he wrong he had done; and so he won my sympathy in his sad
misfortune and misery.

In the days when burglary was punished with death, there was very
seldom any remission, I was in court one day at Guildford, when a
respectably-dressed man in a velveteen suit of a yellowy green colour
and pearl buttons came up to me. He looked like one of Lord Onslow's
gamekeepers. I knew nothing of him, but seemed to recognize his
features as those of one I had seen before. When he came in front of
my seat he grinned with immense satisfaction, and said,--

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Orkins?"

I could not understand the man's meaning.

"No, thank you," I said. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you recollect, sir, you defended me at Kingston for a burglary
charge, and got me off., Mr. Orkins, in flyin' colours?"

I recollected. He seemed to have the flying colours on his lips. "Very
well," I said; "I hope you will never want defending again."

"No, sir; never."

"That's right."

"Would a _teapot_ be of any use to you, Mr. Orkins?"

"A teapot!"

"Yes, sir, or a few silver spoons--anything you like to name, Mr.
Orkins."

I begged him to leave the court.

"Mr. Orkins, I will; but I am grateful for your gettin' me off that
job, and if a piece o' plate will be any good, I'll guarantee it's
good old family stuff as'll fetch you a lot o' money some day."

I again told him to go, and, disappointed at my not accepting things
of greater value, he said,--

"Sir, will a sack o' taters be of any service to you?"

This sort of gratitude was not uncommon in those days. I told the
story to Mr. Justice Wightman, and he said,--

"Oh, that's nothing to what happened to the Common Serjeant of London.
He had sent to him once a Christmas hamper containing a hare, a brace
and a half of pheasants, three ducks, and a couple of fowls, which _he
accepted_."

I sometimes won a jury over by a little good-natured banter, and often
annoyed Chief Justice Campbell when I woke him up with laughter. And
yet he liked me, for although often annoyed, he was never really
angry. He used to crouch his head down over his two forearms and go to
sleep, or pretend to, by way of showing it did not matter what I said
to the jury. I dare say it was disrespectful, but I could not help on
these occasions quietly pointing across my shoulder at him with my
thumb, and that was enough. The jury roared, and Campbell looked up,--

"What's the joke, Mr. Hawkins?"

"Nothin