"Sir, will a sack o' taters be of any service to you?"
This sort of gratitude was not uncommon in those days. I told the story to Mr. Justice Wightman, and he said,—
"Oh, that's nothing to what happened to the Common Serjeant of London. He had sent to him once a Christmas hamper containing a hare, a brace and a half of pheasants, three ducks, and a couple of fowls, which he accepted."
I sometimes won a jury over by a little good-natured banter, and often annoyed Chief Justice Campbell when I woke him up with laughter. And yet he liked me, for although often annoyed, he was never really angry. He used to crouch his head down over his two forearms and go to sleep, or pretend to, by way of showing it did not matter what I said to the jury. I dare say it was disrespectful, but I could not help on these occasions quietly pointing across my shoulder at him with my thumb, and that was enough. The jury roared, and Campbell looked up,—
"What's the joke, Mr. Hawkins?"
"Nothing, my lord; I was only saying I was quite sure your lordship would tell the jury exactly what I was saying."
"Go on, Mr. Hawkins—"
Then he turned to his clerk and said,—
"I shall catch him one of these days. Confine yourself to the issue,
Mr. Hawkins."
"If your lordship pleases," said I, and went on.