rated by counsel during the course of them is a relief. One was
being heard, in which Mr. Muir was counsel, and to many of his
statements the junior counsel for the prosecution shook his head
vehemently, although he said nothing. This continual dumb contradiction
at length got on the customary patience of Mr. Muir, who blurted out: "I
do not know why my friend keeps shaking his head, whether it is that he
has palsy, or that there's nothing in it!"

Mr. Baldwin was the counsel employed to oppose a person justifying bail
in the Court of King's Bench. After some common questions, a waggish
counsel sitting near suggested that the witness should be asked as to
his having been a prisoner in Gloucester gaol. Mr. Baldwin thereon
boldly asked: "When, sir, were you last in Gloucester gaol?" The
witness, a respectable tradesman, with astonishment declared that he
never was in a gaol in his life. Mr. Baldwin being foiled after putting
the question in various ways, turned round to his friendly prompter, and
asked for what the man had been imprisoned. He was told that it was for
suicide. Thereupon Mr. Baldwin, with great gravity and solemnity
addressed the witness: "Now, sir, I ask you upon your oath, and remember
that I shall have your words taken down, were you not imprisoned in
Gloucester gaol for suicide?"

A young lawyer who had just "taken the coif," once said to Samuel
Warren, the author of _Ten Thousand a Year_: "Hah! Warren, I never could
manage to get quite through that novel of yours. What did you do with
Oily Gammon?"--"Oh," replied Warren, "I made a serjeant of him, and of
course he never was heard of afterwards."

[Illustration: SAMUEL WARREN, Q.C., MASTER IN LUNACY.]

* * * * *

Warner Sleigh, a great thieves' counsel, was not debarred by etiquette
from taking instructions direct from his clients. One day, following a
rap on the door of his chambers in Middle Temple Lane, a thick-set man,
with cropped poll of unmistakably Newgate cut, slunk into the room, when
the following colloquy took place.

"Mornin', sir," said the man, touching his forelock. "Morning," replied
counsel. "What do you want?"--"Well, sir, I'm sorry to say, sir, our
little Ben, sir, has 'ad a misfortin'; fust offence, sir, only a
'wipe'--"--"Well, well!" interrupted counsel. "Get on."--"So, sir, we
thought as you've 'ad all the family business we'd like you to defend
'im, sir."--"All right," said counsel; "see my c