"Return punctually at seven, gentlemen, please; you are released till then."
Any person who knows Nottingham and has to spend in that city two weary hours, between 5 o"clock and 7 p.m., wandering up and down that vast market-place, will understand the state of mind to which those special jurymen were reduced when they indulged in audible curses.
There was, however, an element in this condition of things which his lordship had not taken into consideration, and that was the _Bar_.
Several members were unnecessarily detained by this order of the court. Their mess was at the George Hotel; at seven they must be in court or within its precincts; at seven they dined. They chose the precincts, and sending for their butler, ordered the mess to be brought to the vacant Judge"s room, the second Judge having gone away.
At seven the mess was provided, and those who were not engaged in court sat down with a good appet.i.te and a feeling of delightful exultation.
Meanwhile his lordship proceeded with his work, while the temperature was 84. Juries wiped their faces, and javelin-men leaned on their spears.
Now and then the sounds of revelry broke upon the ear as a door was opened.
At ten his lordship rose for a few moments, and on proceeding along the corridor towards his room for his cup of tea, several champagne bottles stood boldly in line before his eyes. He also saw two pairs of legs adorned with yellow stockings--legs of the Sheriff"s footmen waiting to attend his lordship"s carriage some hours hence.
The scene recalled the scenes of other days, and the old times of the Home Circuit came back. Should he adjourn and join the mess? No, no; he must not give way. He had his tea, and went back to court. He was not very well pleased with the cross-examination of the Irish advocate.
"Do you want the witness to contradict what he has said in your favour, Mr.----?"
"No, my lord."
"Why do you cross-examine, then?"
Now the catch of an old circuit song was heard.
"Call your next witness, Mr. Jones. Why was not this case tried in the County Court?"
(Sounds of revelry from the Bar mess-room.)
"Keep that door shut!"
"May the witnesses go in the third case after this, my lord?"
"I don"t know how long this case will last. I am here to do the work of--"
("_Jolly good fellow_!" from the mess-room.)
"Keep that door shut!"
"What is your case, Mr.----?"
"It"s slander, my lord--one butcher calling another a rogue; similar to the present case."
"Does he justify?"
"Oh no, my lord." It was now on the stroke of twelve.
"I don"t know at what time your lordship proposes to rise."
"Renew your application by-and-by."
("_We won"t go home till morning_!" from the mess-room.)
"Keep that door shut! How many more witnesses have you got, Mr.
Williams?"
Mr. Williams, counting: "About--ten--eleven--"
"And you, Mr. Jones?"
"About the same number, my lord."
It was twenty minutes to one.
"I shall not sit any longer to oblige any one," said Sir Henry, closing his book with a bang.
The noise woke the usher, and soon after the blare of trumpets announced that the court had risen, as some wag said, until the day after yesterday.]
CHAPTER x.x.xVII.
HOW I MET AN INCORRIGIBLE PUNSTER.
As the Midland Circuit was perhaps my favourite, although I liked them all, there would necessarily be more to interest me there than on any other, and at our little quiet dinners, for which there was no special hour (it might be any time between eight o"clock in the evening or half-past one the next day), there were always pleasant conversations and amusing stories. With a large circle of acquaintances, I had learnt many things, sometimes to interest and sometimes to instruct.
Although I never sat down to open a school of instruction, a man should not despise the humblest teaching, or he may be deficient in many things he should have a knowledge of.
There was once an old fox-hunting squire whose ambition was to be known as a punster. There never was a more good-natured man or a more genial host, and he would tell you of as many tremendous runs he had had as Herne the hunter. After-dinner runs are always fine.
The Squire loved to hunt foxes and make puns.
We were sitting on a five-barred gate one evening in his paddocks, and while I was admiring the yearlings, which were of great beauty, I suddenly saw looking over his left shoulder the most beautiful head of a thoroughbred I ever beheld, with her nose quite close to his ear.
"Halloa, my beauty!" said he. "What, _Saltfish_, let me see if I"ve a bit of sugar, eh, _Saltfish_?--sugar--is it?"
His hand dived into the capacious pocket of his shooting-coat and brought out a piece of sugar, which he gave to the mare, and then affectionately rubbed her nose.
"There, _Saltfish_--there you are; and now show us your heels."
I knew by his mentioning the mare"s name so often that there was a pun in it, so I waited without putting any question. After a while he said (for he could contain his joke no longer),--
"Judge, do you know why I call her _Saltfish_?"
"Not the least idea," said I.
"Ha!" he explained, with a prodigious stare that almost shot his blue globular eyes out of his head: "because she is such a capital mare for a _fast day_! Ha, ha!"
Suddenly he stopped laughing from disappointment at my not seeing the joke. He repeated it--"fast day, fast day"--then _glared at me_, and his underlip fell. At last the old man tossed his head, and whipped his boot with his crop. I have no doubt I deprived that man of a great deal of happiness; for if anything is disappointing to a punster, it is not seeing his joke. He had not done with me yet, however, and before abandoning me as an incorrigible lunatic, asked if I would like to see Naples.