A consultation as to new lodgings.—Also a consultation with counsel.
It was a subject of grave discussion between the Bumpkins and Joe, as to where would be the best place for the plaintiff to lodge on his next visit to London. If he had moved in the upper ranks of life, in all probability he would have taken Mrs. Bumpkin to his town house: but being only a plain man and a farmer, it was necessary to decide upon the most convenient, and at the same time, inexpensive locality.
Mrs. Bumpkin, who, of course, knew all about her husband’s adventures, was strongly opposed to his returning to the Goose. Never had created thing lost so much in her estimation by mere association as this domestic bird. Joe was a fine soldier, no doubt, but it was the Goose that had taken him in.
Curiously enough, as they were discussing this important question, who should come in but honest Lawyer Prigg himself.
What a blessing that man seemed to be, go where he would! Why, he spread an air of hope and cheerfulness over this simple household the moment he entered it! But the greatest virtue he dispensed was resignation; he had a large stock of this on hand. He always preachedit: “resignation to the will of Providence;” resignation to him, Prigg!
So when he came in with his respectable head, professional collar, and virtuous necktie, Mr. and Mrs. Bumpkin could not choose but rise. Mr. Bumpkin meekly pulled his hair, and humbly bowed obeisance as to his benefactor. Mrs. Bumpkin curtseyed as to a superior power, whom she could not recognize as a benefactor. Joe stood up, and looked as if he couldn’t quite make out what Mr. Prigg was. He knew he worked the Law somehow, and “summut like as a man works a steam-threshing machine, but how or by what means, was a mystery unrevealed to the mind of the simple soldier.”
“Good morning! good morning!” said Mr. Prigg, after the manner of a patriarch conferring a blessing. “Well, Joe, so you are returned, are you? Come, now, let me shake hands with one of our brave heroes!”
What condescension! and his tone was the tone of a man reaching down from a giddy height to the world beneath him.
“So you were in the thick of the fight, were you—dear me! what a charge that was!” Ah, but, dear reader, you should see Prigg’s charges!
“I wur someur about, sir,” said Joe. “I dunnow where now though.”
“Quite so,” said Mr. Prigg, “it was a great victory; I’m told the enemy ran away directly they heard our troops were coming.”
“Now look at that,” said Joe; “what a lot of lies do get about sure-ly!”
“Dear me!” said Mr. Prigg; “but you beat them, did you not? we won the battle?”
“That’s right enough,” said Joe; “but if they’d run away we couldn’t a beat un—’tain’t much of a fight when there’s no enemy.”
“Haw, haw, haw!” laughed Bumpkin. “That be good, Mr. Prigg, that be good!”
“Very good, very good, indeed,” said Mr. Prigg; “I don’t wonder at your winning if you could make such sallies as that.”
And that was good for Mr. Prigg.
“And now,” said he, “to business—business, eh?”
“We be jist gwine to ’ave a nice piece o’ pork and greens, Mr. Prigg, would ee please to tak some,” said Mr. Bumpkin.
“Dear me!” answered Prigg; “how very strange, my favourite dish—if ever Mrs. Prigg is in doubt about—”
“It be wery plain,” said Bumpkin.
“The plainer the better, my dear sir; as I always say to my servants, if you—”
“I’m sure,” said Mrs. Bumpkin; “I be ’ardly fit to wait on a gennleman like you. I ain’t ’ad time this morning to change my gown and tidy up myself.”
“Really, my dear madam—don’t, now; I adjure you; make no apologies—it is not the dress—or the—or the —, anything in fact, that makes us what we are;—don’t, if you please.”
And here his profound sentiments died away again and were lost to the world; and the worthy man, not long after, was discussing his favourite dish with greedy relish.
“An when’ll this ’ere thing be on, Mr. Prigg, does thee think? It be a hell of a long time.”
“Tom! Tom!” exclaimed Mrs. Bumpkin. But Mr.Prigg was too well bred and too much occupied with his pork and greens to hear the very wayward epithet of the Farmer Bumpkin.
“Quite so,” said the lawyer; “quite so, it is so difficult to tell when a case will come on. You’re in the list to-day and gone to-morrow; a man the other day was just worried as you have been; but mark this; at the trial, Mr. Bumpkin, the jury gave that man a verdict for a thousand pounds!”
“Look at that, Nancy,” exclaimed Mr. Bumpkin; “Will ’ee tak a little more pork, sir?”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Prigg, “it’s uncommonly good; some of your own feeding, I suppose?”
“Ay,” said Mr. Bumpkin.
“Were that a pig case, Mr. Prigg, where the man got the thousand pounds?” asked Mrs. Bumpkin.
“Let me see,” answered Prigg, “wasit a pig case?” Here he put his finger to the side of his nose. “I really, at this moment, quite forget whether it was or was not a pig case. I’ll trouble you, Mrs. Bumpkin, for a little more greens, if you please.”
“Now, I wur saying,” said Bumpkin, “jist as thee comed in, where be I to lodge when I gooes to Lunnon agin?”
“Ah, now, quite so—yes; and you must go in a day or two. I expect we shall be on shortly. Now, let me see, you don’t like ‘The Goose’? A nice respectable hostelry, too!”
“I wunt ’ave un goo there, Mr. Prigg,” said Mrs. Bumpkin.
“Quite so—quite so. Now what I was thinking was, suppose you took lodgings at some nice suburban place, say—”
“What pleace, sir?” inquired Bumpkin.
“Let us say Camden Town, for instance—nice healthy neighbourhood and remarkably quiet. You could come every morning by ’bus, or if you preferred it, by rail; and if by rail, you could take a season ticket, which would be much cheaper; a six months’ ticket, again, being cheaper than a three months’ ticket.”
“In the name o’ Heaven, sir,” exclaimed Mrs. Bumpkin, “be this ’ere thing gwine on for ever?”
Mr. Prigg smiled benignly, as much as to say, “You ladies are so impatient, so innocent of the business of life.”
“It seems to me, Mr. Prigg, one need live to be as old as thic there Mackthusaler to bring a law-suit now-a-days.”
“Now, look at that!” broke in Joe, “it’s made master look forty year older aready.”
“So it have, Joe,” rejoined the mistress; “I wish it could be chucked up altogether.”
Mr. Prigg benignantly shook his head.
“D’ye think I be gwine to give in to thic sniggerin’ Snooks feller?” asked Mr. Bumpkin. “Not if I knows it. Why thic feller goo sniggerin’ along th’ street as though he’d won; and he ’ave told lots o’ people how he’ll laugh I out o’ Coourt—his counsel be gwine to laugh I out o’ Coourt becors I be a country farmer.”
“Right can’t be laughed out of Court, sir,” said the excellent Prigg, solemnly.
“Noa, noa, right bean’t asheamed, goo where ur wool. Upright and down-straight wur allays my motto. I be a plain man, but I allays tried to act straight-forrerd, and bean’t asheamed o’ no man.”
This speech was a complete success: it was unanswerable.It fixed the lodgings at Camden Town. It stopped Mrs. Bumpkin’s impatience; diminished her apprehensions; and apparently, lulled her misgivings. She was a gentle, hard-working, loving wife.
And so all was settled. It was the month of April, and it was confidently expected that by the end of July all would be comfortably finished in time to get in the harvest. The crops looked well; the meadows and clover-field promised a fair crop, and the wheat and barley never looked better.
The following week found Mr. Bumpkin in his new lodgings at Camden Town; and I verily believe, as Mr. Prigg very sagaciously observed, if it had not been for the Judges going circuit,Bumpkinv.Snookswould have been in the paper six weeks earlier than it really was. But even lawsuits must come on at last, be they never so tardy: and one day, in bustling haste, Mr. Prigg’s young man informed Mr. Bumpkin that a consultation was actually fixed at his leader’s chambers, Garden Court, Temple, at seven o’clock punctually the next day.
Bumpkin was delighted: he was to be present at the express wish of the leading counsel. So to Garden Court he went at seven, with Mr. Prigg; and there sure enough was Mr. Dynamite, his junior counsel. Mr. Catapult, Q.C., had not yet arrived. So while they waited, Mr. Bumpkin had an opportunity of looking about him; never in his life had he seen so many books. There they were all over the walls; shelves upon shelves. The chambers seemed built with books, and Mr. Bumpkin raised his eyes with awe to the ceiling, expecting to see books there.
“What be all these ’ere books, sir?” he whispered to Prigg.
“These are law books,” answered the intelligent Prigg; “but these are only a few.”
“Must be a good dale o’ law,” said Bumpkin.
“A good deal too much,” observed Mr. Dynamite, with a smile; “if we were to burn nine-tenths of the law books we should have better law, eh, Mr. Prigg?”
Mr. Prigg never contradicted counsel; and if Mr. Dynamite had said it’s a great pity that our libraries have so few authorities, Prigg would have made the same answer, “I quite agree, quite so! quite so!”
“Mr. Cats-’is-name don’t seem to come,” observed Bumpkin, after an hour and a half had passed.
“Mr.Catapult, Mr.Catapult,” said Mr. Prigg; “no, he doesn’t seem to come.” And then he rang for the clerk, and the clerk came.
“Do you think Mr. Catapult will return to-night?” inquired Prigg.
“I don’t think he will,” said the clerk, looking at his watch; “I am afraid not.”
“Beant much good to stop then,” said Mr. Bumpkin.
“I fear not,” observed the clerk, “he has so many engagements. Shall we fix another consultation, Mr. Prigg?”
“If you please,” said that gentleman.
“Say half-past seven to-morrow, then. The case, I find, is not in the paper to-morrow.”
“Quite so, quite so,” returned Prigg, “half-past seven to-morrow.”
And thus the consultation was at an end and the parties went their several ways.
Mr. Bumpkin receives compliments from distinguished persons.
One evening as Mr. Bumpkin was sitting in his little parlour, ruminating, or as he termed it, “rummaging” in his mind over many things, and especially wondering when the trial would come on, Horatio, in breathless impatience, entered the room. His excited and cheerful appearance indicated that something of an unusually pleasant nature had occurred. A strong intimacy had long been established between this boy and Mr. Bumpkin, who regarded Horatio as a kind of legal prodigy; his very hopes seemed centered in and inspired by this lad. He seemed to be the guiding spirit and the flywheel of the whole proceedings. Was Snooks to be pulverized? it must be under Horatio’s heel!
This legal stripling brought almost as much comfort as Mr. Prigg himself; and it was quite a pleasure to hear the familiar terms in which he spoke of the bigwigs of the profession. He would say of McCannister, the Queen’s Counsel, “I like Mac’s style of putting a question, it’s so soft like—it goes down like a Pick-me-up.” Then he would allude to Mr. Heavytop, Q.C., as Jack; to Mr. Bigpot as old Kettledrum; to Mr. Swagger, Q.C., as Pat; to B. C. Windbag, Q.C., M.P., as B. C.—all which indicated to the mind of Mr. Bumpkin the particularlyintimate terms upon which Horatio was with these celebrities. Nor did his intimacy cease there: instead of speaking of the highest legal official of the land in terms of respectful deference, as “my Lord High Chancellor,” or “my Lord Allworthy,”—he would say, in the most indifferent manner “Old Allworthy” this, and “Old Allworthy,” that; sometimes even, he ventured to call some of Her Majesty’s Judges by nick-names; an example which, I trust, will not be followed by the Horatios of the future. But I believe the pale boy, like his great namesake, was fearless. It was a comfort to hear him denounce the law’s delay, and the terrible “cumbersomeness” of legal proceedings: not that he did it in soothing language or in happy phraseology: it was rather in a manner that led Mr. Bumpkin to believe the young champion was standing up for his particular rights; as if he had said to the authorities, whoever they might be, “Look here! I’ll have no more of this: it’s a shame and disgrace to this country that a simple dispute between a couple of neighbours can’t be tried without months of quarrelling in Judges’ Chambers and elsewhere; if you don’t try this case before long I’ll see what can be done.” Then there was further consolation in the fact that Horatio declared that, in his opinion, TommyCatpup, Q.C., would knock Snooks into a cocked hat, and that Snooks already looked very down in the mouth.
On the evening at which I have arrived in my dream, when the pale boy came in, Mr. Bumpkin inquired what was the matter: was the case settled? Had Snooks paid the damages? Nothing of the kind. Horatio’s visit was of a common-place nature. He had simply come to inform Mr. Bumpkin that the Archbishop ofCanterbury had kindly sent him a couple of tickets for the reserved seats at Canterbury Hall.
Mr. Bumpkin was disappointed. He cared nothing for Archbishops. He was in hopes it had been something better.
“I wunt goo,” said he.
“We ought to go, I think,” said Horatio; “it was very kind of old Archy to send em, and he wouldn’t like it if we didn’t go: besides, he and the Rolls are great chums.”
“Rolls!” said Bumpkin.
“The Master of the Rolls. I shouldn’t wonder if he aint got Archy to send em—don’t you be a fool. And another thing, Paganani’s going to play the farmyard on the fiddle to-night. Gemminey, ain’t that good! You hear the pigs squeak, and the bull roar, and the old cock crow, and the sow grunt, and the horse kick—”
“How the devil can thee hear a horse kick, unless he kicks zummat?”
“Well, he does,” said Horatio; “that’s just what he does do. Let’s go, I am sure you will like it.”
“It beant one o’ these ere playhouse pleaces, be it?”
“Lor bless you,” said Horatio, “there’s pews just the same as if you was in Church: and the singing’s beautiful.”
“No sarmon, I s’pooase.”
“Not on week nights, but I’ll tell you what there is instead: a chap climbs up to the top of a high pole and stands on his head for ten minutes.”
Mr. Bumpkin, although a man who never went out of an evening, could not resist the persuasions of his pale young friend. He had never been to any place of amusement, except the Old Bailey, since he had been in London;although he had promised himself a treat to the Cattle Show, provided that came on, which was very likely, as it only wanted five months to it, before his case.
So they got on the top of a ’Bus and proceeded on their way to Lambeth Palace; for the Canterbury Hall, as everyone knows, is in that ancient pile. And truly, when they arrived everything was astonishingly beautiful and pleasing. Mr. Bumpkin was taken through the Picture Gallery, which he enjoyed, although he would have liked to see one or two like the Squire had got in his Hall, such as “Clinker,” the prize bull; and “Father Tommy,” the celebrated ram. But the Archbishop probably had never taken a prize: not much of a breeder maybe.
Now they entered the Hall amid strains of sweet, soft, enchanting music. Never before had the soul of Bumpkin been so enthralled: it was as if the region of fairyland had suddenly burst upon his astonished view. In presence of all this beauty, and this delicious cadence of sweet sounds, what a common-place thingBumpkinv.Snooksseemed!
Theirs was a very nice pew, commanding a full view of the stage and all the angelic looking beings. And evidently our friends were considered fashionable people, for many of the audience looked round at them as they entered. So awed was Mr. Bumpkin when he first sat down, that he wondered whether he ought to look into his hat as the Squire did in Church; but, resolving to be guided by Horatio, and seeing that the pale youth did not even take his billycock off, but spread his elbows out on the front ledge and clapped his hands with terrific vehemence, and shouted “Anchore” as loudly as hecould, Mr. Bumpkin, in imitation, clapped his hands and said “Hooroar!”
It was glorious. The waiter came and exchanged winks with the pale boy, and brought some soda-and-brandy and a cigar. Mr. Bumpkin wondered more and more. It was the strangest place he had ever heard of. It seemed so strange to have smoking and drinking. But then he knew there were things occurring every day that the cleverest men could not account for: not even Mr. Slater, the schoolmaster at Yokelton, could account for them.
Just in front of the two friends was another pew, a very nice one that was, and for some little time it was unoccupied. Presently with a great rustling of silks and a great smell of Jockey Club, and preceded by one of the servants of the establishment, entered two beautiful and fashionably dressed ladies of extremely quiet (except the Jockey Club) and retiring demeanour. They could not but attract Mr. Bumpkin’s attention: they so reminded him of the Squire’s daughters, only they dressed much better. How he would like Nancy to see them: she was very fond of beautiful gowns, was Nancy.
“I wonder who they be?” whispered Bumpkin.
“I don’t know,” answered Horatio; “I’ll ask as soon as I get a chance. It’s the Archbishop’s pew; I believe they are his daughters.”
“Wouldn’t ur ha come wi em?” said Bumpkin.
“He generally does, but I suppose he can’t get away to-night.”
At this moment a waiter, or as Bumpkin called him a pew opener, was passing, and Horatio whispered something in his ear, his companion looking at him the while from the corner of his eyes.
“The one on the right,” whispered the waiter, untwisting the wire of a bottle of sodawater, “is the Countess Squeezem, and the other is Lady Flora, her sister.”
Bumpkin nodded his head as much as to say, “Just see that: high life, that, if you like!”
And really the Countess and Lady Flora were as quiet and unassuming as if they had been the commonest bred people in the world.
Now came forward on the stage a sweet young lady dressed in yellow satin, with lovely red roses all down the front and one on the left shoulder, greeted by a thunder of applause. Her voice was thrilling: now it was at the back of the stage; now it was just behind your ear; now in the ceiling. You didn’t know where to have it. After she had done, Horatio said:
“What do you think of Nilsson?”
“Wery good! wery good!”
“Hallo,” says Horatio, “here’s Sims Reeves. Bravo Sims! bravo Reeves!”
“I’ve eered tell o’ he,” says Bumpkin; “he be wery young, bean’t he?”
“O,” says Horatio, “they paint up so; but ain’t he got a tenor—O gemminey crikery!”
“A tenner?” says Bumpkin, “what’s thee mean, ten pun a week?”
“O my eye!” says the youth, “he gets more than that.”
“It be good wages.”
“Yes, but it’s nothing to what some of em get,” says Horatio; “why if a man can play the fool well he can get as much as the Prime Minister.”
“Ah, and thic Prime Minister can play the fool wellat times; it seem to me—they tooked the dooty of whate and made un too chape.”
“Who’s this?” asks Horatio of the waiter.
“Patti,” says the waiter, “at the express wish of the Queen.”
Bumpkin nods again, as though there was no end to the grandeur of the company.
Then comes another no less celebrated, if Horatio was correct.
“Hullo,” says he, “here’s Trebelli!”
Now this was too much for the absorbing powers of even a Bumpkin. Horatio had carried it too far. Not that his friend had ever heard of the great vocalist, but if you are inclined for fun pray use names that will go down. Mr. Bumpkin looked hard at Horatio’s face, on which was just the faintest trace of a smile. And then he said:
“What a name,Bellie! danged if I doan’t think thee be stickin it into I,” and then he laughed and repeated, “thee be stickin it into I.”
“Now for Pagannini!” says Horatio; “now you’ll hear something. By Jove, he’ll show you!”
“Why I’ve eerd tell o’ thic Piganiny when I were a boy,” says Bumpkin, “used to play on one leg.”
“That’s the man,” says Horatio.
“But this ere man got two legs, how can he be Piganiny?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” says Horatio; “what’s it matter how many legs he’s got, just listen to that!”
“Why danged if that bean’t as much like thic Cochin Chiner cock o’ mine as ever I eered in my life.”
“Told you so,” says Horatio; “but keep quiet, you’ll hear something presently.”
And sure enough he did: pig in the straw; sow in the stye; bull in the meadow; sheep in the fold; everything was perfect.
Never before had Mr. Bumpkin been so overpowered. He never before knew what music was. Truly Piganiny was a deserving man, and a clever one too. Mr. Bumpkin’s enthusiasm had carried him thus far, when to his great satisfaction the Lady Flora looked round. It was very nice of her, because it was as if she wished to know if Mr. Bumpkin and his friend felt the same rapturous delight as she and her sister. What a nice face Lady Flora’s was! It wasn’t unlike the Squire’s eldest daughter’s. Between that, perhaps, and the Vicar’s youngest daughter’s.
Then the Countess slightly turned round, her face wearing a smile of great complaisance, and Mr. Bumpkin could have seen at once that she was a person of great distinction even if he had not been informed of her rank. Well, taken for all in all, it was a night he would never forget, and his only feeling of regret was that Mrs. Bumpkin was not present to share his pleasure—the roar of that bull would have just pleased her; it was so like Sampson.
And now the scene shifters were preparing for another performance, and were adjusting ropes and fixing poles, and what not, when, as Mr. Bumpkin was lost in profound meditation, up rose from her seat the beautiful Lady Flora, and turning round with a bewitching face, and assuming an air of inexpressible simplicity, she exclaimed to Mr. Bumpkin in the sweetest of voices: “O you duck!”
Mr. Bumpkin started as if a cannon had exploded in his face instead of a beautiful young lady. He blushed to the deepest crimson, and then the lady Flora poured into him a volley of her sweetiest prettiest laughter. Attacked thus so suddenly and so effectively, what could he do? He felt there must be some mistake, and that he ought to apologize. But the Lady Flora gave him no time; leaning forward, she held out her hand—
“Beg pardon, m’lady—thic—I—I.”
Then the Countess rose and smiled upon Mr. Bumpkin, and said she hoped he wouldn’t mind; her sister was of such a playful disposition.
The playful one here just touched Mr. Bumpkin under the chin with her forefinger, and again said he was a “perfect duck!”
“What be the manin’ o’ this?” said he. “I be off; come on, sir. This be quite enough for I.”
“Don’t go like that,” said Lady Flora. “Oh, dear, dear, what a cruel man!”
“Not a glass of wine,” said the Countess.
“Not one, Mr. Bumpkin!” urged Lady Flora.
Mr. Bumpkin had risen, and was angry: he was startled at his name being known: he looked to Horatio, hoping some explanation might come; but the pale youth had his back to him, and was preparing to leave the Hall. There were many curious eyes looking at them, and there was much laughter. Mr. Bumpkin’s appearance would alone have been sufficient to cause this: but his mind was to be farther enlightened as to the meaning of this extraordinary scene; and it happened in this wise. As he was proceeding between the rows of people, followed closely by those illustrious members of the aristocracy, the Countess and LadyFlora; while the waiters grinned and the people laughed, his eye caught sight of an object away over the front seat, which formed a right angle with the one he had been occupying; it was an object unattractive in itself but which, under the circumstances, fixed and riveted his attention; that object was Snooks, in the corner of the third row, with his sawpit mouth on the broadest grin.
The trial.
Who shall describe the feelings of joy which animated the breast of Mr. Bumpkin when at last, with the suddenness of lightning, Mr. Prigg’s clerk flashed into his little parlour the intelligence, “Case in paper; be at Court by ten o’clock; Bail Court.” Such was the telegram which Mr. Bumpkin got his landlady to read on that pleasant evening towards the end of July. The far-seeing Prigg was right. It would come on about the end of July. That is what he had predicted. But it would not have been safe for Mr. Bumpkin to be away from town for a single day. It might have been in the paper at any moment; and here it was, just as he was beginning to get tired of “Camden Town and the whole thing.”
Mr. Bumpkin put on a clean shirt, with a good stiff high collar, which he had reserved from Mrs. Bumpkin’s wash; for, in his opinion, there was no stiffening in the London starch, and no getting up like Mrs. Bumpkin’s. He put on his best neckerchief, and a bran new waistcoat which he had bought for Sundays six years ago at the market town. He put on his drab coat with the long tails, which he had worn on the day of his marriage, and had kept for his best ever since; he put on his velvetylooking corduroy trowsers and his best lace-up watertight boots; and then, after a good breakfast, put on his white beaver hat, took his ash-stick, and got into a Westminster ‘Bus. What a beautiful morning it was! Just the morning for a law suit! Down he got at Palace Yard, walked towards the spacious door of the old hall, entered its shadowy precincts, and then, in my dream, I lost sight of him as he mingled with the crowd. But I saw some few moments after in the Bail Court enter, amidst profound silence and with impressive dignity, Mr. Justice Stedfast. Let me here inform the reader that if by any chance, say by settlement, postponement or otherwise, the first case in the list “goes off,” as it is called (from its bearing a striking resemblance to the unexpected going off of a gun), and the parties in the next case, taken by surprise, are not there at the moment, that case goes off by being struck out; and very often the next and the next, and so on to the end of the list. Parties therefore should be ready, so as to prevent a waste of time. The time of the Court is not to be wasted by parties not being ready. Now, strangely enough, this is what happened in the case ofBumpkinv.Snooks. Being number eight, no one thought it would be reached; and the leading counsel, and also the junior counsel being engaged elsewhere; and Mr. Prigg and Mr. Prigg’s clerk not having arrived; and Mr. Bumpkin not knowing his way; at five minutes after the sitting of the Court, so expeditious are our legal proceedings, the celebrated case was actually reached, and this is what took place:
“Are the parties ready?” inquired his Lordship.
Mr. Ricochet, Q.C., who appeared with Mr. Weasel for the defendant, said he was ready for the defendant.
“Call the plaintiff!” said a voice.
Loud cries for Bumpkin, who was just pushing his way down the passage outside.
“Does anyone answer?” asked his lordship; “do you know if any gentleman is instructed, Mr. Ricochet?”
“I am not aware, my lud.”
“Stand up and be sworn, gentlemen,” says the associate. Up stood the jury; and in less than half a minute they found a verdict for the defendant, counterclaim being abandoned, just as Mr. Bumpkin had pushed into Court. And judgment is given.
The business having been thus got through, the Court rose and went away. And then came in both counsel and Mr. Prigg and Horatio; and great complaints were made of everybody except the Judge, who couldn’t help it.
But our administration of justice is not so inelastic that it cannot adapt itself to a set of circumstances such as these. It was only to make a few more affidavits, and to appear before his lordship by counsel, and state the facts in a calm and respectful manner, to obtain the necessary rectification of the matter. All was explained and all forgiven.Bumpkinv.Snookswas to be restored to the paper upon payment of the costs of the day—a trifling matter, amounting only to about eighteen pounds seventeen shillings. But a severe admonition from the Bench accompanied this act of grace: “The Court cannot be kept waiting,” said his lordship; “and it is necessary that all suitors should know that if they are not here when their cases are called on they will be struck out, or the party to the cause who is here will be entitled to a verdict, if the defendant; or to try his case in the other’s absence, if he be the plaintiff. It was idle to supposethat parties could not be there in time: it was their business to be there.”
At this every junior barrister nodded approvingly, and the usher called silence.
Of course, the cause could not be in the paper again for some time: they must suit Mr. Ricochet’s convenience now: and accordingly another period of waiting had to be endured. Mr. Bumpkin was almost distracted, but his peace of mind was restored by the worthy Prigg, who persuaded him that a most laudable piece of good fortune had been brought about by his intervention; and that was the preventing the wily Snooks from keeping the verdict he had snatched.
What a small thing will sometimes comfort us!
Mr. Bumpkin was, indeed, a lucky man; for if his case had not been in the paper when at last it was, it would have “gone over the Long Vacation.”
At length I saw Mr. Justice Pangloss, the eminent Chancery Judge, take his seat in the Bail Court. He was an immense case lawyer. He knew cases that had been tried in the reigns of the Edwards and Henries. A pig case could not, therefore, come amiss.
A case lawyer is like Moses and Sons; he can fit anybody, from Chang down to a midget. But there is sometimes an inconvenience in trying to fit an old precedent on to new circumstances: and I am not unfrequently reminded of the boy whose corduroy trousers were of the exact length, and looked tolerable in front; but if you went round they stuck out a good deal on the other side. He might grow to them, no doubt, but it is a clumsy mode of tailoring after all.
Now Mr. Bumpkin, of course, could not be sure that his case was “coming on.” All he knew was, that hemust avoid Snooks’ snatching another verdict. He had been to great expense, and a commission had actually been issued to take Joe’s evidence while his regiment was detained at Malta. Mr. Prigg had taken the plaintiff into a crowd, and there had left him early in the morning.
Mr. Bumpkin’s appearance even in the densest crowd was attractive, to say the least: and many and various were the observations from time to time made by the vulgar roughs around as to his personal appearance. His shirtcollar was greatly praised, so was the beauty of his waistcoat: while I heard one gentleman make an enquiry which showed he was desirous of ascertaining what was the name of the distinguished firm which had the honour of supplying him with hats. One said it was Heath, he could tell by the brim; another that it was Cole, he went by the polish; and the particular curl of the brim, which no other hatter had ever succeeded in producing. While another gentleman with one eye and half a nose protested that it was one of Lincoln and Bennett’s patent dynamite resisters on an entirely new principle.
The subject of all these remarks listened as one in doubt as to whether they were levelled at him or in any other direction. He glanced at the many eyes turned upon him, and heard the laughter that succeeded every new witticism. His uncertainty as to whether he was “the party eamed at,” heightened the amusement of the wits.
Now came a bolder and less mistakable allusion to his personal appearance:
“I should like Gladstone to see that, Jem; talk abouta collar! the Grand Old Man’s nowhere—he’d better take to turndowns after this.”
“Yes,” replied the gentleman addressed; “I think this would settle him—is he liberal or tory, I wonder?”
“Tory, you’re sure—wotes for the Squoire, I’ll warrant. A small loaf and a big jail.”
Mr. Bumpkin turned his eyes first towards one speaker and then towards another without moving his head, as he thought:
“Danged if I doan’t bleeve thee means I.” But he wisely said nothing.
“I say,” said another, “I wonder if pigeon’s milk is good for the complexion.”
“No,” said Jem, “it makes your nose red, and makes the hair sprout out of the top of it.”
Here was a laugh all round, which made the Usher call out silence; and the Judge said he would have the Court cleared if order was not preserved. Then there was a loud shouting all over the Court for “Thomas Bumpkin!”
“Here I be!” said Bumpkin, amid more laughter—and especially of the wits around him. Then a great bustling and hustling, and pushing and struggling took place.
“Danged if that beant my case,” said Mr. Bumpkin; “but it ain’t my counsellor.”
“Make way for the plaintiff,” shouted the Usher; “stand on one side—don’t crowd up this passage. This way, sir, make haste; the Court’s waiting for you, why do you keep the Court waiting in this way?”
“I was just going to strike your case out,” said the Judge, “the public time can’t be wasted in this way.”
Bumpkin scrambled along through the crowd, and washustled into the witness-box. The Judge put up his eye-glass, and looked at the plaintiff as though he was hardly fit to bring an action in a Superior Court. Up went the book into his hand. “Take the book in your right hand. Kiss the book; now attend and speak up—speak up so that those gentlemen may hear.”
“Why weren’t you here before?” asked the Judge.
“I wur, my lord?”
“Didn’t you hear your learned counsel opening your case?”
“I didn’t know it wur my case,” said Bumpkin, amid roars of laughter.
“I don’t wonder at that,” said Mr. Ricochet, looking at the jury.
“Now then,” said the Judge.
“And now, then,” said Mr. Silverspoon; for neither of his own counsel was able to be present.
“You are a farmer, I believe?”
“I be.”
“On the 29th of May, 18--; did the defendant come to your farm?”
“Ur did.”
“Did he buy a pig?”
“Ur did not; but ur said he’d be d---d if ur wouldn’t ’ave un.”
“And did he come and take it away?”
“Ur did; pulled un slick out of the sty; and when I tried to stop un in the Lane, took un by main force?”
Mr. Silverspoon sat down.
“What was the age of this pig, Mr. Bumpkin,” enquired the Judge.
“He wur ten weeks old, your lord.”
“Isn’t there a calf case, Mr. Ricochet, very similar to this?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I think,” said Mr. Justice Pangloss, “it was tried in the reign of James the First.”
Mr. Ricochet, who knew nothing of the calf case, except what his Lordship had told him, said he believed it was.
“If this was anything,” continued Mr. Ricochet, “upon the plaintiff’s own showing it was a felony, and the plaintiff should have prosecuted the defendant criminally before having recourse to his civil remedy; that is laid down in the sheep case reported in Walker’s Trumpery Cases.”
“What volume of the Trumpery Cases is that, Mr. Ricochet?”
“Six hundred and fifty, my lud.”
His Lordship writes it down. “Page?” says his lordship.
“Nineteen hundred and ninety-five, my lud; about the middle of the book.”
Judge calls to the Usher to bring the six hundred and fiftieth volume of Walker’s Trumpery Cases.
“But there’s a case before that,” said his lordship. “There’s a case, if I recollect rightly, about the time of Julius Cæsar—the donkey case.”
“It’s on all fours with this,” said Mr. Ricochet.
“What do you say, Mr. Silverspoon?”
Then Mr. Silverspoon proceeded to show that none of those cases was on all fours with the present case; and a long and interesting argument followed between the Bench and the Bar. And it was said by those who were most competent to judge, that Mr. Silverspoon quitedistinguished himself for the wonderful erudition he displayed in his knowledge of the donkey case, and several other cases of four-footed beasts that were called to his attention by Mr. Justice Pangloss. A perfect menagerie was “adduced.” Mr. Bumpkin meanwhile wondering where he was, and what on earth they had all got to do with the plain fact of Snooks taking his pig without paying for it.
At length, after four hours had been consumed in these learned disquisitions, Mr. Justice Pangloss, reviewing the judgments of the various eminent lawyers who had presided over the respective cases in the several reigns, and after quoting many observations of those eminent jurists, said that in order to save time he would hold, for the purposes of to-day, that Mr. Bumpkin was entitled to bring his action: but, of course, he would reserve the point; he was by no means clear; he considered himself bound by authority; and as the point was extremely important, and left undecided after no less than twelve hundred years of argument on the one side and the other, he thought it ought to be solemnly settled. An unsettled state of the law was a very bad thing in his lordship’s opinion; especially in these modern times, when it appeared to him that the public were clamouring for further reform, and a still further simplification of legal procedure.
This suited Mr. Ricochet exactly; he could not be said now to have lost his case, even if the jury should find against him. But he had yet to cut up Bumpkin in cross-examination. The old trial was brought up against the plaintiff; and every thing that could tend to discredit him was asked. Mr. Ricochet, indeed, seemed to think that the art of cross-examination consistedin bullying a witness, and asking all sorts of questions tending to cast reflections upon his character. He was especially great in insinuating perjury; knowing that that is always open to a counsel who has no other defence.
“Will you swear that?” was asked at almost every answer; sometimes prefaced by the warning, “Be careful, sir—be careful.” If he could get hold of anything against a witness’s character, be it ever so small, and at ever so remote a distance in the man’s life, he brought it out; and being a Queen’s Counsel he did not always receive the reproofs that would have crushed a stuff gownsman into respectable behaviour.
“Were you charged with assaulting a female in the public streets, sir?”
“No, I worn’t.”
“Be careful, sir—she may be in Court.”
“Let her come forward then,” said the courageous Silverspoon, who was by no means wanting in tact.
“Will you be quiet, sir,” retorted Ricochet. “Now Mr. Bumpkin, or whatever your name is, will you swear she did not accuse you of assaulting her?”
“She coomed oop, and it’s my belief she wur in the robbery.”
“Bravo Bumpkin!” said one of the men who had chaffed him. And the jury looked at one another in a manner that showed approval.
“Will you swear, sir, you have never been in trouble?”
“I donnow what thee means.”
“Be careful, sir; you know what I mean perfectly well.”
Then Locust whispers to him, and he says:
“O, you frequent Music Halls, don’t you?”
“Donnow what thee means,” says Bumpkin.
“O, you don’t, don’t you; will you swear that?”
“I wool.”
“Be careful, sir. Were you at the Canterbury Hall with two women, who passed as the Countess and Lady Flora?”
“It be a lie!”
And thus every form of torture was ruthlessly employed, till Mr. Bumpkin broke down under it, and cried like a child in the witness-box. This awakened sympathy for him. There had been much humour and much laughter; and Mr. Ricochet having no knowledge of human nature, was not aware how closely allied are laughter and tears; that in proportion as the jury had laughed at the expense of Mr. Bumpkin they would sympathize with his unhappy position.
“I’ve worked hard,” said he, “for sixty year, and let any man come forrard and say I’ve wronged man, ooman, or child!”
That was a point for Bumpkin. Every one said, “Poor old man!” and even his Lordship, who was supposed to have no feeling, was quite sympathetic. Only Mr. Ricochet was obtuse. He had no heart, and very little skill, or he would have managed his case more adroitly. “Badgering” is not much use if you have no better mode of winning your case.
“Stand down, Mr. Bumpkin,” said his counsel, as Mr. Ricochet resumed his seat amid the suppressed hisses of the gallery.
“Joseph Wurzel,” said Mr. Silverspoon.
Joe appeared in the uniform of the Hussars. And he wore a medal too. Mr. Ricochet had no sympathywith heroes any more than he had with men of letters, artists, or any other class of talent. He was a dry, uncompromising, blunt, unfeeling lawyer, looking at justice as a thimblerig looks at his pea; lift which thimble you may, he will take care the pea shall not be found if he can help it. He smiled a grim, inhuman smile at Bumpkin’s tears, and muttered that he was an “unmanly milksop.”
Joe gave his evidence briefly and without hesitation. Everyone could see he was speaking the truth; everybody but Mr. Ricochet, who commenced his cross-examination by telling him to be careful, and that he was upon his oath.
“Be careful, sir;” he repeated.
Joe looked.
“You are on your oath, sir.” Joe faced him.
“You deserted your master, did you?”
“No,” said Joe; “I aint no deserter?”
“But you enlisted.”
“I don’t know as that’s desertion,” said Joe; “and I’m here to speak for him now; and I give my evidence at Malta, too.”
“Do you swear that, sir?” enquired Mr. Ricochet. “Were you not with your master when the young woman accused him of assaulting her?”
“I was not.”
“Why did you enlist, then?” enquired Mr. Ricochet.
“Cause I choose to,” said Joe.
“Now, sir, upon your oath; I ask you, did you not enlist because of this charge?”
“No; I never heard on it till arter I was listed.”
“When did you hear of it?”
“At the trial at the Old Bailey.”
“O,” said the learned Q.C.; “wait a minute, you were there, were you? Were you there as a witness?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I warnt.”
“Will you swear that?” asked Ricochet, amid roars of laughter.
“What were you there for?”
“To hear the trial!”
“And you were not called?”
“No.”
“And do you mean on your oath, sir, to say that you had enlisted at that time.”
“Now look at that,” said Joe; “the Sergeant there enlisted me, and he knows.”
“I suppose you had seen your master’s watch many times?”
“I’d seen it,” said Joe.
“And did not give evidence!”
“No; I warnt called, and know’d nothing about it.”
“You’ve been paid for coming here, I suppose?”
“Not a farden, and wouldn’t take un; he bin a good maister to me as ever lived.”
“And you left him. Now then, sir, be careful; do you swear you heard Bumpkin say Snooks should not have the pig?”
“I do.”
“Have you been speaking to anyone about this case before to-day?”
Joe thought a bit.
“Be careful, sir, I warn you,” says Ricochet.
“Yes,” said Joe; “I have.”
“I thought so. When? To whom?”
And here an air of triumph lit up the features of Mr. Ricochet.
“Afore I comed here.”
“When! let’s have it?”
“Outside the Court.”
“To Bumpkin?”
“No; to that there Locust; he axed un—”
“Never mind what he axed you;” said Ricochet, whose idea of humour consisted in the repetition of an illiterate observation; and he sat down—as well he might—after such an exhibition of the art of advocacy.
But on re-examination, it turned out that Mr. Locust had put several questions to Joe with a view of securing his evidence himself at a reasonable remuneration, and of contradicting Mr. Bumpkin.
This caused the jury to look at one another with grave faces and shake their heads.
Mr. Ricochet began and continued his speech in the same common-place style as his cross-examination; abusing everyone on the other side, especially that respectable solicitor, Mr. Prigg; and endeavouring to undo his own bad performance with the witness by a worse speech to the jury. What he was going to show, and what he was going to prove, was wonderful; everybody who had been called was guilty of perjury; everybody he was going to call would be a paragon of all the virtues. He expatiated upon the great common sense of the jury (as though they were fools), relied on their sound judgment and denounced the conduct of Mr. Bumpkin in the witness-box as a piece of artful acting, intended to appeal to the weakness of the jury. But all was useless. Snooksmade a sorry figure in the box. He was too emphatic, too positive, too abusive. Mr. Ricochet could not get over his own cross-examination. The ridiculous counterclaim with its pettifogging innuendoes vanished before that common sense of the jury to which Mr. Ricochet so dryly appealed. The edifice erected by the modern pleader’s subtle craftiness was unsubstantial as the icy patterns on the window-pane, which a single breath can dissipate. And yet these ingenious contrivances were sufficient to give an unimportant case an appearance of substantiality which it otherwise would not have possessed.
The jury, after a most elaborate charge from Mr. Justice Pangloss, who went through the cases of the last 900 years in the most careful manner, returned a verdict for the plaintiff with twenty-five pounds damages. The learned Judge did not give judgment, inasmuch as there were points of law to be argued. Mr. Bumpkin, although he had won his case so far as the verdict was concerned, did not look by any means triumphant. He had undergone so much anxiety and misery, that he felt more like a man who had escaped a great danger than one who had accomplished a great achievement.
Snooks’ mouth, during the badgering of the witnesses, which was intended for cross-examination was quite a study for an artist or a physiologist. When he thought a witness was going to be caught, the orifice took the form of a gothic window in a ruinous condition. When he imagined the witness had slipped out of the trap laid for him, it stretched horizontally, and resembled a baker’s oven. He was of too coarse a nature to suspect that his own counsel had damaged his case, and believed the result of the trial to have been due to theplaintiff’s “snivelling.” He left the Court with a melancholy downcast look, and his only chance of happiness hereafter in this life seemed now to be in proportion to his power of making Mr. Bumpkin miserable. Mr. Locust was not behind in his advice on their future course; and, after joining his client in the hall, at once pointed out the utterly absurd conclusion at which the jury had arrived; declared that there must be friends of the plaintiff among them, and that Mr. Ricochet would take the earliest opportunity of moving for a new trial; a piece of information which quite lit up the coarse features of his client, as a breath of air will bring a passing glow to the mouldering embers of an ash-heap on a dark night.
Motion for rule nisi, in which is displayed much learning, ancient and modern.
On the following day there was a great array of judicial talent and judicial dignity sitting in what is called “Banco,” not to be in any way confounded with “Sancho;” the two words are totally distinct both as to their meaning and etymology. In the centre of the Bench sat Mr. Justice Doughty, one of the clearest heads perhaps that ever enveloped itself in horsehair. On his right was Mr. Justice Pangloss, and on his left Mr. Justice Technical.
Then arose from the Queen’s Counsel row, Mr. Ricochet to apply for a rulenisifor a new trial in the cause ofBumpkinv.Snookswhich was tried yesterday before Mr. Justice Pangloss.
“Before me?” says Mr. Justice Pangloss.
“Yes, my lud,” says Mr. Ricochet.
“Are you sure?” enquired the learned Judge, turning over his notes.
“O, quite, my lud.”
“Ah!” says his lordship: “what do you say the name of the case was?”
“BumpkinagainstSnooks, my lud,” says Mr. Ricochet, Q.C.
“Coots; what was it,—a Bill of Exchange?” asks his lordship.
“Snooks, my lud, Snooks;” says Mr. Ricochet, “with the greatest deference, my lud, his name is spelt with an S.”
Judge, still turning over his book from end to end calls to his clerk, and addressing Mr. Ricochet, says: “When do you say it was tried, Mr. Ricochet?”
“Yesterday, my lud; with great submission, my lud, I overheard your ludship say Coots. Snooks, my lud.”
Then all the Judges cried “Snooks!” as if it had been a puzzle or a conundrum at a family Christmas party, and they had all guessed it at once.
“Bring me the book for this term,” said the Judge sharply to his clerk.
“What was the name of the plaintiff?” enquired Mr. Justice Doughty.
“Bumpkin, my lud,” said Mr. Ricochet, “with great deference.”
“Ah, Pumpkin, so it was,” said the presiding Judge.
“With great submission, my lud, Bumpkin!”
“Eh?”
“Bumpkin, my lud;” and then all the Judges’ cried “Bumpkin!” as pleased as the followers of Columbus when they discovered America.
“Ah, here it is,” said Mr. Justice Pangloss, passing his forefinger slowly along the page; “the name of the case you refer to, Mr. Ricochet, isBumpkinv.Snooks, notCootsv.Pumpkin, and it was tried before me and a special jury on the twenty-eighth of July of the present year.”
“Yes, my lud, with all submission.”
“Why, that was yesterday,” said Mr. Justice Pangloss. “Why did you not say so; I was referring to last year’s book.”
“With all deference, my lud—”
“Never mind, never mind, Mr. Ricochet; let us get on.”
“What do you move for?” asked Mr. Justice Doughty.
“A new trial, my lud.”
“A new trial—yes—? Which way was the verdict, Mr. Ricochet?”
“Verdict for the plaintiff, my lud.”
“And whom do you appear for?”
“I am for the defendant, my lud.”
“O! you’re for the defendant. Stop—let me have my note correct. I find it always of great assistance when the rule comes on to be argued. I don’t say you’re going to have a rule. I must know a little more of the case before we grant a rule.”
“If your ludship pleases.”
I did not gather what his lordship intended to say when he made the observations recorded, and can only regret that his lordship should have broken off so abruptly.
“What ground do you move upon, Mr. Ricochet.”
Mr. Ricochet said, “The usual grounds, my lud; that is to say, that the verdict was against the weight of evidence.”
“Stop a minute,” said Mr. Justice Doughty; “let me have my note correct, ‘against the weight of evidence,’ Mr. Ricochet.”
“Misdirection, my lud—with all respect to Mr. Justice Pangloss—and wrongful admission of evidence.”
“What was the action for?”
Now this was a question that no man living had been able to answer yet. What was in the pleadings, that is, the pattern of the lawyer’s net, was visible enough; but as regards merits, I predict with the greatest confidence, that no man will ever be able to discover what the action ofBumpkinversusSnookswas about. But it speaks wonders for the elasticity of our system of jurisprudence and the ingenuity of our lawyers that such a case could beinvented.
“Trespass,” said Ricochet, “was one paragraph; then there was assault and battery; breach of contract in not accepting a pig at the price agreed; trespass in seizing the pig without paying for it; and then, my lud, there were the usual money counts, as they used to be called, to which the defendant pleaded, among other pleas, a right of way; an easement; leave and license; a right to take the pig; that the pig was the property of the defendant, and various other matters. Then, my lud, there was a counter-claim for slander, for assault and battery; for loss of profit which would have been made if the pig had been delivered according to contract; breach of contract for the non-delivery of the pig.”
Mr. Justice Doughty: “This was pig-iron, I suppose?”
The two other Judges fell back, shaking their sides with laughter; and then forcibly thrust their hands against their hips which made their tippets stick out very much, and gave them a dignified and imposing appearance. Then, seeing the Judges laugh, all the bar laughed, and all the ushers laughed, and all the public laughed. The mistake, however, was a very easy one to fall into, and when Mr. Justice Doughty, who was anexceedingly good-tempered man, saw the mistake he had made, he laughed as much as any man, and even caused greater laughter still by good-humouredly and wittily observing that he supposed somebody must be a pigheaded man. To which Mr. Ricochet laughingly replied, that he believed the plaintiff was a very pigheaded man.
“Now,” said Mr. Justice Pangloss, “have you considered what Vinnius in his ‘Commentary on Urban Servitudes’ says.”
Mr. Ricochet said, “Hem!” and that was the very best answer he could make to the learned Pangloss, and if he only continues to answer in that manner he’ll get any rule he likes to apply for—(no, not the Rule of Three, perhaps).
So Mr. Justice Pangloss went on:
“There are, as Gale says, ‘two classes of easements distinctly recognised by the Civil Law—’”
“Hem!” said Ricochet.
“‘Under the head of “Urban Servitudes—’”
Ricochet: “Hem!”
“‘That a man,’ (continued Mr. Justice Pangloss), ‘shall receive upon his house or land theflumenorstillicidiumof his neighbour—’”
“Hem!” coughed Mr. Ricochet, in a very high key; I verily believe in imitation of that wonderful comedian, J. C. Clarke.
Then Mr. Justice Pangloss proceeded, to the admiration of the whole Bar:
“‘The difference,’ says Vinnius, in his Commentary on this passage, between theflumenand thestillicidiumis this—the latter is the rain falling from the roof by drops (guttatim et stillatim).’”
“Hem!” from the whole Bar.
“‘Theflumen’—”
“I think,” said Mr. Justice Doughty, “you are entitled to a rule on that point, Mr. Ricochet.”
Then Mr. Justice Technical whispered, and I heard Mr. Justice Doughty say the principle was the same, although there might be some difference of opinion about the facts, which could be argued hereafter. “But what is the misreception of evidence, Mr. Ricochet? I don’t quite see that.”
“With all submission, my lud, evidence was admitted of what the solicitor for the defendant said to the plaintiff.”
“Wait a minute, let me see how that stands,” said Mr. Justice Doughty; “the solicitor for the defendant said something to the plaintiff, I don’t quite follow that.”
Mr. Justice Technical observed that it was quite clear that what is said by the solicitor of one party to the solicitor of another party is not evidence.
“O,” said the learned Pangloss, “so far back as the time of Justinian it was laid down—”
“And that being so,” said the eminent Chancery Judge, Mr. Justice Technical, “I should go so far as to say, that what the solicitor of one party says to the client stands upon the same footing.”
“Precisely,” said Mr. Ricochet
“I think you are entitled to a rule on that point,” remarked Mr. Justice Doughty, “although my brother Pangloss seems to entertain some doubt as to whether there was any such evidence.”
“O, my lud, with all submission, with the greatest possible deference and respect to the learned Judge, Iassure your ludship that it was so, for I have a note of it.”
“I was about to say,” continued Mr. Justice Doughty, “as my brother Pangloss says, it may have been given while he was considering a point in Justinian. What is the misdirection?”
“O, my lud, the misdirection was, I venture respectfully and deferentially to submit, and with the utmost deference to the learned Judge, in his lordship’s telling the jury that if they found that the right of way which the defendant set up in his answer to the trespass, or easement—but perhaps, my lud, I had better read from the short-hand writer’s notes of his ludship’s summing-up. This is it, my lud, his ludship said: ‘In an action for stopping of hisancientlights —.”
“What!” said Mr. Justice Doughty, “did he black the plaintiff’s eyes, then?”
“No, my lud,” said Mr. Ricochet, “that was never alleged or suggested.”
“I only used it by way of illustration,” said Mr. Justice Pangloss.
Then their lordships consulted together, and after about three-quarters of an hour’s conversation the learned Mr. Justice Doughty said:
“You can take a rule, Mr. Ricochet.”
“On all points, my lud, if your ludships please.”
“It will be more satisfactory,” said his lordship, “and then we shall see what there is in it. At present, I must confess, I don’t understand anything about it.”
And I saw that what there was really in it was very much like what there is in a kaleidoscope, odds and ends, which form all sorts of combinations when you twist and turn them about in the dark tube of a “legal argument.”And so poor Bumpkin was deprived of the fruit of his victory. Truly the law is very expeditious. Before Bumpkin had got home with the cheerful intelligence that he had won, the wind had changed and was setting in fearfully from the north-east. Juries may find as many facts as they like, but the Court applies the law to them; and law is like gunpowder in its operation upon them,—twists them out of all recognisable shape. It is very difficult in a Court of law to get over “guttatims” and “stillatims,” even in an action for the price of a pig.