I was much struck, in some of the cases, by a friendly sort of confidence which characterized some of the proceedings. Here again the effect in a great measure was attributable to the Barrister. He seemed to act—as indeed he is—rather as an authorized arbitrator than as a judge. He advised rather than ordered; “I really think, he said, to one defendant, “I really think, sir, you have made yourself liable.” “Do you, sir?” said the man, pulling out his purse, without more ado, “then, sir, I am sure I will pay.”
It struck me, too, as remarkable, that though some of the cases were hotly contested, none of the defeated parties complained of the decision. In several instances, the parties even appeared to acquiesce in the propriety of the verdict.
A Scotch shoeing-smith summoned a man who, from his appearance, I judged to be a hard, keen-dealing Yorkshire horse-jobber; he claimed a sum of money for putting shoes upon six-and-thirty horses. His claim was just, but there was an error in his particulars of demand which vitiated it. The Barrister took some trouble to point out that in consequence of this error even if he gave a decision in his favor, he should be doing him an injury. The case was a hard one, and I could not help regretting that the poor plaintiff should be non-suited. Did he complain? Neither by word or action. Folding up his papers, he said, sorrowfully, “Well, sir, I assure you I would not have come here, if it had not been a just claim.” The Barrister evidently believed him, for he advised a compromise, and adjourned the case that the parties might try to come to terms. But the defendant would not arrange, and the plaintiff was driven to elect a non-suit.
The mode of dealing with documentary evidence afforded me considerable satisfaction. Private letters—such as the tender effusions of faithless love—are not, as in the higher Courts, thrust one after the other, into the dirty face of a grubby-looking witness who was called to prove the handwriting, sent the round of the twelve jurymen in the box, and finally passed to the reporters that they might copy certain flowery sentences and a few stanzas from “Childe Harold,” which the short-hand writers “could not catch,” but are handed up, seriatim, to the Judge who looks through them carefully and then passes them over without observation for the re-perusal of the defendant. Not a word transpires except such extracts as require comment.
There was a claim against a gentleman for a butcher’s bill. He had the best of all defences, for he had paid ready money for every item as it was delivered. The plaintiff was the younger partner of a butchering firm which had broken up, leaving him in possession of the books and his partner in possession of the credit. The proprietor of the book-debts proved the order and delivery of certain joints prior to a certain date, and swore they had not been paid for. To show his title to recover the value of them, he somewhat unnecessarily thrust before the Barrister, the deed which constituted him a partner. The Judge instantly compared the deed with the bill. “Why,” he said, turning to the butcher, “all the items you have sworn to were purchased anterior to the date of your entering into partnership. If any one is entitled to recover, it is your partner, whom the defendant alleges he has paid.” In one, as they are called, of the “Superior Courts,” I very much doubt whether either Judge or Jury would have discovered for themselves this important discrepancy.
The documentary evidence was not confined to deeds and writings, stamped or unstamped. Even during the short time I was present, I saw some curious records produced before the Barrister—records as primitive in their way as those the Chancellor of the Exchequer used to keep in the Tally-Office, before the comparatively recent introduction of book-keeping into the department of our national accountant.
Among other things received in evidence, were a milkwoman’s score and a baker’s notches. Mr. Ficker appeared inclined to think that no weight ought to be attached to such evidence as this. But, when I recollect that there have occasionally been such things as tombstones produced in evidence before Lord Volatile in his own particular Court, the House of Lords, (“the highest jurisdiction,” as they call it, “in the realm,”) I see no good reason why Mrs. Chalk, the milkwoman, should not be permitted to produce her tallies in a County Court. For every practical purpose the score upon the one seems just as good a document as the epitaph upon the other.
I was vastly pleased by the great consideration which appeared to be displayed towards misfortune and adversity. These Courts are emphatically Courts for the recovery of debts; and inasmuch as they afford great facilities to plaintiffs, it is therefore the more incumbent that defendants should be protected against hardship and oppression. A man was summoned to show why he had not paid a debt pursuant to a previous order of the Court. The plaintiff attended to press the case against him, and displayed some rancor.
“Why have you not paid, sir?” demanded the Judge sternly.
“Your honor,” said the man, “I have been out of employment six months, and within the last fortnight everything I have in the world has been seized in execution.”