A father never looked on his firstborn with more pleasure than a barrister on his first brief. If the Tower guns were announcing the birth of an heir to the Throne, he would not look up to ask, "What is that?"
It was the turning-point of my life, for had there been no first brief pretty soon, I should have thought my kind relations' predictions were about to be verified. But I should never have returned home; there was still the Stage left, on which I hoped to act my part.
Strange to say, my first brief, like almost everything in my life, had a little touch of humour in it.
I was instructed to defend a man at Hertford Sessions for stealing a wheelbarrow, and unfortunately the wheelbarrow was found on him; more unfortunate still—for I might have made a good speech on the subject of the animus furandi—the man not only told the policeman he stole it, but pleaded "Guilty" before the magistrates. I was therefore in the miserable condition of one doomed to failure, take what line I pleased. There was nothing to be said by way of defence, but I learnt a lesson never to be forgotten.
Being a little too conscientious, I told my client, the attorney, that in the circumstances I must return the brief, inasmuch as there was no defence for the unhappy prisoner.
The attorney seemed to admire my principle, and instead of taking offence, smiled in a good-natured manner, and said it was no doubt a difficult task he had imposed on me, and he would exchange the brief for another. He kept his word, and by-and-by returned with a much easier case—a prosecution where the man pleaded "Guilty." It was a grand triumph, and I was much pleased.
Those were early days to begin picking and choosing briefs, for no man can do that unless he is much more wanted by clients than in want of them; but I learned the secret in after life of a great deal of its success.
I was, however, a little chagrined when I saw the mistake I had made. Rodwell was leader of the sessions, and ought to have been far above a guinea brief; judge then of my surprise when I saw that same brief a few minutes after accepted by that great man—the brief I had refused because there was nothing to be said on the prisoner's behalf. My curiosity was excited to see what Rodwell would do with it, and what defence he would set up. It was soon gratified. He simply admitted the prisoner's guilt, and hoped the chairman, who was Lord Salisbury, would deal leniently with him.
I could have done that quite as well myself, and pocketed the guinea. From that moment I resolved never to turn a case away because it was hopeless.
I subjoin a copy of my first brief for the prosecution.