ed with the cross-examination of the Irish
advocate.

"Do you want the witness to contradict what he has said in your
favour, Mr.----?"

"No, my lord."

"Why do you cross-examine, then?"

Now the catch of an old circuit song was heard.

"Call your next witness, Mr. Jones. Why was not this case tried in the
County Court?"

(Sounds of revelry from the Bar mess-room.)

"Keep that door shut!"

"May the witnesses go in the third case after this, my lord?"

"I don't know how long this case will last. I am here to do the work
of--"

("_Jolly good fellow_!" from the mess-room.)

"Keep that door shut!"

"What is your case, Mr.----?"

"It's slander, my lord--one butcher calling another a rogue; similar
to the present case."

"Does he justify?"

"Oh no, my lord." It was now on the stroke of twelve.

"I don't know at what time your lordship proposes to rise."

"Renew your application by-and-by."

("_We won't go home till morning_!" from the mess-room.)

"Keep that door shut! How many more witnesses have you got, Mr.
Williams?"

Mr. Williams, counting: "About--ten--eleven--"

"And you, Mr. Jones?"

"About the same number, my lord."

It was twenty minutes to one.

"I shall not sit any longer to oblige any one," said Sir Henry,
closing his book with a bang.

The noise woke the usher, and soon after the blare of trumpets
announced that the court had risen, as some wag said, until the day
after yesterday.]

CHAPTER XXXVII.

HOW I MET AN INCORRIGIBLE PUNSTER.

As the Midland Circuit was perhaps my favourite, although I liked them
all, there would necessarily be more to interest me there than on any
other, and at our little quiet dinners, for which there was no special
hour (it might be any time between eight o'clock in the evening or
half-past one the next day), there were always pleasant conversations
and amusing stories. With a large circle of acquaintances, I had
learnt many things, sometimes to interest and sometimes to instruct.
Although I never sat down to open a school of instruction, a man
should not despise the humblest teaching, or he may be deficient in
many things he should have a knowledge of.

There was once an old fox-hunting squire whose ambition was to be
known as a punster. There never was a more good-natured man or a more
genial host, and he would tell you of as many tremendous runs he had
had as Herne the hunter. After-dinner runs are always fine.

The Squire loved to