Two cows went astray at Newport News, Virginia. One belonged to a negro, and the other to a white man named Shields. A cow answering the description of either of the two animals was purchased by a farmer not long after. The bereaved men heard of the purchase, and each claimed the animal and presented proof equally convincing. The case came up before a judge and the jury heard the evidence, but as the witnesses for each party described the same cow, they were unable to give a decision. Then the judge said he would turn the cow out on the green. If she went toward the negro’s farm she should be his, if she went toward Shields’s farm she should be his. The cow was turned out, but she found the grass so satisfying that she went neither way.
The Butchers
When Napoleon I. came, after a series of victories, to visit annexed Belgium, he found, on entering Ghent, a triumphal arch erected by the guild of butchers, inscribed: “The little butchers of Ghent to Napoleon the great” (butcher). The deacon of the guild had asked a clever nobleman (who loathed Napoleon) to write the inscription, the sarcasm in which the worthy deacon did not detect.
Meeting the Difficulty
Merivale tells a story of a Quaker who lived in a country town in England. He was rich and benevolent, and always responsive to appeals for purposes of local charity and usefulness. The townspeople wanted to rebuild their parish church, which was falling into decay, and a committee was appointed to raise the funds. It was agreed that the Friend could not be asked to subscribe towards an object so contrary to his principles; but then, on the other hand, so true and public-spirited a friend to the town might take it amiss if he was not at least consulted on a matter of such general interest. So one of their number went and explained to him their project; the old church was to be removed, and such and such steps were to be taken towards the construction of a new one.
“Thee is right,” said the Quaker, “in supposing that my principles would not allow me to assist in building a church. But did thee not say something about pulling down a church? Thee may put my name down for a hundred pounds.”
A Tough Witness
Not even a lawyer, however skilful in cross-examination, can make a witness tell the truth, provided the witness wishes to evade it. It is impossible to put the question in such exact language that it will demand the desired answer. It was necessary, on a certain occasion in court, to compel a witness to testify as to the way in which a Mr. Smith treated his horse. “Well, sir,” said the lawyer, with a sweet and winning smile—a smile intended to drown all suspicion as to the ulterior purposes—“how does Mr. Smith generally ride a horse?” The witness looked up innocently and replied: “Generally a-straddle, sir, I believe.” The lawyer asked again: “But, sir, what gait does he ride?” The imperturbable witness answered, “He never rides any gate at all, sir; but I’ve seen his boys ride every gate on the farm.” The lawyer saw he was on the track of a Tartar, and his next question was very insinuating. “How does Mr. Smith ride when he is in company with others? I demand a clear answer.” “Well, sir,” said the witness, “he keeps up with the rest if his horse is able to, or if not he falls behind.” The lawyer by this time was almost beside himself, and asked: “And how does he ride when he is alone?” “I don’t know,” was the reply, “I never was with him when he was alone,” and there the case dropped.
Shifting Responsibility
There is something of the shrewd humor of the Oriental cadi, says the Pall Mall Gazette, in the decision of a Russian stipendiary magistrate, a report of which comes from Odessa. It appears that a new cemetery was about to be opened near that city, and that two Greek merchants, each anxious to secure the most comfortable or most distinguished resting-place, were allowed by some official blunder to buy the same allotment. When the mistake was discovered neither would yield his claim, and the matter was referred to the district judge. Greek had met Greek, and the tug of war threatened to be severe, when the magistrate, with an astuteness worthy of Solomon, arranged the matter in the simplest way possible, by applying the rule, “First come, first served,” and suggesting that whichever died first should have the right to the coveted resting-place. The parties went away reconciled and happy. It is not stated whether they had to find sureties to guarantee that neither would take an unfair advantage of the other by committing suicide.