The Tale of Lal / A Fantasy

by Raymond Paton

CHAPTER X

THE LION GOES TO COURT

There was a curious hush of expectancy one early autumn afternoon in
Court X., about to be presided over by Mr. Justice Chatty.

Outside in the streets London was suffering from partial darkness, which is not infrequently the case, so a number of the lights in Court had been lit, and although they burned a somewhat dull amber, the lighting was sufficient to outline a truly remarkable scene.

Mr. Justice Chatty, the Judge, had not yet entered and taken his seat, so that the expectant hush which had momentarily crept over the Court was all the more remarkable by way of contrast to the series of rushes which had gone before this state of calm.

Something approaching a small riot had taken place before the doors of the Court had been opened. Crowds of curiosity-loving people, having stationed themselves outside for hours, and who had even thoughtfully provided themselves with sandwiches, now fought and kicked and struggled in solid wedges to find a place, and even roundly abused the police who controlled the doors when they were thrust away. The public have an unfortunate habit of becoming abusive whenever "House Full" is announced, after bravely enduring the probationary martyrdom of waiting hours for one of their favoured entertainments to start.

The belief that the Judge was about to take his seat was found to be a false alarm, so the hum and hubbub inside the Court recommenced with renewed activity. The solicitors chattered at their table like magpies. The leading barristers turned over their briefs and snapped out replies to the other barristers with them, and fidgeted with their gowns. Everybody glared at everybody else in the amber-lighted Court, but however eagerly they talked, and wherever they looked, the eyes of every one in Court always returned to stare in amazement and wondering curiosity upon one object. In the body of the Court, looming out of the dimness, the head fully illuminated, was the enormous statue of a bronze lion upon its stone pedestal.

"Most extraordinary case in my recollection," drawled a junior barrister to one of his fellows who was flattened beside him; "no wonder there is no room in Court with that ridiculous thing stuck there!"

"Who's for the defendant?"

"Dreadful, K.C., instructed by Brockett and Bracket."

"Umph! then I suppose there will be explosions and fireworks in Court: it's usually so when Dreadful starts."

"Gentle Gammon, I see, for the plaintiff. Biggest spoofer on the Law
List, clever though."

Even after the Court appeared to be packed with that overlapping economy which is a characteristic repose of preserved sardines, small bodies of juniors, some with wigs, some without wigs, some in whole gowns, some with their gowns in shreds, forced their way in from other doors and other Courts. Some conspicuously held briefs borrowed for the occasion, some did not even pretend to have any such thing.

The stalwart policeman who guarded this second door suddenly became firm, and closed it with a mighty effort; that is to say, he all but closed it, only was prevented by the foot and head of the last junior hurrying in, who howled his agony aloud at having fallen into such a trap.

"No, no, Mr. Towers," expostulated the tall constable, "can't you see the Court is full and won't hold another one?"

"Lucas, let me in at once."

"I can't, sir, more than my position is worth."

"Then let me out," howled the suffering junior, "you're crushing my foot and my neck."

The stalwart policeman lessened a fraction of his weight against the door, and the imprisoned junior was allowed to scrape himself out as gradually as his peculiar position would admit.

The one person who considered the presence of the Lion in Court to be the most natural thing in the world was Ridgwell, who, standing beside the Writer, peeped through the little glass panel let into the door leading from a passage to one of the witnesses waiting-rooms.

"Is the Round Game going to commence?" Ridgwell asked the Writer innocently.

The Writer admitted gravely that the Round Game was going to commence with a vengeance.

"The ones who lose have to pay the forfeits, haven't they?" persisted
Ridgwell.

"Yes," agreed the Writer. "Exactly—ahem!—heavy forfeits."

"I hope Sir Simon wins then," observed Ridgwell.

"You see that man across there, Ridgwell," remarked the Writer, "big fierce-looking man making ineffectual efforts to adjust his wig becomingly over a pair of very big red ears, with two very big red hands?"

"Yes," agreed Ridgwell.

"With the sort of expression upon his face that the first of the Three Bears must have worn when he entered Silverlocks' kitchen and found the bread-and-milk to be missing?"

"Yes," laughed Ridgwell, "I remember, 'Who stole my bread-and-milk?'"

"Well, that is the man who is going to try to make you and I and Sir
Simon pay the forfeits."

"How?" inquired Ridgwell.

"Well," suggested the Writer, "you know he will roar and shout and bang the table with those red hands of his, and try to frighten everybody, but the one thing to do is not to take the slightest notice of him. If he annoys you, just smile; if he continues to annoy you, just glance towards the Judge."

At this moment the voices of the ushers were heard shouting for silence and order, and a profound stillness reigned inside the Court, for his Lordship the Judge had entered through the doors leading to his room and had taken his seat.

His scarlet robe only seemed to accentuate the colour of his puffy pink cheeks, whilst the blackness of his little beady eyes and pointed nose rather gave him the appearance of some overfed bird gorged to repletion after a particularly satisfying meal, slightly apoplectic, with its beak out of focus. The Judge, moreover, appeared to be afflicted with a little wheezy asthmatical cough which attacked him at intervals as he prepared to arrange his papers. The Clerk carefully placed a glass of water upon the desk by his Lordship's side, but whether this was done by way of a simple remedy for the Judge's wheezy little cough, or merely as a gentle reminder that the case was likely to be a dry one, cannot be guessed with any certainty. The preliminaries having been arranged, the case having been called, the Ushers of the Court having again shouted unnecessarily for silence, Sir Simon Gold having stared at the Judge, and Mr. Learnéd Bore having stared at everybody, the Judge having appeared to have closed his beady eyes in slumber, like a broody hen upon a perch, Mr. Gentle Gammon rose and opened his case for the plaintiff.

As Ridgwell observed in a whisper, "the Round Game had started." Mr. Gentle Gammon opened his case in his proverbially gentle tones. It was a silky voice, purring in its gentleness, but with a curious power of penetrating every corner of the over-crowded Court; it insisted even whilst it soothed, and its effect upon his Lordship the Judge seemed to be most pleasing, as he immediately appeared to nod to it as if in greeting. Mr. Gentle Gammon related to the Court how his client, holding the highest Civic position in London, had been made the subject of a virulent and unscrupulous newspaper attack by a man who, in addition to writing plays which nobody professed to understand, undoubtedly wrote articles that all fair-minded people unquestionably deplored. This unprincipled person, Mr. Learnéd Bore by name, had seen fit to attack no less a person than the Worshipful the Lord Mayor of London, and that, moreover, during his Lordship's tenure of office, believing that he, an unscrupulous journalist, could drag the Lord Mayor down from his exalted position by means of a few clap-trap phrases written for money, although he, the learned Counsel, marvelled how any one could find it in their hearts to remunerate such a person engaged in such a calling using such questionable language in such a preposterous case.

He, the Most Worshipful the Lord Mayor, the observed of all observers in the City as elsewhere, or in any assemblage he adorned with his presence and ornamented with his personality, had been accused in an offensive phrase of "imbibing too freely of the Devil's cup," the Devil's cup in this instance signifying wine, the insidious inference being that the Most Worshipful the Mayor was inebriated, and, moreover, in public, and in Trafalgar Square of all places in London. The Counsel paused dramatically, then a thrill of unutterable horror crept into the hitherto purring voice of Mr. Gentle Gammon.

"That, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, is a foul calumny, an insidious lie, uttered to drag down the exalted of the earth, and bespatter the resplendent robes of Civic dignity with the spiteful mud besprinkled from the nethermost garbaged recesses of the journalistic gutter.

"During the still and beautiful night hours, when this travesty of an accusation is brought, my client, the Most Worshipful, had wandered into the holy star-lit night, clad in the flowing robes symbolical of his exalted earthly estate, to place a wreath, a beautiful wreath, upon one of the monuments of London he deemed the most dignified and fitting to receive it. That monument, if they but lifted their eyes, they would see in Court. A stately noble Lion, whose presence there had necessitated the removal of four separate sets of folding doors leading to the Court in order that it might be present. Could this noble beast but speak," urged Mr. Gentle Gammon, K.C., "could it even roar, it would speak its severest censures, would roar its loudest denunciations at the libellous statement that the noble Civic head of London who honoured it, could possibly have done so, could conceivably have climbed to such a height upon its back, unless he had been eminently sober, unfalteringly steady at the time when, clad in his robes in the calm violet depth of night, he had placed his offering in happy felicitation as a symbol and a greeting to his beloved City of London. This should have excited only admiration; but seen through the prying eyes of a prurient pressman, this touching tribute had been changed by the vile alchemy of suspicion to an unseemly and ridiculous action of midnight debauchery which could only have turned the noble Lion to stone, had it not already been made of bronze.

"My Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, this Lion stands for liberty, as do all British Lions. I claim the liberty and full right of my client, if he deems fit, to be able to decorate any statue of London whenever he pleases, at any or every possible hour of the night that he chooses, without the stupid and interfering intervention of a constable, or the slanderous pen of a Mr. Learnéd Bore, having the power to make a lovable and harmless action wear the appearance of a midnight frolic of bibulous recklessness, which, had it taken place, would have been only food and gossip for the senseless and shameful, and reflective regret for the wise.

"My Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, my client does not wish for big damages, but he does demand strict justice. That is what he is here for, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, that is what we are all here for. If I were given to emotion, which I am glad to confess I am not, my deepest and innermost emotions would be called forth by the picture of his Lordship there before us, who holds the scales of Justice in his hands, who can pierce the outer coverings of dissembling and falsehood with the eagle eye of truth, who can right this hideous wrong, who can smooth out the crooked paths of falsehood, making all plain. Let the false traducer beware, I say, he is veritably between the Lion and the Eagle. His Lordship in this case is the Eagle (metaphorically, of course)," hastily added Counsel, upon noticing the extraordinary likeness of his Lordship to a bird roosting, "and the Lion and the Eagle shall each of them turn and between them rend the truth and nothing but the truth from the lying carcase of calumny.

"Having now shown with impartiality, at the same time characterised with reserve, that the condition ascribed to the Right Worshipful the Lord Mayor was ridiculous, I will proceed to deal with the other statement in this misjudged journalistic attack, that the Right Worshipful was reviving Paganism in London, and in consequence attracting a crowd. Far from the Right Worshipful either attracting attention or causing a scene or obstruction in Trafalgar Square, I shall prove indisputably that it was the Lion, and the Lion alone, that caused the scene; the Lion also, who by a strange metamorphosis occasioned a crowd to collect. We know from classical history that in Babylon and Assyria bulls talked, we have heard of the oracle of Delphi, and in Biblical history of animals who talked. I shall prove by witnesses that this Lion has not only walked but talked as well."

Sensation in Court.

Here his Lordship the Judge appeared to show the first sign of interest he had evinced in the case.

"My learned friend must be careful," cautioned the Judge. "If what he states is true, the Lion may have to go into the witness-box."

Titters in Court. The Learned Judge smiles, rather pleased with his own remark.

Mr. Dreadful, K.C., at this point arose hastily; in fact, the learned
K.C. almost jumped.

"My Lord, I protest against such a line of argument, such a travesty being introduced to mar the seriousness of this case."

His Lordship waved the learned and excited gentleman aside.

"I am the Judge here," observed his Lordship, "and in that sense I even resemble Daniel with regard to his duties in a similar capacity, but I fear I do not possess his special knowledge with regard to Lions."

Titters again in Court, in which the Learned Judge joins.

"However, I am always anxious to learn."

Renewed titters.

Mr. Dreadful, K.C., seats himself hurriedly and grinds his teeth in vexation, but finds time to whisper rapidly to a junior, who leaves the Court hastily and mysteriously.

"Pray continue, Mr. Gammon."

"My Lord, I have little more to say."

"I am sorry for that," interposed the Judge; "you were beginning to interest me more than I should have believed possible."

Mr. Gentle Gammon bowed ever so slightly, as if the Learned Judge had crowned him with a compliment that he found too heavy for his head to support, and proceeded—

"But, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, if I say little else with regard to this case before you, which is permeated throughout by the mythical mystery of a classical age, it is only that the witnesses I shall produce to prove this strange thing may speak instead of myself. Three witnesses in all, and one in particular. The one in particular, since only truth can issue from the lips of infancy, I shall call first. My Lord, I shall put a child, a little boy, into the witness box that you may hear his simple story."

Judge. "Dear me, I hope he won't be frightened of the Lion." (Titters in Court.)

Mr. Gammon, K.C. "On the contrary, my Lord, you will find he regards it as an old friend; and, my Lord, when you have listened to what he has to say, I think we may all realise 'that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in—er—philosophy.'"

His Lordship (pleasantly). "I think I have heard that before."

Mr. Gammon (courteously). "Your Lordship is much too well read to have missed it." (Thereupon Mr. Gammon, K.C., sat down.)

Judge (with a little snigger). "The only thing I am likely to miss is how our celestial knowledge is going to be especially advanced this afternoon. However, the curious nature of the case as presented possesses unlimited possibilities."

Ridgwell, having been called, walked with the utmost composure into Court and took his place in the witness-box. He looked very tiny, but very self-possessed, and smiled pleasantly at the Judge.

The Judge smiled pleasantly back at Ridgwell.

Mr. Gammon rose to the occasion and to his feet at one and the same time. He permitted the pleasing impression that Ridgwell had unconsciously created to have its full effect upon the Court, and upon everybody present with the exception of Mr. Learnéd Bore, whose countenance alone wore the disgusted and horrified expression that might have been expected had a great green toad been introduced into the witness-box. Mr. Learnéd Bore's countenance afforded a strange study of nausea struggling against outraged dignity.

"Now, Ridgwell, do you see any one in Court that you know?"

"Yes. Lal."

"And will you tell us who Lal is?" purred Mr. Gammon.

"Yes, Lal is the Pleasant-Faced Lion. There he is," said Ridgwell.

"How do you know his name is Lal?" inquired Counsel winningly.

"He told me so himself, it is short for Lionel. Lionel is his proper name."

"And when did this Lion Lal first speak to you?"

"Some weeks ago. The night I got lost in the fog."

This was altogether too much for Mr. Dreadful, K.C.

"My Lord," shouted that gentleman, as he bounded to his feet, "my Lord, I take this opportunity of protesting that the witness is not the only one who complains of being lost in the fog. I myself, my Lud, am completely lost owing to the same cause."

"In that case," said the Judge, testily, "always keep quite still, and you will in time find out where you are."

Titters in Court.

"My Lord," roared Counsel for the defendant, "I protest!"

The Judge interposing. "My learned friend, there is only one thing present in this Court that has a right to roar, and it is noticeable what a good example he sets you by refraining from doing so." (Amusement in Court.) "Kindly sit down. The little boy is giving his evidence very well indeed."

"Am I to take this witness's evidence down, my Lord?" inquired the
Judge's Clerk in a whisper.

"Certainly, certainly," replied the Judge. "If a Hans Christian Andersen comes into Court, or sends a deputy, the evidence must be taken down, the same as anybody else's."

"And now, Ridgwell," said Mr. Gentle Gammon, in his gentlest tones, "will you please tell us in your own way all that befell you when you became acquainted with the Pleasant-Faced Lion."

For a considerable time the Learned Judge folded his claw-like thumbs and listened, and the Court sat amazed and stupefied whilst Ridgwell told of all the adventures that had befallen him after his acquaintance with Lal.

First came the tournament, then his first ride home to Balham on the
Lion's back.

"Rather a long way, little man, eh?" suggested the Judge, affably. "He could never have been away so far from Trafalgar Square before. How did he find his way?"

"Oh, he followed the tram-lines," said Ridgwell.

Titters in Court.

"Good indeed, a most admirable witness this," observed his Lordship.

Then followed a simple but glowing description of the Pleasant-Faced
Lion's wonderful evening party.

"Dear me," again observed his Lordship, "you had Royalty present, too!"

"Yes," said Ridgwell. "King Richard, King Charles, Queen Boadicea; and
Oliver Cromwell came in and shouted 'Ho!' at King Richard and 'Ha, ha!'
at King Charles. Then the Griffin ordered Oliver Cromwell out, and
Christine thanked him."

"Very extraordinary and interesting," observed his Lordship; "and who is Christine?"

"She is my little sister."

"I have her deposition here, my Lord," broke in Counsel for plaintiff, "bearing out her brother's statements."

When Ridgwell came to a description of the Griffin, his sayings, doings, his woes and his character generally, the entire Court rocked with amusement which nobody made any effort to subdue.

"And now," said Counsel, who had watched everything up to this point with the cunning eye of a fox, "and now, little man, will you kindly sing as well as you can the song you say the Griffin sang at the party before the Lion?"

At this point Mr. Learnéd Bore, with his hands covering his ears, sank his head upon the solicitor's table at which he sat. If there was one thing Mr. Learnéd Bore hated more than children, it was music, in any shape or form, and when they both came together Mr. Learnéd Bore shared all the unpleasant feelings from which Mephistopheles was supposed to have suffered whenever he heard church bells. In a beautifully clear childish voice Ridgwell sang the merry song in the merriest way imaginable.

"Of a merry, merry King I will relate,
Who owned much silver, gold and plate,"

commenced Ridgwell triumphantly, in a quite wonderful rendering of the Griffin's favourite ballad. The tune was haunting, the swing of the air irresistible. The entire Court became slowly infected with the seductive gaiety of the song. The Juniors began to move their feet, the solicitors began to wave their quill pens to it. The Usher of the Court nodded his head, and his Lordship the Judge was so carried away by the melody that he unconsciously beat time gently by wagging one finger, whilst he smiled around upon the Court; and so in a burst of pleasing song Ridgwell continued—

"Yet one thing the merry, merry King forgot,
That it would be his Griffin's lot
To be very, very cold or very, very hot—"

"High up in Fleet Street," sang the entire Court.

"So slowly the faithful creature got
Chilblains in Fleet Street."

"Chilblains in Fleet Street," yelled all the Juniors in chorus. On went Ridgwell without a breath—

"The Griffin grew prettier day by day,
Directing the traffic along each way,
With always a pleasant word to say,"

"High up in Fleet Street," burst from the Court, who knew the phrase quite as well as the refrain by this time, and could not have sung it better if they had practised it.

"One trouble alone caused him dismay,"

"Chilblains in Fleet Street," came the chorus, which drowned Ridgwell's last notes entirely.

Frantic applause in Court, which the Judge instantly suppressed.

"If," said his Lordship, forgetful of the fact that he himself had helped in the scene by beating time, "if I have any more of this disgraceful disturbance in Court I shall give orders for it to be instantly cleared."

"Thank you, that will do. You can step down now, Ridgwell," said Mr.
Gentle Gammon.

"And very well sung," observed his Lordship, as Ridgwell departed.

The next witnesses were called, Cissie Laurie and John Bowling.

"Are you sure you have those names correctly?" asked the Judge.

"Yes, my Lord; why?"

The Judge (facetiously). "It has been an afternoon of ballads; we have just heard one very well sung, and it seems to me that the collection would not be complete without Annie Laurie and Tom Bowling." (Much laughter in Court, in which the Learned Judge joins in a high-pitched alto.)

John Bowling admitted that he behaved most oddly, but he did so because the Lion seemed to be behaving strangely. Said he thought the Lion's eyes had gone green; believing that they were real emeralds, he had tried to cut them out with his knife.

Judge. "What! tried to gouge out the Pleasant-Faced Lion's eyes?" (Laughter in Court.)

The Sailor admitted it with contrition.

The Judge. "Such a gentle creature, too! Lal, the Children's friend." (Much laughter in Court.)

His Lordship. "Had you been to the party?" (Renewed laughter.)

Sailor. "No, my Lord, not his, another." (More laughter.)

Counsel here asked witness to relate what exactly happened upon the evening in question.

Sailor. "Well, yer see, governor, I can't say, 'cos I can't remember much about it; yer see, I was tuppence on the can, so to speak."

Judge (interrupting). "I don't understand that expression; is it a term used in the Navy? What does he mean by 'Tuppence on the can'?"

Sailor. "Well, in other words, I was blind, your Worship, I mean your Lordship." (Titters in Court.)

Counsel hastened to explain that Mr. Bowling wished to convey the unfortunate fact that he was intoxicated.

Sailor. "You've caught it, governor!"

Counsel was here heard to murmur words to the effect that he was thankful to say he had not caught it.

Witness (continuing unabashed). "Yer see, the reason as I was like I was, I 'ad snatched five dog's-noses right off."

Judge (plaintively to Counsel). "What does he mean by saying he snatched five dog's-noses? Why, was he possessed with a mania for mutilating animals?"

Counsel (explaining). "No, my Lord, the dog's-noses the witness refers to is a form of alcoholic stimulant—ahem!—gin, I believe, with some other ingredient, such as ale, mixed with it."

His Lordship. "Oh, very well."

Counsel. "Did the witness consider the Lord Mayor of London was sober?"

Sailor. "Do you mean that there old cove in the red gown?"

Judge (excitedly, and in needless alarm). "Of whom is he speaking?"

Counsel (hastening to explain). "The Lord Mayor, my Lord. I asked the witness did he consider the Lord Mayor sober upon the night they met."

Witness. "Yes, he was sober enough, but I think he was balmy, and I shall always think he was balmy."

Counsel. "Thank you, that is sufficient; you can stand down."

Cissie Laurie, upon being called, went skittishly into the witness box, curtseyed to the Court, and blew a kiss to the Judge.

His Lordship glared at the lady in shocked amazement.

Upon being questioned, Mrs. Laurie confided that most of her early life had been passed playing in Pantomimes, therefore she had always been fond of dancing. At the present time she kept a lodging-house for theatricals, and the only chance she had of indulging in her old and favourite pastime seemed to be to dance attendance upon these lodgers.

"Never mind what you do indoors," suggested Counsel. "I want to know what you do out of doors, what you did out of doors on the particular night in question when you met the Lord Mayor of London."

"Well, I felt young and girlish," confessed Cissie. "The first floor back and the second floor front had both gone out, and the house seemed dull with no lights and nobody in it."

"Never mind about the house or the lighting of it," interrupted
Counsel. "You went out for a walk in the streets of London."

"When I got to Trafalgar Square," continued Cissie, "I felt skittish, thoughtless and jolly, and I could 'ave declared he laughed at me and then winked."

Judge (interrupting). "The witness tells her story very badly. Who laughed and winked at her? The Lord Mayor?"

Counsel (hastily). "No, no, my Lord, not the Lord Mayor; the Lion."

Judge. "Oh, well, why doesn't she say so?"

Then proceeded Cissie, heedless of all interruptions—

"I sees the wreath round his neck, and I at once thought of the Russian dancers——"

Judge. "Tut, tut, tut! what has the fact of the Lord Mayor of London having a wreath round his neck to do with the Russian ballet?"

Counsel (in despair). "Not the Lord Mayor, my Lord; the Lion."

Judge (testily). "Then will the witness please say the word Lion whenever she wishes to refer to the Lion?"

Cissy (imperturbably). "I don't want to refer to it no more, 'cos I collared the wreath, and 'olding it over my 'ead I danced round the Square, just like the posters of them Russian dancers."

His Lordship (irritably). "Which particular poster was she desirous of realising?"

Counsel. "My Lord, I think it must be the one of a slim and classic youth dancing the Bacchanal with a wreath uplifted over his head."

His Lordship (looking at Cissie's ample form completely filling the witness-box, murmurs), "No, I cannot see the picture at all."

Counsel. "Nor I, my Lord, believe me."

Then volunteered Cissie, "He gave me two sovereigns."

Judge. "What, the Lion? does he give money as well as parties?"

Counsel (desperately). "Not the Lion this time, my Lord, but the Lord Mayor. Did you consider that the Lord Mayor was sober when he gave you this money?"

Cissie. "Lor bless yer, yes, as sober as his Honour there the blessed Judge himself."

Judge (with complexion rapidly changing from pink to crimson). "Do not refer to me again in such a way. It is most improper."

Cissie (obligingly). "Very well, my dear."

Judge (very annoyed). "Do not address me as my dear, do not address me at all, direct your remarks to Counsel, please."

Cissie (tossing her head). "Wot o'! now we shan't be long."

Counsel (soothingly). "No, Mrs. Laurie, as you observe, we shall not be long now. Will you kindly tell me where you met the Lord Mayor, previous to your meeting with him in Trafalgar Square?"

Cissie. "Yes, I first met him in a Pantomime."

Counsel. "In a Pantomime; very good."

Cissie. "Yus, I was playing Principal Boy, dressed in a green velvet jacket, green ostrich plumes in my 'air, and a pink pair of silk tights. Oh, you should just 'ave seen the pink silk tights, bran new ones."

Counsel (hastily). "Thank you, that is sufficient; a detailed description of the costume you wore is immaterial to the case."

Cissie. "Oh, is it? then I don't see the object of my being dragged 'ere if I ain't to describe my costume."

Counsel. "That will do, thank you, Mrs. Laurie; stand down."

Cissie. "Dragging me all the way 'ere, when the lodgers ain't got their dinners yet; fish to fry for the first floor, and the second back wanting macaroni with their stew, because they're I'talians."

Counsel. "That's enough, Mrs. Laurie."

Cissie (still talking as she prepares to depart). "Oh, is it enough, Mister Grey-Wig? Well, I call it a darned sight too much." (Cissie here being persuaded out by an usher of the Court). "So the next time you wants me to leave my work in the middle of the day you can fish for me, same as the lodgers will 'ave to fish for their darned dinner this blessed——" (door of the Court closes upon Cissie, rendering further remarks inaudible).

Judge. "A most garrulous woman."

Here Mr. Dreadful, K.C., rose with an evil smile of triumph, that is to say, it was a cross between a legal smile and a snarl.

Mr. Dreadful, K.C.'s utterances rather suggested the muffled discharging of pom-poms. Whenever he opened his mouth it was succeeded by an explosion of words, then a whistle by way of taking breath, another explosion succeeded by more whistles. Mr. Dreadful announced that before placing his client in the witness-box, he would state that all his client, the defendant's, written words were true in substance and in fact.

"The Lord Mayor of London had wandered out into the night, so had his client, Mr. Learnéd Bore. This gentleman, a playwright, journalist and writer, had wandered forth in order, no doubt, to get inspiration. The source of any such inspiration as he might have derived from the calm night had been utterly destroyed by the ridiculous antics of the Lord Mayor of London; inspiration had vanished, giving place instantly to a righteous feeling of strong condemnation that so beautiful a thing should have been so ruthlessly crushed. Fancies had fled, driven from their abiding-place by stern facts. Those facts had been embodied in a glowing article, destined to be distributed through the medium of the daily paper which his client adorned by contributions from his pen."

"If the Lord Mayor of London objected to the ridicule which his client's able article had heaped upon him—it was entirely the fault of the Lord Mayor. Any sober person, such as his client, must have instinctively supposed the Lord Mayor to be inebriated, when he was actually discovered arrayed in his state robes, coaxing the statue of a Lion to speak to him. Any Christian person, after observing this high Civic official place a wreath about this effigy, would unquestionably have believed him to be a Pagan, and a very ignorant one at that. Finding it hopeless to either excuse or explain such conduct, the plaintiff in this action, which ought never to have been brought, that is if the plaintiff had been wise, had actually, with an impudent audacity unparalleled in any Court of Law, urged that this lifeless Lion not only talked, but made signs. I shall not cross-examine one single witness who has appeared up to the present in this case, they have sufficiently condemned themselves already."

"The last lady, with a wealth of unnecessary words and adjectives, had informed the Court that she was once in a Pantomime, and it is my firm impression that is exactly where all the other witnesses in this case ought to be, especially the child who had unblushingly told them a long fairy story, and had attempted to sing them a song. A Pantomime was the proper place for them all, a fitting setting, and especially suitable for the Lord Mayor himself, robes and all. There, amidst the medley of such an entertainment, the Lord Mayor could coax Lions to do tricks, the sailor could indulge in his hornpipes and quaff dog's-noses. The child could act fairy stories, and sing all by himself, whilst the vociferating lady, who owned to a weakness for dancing indecorous solos, would be able to delight her heart by performing the Russian Carnival——"

Judge (prompting). "Bacchanal."

"They would all be most suitable in a Pantomime, but not in a Court of
Law."

"The one amazing thing which had horrified him inexpressibly during the case was the fact that his learned brother Counsel, Mr. Gentle Gammon, had so far forgotten his professional dignity as to declare that this Lion actually moved and spoke at times. He feared, and also he lamented, that his learned brother must be approaching his dotage. Yet in order to satisfy each and every one in Court, he, Mr. Dreadful, had sent an urgent and special messenger for a first-class veterinary surgeon, having the letters M.R.C.V.S. after his name, and also for one of the keepers belonging to the lions' house in the Zoological Gardens. Their evidence would now be taken."

Upon the appearance of the M.R.C.V.S. in the witness-box the Learned
Judge saw fit to interfere.

Judge. "Have you ever attended a lion professionally?"

M.R.C.V.S. "Never, your Lordship."

Judge (sagaciously). "Then what do you know about them?"

M.R.C.V.S. "I have attended other animals, your Lordship."

Judge. "Very likely, very likely, but a live ass is a different thing to a dead lion." (Laughter in Court.)

Counsel (for the Defendant). "Better than a dead lion, your Lordship." (More laughter.)

Judge. "Not in this case." (Loud laughter.) "The learned Counsel for the Defence need not waste the time of the Court in hearing the opinion of either Veterinary Surgeons or experts from the Zoo. What the Learned Counsel ought to do is to produce Pygmalion." (Titters in Court.)

Mr. Dreadful, K.C., rising to protest. "My Lud, Pygmalion is a mythical personage, and your Ludship knows he is of a necessity shrouded in silence."

His Lordship. "So is the Lion." (Laughter in Court.)

Mr. Dreadful (still exploding and still protesting). "My Lud, I do venture to suggest that this Lion should somehow be thoroughly examined."

His Lordship. "Well, it is in Court, better try for yourself. I only hope your efforts will be as successful as Little Ridgwell's and his sister Christine, to say nothing of the Lord Mayor of London."

Mr. Dreadful. "My Lud, I cannot treat with these people, it is like dealing with the worshippers of Baal."

His Lordship. "Well, I really cannot sanction digging a trench and lighting fires all round it here in my court, to make it speak." (Loud laughter.)

After the laughter had somewhat subsided a slight stir was occasioned in Court by the appearance in the witness-box of Mr. Learnéd Bore.

In reply to many questions from Mr. Dreadful, K.C., Mr. Learnéd Bore stated all the incidents in Trafalgar Square which he had witnessed, and which had given rise to the present action.

Cross-examined by Mr. Gentle Gammon—

"You are a famous playwright, Mr. Learnéd Bore," commenced Counsel.

"I am a playwright."

"Do you write to instruct or to amuse?"

"It is possible to combine both."

"Can you give me an example?"

"Yes, this afternoon's experience in Court."

"Wonderful as that may have been, Mr. Bore, I suggest you have not written it."

His Lordship (facetiously). "Give him a chance, he may." (Laughter in Court.)

"Of course," suggested Counsel, "you always enjoy reading your own articles in the papers."

"Oh dear no. I am only concerned with writing them."

"But I suggest you read them before you send them in."

"Never; the Editor saves me the trouble."

"Your articles have a ready acceptance, I take it."

"Always."

"The Editor is so desirous of obtaining your work, I suppose he is willing to pay a big price for it even before it is written."

"Yes, and before it is read."

"Indeed, so there must be a time when nobody knows what your articles are about, including yourself, as you never read them." Counsel continuing. "I presume you never contribute any articles during the time of the year known as the Silly Season?"

"On the contrary, my first effort in that direction has resulted in the bringing of the present action."

"You considered the Silly Season had started then, upon the night you met the Lord Mayor?"

"The Silly Season started then, has continued since, and appears to be at its height here this afternoon."

(Sweetly.) "Then you can congratulate yourself upon being thoroughly in the fashion. Now tell me, Mr. Bore, in your opinion, should we take the statues of London seriously?"

"No, in my opinion we should take them all down."

"All? Oh, surely not. Now, as an instance, let us go down the Strand."

His Lordship (interrupting). "No, no, no, I believe the correct quotation is, 'Let's all go down the Strand.'" (Loud laughter.)

Counsel. "I have never heard the quotation, my lord."

His Lordship (pleasantly). "What! I should have thought that everybody had heard that, the difficulty is not to hear it. I have even heard it set to music." (Loud laughter.)

"Now, Mr. Bore," continued Counsel, when order had once more been restored. "Has it never struck you that some of the statues of London might, for example, sometimes come to life?"

"Never. I cannot imagine anything less like life, than any of the statues of London."

"Surely the one in Court to-day is a good specimen?"

"If it is a specimen it ought to be in its proper place—in a case."

Counsel (gently). "It is in a case."

"And I object to it being in this case."

"Sculpture is evidently not your strong point."

"Neither are ridiculous fairy tales!"

"You wish us to believe that you, a writer, are only capable of dealing with facts."

"I have not encountered any facts in this case at all yet, and I utterly fail to understand what anybody here can mean by facts after this afternoon's exhibition."

Judge (annoyed). "Tut, tut! Facts are facts: this is a Court of Justice: I am the Judge; would you, for instance, regard me, me as a fact?"

Mr. Learnéd Bore. "No, as a figure-head."

His Lordship shrieks in his highest falsetto—

"Remove this witness at once, he is flippant. Order him to stand down, or I shall commit him for contempt."

Sensation in Court. Mr. Learnéd Bore leaves the witness-box, hurriedly, and looking slightly scared.

Mr. Dreadful, K.C., wishing to cover up the faux pas as quickly as possible, rises and announces in explosive tones—

"Call the Writer."

The Writer entered the witness-box; inclined his head slightly to the Judge, smiled in the direction of the Lord Mayor, and was immediately bombarded explosively by Mr. Dreadful, K.C., whose pom-pom-like shells whistling overhead seemed totally unable to disturb the Writer's serene calm.

"Now, sir, are you not the author of the song, the ballad, the bosh, whatever you like to call it, that we have all been compelled to listen to in Court this afternoon?"

"Yes and No."

"Don't prevaricate, sir; which is it, yes or no?"

"Both."

"I warn you, sir, I warn you; what do you mean by both?"

"What I say."

"Then kindly say what you mean, sir; you must mean one or the other if you mean anything; you cannot mean both."

"I rearranged the song you refer to only from hearsay."

"Oh, indeed, sir, pray who is the original author?"

"The Griffin."

"Kindly stop talking nonsense, sir; it is bad enough to have to suffer it from an over-imaginative child, from a grown-up person it is intolerable. Do you suppose we are going to have the Griffin brought into Court in addition to the Lion?"

"I hope so."

"Indeed, indeed, sir, why do you hope so?"

"Well, judging from the Griffin's characteristics we have heard so well described this afternoon, he must be feeling green with envy that he has not received a summons here."

"You are pleased to joke, sir, and you are attempting to be elusive, but you will not slip through the fine meshes of evidence woven by the law in that way. Kindly examine that paper!"

Small piece of dirty paper passed to witness—

Witness smiles.

"Is that your handwriting, sir?"

"Certainly."

"And the composition of the words are yours?"

"No, only touched up from the Griffin's original."

Mr. Dreadful, bellowing, stamping, and banging his hand upon table all at one and the same time—

"The wretched Griffin is left entirely out of this case, sir."

"It is a thousand pities; he would have enjoyed it so."

"My Lord, I will venture to read this fragment mercifully dropped in Court by the child confederate of this slippery witness: it is headed Chorus, my lord; it doubtless forms a last part to the ridiculous song we all listened to in pained surprise. I contend, my Lord, that this fragment which has come into my possession is seditious; seditious, my Lord."

"Well, well, let us hear it," his Lordship adding hastily: "No, no, don't sing it, read it."

"My Lord, your injunction to me is unnecessary; indeed, my Lord, I lack all training enabling me to sing, I am thankful to say, but what is more to the point, my Lord, I almost lack the necessary self-control to read these seditious words unmoved by indignation. However, my Lord, I will make an effort." Counsel reads: "'Oh, my poor tender feet.'" (Titters in Court.)

His Lordship. "Well, well, that is harmless enough, the Griffin complained of that, you remember."

Counsel. "My Lord, I know nothing of the Griffin, and care less whether he complained or what he complained of, but, my Lord, it is I who complain, and rightly so, when the majesty of the law of England is mocked at. Listen, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, to the following lines, and their harmful wickedness—

"Of what use are England's laws
Unless they protect my claws,
And keep me warm in the street?
What snuffy old Judge in Court,
Ever gives my poor feet a thought;
Ever thinks of the snows and frosts,
Or adds up my bill of costs?"

(Titters in Court from the juniors.)

"There, my Lord," thundered Counsel, "can any one hear this iniquitous document unmoved, these wantonly wicked lines mocking alike at Law and Order, even at your Lordship's own almost sacred calling."

His Lordship. "A highly offensive and seditious document; impound it, Mr. Dreadful, and continue your examination of witnesses, please; time goes on."

"Now, sir," exploded Mr. Dreadful, "the Court, having with shame listened to your ribald effusion, I will ask you what you had to drink upon the night you and the Lord Mayor were found wandering under extraordinary circumstances in Trafalgar Square?"

"To drink—I personally? Nothing."

"What did you have in the house, sir, at the time?"

"Oh, the usual things."

"Don't equivocate, sir; how does the Court know what you may consider usual in your ill-regulated household. What did the Lord Mayor partake of during the period he was in your company, in your rooms, before going out to chase a lady who was under the impression she was a Russian dancer—round Trafalgar Square, and before proceeding to play bo-peep with one of the lions, placed in that Square to ornament it,—what, I ask, sir, did the Lord Mayor partake of by way of refreshment?"

"Oh, two tiny glasses of Crème-de-Menthe."

Counsel (triumphantly). "I knew it; at last, my Lord, we have the mystery explained. The mystery of the Lion's green eyes, the strangeness of the Lord Mayor's attitude, the strangeness of his speech, his dress, all due, my Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, to Crème-de-Menthe! My Lord, that one phrase explains this whole mystery, and with it I finish my statement of this case, my Lord, finish it with those three, deadly, green, significant words—Crème-de-Menthe."

Whereupon, to everybody's relief, the pompom explosions of Mr. Dreadful ceased. The last shell had been fired, followed by the usual whistles, and he sat down.

The silky tones of Mr. Gentle Gammon came as a positive relief as he re-examined and asked gently—

"Have you got the particular bottle of Crème-de-Menthe in Court?"

The Writer said he had brought it.

The bottle was fetched promptly.

"My Lord," observed Mr. Gentle Gammon, "I do not think the amount taken could possibly have had any effect upon anybody. Your Lordship observes that the bottle is nearly full, and the bottle produced is the identical vessel used upon the evening in question. Was any other sort of refreshment partaken of that evening in your chambers?"

"None whatever."

"One more question before you go. Of course this ballad, rearranged, as you say, from the original by you, was written without any thought of giving offence?"

"It was never intended to be published at all."

"Never intended to be read in Court, of course?"

"Never, in the way it was read."

"Thank you, that is enough," whereupon the Writer vanished gracefully from the witness-box.

After this period in the proceedings, if the Learned Judge slumbered only fitfully during Mr. Dreadful's final peroration, it might have been owing to the spasmodic explosions of that Counsel's voice; but there could be no doubt that the Learned Judge slept peacefully during the earlier portions of Mr. Gentle Gammon's final effort upon behalf of his client.

The Learned Judge had, however, a curious habit of hearing particular things in his sleep, which, like the highly intelligent house-dog, might have been either the result of long training or a naturally keen possession of the intuitive faculty. His Lordship found frequent occasion, therefore, to arouse himself in order to interpolate remarks during the latter half of Mr. Gentle Gammon's closing speech.

"Who are these sceptics?" demanded Mr. Gammon, "these disbelievers?"
After all they had heard that afternoon, might they not verily be
approaching that blissful period when the Lion should lie down with the
Lamb?…

His Lordship (opening one eye). "But it seems, according to evidence, that the Lion didn't always lie down; it stood up and gave a party."

Counsel proceeds: he had not quite finished the beautiful and well-known simile; here Counsel paused before continuing in a voice mellowed by winning tenderness—

"And the little child shall lead them."

Judge (again interrupting). "No, no, the Lion, according to evidence, distinctly led the children, even took them to Balham, we gather, in the direction of the tram-lines."

Counsel. "Your Lordship is pleased to interrupt my remarks."

Judge. "No, no, not pleased at all; quite the contrary."

Counsel. "I am sorry to have encountered your Lordship's displeasure."

His Lordship (irritably). "You have not encountered anything yet, save an inability to deal with the evidence, as evidence."

Counsel. "But, my Lord———"

His Lordship. "Hush, do not contradict me. Please continue; I shall not interrupt again."

Counsel. "I thank your Lordship for that assurance."

His Lordship. "Please do not thank me, and do not provoke me."

Counsel (proceeds, slightly ruffled). He would take another case of Biblical history; it was without question an ass who had upon a certain occasion been the one to see when a Lion had stood in his path. Here the case was unhappily reversed; it was only the asses who couldn't see the Lion, as he ought to be seen in this case.

His Lordship. "No, I cannot see that."

Counsel. "Your Lordship only makes my remarks more pointed than I actually intended."

His Lordship. "Please do not set cheap traps or you may one day get caught in them yourself."

Counsel (gallantly). "In that case, I can only hope that your Lordship may be there to extricate me by the nimbleness of your wit."

His Lordship (beaming round upon the Court, and especially upon Counsel). "Very pleasant, very clever; your speech interests me very much; pray continue!"

Learned Counsel (continuing). "Shakespeare, our best guide, philosopher, poet, thinker, and prophet, had fitly and most appropriately even foretold this very matter with regard to the Lion; maybe had prophesied it, when he told us there were sermons in stone and good in everything."

Judge (awakening, after dozing). "Good gracious! I always understood it was bronze."

Counsel. "Ahem! Yes, my Lord, that is to say stone pedestal, bronze beast."

His Lordship. "Very well, but when you quote for a purpose always quote with exact correctness."

Counsel (proceeds). "Did not the creature his Lordship had referred to as the great Pyg—Pyg—Pyg——-"

His Lordship (prompting). "No, no, not a pig, a Lion."

Counsel (bows, and with a supreme effort of memory recollects the word Pygmalion). "Had not the great Pygmalion so created Galatea that she verily became endowed with life, and may we not suppose that the genius of Sir Edwin Landseer, or whoever carved this wondrous lifelike Lion, might not also have endowed it with some such strange new form of existence? Was it reasonable to suppose that what had happened to Beauty might not also happen to the Beast? Take the simple exquisite statement of this child, this little boy Ridgwell, confirmed by his sister."

Judge (prompting). "No, no, you can only be actually confirmed by a Bishop."

Counsel. "I spoke of another confirmation, my Lord."

His Lordship. "Well, the issue, the issue, what does it show?"

Counsel. "My Lord, I will explain at some length carefully."

His Lordship immediately relapses into another short but placid slumber.

Counsel. "This child Ridgwell, with the imagination worthy of Christian in the Pilgrim's Progress, states simply, and you have heard for yourselves how beautifully, that the Lion walked and talked with him; and as I have used the touching illustration of the Pilgrim's Progress, with which you are all familiar, I say this child is not alone in his belief that the Lion came to life. There are others to testify, others to write of it, among them a well-known Writer and Poet. This Lion has not been left without a Bunyan."

His Lordship (waking almost with a start). "No, no! ridiculous; you are mixing matters. All the Lion had was a swelling in the foot caused by a thorn—I know the fable well."

Counsel. "My Lord, believe me, I spoke of a different matter."

His Lordship. "Well, you must not really wander from the point, it makes it almost impossible for me to follow you, and if I cannot follow you I don't know where you will be."

Counsel (glibly). "I trust it is I who will always follow your Lordship, and be led, as it were, by your Lordship."

His Lordship (obviously highly pleased). "Very true, and very aptly expressed. Pray do not let me interrupt you."

Counsel (bowing). "Your Lordship's remarks are in themselves a Commentary, and worthy of all preservation."

His Lordship (almost playfully). "Exceedingly apt. But I must refuse to be prejudiced by your clever advocacy."

Counsel. "And now we come to the touching and beautiful story of the Lord Mayor of London, the Right Worshipful" (with a rising inflexion of admiration in his voice), "who, after many years, had been knighted like Dick Whittington."

His Lordship. "What has Dick Whittington and his Cat to do with the present Lord Mayor of London and the Lion?"

Counsel. "Nothing, my Lord, save that——"

His Lordship. "Then please omit it; we have had enough of the fairy tale element in this trial without the introduction of any fresh fairy stories or nursery rhymes whatever."

Counsel (continues blandly, as if unconscious of interruption). "The Right Worshipful knew, and had always known, that one Lion was different to the others. One only, the one present in Court, was intelligent, a companion; the other three were deaf."

The Learned Counsel hoped the Gentlemen of the Jury "would not resemble those other three Lions by being deaf, deaf to the cause of justice, deaf to the interests of his client the Right Worshipful, deaf to those promptings of illuminating intelligence which had been especially vouchsafed to them as Jurymen, deaf to their duties as citizens in a strange world where there were to be found things even stranger than themselves." Thereupon the Learned Counsel sat down.

The Jury were asked if they wished to put any questions before His
Lordship summed up.

One juryman, rising, wished to know where Trafalgar Square was, as he had never seen it.

Consternation in Court.

His Lordship. "Good gracious, where do you live?"

Juryman was understood to say he had lived all his life upon the borders of Clapham Common. Questioned further with regard to this extraordinary admission, confessed he had never seen any of the Lions until he met the one in Court. Knew the Griffin well, as he had waited beside it during the four different days he had been obliged to come to town for the first time in his life. Had waited from an early hour each morning for several days until his name was called, when the different Jury lists were made up. Obliged to wait so many days on account of the names being taken alphabetically on the List, his beginning with Y, his name being Yobb.

After this brief interlude his Lordship appeared to rouse himself up and proceeded to sum up at one and the same time. His Lordship commenced by observing that the case before them that day was without exception the most extraordinary case that had ever come before him since he had presided as a judge. The Learned Judge considered that the child Ridgwell was exempt from—er—er—any deliberate desire to pervert facts. This boy claimed that he had become the recipient of some High Order of Imagination. He, the Learned Judge, had not the remotest idea what this order meant, and he firmly believed nobody else in Court had the faintest conception either concerning such a possession. However, children would be children, which was unfortunate, as he himself considered that children should be always, ahem! grown up, yes, or nearly always. That is to say, as often as was possible.

But the defendant, Mr. Learnéd Bore, had not even got the plea of childishness to excuse some of the very reprehensible, if not flippant, statements he had dared to make in the witness-box.

As a writer, the Learned Judge had always been led to believe that Mr. Learnéd Bore was quite intelligent; as a witness, the Learned Judge considered him deplorable. That a Lord Mayor of London, of London, perhaps the most beautiful and dignified city in the world, with a few architectural exceptions which the Learned Judge deplored, but—ahem!—allowed; that the Lord Mayor of this City with the glittering chains of that High Office still weighing down his neck, yet wearing his crimson robes, which the Learned Judge hoped blushed for him, as indeed his, the Learned Judge's own robes did, which he was at that moment wearing. That this Lord Mayor should utter the still more crimson falsehoods and fabrication of fairy folk, was well-nigh inconceivable.

The Learned Judge could only suppose such a state of Civic imbecility was due to the decadence of the times in which they had the misfortune to live. It was the first indication that the downfall of London, like that of Rome, and—er—other cities he could not at the moment recall—was at hand.

It showed, in the Learned Judge's opinion, that the Navy should at once be strengthened, the Board Schools increased, and the Asylums for all those who were mentally afflicted, and therefore so unlike themselves, should immediately be enlarged throughout the country, in order to cope with the extra call upon them that such a state of things as they had listened to that day might necessitate.

Furthermore, the Learned Judge remembered with gratitude the many petitions to the Royal Family, who, he was thankful to note, were never afflicted or influenced by any imagination whatsoever; therefore he begged that those petitions might be increased fourfold for—for—reasons which at that moment he found it impossible to explain.

He furthermore would remember with gratitude, and would increase if possible, the numbers of institutions for the blind, not to mention the deaf. During this action they had listened in very truth, and not unmoved, to people who had been blind. (Here a faint titter being heard in Court, the Learned Judge added reprovingly—)

He did not intend his last remark as a joke, having regard to the evidence one man had given. No, it was no matter upon which to joke. The blind were there before them, and he had used the expression the deaf, inasmuch that some of those before him had heard too much.

To hear too much was worse than not hearing enough. One of the Jury at this critical point, as if speaking upon impulse: "Hear! hear!"

His Lordship paused in passionate surprise; indignantly wondering whether or not the Gentleman of the Jury, whose face appeared to be covered with purposeless pimples, had really intended his last remark to be ambiguous.

Upon feeling himself reassured upon this point, the Learned Judge remarked: "Any more unseemly interruptions of this nature, and I shall clear the Court, not—ahem!—personally, but—er—vicariously, so to speak. Where was I?" (consulting notes). "Yes, at the House of Commons. The House of Commons, whose common sense as a body have helped to make the—ahem!—Irish and the English as one."

Where was the House of Commons now? He was thankful to say, where it had always been.

Would any one of the Members of that House believe that Oliver Cromwell, who had stood so long outside, had condescended to alight from his pedestal to shout vulgar abuse and brawling words at King Richard and King Charles, such as "Ha! ha!" and "Ho!"? He trusted not, he believed not; but if, indeed, such a thing could be possible, he trusted that Oliver Cromwell, if he could by special Providence be now actually alive, would verily with laughter say, "Ha! ha!" and even "Ho! ho!" to the ridiculous statements they had heard that day. In face of the many indignities offered to them he was thankful to note, since it was admitted in evidence, that King Richard, and especially King Charles, had kept their heads. He, the Learned Judge, again expressed a hope that no one would interpret his last remark as being facetious. Nothing was at that moment further from his thoughts. To joke in a Court of Law, or even attempt to joke beneath the emblazoned sign of the Lion and Unicorn somewhere above his head, would be to mock that noble animal (he referred to the Lion, of course), whose other effigy in Court formed such a striking contrast to the undignified attitude of those who had preferred such fanciful charges against this nobly statured beast, whose presence there among them, as Counsel had observed, was only rendered possible by the separate removal of five pairs of folding doors.

"Little imagination was required to realise that the stony stare of this noble animal must, Medusa-like, have become even more stony from horror and abhorrence at the eccentric things it could not hear, uttered concerning himself, I mean itself, that day.

"Now, Gentlemen of the Jury, you know what I have been talking about?"

The face of each and every Juryman a complete blank save one, who murmurs as if in his sleep, "No! no!"

"I therefore charge you, consider only that which is right, punish those, if any, who should be punished, spare the simple, if any, who should be spared. Commend any, if there are any such, for their intelligence in reporting a matter which they, like myself, are utterly unable to understand. If none in this affair should be reproved, then I charge you hereafter keep silent.

"Learn a lesson from the statue of the Lion in Court, who has remained silent throughout, and whose wisdom in this respect I cannot too much commend, whilst heartily wishing its example could have been followed by every one in Court with the exception of myself.

"By the many witnesses in general, but by one in particular; I refer to Mr. Learnéd Bore. Gentlemen, you need no other words of mine to make you do your duty.

"Words will never make people do their duty. Therefore, in having spared you much, I can only feel that I have helped you little. Gentlemen of the Jury, the matter having got thoroughly into your heads, is now in your hands. I therefore leave it there."

Here the Learned Judge ceased speaking. The Learned Judge having refreshed himself after this amazing forensic effort with a draught from the glass of water beside him, which, during the proceedings, had become lukewarm, gathered his robes about him and hopped through the folding doors at the back of him, into his private room.

The Jury, looking like men suddenly out of work, repaired in a body to their room, and once again the overcrowded and overheated Court gave itself over to the buzz and hum of conversation, freely interspersed with endless speculations as to what sort of verdict could possibly be returned in such an amazing case.

The Right Worshipful warmly thanked his Counsel, Mr. Gentle Gammon, for the brilliant efforts that gentleman had made upon his behalf, whilst Mr. Dreadful, K.C., glared unspeakable things in the direction of the Plaintiff and Plaintiff's Counsel alternately, for the entire case had filled Mr. Dreadful, K.C., with feelings of revolt.

Juniors not engaged on the case made whispered and sporting bets among themselves as to who would get the verdict. The amber light illuminating the Court continued to gleam upon the Pleasant-Faced Lion, unquestionably the most reposeful thing inside the building, although the primary cause of all the disturbance.

"Of course," observed Ridgwell to the Writer, "we shall know now who has won the game."

The Writer agreed.

"Will the old gentleman in the red robe call out the forfeits then?"

"Rather," replied the Writer, "and I fancy, myself, the heaviest forfeit will be the one which includes bringing Lal into Court; it must have really cost a very considerable sum. Hullo, they are all coming back," broke off the Writer, "all the Jury, looking as if they have lost their way, which I believe, myself, they have, during the entire case. There, they are summoning his Lordship. Now for it."

Upon his Lordship resuming his seat, the foreman of the Jury delivered himself thus, upon behalf of himself and his other eleven brethren.

"The Jury had all tasted and partaken of the Crème-de-Menthe" (bottle produced and the contents seen to be very considerably diminished), "and they found that the Right Worshipful the Lord Mayor of London could not have been suffering from any form of intoxication in the ordinary acceptance of the word, but that the Lord Mayor might have been temporarily intoxicated with a sense of his own greatness. That the noble Statue of the British Lion was regarded by the Lord Mayor merely as a symbol of the whole British Empire, and was emblematical of his own power under that Empire. Consequently no blame whatever could be attached to him.

"They further found that Mr. Learnéd Bore had forthwith unquestionably uttered a libel against the Lord Mayor which might have been a gross libel, had it not been merely a stupid assertion published in a newspaper, and not therefore to be taken seriously.

"They found that Mr. Learnéd Bore's evidence was flippant, and left much to be desired; they wished accordingly to severely censure that gentleman.

"Damages, therefore, in the case, although slight, would be given to his Worship the Lord Mayor, together with all costs of the action.

"With regard to the Writer and Poet, they, the Jury, wished to severely condemn all the works he had written, or partly written, since he had produced, or partly composed, one wholly seditious ballad, attempting to make fun of the Laws of England, whereupon they expressed an earnest hope that all his works might in future be banned."

His Lordship, after partaking of a final sip of the lukewarm water still beside him, then delivered his verdict.

"His Lordship entirely agreed that the Lord Mayor of London had been quite blameless throughout this case, the Lord Mayor's devotion to the British Lion as a symbol, was the most touching feature in the case; he would therefore have damages against Mr. Learnéd Bore, and Mr. Learnéd Bore would have to bear the entire costs of the Action.

"The damages in this Case would not be the unsatisfactory damages sometimes assessed at one farthing, nor would they be one shilling, or even half-a-crown. The damages he, the Learned Judge, awarded would be a sum sufficient to purchase a bottle of Crème-de-Menthe, and that of the very best (sensation in Court), to be given to his Worshipful the Lord Mayor in order to show that the fluid which had figured so conspicuously in this Case, although it might do some people harm, could only do good in the case of his Worshipful the Lord Mayor, since, to use Counsel's borrowed, but apt phrase, this liquid had only made it possible for the Lord Mayor to see sermons in bronze and stone, and good in everything; good even in the effigy of the Pleasant-Faced Lion, who had been brought into Court for the first time in its life, and who, could it have the power of hearing, must surely approve of the verdict now given."

The Learned Judge, having thus delivered himself, then rose, and once more hopped out of Court.

The sensation throughout the entire Court was profound.

* * * * *

Some considerable time after the Writer had hurried Ridgwell from the scene, and had provided a quite sumptuous tea, which both of them stood in need of, in a tea-shop in Fleet Street, they repaired upon the way home, and passed the statue of the Griffin.

"Look," whispered Ridgwell, as he pulled the sleeve of the Writer's coat to attract the Writer's attention. "Oh, look, the Griffin has been weeping bitterly."

It was, indeed, only too true. The Griffin's cup of sorrow and mortification was full. Four great indignant tears trembled upon his cheeks ready to fall. He had been compelled that day to stand and listen to people humming his, the Griffin's, own, pet song as they left the Court, and the Griffin had not been able to join in it.

The Pleasant-Faced Lion had gone into the Court and had left it in triumph, cheered by enthusiastic and interested crowds, whilst he, the Griffin, had remained unnoticed. The Griffin's feet were very, very cold, and his vain, foolish, excitement-loving heart had turned to stone.

Having contemplated this sad spectacle, the Writer and Ridgwell clambered upon the outside of a bus going westward. Half-way up the Strand the road was partly blocked by a concourse of cheering people. As their bus came alongside, Ridgwell and the Writer both stood up to look over the bus rail to see what was causing all the commotion. It was the Pleasant-Faced Lion being escorted back to Trafalgar Square in state upon a lorry. The crowd cheered enthusiastically upon viewing the unusual sight.

As the Writer and Ridgwell gazed at their old friend, the Pleasant-Faced Lion slowly, solemnly, and deliberately winked his right eye, which was nearest to them.

* * * * *

The Father and Mother of Ridgwell and Christine, upon returning from a most enjoyable holiday upon the Continent, could not avoid seeing the large headlines of the evening papers pasted everywhere upon the station boards at Charing Cross.

The headlines were varied; some of them read, "Comic Opera Scene in
Court." "Amusing Case before Mr. Justice Chatty." "Ridgwell Makes all
London Laugh."

"Very uncommon name," observed the Father of Ridgwell, as he bought some papers. Later on, in the railway carriage upon the way home, the Father of Ridgwell first read his paper, and then promptly wiped his eyeglasses, to assure himself that he was not dreaming.

"Good gracious!" exclaimed that worthy but astonished gentleman, "why, it's our Ridgwell!"

"What is our Ridgwell?" inquired the Mother of that hopeful.

"Our Ridgwell has been into Court, before a Judge," faltered his perplexed Father; "has sung a song, which seems to have been a great success. Positively gave evidence that one of the lions in Trafalgar Square was alive, and a great friend of his, and that the animal has occasionally given him a free ride home on his back to Balham; did you ever hear of such a thing?"

The Mother of Ridgwell hastily perused the papers recording these strange statements, whilst the Father of Ridgwell leaned back in the railway carriage, endeavouring to recover his breath, and collect his startled faculties both together.

The Mother of Ridgwell read the part describing her offspring's performance to the end, and then observed—

"Did you see, Father, that Ridgwell declares he possessed a high Order of Imagination, and then lost it?"

The Father of Ridgwell groaned.

"Lost it? Good gracious me, what nonsense, my dear; I should think myself he has just found it. I'll talk to that Writer, when I see him; he really oughtn't to be allowed about at large, any more than the Pleasant-Faced Lion. I consider the whole history of this animal most incredible."