Many of the well-known witticisms attributed to great judges are so tinged with personality—even tending to malignity—that no one possessing respect for human nature can read them without being tempted to regard them as mere biographical fabrications. But such a construction cannot be put upon the stories told of Lord Chancellor Thurlow, whose overbearing insolence to the Bar is well known. To a few friends like John Scott, Lord Eldon, and Lloyd Kenyon, Lord Kenyon, he could be consistently indulgent; but to those who provoked him by an independent and fearless manner he was little short of a persecutor. Once when Scott was about to follow his leader, who had made an unusually able speech, the Chancellor addressed him: "Mr. Scott, I am glad to find you are engaged in the cause, for I now stand some chance of knowing something about the matter." This same leader of the Bar on one occasion, in the excitement of professional altercation, made use of an undignified expression before Lord Thurlow; but before his lordship could take notice of it the counsel immediately apologised, saying, "My lord, I beg your lordship's pardon. I really forgot for the moment where I was." A silent recognition of the apology would have made the counsel feel his position more keenly, but the Chancellor could not let such an opportunity pass and immediately flashed out: "You thought you were in your own Court, I presume," alluding to a Welsh judgeship held by the offending counsel.
As a contrast to Lord Thurlow's treatment of Scott's leader, the following story—given in Scott's own words—shows how the great Chancellor could unbend himself in the company of men who were in his favour. "After dinner, one day when nobody was present but Lord Kenyon and myself, Lord Thurlow said, 'Taffy, I decided a cause this morning, and I saw from Scott's face that he doubted whether I was right.' Thurlow then stated his view of the case, and Kenyon instantly said, 'Your decision was quite right.' 'What say you to that?' asked the Chancellor. I said, 'I did not presume to form a case on which they were both agreed. But I think a fact has not been mentioned, which may be material.' I was about to state the fact, and my reasons. Kenyon, however, broke in upon me, and with some warmth stated that I was always so obstinate there was no dealing with me. 'Nay,' interposed Thurlow, 'that's not fair. You, Taffy, are obstinate, and give no reasons. You, Jack, are obstinate too; but then you give your reasons, and d—d bad ones they are!'"
Another anecdote again illustrates the Chancellor's treatment of even those who were on a friendly footing with him. Sir Thomas Davenport, a great Nisi Prius leader, had long flattered himself with the hope of succeeding to some valuable appointment in the law; but several good things passing by, he lost his patience and temper along with them. At last he addressed this laconic application to his patron: "The Chief Justiceship of Chester is vacant; am I to have it?" and received the following laconic answer: "No! by G—d! Kenyon shall have it."
Scarcely less courteous was this Lord Chancellor's treatment of a solicitor who endeavoured to prove to him a certain person's death. To all his statements the Chancellor replied, "Sir, that is no proof," till at last the solicitor losing patience exclaimed: "Really, my lord, it is very hard and it is not right that you should not believe me. I knew the man well: I saw the man dead in his coffin. My lord, the man was my client." "Good G—d, sir! why didn't you tell me that sooner? I should not have doubted the fact one moment; for I think nothing can be so likely to kill a man as to have you for his attorney."
As Keeper of the Great Seal Thurlow had the alternate presentation to a living with the Bishop of ——. The Bishop's secretary called upon the Lord Chancellor and said, "My Lord Bishop of —— sends his compliments to your lordship, and believes that the next turn to present to —— belongs to his lordship."—"Give his lordship my compliments," replied the Chancellor, "and tell him that I will see him d—d first before he shall present."—"This, my lord," retorted the secretary, "is a very unpleasant message to deliver to a bishop." To which the Chancellor replied, "You are right, it is so; therefore tell the Bishop that I will be d—d first before he shall present."
Lord Campbell in his life of Thurlow says that in his youth the Chancellor was credited with wild excesses. There was a story, believed at the time, of some early amour with the daughter of a Dean of Canterbury, to which the Duchess of Kingston alluded when on her trial at the House of Lords. Looking Thurlow, then Attorney-General, full in the face she said, "That learned gentleman dwelt much on my faults, but I too, if I chose, could tell a Canterbury tale."
But with all his bitterness and sarcasm Lord Thurlow had a genuine sense of humour, as the following story of his Cambridge days illustrates—days when he was credited with more disorderly pranks and impudent escapades than attention to study. "Sir," observed a tutor, "I never come to the window but I see you idling in the Court."—"Sir," replied the future Lord Chancellor, "I never come into the Court but I see you idling at the window."
