They thought the cat was dead,
She gave a purr, and then a meow,
And stretched out her head.
“Thy name,” said he, “shall certainly
A beacon still remain,
A terror unto evil doers
For evermore, Amen.”
CHAPTER XI
’TWEEN BENCH AND BAR—A CHAPTER OF LEGAL FACETIÆ
The Scottish Law Courts have been long and justly celebrated as an arena of wit and humour of the richest sort. But the facetious counsel and the witty and eccentric judge, like the humorous and quaint divine, no longer prevail; and the current collector of the native legal facetiæ who would present brilliant specimens and illustrations must riddle the records of past generations to find them, or else adopt the simpler method, which has been most frequently followed, of riddling the riddlings of those who have successfully riddled the records before them. Despising neither of the courses indicated, I shall partially here pursue both; and, first of all, will turn to the Memorials of the late Lord Henry Cockburn, the most extraordinary passages of which perhaps are the writer’s memories of the law lords. Of Lords Braxfield, Eskgrove, Eldon, Hermand, and Meadowbank, and others, most of whom he knew personally, Cockburn tells some “unco” stories. And, surely, if we may express regret that the wit and humour of some of those are not inherited by the present occupiers of the judicial bench, we may be very thankful that the brutal severity which was practised by the first named is no longer possible. Braxfield’s maxim seems to have been, “Hang a thief when he’s young and he’ll no steal when he’s auld.” It may be doubted, says Cockburn, if he was ever so much in his element as when tauntingly repelling the last despairing claim of a wretched culprit, and sending him to Botany Bay or the gallows with an insulting jest, over which he would chuckle the more from observing that correct people were shocked. To an eloquent culprit at the bar he once said—“Ye’re a vera clever chield, my man, but ye wad be nane the waur o’ a hanging,” and perhaps he got it. “Let them bring me prisoners and I’ll find them law,” used to be openly stated as his suggestion when an intended political prosecution was marred by anticipated difficulties. And Mr. Horner, the father of Francis, who was one of the juniors in one Mair’s case, told that when he was passing the bench to get into the box, Braxfield, who knew him, whispered, “Come awa’, Mr. Horner, come awa’, and help us to hang ane o’ thae damned scoondrels.” In another political case it was pled in defence that “Christianity was an innovation, and that all great men had been reformers, even our Saviour himself.” “Muckle He made o’ that,” chuckled Braxfield, in an under voice, “He was hangit.”