A young Englishwoman, who was his companion at a dinner party, asked him, as there was no mistletoe in Ireland, what the girls and boys did at Christmas-time without it. "Ah, if it's kissing you mean," the old priest answered, "they do it under the rose!"
Mathew had a witty tongue of his own. No doubt, it will be remembered by his legal friends that at the time Herschell was Lord Chancellor, Arthur Cohen, a distinguished Q.C., quite looked to be appointed to a puisne judgeship, which he did not get. When Mathew heard of Cohen's resentment, he expressed surprise that his learned friend expected anything else from Herschell but a Passover.
Serjeant Ballantine
I made acquaintance in my early professional days with Serjeant Ballantine, always a pleasant and amusing companion, with a great love of the theatre. Throughout his life he was very Bohemian in his tastes and habits. I remember him first at Evans's, a music-hall of those days, in Covent Garden—it stood where prize-fights now take place at the National Sporting Club—where there was a noted choir of boys, and where "Paddy Green," the manager, squeezed hot potatoes from their jackets with his napkin for favoured guests.
Ballantine devoted himself entirely to criminal cases. He was a great cross-examiner, but he found his equal in Serjeant Parry, who had masterly power over a jury. Another of his rivals was the distinguished advocate, Henry Hawkins, afterwards Lord Brampton, who was known to be as rich as Ballantine was poor. In a robing-room on one occasion Ballantine asked Hawkins what he was going to do with all his money, adding that when he died he could not take it with him, and that even if he could he feared it would melt.
Ballantine defended the impostor Arthur Orton, the "Claimant," in the first Tichborne trial and professed belief in the genuineness of that rascal. Later he was retained for the defence of the Gaekwar of Baroda in India. He received for his services the largest fee then known, but he lost the bulk of it at Monte Carlo on his way home.
When I became acquainted with Frank Lockwood he was a young actor at a seaside theatre. He did not, in the judgment of his comrades, show much promise and wisely abandoned the stage as a career. I next met him as a rising barrister at the house of the Kendals, with whom he was on terms of close friendship, as he soon became with my wife and me.
Lockwood was a brilliant caricaturist. His company was always a delight. I remember an evening when he sat by me at dinner after he had fought many a hard battle, and I asked if he were offered a judgeship would he accept it. In a moment he answered, no; he loved the fight too much. Soon afterwards, however, he had changed his mind, longed for relief from the struggle and sighed for peace. It was not to be. His health suddenly broke down, his strength was failing, and he had to give in.
Frank Lockwood was a popular leader at the Bar, a genial Member in the House, a perfect host, a welcome guest, a delightful companion, a staunch friend.
Montagu Williams