It now seems not unlikely to be revived, as it is certain that sooner or later it must be. And an ex cathedrâ utterance given by that eminently practical judge, Mr Justice Stephen, a short time ago, will tend to hasten the course of events in this matter. A case for trial before that judge was duly called on, when it was found that the plaintiff was unrepresented, his counsel being at the time engaged in another court. The plaintiff being unwilling, or at least unprepared, to conduct his own case—notwithstanding the growing tendency in favour of personally conducted cases—the judge was asked to allow the case to stand over, which he did, but not without giving a hint as to the possibility of future ‘reform.’ ‘If,’ said his lordship, ‘such an incident occurs often, it will become necessary to do away with the separation between solicitors and barristers.’ Just so. This is the way the question is regarded from the judicial point of view. When the judge is put to inconvenience, he speaks out; and if he is at all often put to inconvenience, he will act also. But inasmuch as, in most actions, each party is represented by more than one counsel—certainly no ‘distinguished’ or fashionable counsel will accept a brief without a junior—such inconvenience to a judge is of comparatively unfrequent occurrence; so that, although one of its members may occasionally be found to speak in favour of amalgamation, little or no active assistance can be expected from the judicial body.
But how does the question affect other interests? Solicitors, as we have hinted, are in favour of amalgamation. It can hardly do them much harm, but must in many cases add to their professional incomes, which is of course all that, as a body, they want. Barristers are more opposed to it, but, we think, without much reason. A few, doubtless, will suffer; but the state of the advocate’s profession as a whole can hardly be worse than it is at present. There are barristers, it may be said, who earn fifteen or twenty thousand pounds a year; but they are not many—infinitely fewer in number than those who earn nothing at all—and they are probably well above the reach of competition, partly by reason of their known and exceptional ability, and partly because they have been placed by fashion on a pedestal which is too firm to crumble away, at least during their brief span of life. But the few who make such incomes may be compared to the large landowners whom Mr Henry George and his friends would rob to enrich (?) those who have no land. If all the incomes made at the Bar were added together, and their sum divided amongst all the barristers, each would have but a pittance, so overstocked is the profession. Hence, regarding barristers as forming a small community, and giving due consideration to the greatest happiness of the greatest number principle, it is pretty obvious that the Bar has really little to lose by the bringing about of amalgamation.
Now from the point of view of the public. It is clear that this largest interest must benefit by amalgamation. It would promote economy—an extremely great gain. It would practically mean the abolition of that middle-man who is so obnoxious to economists, so hurtful to the proper expression of delicate points, and so wasteful of time. It matters not to the public, as long as it is placed in direct communication with its counsel, whether that counsel be a solicitor or a barrister; but it is of great and increasing importance to the vast body of litigants that personal relations should be established between client and advocate; and this is what must sooner or later come to pass. Other advantages of the amalgamated system have been before urged here and elsewhere; they need not be again specified in detail. Technically, the probable effect of the system would be the immediate entering into partnership of counsel and solicitors; which would mean nothing to the general public except the nearer approach of counsel and the vastly increased possibility of personal interview with him. Solicitors, in fact, would for all practical purposes become barristers’ confidential clerks; they would do all the work they do now for settlement by their partner counsel; they would receive clients in chambers while their partners were engaged in court, and in the event of an unusual press of court-work, would conduct the minor cases through their trials. The aggregate advantages of such a reform are so obvious, that minor interests should not be considered in bringing it about; and we are therefore inclined to express a hope that Mr Justice Stephen’s criticism of the existing state of affairs may prove to be prophetic of the near future.
LADY FREDERICK’S DIAMONDS.
I, Arnold Blake, have had a queer up-and-down, checkered sort of life, and until I was nearing my fortieth year, was most persistently down in my luck. First, it was in Mexico that I tried my fortune, and failed. Then, tempted by an enthusiastic friend, I went to Genoa and set up there in partnership with him as a merchant. The life was a very healthy and happy one, but not what any one could call profitable, from a pecuniary point of view—in fact, quite the reverse. After a few years, finding it impossible, with both ends stretched to the uttermost, to make them meet, we gave that up; and I moved on to Nice, where I had two or three substantial friends. There, things took a turn for the better, and I gradually formed a niche for myself, in time becoming quite an authority in my own small circle. Then, acting on good advice, I started a branch bank in connection with a well-known one in London. This answered fairly well; I had just as much work as I cared to do, was able to pay my expenses, and had even begun to lay by a little hoard against the proverbial ‘rainy-day.’ Nice was a gay, bright town to live in, and I constantly met old friends, and made many pleasant new ones, who were passing through to the South, or spending two or three months there, or at Monte Carlo, for the fascinating pleasure of either losing their own money, or making a tidy little fortune out of somebody else’s pocket.
One afternoon, I was sitting in my small counting-house, writing for the English mail, when the door opened, and in came an old acquaintance, Sir Frederick O’Connor, with a parcel in his hand. ‘How d’ye do, Blake?’ said he cheerily. ‘I’ve come to you to get me out of a difficulty. These are my wife’s jewels. Why she has brought them with her, family diamonds and all, passes my understanding. I call it insane! Fact is I don’t relish the idea of waking up some fine morning to find my throat cut! I want to know if you will be so good as to keep them in your safe while we are here. Whenever Lady O’Connor wishes to dazzle her friends with them, I can easily come round and ask you for what she wants.’
Naturally, I willingly consented to find a corner for the jewels; and after I had taken an inventory of them, Sir Frederick himself placed them in an inner compartment, and I locked the door. I little thought what a dance those confounded diamonds should lead me!
A few days after this, at a large garden-party I met Lady O’Connor, young, pretty, and happy-looking. She shook hands cordially, expressed pleasure at meeting again, and asked if I thought the season would be a gay one. ‘By-the-by,’ she said, ‘it is very kind of you, Mr Blake, to take care of my valuables. Sir Frederick was quite in despair about them, until a happy thought suggested you as their protector. I am going to trouble you for some of them to-morrow. Fred will call for them; and do not be surprised if you see him bristling with bowie-knives and revolvers, for he has a fixed idea that the Nice ruffian has a keener nose for other people’s property than any other ruffian in the world.’
I answered that her lovely jewels were worthy of an escort armed to the teeth, and that I was very glad indeed to be of use to Sir Frederick and herself in any way.
The morning after this garden-party—it must have been about half-past four or five—my sleepy senses were completely scattered by my door being thrown violently open, and Roscoe, my combined valet and commissionaire, a quiet and respectful treasure, landing beside me as if shot out of a catapult. I knew at once that something very dreadful must have happened. Roscoe’s face of horror and despair would have made a valuable study for an artist.