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 of Canterbury 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 thing Bumpkin v. Snooks seemed!

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 he could, 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 well at 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 Lady Flora; 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.



CHAPTER XXXV.

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 velvety looking 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 of Bumpkin v. 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. Bumpkin v. Snooks was 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 suppose that 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 he must 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 about a 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 was hustled 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 Caesar—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 quite distinguished 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 consisted in 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 sympathy with 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. Snooks made 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 the plaintiff'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.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

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 rule nisi for a new trial in the cause of Bumpkin v. Snooks which 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?"

"Bumpkin against Snooks, 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, is Bumpkin v. Snooks, not Coots v. 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 of Bumpkin versus Snooks was about. But it speaks wonders for the elasticity of our system of jurisprudence and the ingenuity of our lawyers that such a case could be invented.

"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 an exceedingly 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 the flumen or stillicidium of 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 the flumen and the stillicidium is this—the latter is the rain falling from the roof by drops (guttatim et stillatim).'"

"Hem!" from the whole Bar.

"'The flumen'—"

"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, I assure 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 his ancient lights —."

"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.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

Mr. Bumpkin is congratulated by his neighbours and friends in the market place and sells his corn.

What a lovely peace there was again over the farm! It was true Mr. Bumpkin had not obtained as large a measure of damages as his solicitor had led him to anticipate, but he was triumphant, and that over a man like Snooks was something. So the damages were forgotten beneath that peaceful August sky. How bright the corn looked! There was not a particle of "smut" in the whole field. And it was a good breadth of wheat this year for Southwood Farm. The barley too, was evidently fit for malting, and would be sure to fetch a decent price: especially as they seemed to say there was not much barley this year that was quite up to the mark for malting. The swedes, too, were coming on apace, and a little rain by and by would make them swell considerably. So everything looked exceedingly prosperous, except perhaps the stock. There certainly were not so many pigs. Out of a stye of eleven there was only one left. The sow was nowhere to be seen. She had been sold, it appeared, so no more were to be expected from that quarter. When Mr. Bumpkin asked where "old Jack" was (that was the donkey), he was informed that "the man" had fetched it. "The man" it appeared was always fetching something. Yesterday it was pigs; the day before it was ducks; the day before that it was geese; and about a week ago it was a stack of this year's hay: a stack of very prime clover indeed. Then "the man" took a fancy to some cheeses which Mrs. Bumpkin had in the dairy, some of her very finest make. She remonstrated, but "the man" was peremptory. But what most surprised Mr. Bumpkin, and drew tears from Mrs. Bumpkin's eyes, was when the successful litigant enquired how the bull was.

Mrs. Bumpkin had invented many plans with a view to "breaking this out" to her husband: and now that the time had come every plan was a failure. The tears betrayed her.

"What, be he dead?" enquired Mr. Bumpkin.

"O, no, Tom—no, no—"

"Well, what then?"

"The man!"

"The man! The devil's in thic man, who be he? Where do ur come from? I'll bring an action agin him as sure's he's alive or shoot un dead wi my gun;" here Mr. Bumpkin, in a great rage, got up and went to the beam which ran across the kitchen ceiling, and formed what is called the roof-tree of the house, by the side of which the gun was suspended by two loops.

"No, no, Tom, don't—don't—we have never wronged any one yet, and don't—don't now."

"But I wool," said Bumpkin; "what! be I to be stripped naaked and not fight for th' cloathes—who be thic feller as took the bull?"

Mrs. Bumpkin was holding her apron to her eyes, and for a long while could say nothing.

"Who be he, Nancy?"

"I don't know, Tom—but he held a paper in his hand writ all over as close as the stubble-rows in the field, and he said thee had signed un."

"Lord! lord!" exclaimed Mr. Bumpkin, and then sat down on the settle and looked at the fire as though it threw a light over his past actions. He couldn't speak for a long time, not till Mrs. Bumpkin went up to him and laid her hand upon his shoulder, and said:

"Tom! Tom! thee ha winned the case."

"Aye, aye," said Bumpkin, starting up as from a reverie. "I ha winned, Nancy. I ha beat thic there Snooks; ur wont snigger now when ur gooes by—lor, lor,—our counsellor put it into un straight, Nancy."

"Did ur, Tom?—well, I be proud."

"Ah!" said Bumpkin, "and what d'ye think?—it wornt our counsellor, that is the Queen's Counsellor nuther; he wornt there although I paid un, but I spoase he'll gie up the money, Nancy?"

"Were it much, Tom?"

"Farty guineas!"

"Farty guineas, Tom! Why, it wur enough to set up housekeepin wi—and thee only winned twenty-five, Tom; why thic winnin were a heavy loss I think."

"Now, lookee ere," said Bumpkin; "I oughter had five undered, as Laryer Prigg said, our case were that good, but lor it baint sartain: gie I a little gin and water, Nancy—thee ain't asked I to have a drap since I bin oame."

"Lor, Tom, thee knows I be all for thee, and that all be thine."

"It beant much, it strikes me; lor, lor, whatever shall us do wirout pigs and sheep, and wirout thic bull. I be fit to cry, Nancy, although I winned the case."

Tom had his gin and water and smoked his pipe, and went to bed and dreamed of all that had taken place. He rose with the lark and went into the fields and enjoyed once again the fresh morning air, and the sweet scent of the new hayrick in the yard; and, without regarding it, the song of the lark as it shot heavenward and poured down its stream of glad music: but there was amidst all a sadness of spirit and a feeling of desolation. It was not like the old times when everything seemed to welcome him about the farm wherever he went. The work of "the man" was everywhere. But the harvest was got in, and a plentiful harvest it was: the corn was threshed, and one day Mr. Bumpkin went to market with his little bags of samples of the newly-housed grain. Everybody was glad to see him, for he was known everywhere as a regular upright and down-straight man. Every farmer and every corn-dealer and cattle-dealer congratulated him in his homely way on his success. They looked at his samples and acknowledged they were very bright and weighty. "I never liked that Snooks feller," was the general cry, and at the farmers' ordinary, which was held every market day at the "Plough," every one who knew Bumpkin shook hands and wished him well, and after dinner, before they broke up, Farmer Gosling proposed his health, and said how proud he "were that his old neighbour had in the beautiful words o' the National Anthem, 'confounded their politicks': and he hoped that the backbone o' old England, which were the farmers, wornt gwine to be broked jist yet awhile. Farmin might be bad, but yet wi little cheaper rents and a good deal cheaper rates and taxes, there'd be good farmin and good farmers in England yit."

Now this speech, I saw in my dream, brought down the house. Everyone said it was more to the point than the half-mile speeches which took up so much of the newspapers to the exclusion of murders, burglaries and divorces. And in truth, now I come to look at it in my waking moments, I respectfully commend it to our legislators, or what is better, to their constituencies, as embodying on this subject both the principles of true conservatism and true liberalism: and I don't see what the most exacting of politicians can require more than that.

Mr. Bumpkin made a suitable reply—that is to say, "he wur mighty proud o' their neighbourliness—he wur a plaain man, as had made his own way in the world, or leastwise tried to do un by ard work and uprightedness and downstraightedness; tried to be straight forrerd, and nobody as he knowed of could ax un for a shillin'. But," he added: "I be praisin oop myself, neighbours, I be afeard, and I doant wish to do thic, only to put I straaight afore thee. I beant dead yit, and I hope we shall all be friends and neighbours, and meet many moore times at this ornary together."

And so, delighted with one another, after a glass or two, and a song or two, the party broke up, all going to their several farms. Mr. Bumpkin was particularly well pleased, for he had sold twenty quarters of wheat at forty-nine shillings a quarter; which, as times went, was a very considerable increase, showing the excellent quality of the samples.

Sooner or later, however, it must be told, that when Bumpkin reached his quiet farm, a strange and sad scene presented itself. Evidences of "the man" were in all directions. He had been at work while Mr. Bumpkin in his convivial moments was protesting that he did not owe anyone a shilling. Alas! how little the best of as know how much we owe!

Mrs. Bumpkin, who had borne up like a true woman through all the troubles that had come upon her home,—borne up for his sake, hoping for better days, and knowing nothing of the terrible net that had been spread around them by the wily fowler, at length gave way, as she saw "the man" loading his cart with her husband's wheat; the wheat he had gone that day to sell. Bitterly she wrung her hands, and begged him to spare her husband that last infliction. Was there anything that she could do or give to save him this blow? No, no; the man was obstinate in the performance of his duty; "right was right, and wrong was no man's right!"

So when Mr. Bumpkin returned, the greater part of his wheat was gone, and the rest was being loaded. The beautiful rick of hay too, which had not yet ceased to give out the fresh scent that a new rick yields, were being cut and bound into trusses.

Poor Tom was fairly beside himself, but Mrs. Bumpkin had taken the precaution to hide the gun and the powder-flask, for she could not tell what her husband might do in his distraction. Possibly she was right. Tom's rage knew no bounds. Youth itself seemed to be restored in the strength of his fury. He saw dimly the men standing around looking on; he saw, as in a dream, the man cutting on the rick, and he uttered incoherent sentences which those only understood who were accustomed to his provincial accent.

"Tom, Tom," said Mrs. Bumpkin, "don't be in a rage."

"Who be thic feller on my rick?"

"I beant any more a feller nor thee, Maister Boompkin; it aint thy rick nuther."

"Then in the name of h—, whose be it?"

"It be Maister Skinalive's; thee can't have t' cake an eat un; thee sowled it to un."

"It be a lie, a —- lie; come down!"

"Noa, noa, I beant coomin doon till I coot all t' hay; it be good hay an all, as sweet as a noot."

"Where is thy master?" enquired Mrs. Bumpkin.

"I dooant rightly knoo, missus, where ur be; but I think if thee could see un, he'd poot it right if thee wanted time loike, and so on, for he be a kind-hearted man enoo."

"Can we find un, do ur think?" asked Mrs. Bumpkin.

"If thee do, missus, it wur moor un I bin able to do for the last three moonths."

"I'll find some un," said Mr. Bumpkin; "here, goo and fetch a pleeceman."

This was said to a small boy who did the bird-minding, and was now looking on with his mouth wide open, and his eyes actually shedding tears.

"Ah, fetch a pleeceman an all," said the man, thrusting the big hay-knife down into the centre of the rick; "but take a soop o' cyder, maister; I dessay thee feels a bit out o' sorts loike."

"Thee darn thief; it be my cyder, too, I've a notion."

"How can it be thine, maister, when thee ha' sowled un?" said the man with his unanswerable logic: "haw! haw! haw!"

Mrs. Bumpkin held her husband's hand, and tried her hardest to keep him from using violence towards the man. She felt the convulsive twitches of his strong muscles, and the inward struggle that was shaking his stalwart frame. "Come away, Tom; come away; let un do as they like, we'll have them as will see us righted yet. There's law for un, surely."

"It beant no use to kick, maister," said the man, again ramming the knife down into the rick as though he were cutting Mr. Bumpkin himself in half, and were talking to him the while; "it beant no use to kick, maister. Here thee be; thee owes the man the money, and can't pay, so ur does this out of kindness to prevent thee being sowled oop loike."

"Here be the pleeceman," said Mrs. Bumpkin.

Mr. Bumpkin turned suddenly, and shouted, "Tak thic thief into custody."

The policeman, albeit a country constable, was a very sensible man; and seeing how matters stood, he very wisely set himself to the better task of taking Mr. Bumpkin into custody without appearing to do so, and without Mr. Bumpkin knowing it.

"Now," said he, "if so be as you will come indoors, Mr. Bumpkin, I think we can put our heads together and see what can be done in this 'ere case; if it's stealing let him steal, and I'll have him nicely; but if it ain't stealing, then I woant have him at all." (A pause.)

"For why?" (A pause.)

"Because the law gives you other remedies."

"That be right, pleeceman," said Bumpkin; "I'll goo wi' thee. Now then, Nancy, let's goo; and look 'ere, thee thief, I'll ha' thee in th' jail yet."

The man grinned with a mouth that seemed to have been cut with his own hay-knife, so large was it, and went on with his work, merely saying: "I dooant charge thee nothin for cootin' nor yet for bindin, maister; I does it all free graatis, loike."

"Thee d—- thief, thee'll be paid."

So they went in, and the policeman was quite a comforter to the poor old man. He talked to him about what the law was on this point and that point, and how a trespass was one thing, and a breach of the peace another; and how he mustn't take a man up for felony just because somebody charged him: otherwise, the man on the rick might have charged Mr. Bumpkin, and so on; till he got the old man into quite a discussion on legal points. But meanwhile he had given him another piece of advice, which was also much to his credit, and that was to send to his solicitor, Mr. Prigg. Mr. Prigg was accordingly sent for; but, like most good men, was very scarce. Nowhere could Mr. Prigg be found. But it was well known, for it was advertised everywhere on large bills, that the excellent gentleman would take the chair at a meeting, to be held in the schoolroom in the evening, for the propagation of Christianity among the Jews. The policeman would be on duty at that meeting, and he would be sure to see Mr. Prigg, and tell him Mr. Bumpkin was very desirous to see him as early as possible on the following day. Mr. Bumpkin was thankful, and to some extent pacified. As the policeman wished them goodnight, Mrs. Bumpkin accompanied him to the door, and begged, if he wouldn't mind, that he would look in to-morrow, for he seemed a kind of protection for them.

It was about three in the afternoon of the following day when good Mr. Prigg drove up to Mr. Bumpkin's door; he drove up with the mare that had been Mr. Bumpkin's cow.

"Here he be," said Mrs. Bumpkin; and if Mr. Prigg had been an angel from heaven, his presence could not have been more welcome. Oh, what sunshine he seemed to bring! Was it a rainbow round his face, or was it only his genial Christian smile? His collar was perfect, so was his tie; his head immoveable, so were his principles. "Dear, dear!" said Mrs. Bumpkin, "I be so glad thee be come, Mr. Prigg—here be master takin' on so as never was; I never see'd anything like it."

"What's the matter, my dear lady?" inquired the good man.

"Be that loryer Prigg?" shouted a voice from the inner room.

"Aye, aye, Tom, it be Mr. Prigg."

"Come in, zur," said the voice, "come in; I be mighty glad to see thee. Why dam—"

"Hush!" remonstrated the diffuser of Christianity among the Jews; "hush!" and his hands were softly raised in gentle protest—albeit his head never turned so much as a hair's breadth. "Let us be calm, my dear sir, let us be calm. We win by being calm."

"Ah, we winned the lawsuit; didn't us, sir?"

"Ah, that thee did, Tom!" exclaimed Mrs. Bumpkin, delighted at this momentary gleam of gladness in her husband's broken heart.

"Of course we won," said Mr. Prigg. "Did I ever entertain a doubt from the first about the merits of that case?"

"Thee did not, sir," said Tom; "but lookee 'ere, sir," he continued, in almost a whisper, "I dreamt last night as we lost un; and I see thic Snooks a sniggering as plaain as ever I see'd anybody in my life."

"My dear sir, what matters your dream? We won, sir. And as for Snooks' sniggering, I am sorry to say he is sold up."

"Sold oop!" exclaimed Bumpkin. "Sorry! why beest thee sorry for un—beant thee sorry for I?"

"Sorry you've won, Mr. Bumpkin? No; but, I'm sorry for Snooks, because we lose our costs. Oh, that Locust is the greatest dodger I ever met."

"I don't understand thee, sir," said Bumpkin. "What d'ye mean by not getting costs—won't ur pay?"

"I fear not," said Mr. Prigg, rubbing his hands. "I am surprised, too, that he should not have waited until the rule for a new trial was argued."

"What the devil be the meaning o' all this?" exclaimed Bumpkin.

"Really, really," said the pious diffuser of Christianity, "we must exercise patience; we may get more damages if there should be another trial."

"This be trial enough," said Mr. Bumpkin; "and after all it were a trumpery case about a pig."

"Quite so, quite so," said the lawyer, rubbing his hands; "but you see, my dear sir, it's not so much the pig."

"No, no," said Mr. Bumpkin, "it beant so much th' pig; it be the hoarses moore, and the hayricks, and the whate, and—where be all my fowls and dooks?"

"The fowls—quite so! Let me see," said the meditative man, pressing the head of his gold pencil-case against his forehead, "the fowls—let me see—oh, I know, they did the pleadings—so they did."

"And thic sow o' mine?"

"Yes, yes; I think she made an affidavit, if I remember rightly. Yes, yes—and the bacon," said he, elevating his left hand, "six flitches I think there were; they used to be in this very room—"

"Ay, sure did ur," said Mr. Bumpkin.

"Well I remember; they made a very splendid affidavit too: I have a note of all of them in my memory."

"What coomed o' the cows?"

"Cows? Yes—I have it—our leading counsel had them; and the calf, if I remember rightly, went to the junior."

'"Who had the cheeses?" inquired Mr. Bumpkin.

"Cheeses!" said the good man. "Oh, yes, the cheeses; they went in refreshers."

"And the poor old donkey?" asked Mrs. Bumpkin.

"Ah, where be Jock?" said Mr. Bumpkin.

"Went for the opinion," answered the lawyer.

"Where be thic bull o' mine?" said Tom. "He wur the finest bull in all thic county, woren't he, Nancy?"

"Ay," answered Mrs. Bumpkin, "and ur follered I about, Tom, jist like a Christian."

"So ur did, Nancy. Dost thee mind, when ur got through thic gap into Squire Stucky's meadow, 'mong the cows?"

"Ay, Tom; and thee went and whistled un; but ur wouldn't come for thy whistlin; and Joe, poor Joe! went and got a great stick."

"There I mind un," said Bumpkin; "what coomed of un, Master Prigg?"

"Quite so," said Mr. Prigg; "quite so; let me see." And again the gold pencil-case was pressed against his respectable forehead in placid cogitation. "Yes, that bull argued the appeal."

"Hem!" said Mr. Bumpkin; "argied appeal, did ur? Well, I tell ee what, Master Prigg, if that air bull 'ad knowed what I knows now, he'd a gi'en them jusseses a bit o' his mind, and thee too."

"Dear me," said Mr. Prigg; "you entirely mis-apprehend—"

"Well, lookee 'ere," said Tom, "it beant no use to mince matters wi' ee. What I wants to know is as this; I winned my case—"

"Quite so," said Prigg.

"And 'ow be it then that all my sheep and things be took off the farm?"

"Dear me!" said Mr. Prigg, in the tone of an injured man; "I think, of all men, clients are the most ungrateful. I have worked night and day to serve you; I have sacrificed my pleasures, which I do not reckon—my home comforts—"

"But who be thic feller that steals my corn an' hay, and pigs?"

"Really, Mr. Bumpkin, this is language which I did not expect from you."

"But 'ow comes my farm stripped, Maister Prigg? tell I thic."

"I suppose you have given a bill of sale, Mr. Bumpkin. You are aware that a lawsuit cannot be carried on without means, and you should have calculated the cost before going to war. I think there is Scripture authority for that."

"Then have this Skinalive feller the right to take un?"

"I presume so," said Prigg; "I know he's a most respectable man."

"A friend o' thine, I s'poase?"

"Well," said Prigg, hesitating, "I may even go so far as to say that."

"Then I be gwine so fur as to say thee be a damned rogue!" said Mr. Bumpkin, rising, and thumping the table with great vehemence.

You might have knocked Mr. Prigg down with a feather, certainly with a bludgeon; such a shock he had never received at the hands of a client in the whole course of his professional experience. He rose and drew from his pocket an envelope, a very large official-looking envelope, such as no man twice in his life would like to see, even if he could be said to enjoy the prospect once.

It is not usual for respectable solicitors to carry about their bills of costs in their pockets, and why Mr. Prigg should have done so on this occasion I am not aware. I merely saw in my dream that he did so. There was not a change in his countenance; his piety was intact; there was not even a suffusion of colour. Placid, sweet-tempered, and urbane, as a Christian should be, he looked pityingly towards the hot and irascible Bumpkin, as though he should say, "You have smitten me on this cheek, now smite me on that!" and placed the great envelope on the table before the ungrateful man.

"What be thic?" inquired Mr. Bumpkin.

"A list of my services, sir," said Prigg, meekly: "You will see there, ungrateful man, the sacrifices I have made on your behalf; the journeyings oft; the hunger, and, I may say, thirst; the perils of robbers, the perils amongst false friends, the—"

"I doant understand, sir," said Bumpkin.

"Because darkness hath blinded your eyes," said the pious lawyer; "but I leave you, Mr. Bumpkin, and I will ask you, since you no longer repose confidence in my judgment and integrity, to obtain the services of some other professional gentleman, who will conduct your case with more zeal and fidelity than you think I have shown; I who have carried your cause to a triumphant issue; and may be said to have established the grand principle that an Englishman's house is his castle."

And with this the good man, evidently affected by deep emotion, shook hands silently with Mrs. Bumpkin, and disappeared for ever from my view.

Never in any dream have I beheld that man again. Never, surely, under any form of humanity have so many virtues been concealed. I have looked for him in daily life, about the Courts of Justice and in the political arena, but his equal for simplicity of character, for unaffected piety, and purity of motive, have I never discovered, although I have seen many, who, without his talents, have vainly endeavoured to emulate his virtues.

Mrs. Bumpkin examined the document he had left, and found a most righteous statement of the services rendered by this great and good man; which, after giving credit to Mr. Bumpkin for cash received from Mr. Skinalive, Mr. Prigg's friend, of seven hundred and twenty-two pounds, six shillings and eightpence-half-penny, left a balance due to Honest Lawyer Prigg of three hundred and twenty-eight pounds, seven shillings and threepence,—subject, of course, to be reduced on taxation.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Farewell.

The last chapter of a book must always possess a special and melancholy interest for the author. He gives his words reluctantly, almost grudgingly, like one who is spending his last coins and will soon be left penniless upon the world. Or like one who is passing his last moments at the house of a friend whom he may see no more for ever. The author is taking farewell of his characters and his readers, and therefore his regret is twofold; added to which is the doubt as to whether, judged by the severe standard of Public Opinion, he has been faithful to both. Thought is large, and may fill the world, permeating every class and every section of society; it may be circumscribed, and operate only upon some infinitesimal proportion of mankind: but whether great or small, for good or evil, it is published, and a corresponding responsibility devolves upon the writer. I record my dream faithfully, and am therefore exonerated, in my conscience, from responsibility in its effect.

How shall I describe the closing scene of this eventful story? I will imagine nothing; I will exaggerate nothing; for, during the whole progress of the story, it has been my constant care not to give the most captious critic the opportunity of saying that I have exaggerated a single incident. I will relate faithfully what I saw in my dream, and that only; diminishing nothing, and adding nothing.

In my waking moments my wife said it was very wrong of Mr. Bumpkin, after all that Mr. Prigg had done for him, to be so rude. I agreed that it was: but said, great allowance must be made for Mr. Bumpkin's want of education. Then said my wife, "Will not some shallow-minded persons say that your story attacks the administration of justice?" To which I replied that it did not matter what shallow-minded persons said, but that in fact I had in no way attacked the administration of justice; nor had I in the least degree reflected on the great body of respectable solicitors who had in their hands the interests of the country, and faithfully discharged their duties. And then I stood up, and putting forth my hand in imitation of Pitt's statue in the corridor of the House of Commons, I said, "Justice is Divine, not Human; and you cannot detract from anything that is Divine, any more than you can lessen the brilliancy of the sun. You may obscure its splendour to mortal eyes, but its effulgence is the same. Man may so ostensibly assert his own dignity, or the dignity of a perishable system, that it may temporarily veil the beauty of a Divine attribute; but Justice must still remain the untarnished glory of Divine wisdom. It is not the pomp of position or the majesty of office that imparts dignity to Justice."

Here, exhausted with my effort, and with my wife's applause ringing in my ears, I fell asleep again, and dreamed that I saw Bumpkin sadly wandering about the old farm; his faithful wife following, and never for one moment ceasing to cheer him up. It was a fine bright morning in October as they wandered forth. There wasn't a living thing about the farm except the birds, and even they seemed sad in their twittering. Could it be possible that they knew of poor Bumpkin's miserable condition?

There was an old jackdaw that certainly did; for he hopped and hopped along after the master with the saddest expression I ever saw bird wear. But the master took no notice. On and on he wandered, seemingly unconscious of the presence even of his wife.

"Tom!" she said, "Tom, where beest thee gwine?"

Bumpkin started; turned round, and said:

"Nancy! what, be it thee, lassie?"

"Ay, Tom, sure enough it be I. Let's cheer up, Tom. If the worst come to the worst—we can but goo to Union."

"The wust have come to th' wust, Nancy; we be ruined! Look at this 'ere farm—all be bare—all be lost, Nancy. Hark how silent it all be!"

"Never mind, Tom; never mind. I wish Joe wur here."

"Ah! Joe, yes. I wonder where Joe be; praps he be out here in th' six akre."

"No, no, Tom, he be gwine for a sojer; but I've a mind he'll come back. And who knows, we may be 'appy yet! We've worked hard, Tom, together these five-and-thirty year, and sure we can trudge on t' th' end. Come, let's goo in and ave some breakfast."

But Tom kept on walking and looking round the fields after his old manner.

"I think we'll ave wuts here," said he.

"So ur will, Tom, but let's have breakfast fust. Come, lad."

They wandered still through the quiet fields, and the old man's mind seemed giving way. But I saw that Mrs. Bumpkin kept up with him and cheered him whenever she could put in a word of comfort, cold and hopeless as it was. And so the day was spent, and the night came, and they entered their home for the last time. It was a terribly sad night; but the Vicar came and sat up late with the old people, and talked to them and read and cried with them, until at last Tom said:

"I zee it, sir, thee hast showed I; thank God for thy words. Yes, yes, we maun leave t' morrer, and we'll call on thee, and maybe thou'lt goo to th' Squire wi' us and explaain to un how we can't pay our rent, and may be th' Squire'll let I work un out. If we could only work un out, I'd be 'appy."

"Ay, Tom," said Mrs. Bumpkin, "an I'll work too; thee knows that."

"Thee wast allays a good wife, Nancy; and I'll allays say't, come what wooll."

"Yes," said the Vicar, "to-morrow we will go—"

"I don't want un to forgive I th' rent," said Tom; "only to gie us time, and Nancy and I'll work un out." And so it was arranged that the next morning the old home was to be left for ever. It was no longer home, for every article of furniture, every tool, every scrap that was of any value had been ruthlessly seized by the heartless money-lender whom the Law permitted to rob under the name of a bill of sale. The man was in possession to take away their bed and the few other articles that were left for their accommodation till the morrow.

And on the morrow I saw the last of poor Bumpkin that I shall ever see. In the beautiful sunshine of that October morning, just by the old oak, he was leaning over the gate looking his last at the dear old fields and the old farm-house where so many happy years had been spent. By his side was his wife, with her hand shading her eyes; the old dog was between them, looking into the face now of Tom and then of his wife. Mr. Bumpkin's arms were resting on the gate, and his old ash stick that he used to walk with over the fields was in his hand. They stood there for a long, long time as though they could never leave it. And I saw the tears trickle down the old man's face as Mrs. Bumpkin, letting fall the corner of her apron, which she had held to her eyes, and placing her arm through his, said in a faltering voice:—

"Come, Tom, we must goo."

* * * * *

THE END.



THE LAWSUIT.

Tom Bumpkin was a thriving man, As all the world could see; In forty years he'd raised himself From direst poverty.

And now he rented from the Squir Some acres, near a score; Some people said 'twas twenty-five, And some that it was more.

He had a sow of rare brave breed, And nine good pigs had he; A cow and calf, a rick of hay, And horses he had three.

And Mrs. Bumpkin had a bull, The finest creature out; "And, like a Christian," so she said, "It follered her about."

So Bumpkin was a thriving man, As all the world could see; A self-made man, but yet not made Of scholarship was he.

With neighbour Snooks he dealings had About his latest farrow; Snooks said he'd bought a pig, and so, To prove it, brought his barrow.

Tom said, "It wur to be two crowns;" Snooks said, "Twur nine-and-six;" Then Tom observed, "You doan't 'ave me Wi none o' them there tricks."

So there was battle; Lawyer Prigg Was told this tale of woe; The Lawyer rubbed his bony hands And said, "I see; quite so!"

"A case of trespass,"—"Ay zo 't be!" Said Bumpkin, feeling big; "Now mak un pay vor't, mak un pay; It beant so much th' pig."

"No, no, it's not so much the pig, That were a matter small; Indeed, good Bumpkin, we may say It's not the pig at all!

"It's more the principle involved, The rights of man, you see"— "Ay, ay," quoth Tom; "the devil's in't 'F I beant as good as he."

There never was a man more prompt Or swift to strike a blow: Give but the word, and Charger Prigg Was down upon the foe.

The LETTER, WRIT, and STATEMENT went Like lightning, thunder, rain; INSPECTION and DISCOVERY rode Like Uhlans o'er the plain!

Then INTERROGATORIES flew Without procrastination: As when the ambushed outposts give A deadly salutation.

Now Snooks's lawyer was a man To wrong would never pander; And like a high-souled Pleader drew A COUNTERCLAIM for slander;

And then with cautious skill behind The legal outworks clambers; Until dislodged, he held his own Entrenched in Judges' Chambers.

At length came battle hot and fierce, And points reserved as though The case must be economized, Not murdered at a blow.

Then came appeals upon the points, New trials on the facts; More points, more learned arguments, More precedents and Acts.

But LAW, thou art a tender plant That needs must droop and die; And bear no fruit unless thy root Be watered constantly:

And Bumpkin with a generous hand Had given thee good supply; He drained the well, and yet withal The noble Prigg was dry.

With plaintive look would move a stone, Tom gazed on Lawyer Prigg: Who rubbed his hands and said, "You see, It's not so much the pig."

"Noa, noa, it be th' horses moore, The calf and sheep and kine, Where be th' hay-rick and the straw? And where thic bull o' mine?"

The Lawyer said, "Quite so, quite so!" Looked wise, and wisely grinned; For Tom was like a ship becalmed, He stopped for want of wind.

"You see," said Prigg with gravity Would almost make you laugh, "Our leading Counsel had the Cow, The junior had the Calf.

"The hay and straw Rules nisi got, Made Absolute with corn, The pigs made Interrogat'ries, Most beautifully drawn.

"The Bacon—ah, dear Bumpkin, few In Law suits ever save it; It made together with the sow, A splendid Affidavit.

"The cocks and hens the Pleadings did Most exquisitely utter; And some few pans of cream there were, Which made the Surre-butter."

"Why, Surrey butter! I'd a tub The best in this ere nation"— "Quite so!" said Prigg; "but you forget, 'Twas used in Consultation."

"Well, well, of all the hungry mouths, There's nothing like the Law's; No wonder they can talk if that Be how they iles their jaws.

"Now just look ere; I'd twenty cheese, The finest of old Cheshires,"— "Quite so, quite so!" said Prigg; "but they Just furnished the Refreshers.

"The Ass for the Opinion went; The Horses, Costs between us; And all the Ducks and Drakes, my boy, Were turned into SUBPOENAS."

"I zee it all; the road to Ruin, Straight as any furrer: That Bull o' mine"—"Excuse me, Sir, Went up upon DEMURRER."

"Then beant there nothing left for I, In all this ere undoin? Nay, Nance, our fireside be gone, It's emptiness and ruin.

"I wish we'd fought un out ourselves Wi' fists instead o' law; Since Samson fit, there never was Good fightin wi the jaw."

So now Tom's not a thriving man, He owns not cow or pig; And evermore he'll be in debt To Honest Lawyer Prigg.

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.



Footnotes

{0a} Since the First Edition, "a bulky volume" of new rules has appeared. No independent existence at present, and therefore anatomy uncertain. I have peeped at it, and think if it reaches maturity it will help the rich litigant very much; and, if it abolishes trial by jury, as it threatens, we shall be, in time to come, a Judge-ridden people, which God forbid. I am not afraid of a Judge now, but I should be then. The choice in the future might be between servility and a prison; and I sincerely believe that if trial by jury should be abolished, this country would not be safe to live in. Much mending, therefore, and consequently the more holes. I wonder what the Liberalism of the future will say when it learns that the Liberalism of Mr. Gladstone's Government struck the first blow at Trial by Jury? Truly "the axe to laid to the root of the tree," and, reversing the Divine order, "every tree that bringeth forth good fruit is" in danger of being "hewn down."

R. H.

{22} This inscription, with the exception of the names, is a literal copy.

{52} Modern pleaders would say the Court would take judicial notice of the existence of Egypt: I am aware of this, but at the time I write of the Courts were too young to take notice.

{138} The correctness of Mr. O'Rapley's views may be vouched for by a newspaper report in the Evening Standard of April 17th, 1883, which was as follows:—"Mr. Justice Day in charging the Grand Jury at the Manchester Spring Assizes yesterday, expressed his disagreement with the opinion of other Judges in favour of the Commission being so altered that the Judge would have to 'deliver all the prisoners detained in gaol,' and regarded it as a waste of the Judge's time that he should have to try a case in which a woman was indicted for stealing a shawl worth three-and-ninepence, or a prisoner charged with stealing two mutton pies and two ounces of bacon."

THE END