CHAPTER XIII.
GLORIOUS OLD DAYS—THE HON. BOB GRIMSTON, AND MANY OTHERS—CHICKEN-HAZARD.
The old glories of the circuit days vanished with stage-coaches and post-chaises. If you climbed on to the former for the sake of economy because you could not afford to travel in the latter, you would be fined at the circuit mess, whose notions of propriety and economy were always at variance.
Those who obtained no business found it particularly hateful to keep up the foolish appearance of having it by means of a post-chaise. You might not ride in a public vehicle, or dine at a public table, or put up at an inn for fear of falling in with attorneys and obtaining briefs from them surreptitiously. The Home Circuit was very strict in these respects, but it was the cheapest circuit to travel in the kingdom, so that its members were numerous and, I need not say, various in mind, manner, and position.
But it was a circuit of brilliant men in my young days. Many of them rose to eminence both in law and in Parliament. It was a time, indeed, when, if judges made law, law made judges.
I should like to say a word or two about those times and the necessary studies to be undergone by those who aspired to eminence.
In the days of my earliest acquaintance with the law, an ancient order of men, now almost, if not quite, extinct, called Special Pleaders, existed, who, after having kept the usual number of terms—that is to say, eaten the prescribed number of dinners in the Inn of Court to which they belonged—became qualified, on payment of a fee of £12, to take out a Crown licence to plead under the Bar. This enabled them to do all things which a barrister could do that did not require to be transacted in court. They drew pleadings, advised and took pupils.
Some of them practised in this way all their lives and were never called. Others grew tired of the drudgery, and were called to the Bar, where they remained junior barristers as long as they lived, old age having no effect upon their status. Some were promoted to the ancient order of Serjeants-at-Law, or were appointed her Majesty's Counsel, while some of the Serjeants received from the Crown patents of precedence with priority over all Queen's Counsel appointed after them, and with the privilege of wearing a silk gown and a Queen's Counsel wig.
There was, however, this difference between a Queen's Counsel and the holder of a Patent of Precedence: that the former, having been appointed one of her Majesty's Counsel, could not thenceforth appear without special licence under the sign-manual of the Queen to defend a prisoner upon a criminal charge. The Serjeant-at-Law is as rare now as a bustard.
I mention these old-fashioned times and studies, not because of their interest at the present day, but because they produced such men as Littledale, Bayley, Parke (afterwards Lord Wensleydale), Alderson, Tindal, Patteson, Wightman, Crompton, Vaughan Williams, James, Willes, and, later, Blackburn.
The contemplation of these legal giants, amongst whom my career commenced, somewhat checked the buoyant impulse which had urged me onward at Quarter Sessions, but at the same time imparted a little modest desire to imitate such incomparable models. Those of them who were selected from the junior Bar were good examples of men whose vast knowledge of law was acquired in the way I have indicated, and who were chosen on their merits alone.
But even these successful examples, however encouraging to the student, were, nevertheless, not ill-calculated to make a young barrister whose income was small, and sometimes, as in my case, by no means assured to him, sicken at the thought that, study as he liked, years might pass, and probably would, before a remunerative practice came to cheer him. Perhaps it would never come at all, and he would become, like so many hundreds of others of his day and ours, a hopeless failure. All were competitors for the briefs and even the smiles of solicitors; for without their favour none could succeed, although he might unite in himself all the qualities of lawyer and advocate.
The prospect was not exhilarating for any one who had to perform the drudgery of the first few years of a junior's life; nevertheless, I was not cast down by the mere apprehension, or rather the mere possibility of failure, for when I looked round on my competitors I was encouraged by the thought that dear old Woollet knew more about a rate appeal than Littledale himself, while old Peter Ryland, with his inimitable Saxon, was quite as good at the irremovability of a pauper as Codd was in accounting for the illegal removal of a duck, and both in their several branches of knowledge more learned than Alderson or Bayley. But here I was, launched on that wide sea in which I was "to sink or swim," and, as I preferred the latter, I struck out with a resolute breast-stroke, and, as I have said, never failed to keep my head above water. It was some satisfaction to know that, if the judges were so learned, there was yet more learning to come; much yet to come down from, the old table-land of the Common Law, and much more from the inexhaustible fountain of Parliament.
The Quarter Sessions Court was the arena of my first eight years of professional life. I watched and waited with unwearied attention, never without hope, but often on the very verge of despair, of ever making any progress which would justify my choosing it as a profession. My greatest delight, perhaps, was the obtaining an acquittal of some one whose guilt nobody could doubt. All the struggle of those times was the fight for the "one three six," and the hardest effort of my life was the most valuable, because it gave me the key which opened the door to many depositories of unexplored wealth.
There were many men who outlived their life, and others who never lived their lives at all; many men who did nothing, and many more who would almost have given their lives to do something.
There was, however, one man of those days whom I cannot here pass over, as he remained my companion and friend to his life's end, and will be remembered by me with affection and reverence to the end of my own. It was old Bob Grimston, whom I first met at the benefit of "the Spider," one of the famous prize-fighters of the time. The Hon. Bob Grimston was known in the sporting world as one of its most enthusiastic supporters, and acknowledged as one of the best men in saddle or at the wicket. But Bob was not only a sportsman—he was a gentleman of the finest feeling you could meet, and the keenest sense of honour.
Having thus spoken of some of the eminent men of my early days, I would like to mention a little incident that occurred before I had fairly settled down to practise, or formed any serious intention as to the course I should pursue—that is to say, whether I should remain a sessions man like Woollet, or become a master of Saxon like old Peter Ryland, a sportsman like Bob Grimston, or a cosmopolitan like Rodwell, so as to comprehend all that came in my way. I chose the latter, for the simple reason that in principle I loved what in these days would be called "the open door," and received all comers, even sometimes entertaining solicitors unawares.
Accordingly I laid myself open to the attention of kind friends and people whose manner of life was founded on the Christian principle of being "given to hospitality."
But before I come to the particular incident I wish to describe, I must briefly mention a remarkable case that was tried in the Queen's Bench, and which necessarily throws me back a year or two in my narrative.
It was a case known as "Boyle and Lawson," and the incident it reveals will give an idea of the state of society of that day. I am not sure whether it differs in many respects from that of the present, except in so far as its honour is concerned, for what was looked upon then as a flagrant outrage on public morality is now regarded as an error of judgment, or a mistake occasioned by some fortuitous combination of unconsidered circumstances. Such is the value in literature and argument of long words without meaning.
However, the action was brought against the proprietors of the Times newspaper for libel. The libel consisted in the statement that the respectable plaintiff—a lady—had conspired with persons unknown to obtain false letters of credit for large sums of money.
The hospitable friends I refer to lived in excellent style in Norwich. How they had attained their social distinction I am unable to say, but they were, in fact, in the "very best set," which in Norwich was by no means the fastest.
I was travelling at this time with Charles Willshire and his brother
Thomas, who was a mere youth. There was also an undergraduate of
Cambridge of the name of Crook with us, and another who had joined our
party for a few days' ramble.
We were enjoying ourselves in the old city of Norwich as only youth can, when we received an invitation to pass an evening in a very fashionable circle. How the invitation came I could not tell, but we made no inquiry and accepted it. Arrived at the house, which was situated in the most aristocratic neighbourhood that Norwich could boast, we found ourselves in the most agreeable society we could wish to meet. This was a group of exalted and fashionable personages arrayed in costumes of the superb Prince Regent style. Nothing could exceed this party in elegance of costume or manners. You could tell at once they were, as it was then expressed, "of the quality." Their cordiality was equalled only by their courtesy, and had we been princes of the blood we could not have received a more polite welcome. There was an elegance, too, about the house, and a refinement which coincided with the culture of the hosts and guests. Altogether it was one of the most agreeable parties I had ever seen. There were several gentlemen, all Prince Regents, and one sweet lady, charming in every way, from the well-arranged blonde tresses to the neatest little shoe that ever adorned a Cinderella foot. She was beautiful in person as she was charming in manner. You saw at once that she moved in the best Norwich society, and was the idol of it. Crook was perfectly amazed at so much grace and splendour, but then he was much younger than any of us.
I don't think any one was so much smitten as Crook. We had seen more of the world than he had—that is to say, more of the witness-box—and if you don't see the world there, on its oath, you can see it nowhere in the same unveiled deformity.
We enjoyed ourselves very much. There was good music and a little sweet singing, the lady being in that art, as in every other, well trained and accomplished. If I was not altogether ravished with the performance, Crook was. You could see that by the tender look of his eyes.
After the music, cards were introduced, and they commenced playing vingt-et-un, Crook being the special favourite with everybody, especially with the ladies. I believe much was due to the expression of his eyes.
As I had given up cards, I did not join in the game, but became more and more interested in it as an onlooker. I was a little surprised, however, to find that in a very short while, comparatively, our friend Crook had lost £30 or £40; and as this was the greater part of his allowance for travelling expenses, it placed him in a rather awkward position.
Some men travel faster when they have no money; this was not the case with poor Crook, who travelled only by means of it. Alas, I thought, twenty-one and vingt-et-un! It was a serious matter, and the worse because Crook was not a good loser: he lost his head and his temper as well as his money; and I have ever observed through life that the man who loses his temper loses himself and his friends.
He was disgusted with his bad luck, but nurtured a desperate hope—the forlorn hope that deceives all gamblers—that he should retrieve his losses on some future occasion, which he eagerly looked for and, one might say, demanded.
The occasion was not far off; it was, in fact, nearer than Crook anticipated. His pleasant manner and agreeable society at vingt-et-un procured us another invitation for the following night but one, and of course we accepted it. It was a great change to me from the scenery of the Elm Court chimney-pots.
Whatever might be Crook's happily sanguine disposition and hope of retrieving his luck, there was one thing which the calculator of chances does not take into consideration in games of this kind. We, visiting such cultured and fashionable people, would never for a moment think so meanly of our friends; I mean the possibility of their cheating, a word never mentioned in well-bred society. A suspicion of such conduct, even, would be tantamount to treason, and a violation of the rules that regulate the conduct of ladies and gentlemen. It was far from all our thoughts, and the devil alone could entertain so malevolent an idea. Be that as it may, as a matter of philosophy, the onlooker sees most of the game, and as I was an onlooker this is what I saw:—
The elegant lady exchanged glances with one of the players while she was looking over Crook's hand! Crook was losing as fast as he could, and no wonder. I was now in an awkward position. To have denounced our hosts because I interpreted a lady's glances in a manner that made her worse than a common thief might have produced unknown trouble. But I kept my eye on the beautiful blonde, nevertheless, and became more and more confirmed in my suspicions without any better opportunity of declaring them.
The charming well-bred lady thus communicating her knowledge of Crook's cards, I need not say he was soon reduced to a state of insolvency; and as the party was too exclusive and fashionable to extend their hospitality to those who had not the means of paying, it soon broke up, and we returned to our rooms, I somewhat wiser and Crook a great deal poorer.
Such was the adventure which came to my mind when I saw in the Queen's Bench at Westminster the trial of "Boyle and Lawson" against the Times for calumnious insinuations against the character of a lady and others, suggesting that they obtained false letters of credit to enable them to cheat and defraud.
This was the select party which Norwich society had lionized—the great unknown to whom we had been introduced, and where Crook had been cheated out of his travelling-money!
The lady was the fair plaintiff in this action, seeking for the rehabilitation of her character; and she succeeded in effecting that object so far as the outlay of one farthing would enable her to do so, for that was all the jury gave her, and it was exactly that amount too much. Her character was worth more to her in Crook's time.
Speaking of a man running society on his fees—that is, endeavouring to cope with the rich on the mere earnings of a barrister, however large they may be—I have met with several instances which would have preserved me from the same fate had I ever been cursed with such an inclination. The number of successful men at the Bar who have been ruined by worshipping the idol which is called "Society," and which is perhaps a more disastrous deity to worship than any other, is legion. This is one unhappy example, the only one I intend to give.
While I was living in Bond Street, and working very hard, I had little time and no inclination to lounge about amongst the socially great; I had, indeed, no money to spend on great people. The entrance-fee into the portals of the smart society temple is heavy, especially for a working-man; and so found the bright particular star who had long held his place amidst the splendid social galaxy, and then disappeared into a deeper obscurity than that from which he had emerged, to be seen no more for ever.
He was a Queen's Counsel, a brilliant advocate in a certain line of business, and a popular, agreeable, intellectual, and amusing companion. He obtained a seat in Parliament, and a footing in Society which made him one of its selected and principal lions. In every Society paper, amongst its most fashionable intelligence, there was he; and Society hardly seemed to be able to get along without him.
One Sunday afternoon I was reading in my little room when this agreeable member of the élite called upon me. My astonishment was great, because at that time of my career not only did I not receive visitors, but such a visitor was beyond all expectation, and I wondered, when his name was announced, what could have brought him, he so great and I comparatively nothing. It is true I had known him for some time, but I knew him so little that I thought of him as a most estimable great man whose career was leading him to the highest distinction in his profession.
Another extraordinary thing that struck me long after, but did not at the time, was that the business he came upon made no particular impression on my mind, any more than if it had been the most ordinary thing in the world. That to me is still inexplicable.
My visitor did not let troubles sit upon him, if troubles he ever had, for he seemed to be in the highest spirits. Society kept him ever in a state of effervescent hilarity, so that he never let anything trouble him. At this time he was making at the Bar seven or eight thousand a year, and consequently, I thought, must be the happiest of men.
His manner was agreeable, and his face wore a smile of complacency at variance with the nature of his errand, which he quickly took care to make known by informing me that he was in a devil of a mess, and did not know what he should do to get out of it.
"Oh," I said quite carelessly, "you'll manage." And little did I think
I should be the means of fulfilling my own prophecy.
"The fact is, my dear Hawkins," said the wily intriguer, for such he was, "I'll tell you seriously how I stand. To-morrow morning I have bills becoming due amounting to £1,250, and I want you to be good enough to lend me that sum to enable me to meet them."
I was perfectly astounded! This greatness to have come down to £1,250 on the wrong side of the ledger.
"I have no such amount," said I, "and never had anything like it at my bank." I must say I pitied him, and began to wonder in what way I could help him. He was so really and good-naturedly in earnest, and seemed so extremely anxious, that at last I said, "Well, I'll see what I can do," and asked him to meet me in court the following morning, when I would tell him whether I could help him or not.
His gratitude was boundless; my kindness should never be forgotten—no, as long as he lived! and if he had been addressing a common jury he could not have used more flowers of speech or shed more abundant tears to water them with. I was the best friend he had ever had. And, as it seemed afterwards, very foolishly so, because he told me he had not one farthing of security to offer for the loan. A man who ought to have been worth from fifty to a hundred thousand pounds!
However, I went to my bankers' and made arrangements to be provided with the amount. I met him at the place of appointment, and was quite surprised to see the change in his demeanour since the day before. He was now apparently in a state of deeper distress than ever, and thinking to soothe him, I said, "It's all right; you can have the money!"
Once more he overwhelmed me with the eloquence of a grateful heart, but said it was of no use—no use whatever; that instead of £1,250 he had other bills coming in, and unless they could all be met he might just as well let the others go.
"How much do you really want to quite clear you?" I asked, with a simplicity which astonishes me to this day.
"Well," he said, "nothing is of the least use under £2,500."
I was a little staggered, but, pitying his distress of mind, went once more to my bankers' and made the further necessary arrangements. I borrowed the whole amount at five per cent., and placed it to the credit of this brilliant Queen's Counsel.
The only terms I made with him on this new condition of things was that he should, out of his incoming fees, pay my clerk £500 a quarter until the whole sum was liquidated. This he might easily have done, and this he arranged to do; but the next day he pledged the whole of his prospective income to a Jew, incurred fresh liabilities, and left me without a shadow of a chance of ever seeing a penny of my money again. I need not say every farthing was lost, principal and interest. I say interest, because it cost me five per cent, till the amount was paid.
His end was as romantic as his life, but it is best told in the words of my old friend Charley Colman, who never spares colour when it is necessary, and in that respect is an artist who resembles Nature. Thus he writes:—
"What a coward at heart was ——! He allowed himself to be sat upon and crushed without raising a hand or voice in his defence of himself. When he returned from America he accepted a seat in —— office—in the office of the man who urged Lord —— to prosecute him.
"After your gift to him—a noble gift of £3,000—he called at my chambers, spoke in high terms of your generosity, and wished all the world to know it, so elated was he. I was to publish it far and wide. He went away. In half an hour he returned, and begged me to keep the affair secret. 'Too late,' said I. 'Several gentlemen have been here, and to them I mentioned the matter, and begged them to spread it far and wide.' His heart failed him when he thought he would be talked about.
"He was a kind-hearted fellow at times—generous to a fault, always most abstemious; but he had a tongue, and one he did not try to control. He used to say stinging things of people, knowing them to be untrue.
"What a life! What a terrible fate was his! Turned out of Parliament; made to resign his Benchership; his gown taken from him by the Benchers; driven to America by his creditors to get his living; not allowed to practise in the Supreme Court in America. At forty-five years of age his life had foundered. He returns to England—for what! Simply to find his recklessness had blasted his life, and then—?
"Sometimes, in spite of all, I feel a moisture in my eye when I think of him. Had he been true to himself what a brilliant life was open to him! What a practice he had! Up to the last he told me that he turned £14,000 a year. He worked hard, very hard, and his gains went to —— or to chicken-hazard! Poor fellow!"