALLAD OF THE UNSURPRISED JUDGE, 1895.[A]

[Footnote A: It was a well-known expression of Sir Henry Hawkins when on the Bench, ”I should be surprised at nothing;” and after the long and strange experiences which these reminiscences indicate, the literal truth of the observation is not to be doubted. This clever ballad, which was written in 1895, seems sufficiently appropriate to find a place in these memoirs, and I wish I knew the name of the writer, that my thanks and apologies might be conveyed to him for this appropriation of them.]

(”Mr. Justice Hawkins observed, 'I am surprised at nothing,'”--_Pitts v. Joseph, ”Times” Report, March 27_.)

All hail to Sir Henry, whom nothing surprises!

Ye Judges and suitors, regard him with awe, As he sits up aloft on the Bench and applies his Swift mind to the s.h.i.+fts and the tricks of the law.

Many years has he lived, and has always seen clear things That Nox seemed to hide from our average eyes; But still, though encompa.s.sed with all sorts of queer things, He never, no, never, gives way to surprise.

When a rogue, for example, a company-monger, Grows fat on the gain of the shares he has sold, While the public gets lean, winning nothing but hunger And a few sc.r.a.ps of scrip for its ma.s.ses of gold; When the fat man goes further and takes to religion, A rascal in hymn-books and Bibles disguised, ”It's a case,” says Sir Henry, ”of rook _versus_ pigeon, And the pigeon gets left--well, I'm hardly surprised.”

There's a Heath at Newmarket, and horses that run there; There are owners and jockeys, and sharpers and flats; There are some who do nicely, and some who are done there; There are loud men with pencils and satchels and hats.

But the stewards see nothing of betting or money, As they stand in the blinkers for stewards devised; Their blindness may strike Henry Hawkins as funny, But he only smiles softly--he isn't surprised.

So here's to Sir Henry, the terror of tricksters, Of law he's a master, and likewise a limb; His mind never once, when its purpose is fixed, errs: For cuteness there's none holds a candle to him.

Let them try to deceive him, why, bless you, he's _been_ there, And can track his way straight through a tangle of lies; And though some might grow gray at the things he has seen there, He never, no, never, gives way to surprise.

By the courtesy of Sir Francis Burnand, who most kindly obtained permission from Messrs. Bradbury and Agnew, I insert the following poem, which appeared in a February number of _Punch_ in the year 1887:--

THE WOMAN AND THE LAW.

(A true story, told before Mr. Justice Hawkins at the recent Liverpool a.s.sizes--_vide Daily Telegraph_, February 8.)

In the criminal dock stood a woman alone, To be judged for her crime, her one fault to repair, And the man who gave evidence sat like a stone, With a look of contempt for the woman's despair!

For the man was a husband, who'd ruined a life, And broken a heart he had found without flaw; He demanded the punishment due to the wife, Who was only a Woman, whilst his was the Law!

A terrible silence then reigned in the Court, And the eyes of humanity turned to the dock; Her head was bent down, and her sobbing came short, And the jailer stood ready, with hand on the lock Of the gate of despair, that would open no more When this wreckage of beauty was hurried away!

”Let me speak,” moaned the woman--”my lord, I implore!”

”Yes, speak,” said the Judge. ”I will hear what you say!”

”I was only a girl when he stole me away From the home and the mother who loved me too well; But the shame and the pain I have borne since that day Not a pitying soul who now listens can tell!

There was never a promise he made but he broke; The bruises he gave I have covered with shame; Not a tear, not a prayer, but he scorned as a joke!

He cursed at my children, and sneered at my fame!

”The money I'd slaved for and h.o.a.rded he'd rob; I have borne his reproaches when maddened with drink.

For a man there is pleasure, for woman a sob; It is he who may slander, but she who must think!

But at last came the day when the Law gave release, Just a moment of respite from merciless fate, For they took him to prison, and purchased me peace, Till I welcomed him home like a wife--at the gate!

”Was it wrong in repentance of Man to believe?

It is hard to forget, it is right to forgive!

But he struck me again, and he left me to grieve For the love I had lost, for the life I must live!

So I silently stole from the depths of despair, And slunk from dark destiny's chastening rod, And I crept to the light, and the life, and the air, From the town of the man to the country of G.o.d!