The administration of the oath in Courts of Justice is apt to become perfunctory, and some sheriffs shorten the formula, so that it is administered somewhat after this fashion: "I swearbalmitygod, that I will tell the truth, the wholetruth, anothingbuthetruth." There is one sheriff more punctilious, and recently he administered the oath to a female witness, making her recite it in sections after him. "I swear by Almighty God" (pause). Witness: "I swear by Almighty God."—"As I shall answer to God." Witness: "As I shall answer to God."—"At the Great Day of Judgment." The witness stumbled over this clause, and the sheriff had to repeat it twice. As she ran more glibly over the concluding words, the sheriff remarked: "It's extraordinary how many people come to this Court who seem never to have heard of that great occasion."
This is what took place in a Glasgow Court. Sheriff: "Repeat this after me, 'I swear by Almighty God.'" Witness: "I swear by Almighty God." Sheriff: "I will tell the truth." Witness: "I will tell the truth." Sheriff: "The whole truth." Witness: "I HOPE so!"
In Edinburgh Sheriff Small Debt Court the oath was administered to a witness who was dull of hearing. "I swear by Almighty God," said the sheriff. The witness put his hollowed hand to his ear and asked: "Wha dae ye sweer by?" Many Court reporters have heard a witness swear to tell "the truth, the whole truth, and anything but the truth"; and one old lady (mistaking certain words recited by the judge) affirmed her determination to tell the truth "with a great deal of judgment."
As we indicated at the beginning of this volume, stories of wit and humour from the ranks of agents in the legal profession are much rarer than in those of the Bench and the Bar. From the Court of Session Garland we quote the following relating to a worthy practitioner in the days when Councillor Pleydell played "high jinks" in his favourite tavern.
In old times some stray agents in Scotland might be found who were not particularly distinguished for professional attainments, and who sometimes could not "draw" a paper as it is termed. One of these worthies was impressed with the idea that his powers were equal to the preparation of a petition for the appointment of a factor. His clerk was summoned, pens, ink, and paper placed before him, and the process of dictation commenced: "Unto the Right Honourable." "Right Honourable," echoed the clerk. "The Lords of Council and Session."—"Session," continued the scribe—"the Petition of Alexander Macdonald, tenant in Skye—Skye—humbly sheweth—sheweth." "Stop, John, read what I've said."—"Yes, sir. 'Unto the Right Honourable the Lords of Council and Session the Petition of Alexander Macdonald, tenant in Skye, humbly sheweth.'"—"Very well, John, very well. Where did you stop?"—"Humbly sheweth—that the petitioner—petitioner"—here a pause for a minute—"that the petitioner. It's down, sir." Here the master got up, walked about the room, scratched his head, took snuff, but in vain; the inspiration had fled with the mysterious word "petitioner." The clerk looked up somewhat amazed that his master had got that length, and at last ventured to suggest that the difficulty might be got over. "How, John?" exclaimed his master. "As you have done the most important part, what would you say, sir, to send the paper to be finished by Mr. M—— with a guinea?"—"The very thing, John, tak' the paper to Mr. M——, and as we've done the maist fickle pairt of the work he's deevilish weel aff wi' a guinea."
We are indebted to the author of that capital collection of Scottish anecdote, Thistledown, for the following story, as illustrating one of the many humorous attempts to get the better of the law, and one in which the lawyer was "hoist with his own petard." A dealer having hired a horse to a lawyer, the latter, either through bad usage or by accident, killed the beast, upon which the hirer insisted upon payment of its value; and if it was not convenient to pay costs, he expressed his willingness to accept a bill. The lawyer offered no objection, but said he must have a long date. The hirer desired him to fix his own time, whereupon the writer drew a promissory note, making it payable at the day of judgment. An action ensued, when in defence, the lawyer asked the judge to look at the bill. Having done so, the judge replied: "The bill is perfectly good, sir; and as this is the day of judgment, I decree that you pay to-morrow."
Joseph Gillon was a well-known Writer to the Signet early in the nineteenth century. Calling on him at his office one day, Sir Walter Scott said, "Why, Joseph, this place is as hot as an oven."—"Well," quoth Gillon, "and isn't it here that I make my bread?"