(_By a retired Barrister._)
Mr. Justice Lawrence possessed the advantage of a very handsome
person, accompanied with a great share of dignity of manner. His
deportment was haughty; but it was one of pride unmarked with
insolence. He knew what was due to the station which he filled, and he
exacted the respect to which it was entitled. He crushed assumption
and forward impudence by a look, and brought them down to the level of
their own insignificance. I recollect an instance of this on one
occasion, when I attended him as counsel on a summons. The Attorney on
the opposite side was a Mr. Tomlinson, a man then in extensive
practice, but forward, assuming, and self-sufficient. He made some
observation which offended the learned judge. He rose haughtily from
his chair, and without uttering a word, fixed his eyes on Tomlinson,
and waved his hand towards the door. Contempt could not have been
conveyed half so expressively by any words which he could have used.
Tomlinson understood his meaning, and instantly retired.
He was partial to those to whom birth or education gave a claim to the
title of _gentleman_. To those who derived no pretension to it from
either of those sources, he never showed a want of attention, unless
they exhibited any traits of vulgar assurance, or upstart insolence;
to those he unsparingly dealt the full measure of contemptuous
observance. To the incorrect in morals or professional conduct, he was
irreconcileably supercilious and invariably severe.
I recollect but one anecdote of any pleasantry which occurred before
Mr. Justice Lawrence, in which he had any part, and at which he
enjoyed a hearty laugh. An Irish milkman was brought up to take the
benefit of the Lord's Act (by which Insolvents were then discharged.)
He was suspected of concealing his property, having given no schedule,
though he was known at not a very distant period to have possessed
some. He was asked by the counsel who opposed him, whether he had not
some property, which he had omitted to insert in his schedule? "The
devil a bit of property," says he, "have I at all at all." "Why,
what's become of your furniture and your cows? Cows you were known to
have, as you sold milk." "Yes, I had," says he; "but I have none now."
"Why, what have you done with them?" "I have signed away every thing I
had." "How have you assigned them?" "_I have made my will_, and given
them all away." "_What, are you dead, man?_" said the judge. "No,
please your honour," says Pat; "but I soon _will_, if you take away
every thing I have to live on from me." He refused to make any
assignment or schedule, and was remanded.
After his death, the following anecdote was circulated of Mr. Justice
Lawrence. A cause had been tried before him at York, in which he had
summed up to the jury to find a verdict for the defendant, which they
accordingly did. On further consideration, it appeared to him that he
had mistaken the law. A verdict having been recorded against the
plaintiff, he had no redress; but it was said, that Mr. Justice
Lawrence left him by his will a sum sufficient to indemnify him for
his loss. This I give merely as a report, and give it willingly, as
honourable to the memory of one of the most able, most independent,
and most dignified of the judges who filled a judicial seat in my day.
The following anecdote I think I have seen in print, but without the
name of the person to whom it happened. I have heard Sergeant Bond
relate it with great humour of himself, and he is to be relied on as
the unquestionable original. "I once," said he, "bought a horse of a
horse-dealer, warranted sound in all his points. I thought I had got a
treasure, but still wished to find out if he had _any_ fault. I
therefore, when I had paid for him, said to the seller, 'Now, my
friend, you have got your money and I the horse, so that the bargain
is closed; but do, like an honest fellow, tell me fairly of any fault
which he has.' 'Why, sir,' says he, 'you have dealt with me like a
gentleman, and as you ask me to be frank with you, I must tell you
that the horse has one fault.' I pricked up my ears: 'What is it, my
friend?' 'Why, sir,' says he, 'it is that he will not go into the yard
of the Crown Inn at Uxbridge.' 'Pooh, pooh,' said I, 'if that is all,
I'm not likely to put him to the trial, as I have nothing to do with,
or to lead me to Uxbridge.'
"It however so happened, that I had occasion to go to Uxbridge, and I
determined to try if my horse retained his dislike to the yard of the
Crown Inn. I accordingly rode up the street until I came opposite to
the inn-yard of the Crown. I faced about," said the sergeant, "seated
myself firmly in my stirrups," at the same time exhibiting the
attitude in which the feat was to be performed. "Expecting a plunge
from my horse, I stuck my spurs into his sides, and pushed him forward
into the yard; but what was my surprise to find him enter the yard as
quietly as a cow that had just gone in before him. But I was not long
in doubt as to what appeared to be the cause of this change in his
antipathies, by the landlord's coming up to him and tapping him on the
shoulder: 'Ha, Jack!' says he, 'I'm glad to see you again; I thought I
had lost you.' 'What do you mean, Mr. Landlord?' 'Sir,' says he, this
horse was stolen from me about six months ago; and I have never seen
him since.' I did not much relish this piece of information," rejoined
the sergeant, "but I could not help laughing at the conceit of the
horse-dealer, to prevent me from going to a place where his theft of
the horse would be discovered: I wished I had attended to his caution,
as the sale to me was not regular, and I was left to make the best
terms I could with the landlord." What they were he kept to himself.
Fielding was a contemporary member of the home-circuit, with Sergeant
Bond and myself. In the performance of the duties of conviviality,
over which the learned sergeant, as head of the circuit, presided, he
found in Fielding a powerful auxiliary. He was the son of the author
of _Tom Jones_, and inherited to a great degree the wit and talents of
his father.
As a companion, Fielding was invariably pleasant and inimitably
entertaining. His conversation abounded with anecdotes, of which he
had an inexhaustible fund: his great stock was of Irish stories which
he gave with great truth and humour.
I have repeatedly heard him say, that the lowest class of the Irish
had more native humour than any other body of people in the same rank
in life. He would then relate, in proof of it, the event of a bet
which was made on the subject at one of the club-houses in St. James's
Street, which then was crowded with English and Irish chairmen, and
which was to be decided by the reply of one of each country to the
same question. It was, "If you were put naked on the top of St.
Paul's, what would you be like?" The English chairman was first called
in, and the question being put to him, he ran sulky, and refused to
give any direct answer, saying they were making fun of him. Pat was
then introduced, and the question being propounded to him: "What
should I be like?" says he; "why, like to get could, to be sure, your
honours." "This," says he, "they call mother wit; and the most
illiterate have a quickness in parrying the effect of a question by an
evasive answer. I recollect hearing Sir John Fielding giving an
instance of this, in the case of an Irish fellow who was brought
before him when sitting as a magistrate at Bow Street. He was desired
to give some account of himself, and where he came from. Wishing to
pass for an Englishman, he said he came from Chester. This he
pronounced with a very rich brogue, which caught the ears of Sir John.
'Why, were you ever in Chester?' says he. 'To be sure, I was,' said
Pat; '_wasn't I born there?_' 'How dare you,' said Sir John Fielding,
'with that brogue, which shows that you are an Irishman, pretend to
have been born in Chester.' 'I didn't say I was born there,' says he;
'I only asked your honour whether I was or not.'"
_Fraser's Magazine._
* * * * *