APPOINTED QUEEN'S COUNSEL--A SERIOUS ILLNESS--SAM LEWIS.
On January 10, 1859, the Lord Chancellor did me the honour of
recommending my name to Her Most Gracious Majesty, and I was raised to
the rank and dignity of a Queen's Counsel.
This is a step of doubtful wisdom to most men in the legal profession,
for it is generally looked upon as the end of a man's career or the
beginning. I had no doubt about the propriety of the step; it had been
the object of my ambition, and I believe I should unhesitatingly have
acted as I did even if it had been the termination of my professional
life. My idea was to go forward in the career I had chosen. The junior
work, if it had not lost its emoluments, no longer possessed the
pleasurable excitement of the old days. It was never my ambition
merely to "mark time;" that is unsatisfactory exertion, and leads no
whither.
But enough; I took silk, and a new life opened before me. I was a
leader.
My business rolled on in ever-increasing volume, so that I had to
fairly pick my way through the constant downpour of briefs, but
was always pressed forward by that useful institution known as the
"barrister's clerk."
Whatever business overwhelms the counsel, no amount of it would
disconcert the clerk, and it is wonderful how many briefs he can
arrange in upstanding attitude along mantelpieces, tables, tops of
dwarf cupboards, windows--anywhere, in fact, where there is anything
to stand a brief on--without that gentleman feeling the least
exhausted. It would take as long to wear him out as to wear to a level
the rocks of Niagara. The loss of a brief to him is almost like the
loss of an eye. It would take a week after such a disaster to get the
right focus of things.
My clerk came rushing into my room one day so pale and excited that I
wondered if the man had lost his wife or child. He did not leave me
long in suspense as soon as he could articulate his words.
"Sir," said he, "you know those Emmets that you have done so much
for?"
I remembered.
"Well, sir, they've taken a brief to another counsel."
It was a serious misfortune, no doubt, and I had to soothe him in the
best manner I could; so to lessen the calamity I made the best joke I
could think of in the circumstances, and said the Emmets were small
people, almost beneath notice.
I don't wonder that he did not see it with tears in his eyes; his
distress was painful to witness. The poor fellow was dumbfounded, but
at last shook his head, saying,--
"We've had a good deal from those Emmets, sir."
"But you need not make mountains out of ant-hills."
He did not see that either.
I was now living in Bond Street, and for the first time in my life was
taken seriously ill. My clerk's worry then came home to me; not about
a single brief, but about a great many. Illness would be a very
serious matter, as I had arrived at an important stage in my career. A
barrister in full practice cannot afford to be ill. In my distress
I sent to Baron Martin, as I was in every case in his list for the
following day, and begged him to oblige me by adjourning his court. It
was a large request, but I knew his kindness, and felt I might ask the
favour. Baron Martin, I should think, never in his life did an unkind
act or refused to do a kind one. He instantly complied with my
request, and did not listen for a moment to the "public interest,"
as the foolish fetish is called which sometimes does duty for its
neglect. The "public interest" on this occasion was the interests of
all those who had entrusted their business to my keeping. The public
interests are the interests of the suitors.
My illness threatened to be fatal. I had been overworked; and nothing
but the greatest care and skill brought me round. One never knows what
friendship is and what friends are till one is ill.
At length there was a consultation, Drs. Addison, Charles Johnson,
Duplex, and F. Hawkins, my cousin, being present.
It was a kind of medical jury which sat upon me. I will pass over
details, and come to the conclusion of the investigation. After
considering the case, Dr. Addison, who acted as foreman of the jury,
said,--
"We find a verdict of 'Guilty,' under mitigating circumstances. The
prisoner has not injured himself with intent to do any grievous bodily
or mental harm, but he has been guilty of negligence, not having taken
due care of himself, and we hope the sentence we are about to pass
will act as a warning to him, and deter others from following a like
practice. The prisoner is released on bail, to come up for judgment
when called upon; and the meaning of that is," said Dr. Addison, "that
if you behave yourself you will hear no more of this; but if you
return to your former practice without any regard to the warning you
have had, you will be promptly called up for judgment, and I need not
say the sentence will be proportioned to the requirements of the case.
You may now go."
To carry on Dr. Addison's joke, I heartily thanked him for taking my
good character into consideration, and practically acquitting me of
all evil tendencies. Acting upon his good advice, from that time to
this I have never been in trouble again.
Watson, Q.C., afterwards Baron Watson, advised me to take a long rest;
but as he was not a doctor of medicine, I did not act upon his advice.
A long rest would have killed me much faster than any amount of work,
so I worked with judgment; and although my business went on increasing
to an extent that would not have pleased Dr. Addison, I suffered no
evil effects, but seemed to get through it with more ease than ever,
and was soon in a fair way to achieve the greatest goal of human
endeavour--a comfortable independence. The reason of getting through
so much work was that I had to reject a great deal, and, of course,
had my choice of the best, not only as to work, but as to clients. To
use a sporting phrase, I got the best "mounts," and therefore was at
the top of the record in wins.
Good cases are easy--they do not need winning; they will do their
own work if you only leave them alone. Bad cases require all your
attention; they want much propping, and your only chance is that, if
you cannot win, your opponent may _lose_.
But nothing in the chatter about the Bar is more erroneous than the
talk of the tremendous incomes of counsel. A man is never estimated
at his true worth in this world, certainly not a barrister, actor,
physician, or writer; and as for incomes, no one can estimate his
neighbour's except the Income-tax Commissioners. They get pretty near
sometimes, however, without knowing it.
One morning I was riding in the Park when old Sam Lewis, the great
money-lender, a man for whom I had much esteem, and about whom I will
relate a little story presently, came alongside. We were on friendly
and even familiar terms, although I never borrowed any money of him in
my life.
"Why, Mr. Hawkins," said he, "you seem to be in almost everything.
What a fortune you must be piling up!"
"Not so big as you might think," I replied.
"Why, how many," he rejoined, "are making as much as you? A good many
are doing twenty thousand a year, I dare say, but--"
Here I checked his curiosity by asking if he had ever considered what
twenty thousand a year meant.
He never had.
"Then I will tell you, Lewis. _You_ may make it in a day, but to us it
means five hundred golden sovereigns every week in the working year!"
It somewhat startled him, I could see, and it effected my object
without giving offence. What did it matter to Sam Lewis what my income
was?
"There are men who make it," he answered.
"Some men have made it," I said; "and I know some who make more, but
will never own to it, ask who may."
I may say I liked Sam Lewis, and having told the story of the Queen's
Counsel who _borrowed_ my money in so dishonest a manner, I will tell
one of Sam, the professional money-lender.
He never was known to take advantage of a man in difficulties, and he
never did, nor to charge any one exorbitant interest. I have known him
lend to men and allow them to fix their own time of payment, their own
rate of interest, and their own security. He often lent without any at
all. He knew his men, and was not fool enough to trust a rogue at any
amount of interest. He was known and respected by all ranks, and never
more esteemed than by those who had had pecuniary transactions with
him. He was the soul of honour, and his transactions were world-wide;
business passed through his hands that would have been entrusted
nowhere else; so that he was rich, and no one was more deservedly so.
Here is an incident in Lewis's business life that will show one phase
of his character.
He held a number of bills, many of which were suspected by him to be
forged--that is to say, that the figures had been altered after the
signature of the acceptor had been written.
They were all in the name of Lord ----.
One day Lewis met his lordship in the Park, and mentioned his
suspicion, at the same time inviting him to call and examine the
bills. The noble lord was a little amazed, and proceeded at once to
Lewis's office. Seating himself on one side of the table with his
lordship on the other, Lewis handed to him the bills one by one and
requested him to set aside those that were forged.
The separation having been made, it appeared that over _twenty
thousand-pounds' worth of the bills were forged_! The noble lord was a
little startled at the discovery, but his mind was soon eased by Lewis
putting the whole of the forged bills into the fire.
"There's an end of them, my lord," said he. "We want no prosecution,
and I do not wish to receive payment from you. I ought to have
examined them with more care, and you ought not to have left space
enough before the first figure to supplement it by another. The rogue
could not resist the temptation."
So ended this monetary transaction, creditable alike to the honour and
generosity of the money-lender.
The most steady of minds will sometimes go on the tramp. This was
never better illustrated than when the young curate was being married,
and the officiating clergyman asked him the formal question, "Wilt
thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?"
The poor bridegroom, losing self-control, and not having yet a better
half to keep him straight, answered, "That is my desire," anticipating
by a considerable period a totally different religious ceremony of the
Church--namely, the Baptism of Infants. In his anticipation the young
man had overreached the necessities of the situation.
This momentary digression leads me to the following story. I was
staying at the house of an old friend, a wealthy Hebrew, while another
of the guests was Arthur A'Becket. As will sometimes happen when
you are in good spirits, the conversation took a religious turn. We
drifted into it unconsciously, and our worthy host was telling us
that he was in the habit of praying night and morning. Being in a
communicative mood, I said, "Well, since you name it, I sometimes say
a little prayer myself." The Hebrew was attentive, and seemed not a
little surprised. "This is especially the case in the morning," I
added. "But once upon a time my mind wavered a little between business
and prayer, and I found myself in the midst of my devotional exercise
saying, 'Gentlemen of the jury.'"
"Thank God!" cried A'Becket, "our friend Hawkins is not a Unitarian."
I often wonder how I was able to get through the amount of business
that pressed upon me and retain my health, but happily I did so. One
great factor in my fortunate condition of health was, perhaps, that I
had no ridiculous ambition. What was to come would come as the result
of hard work, for I was born to no miraculous interpositions or
official friendships.
Having dropped gambling, I set to work, and after a long spell of
_nisi prius_, in all its phases, had engaged my attention, a new
sphere of action presented itself in the shape of Compensation
Cases--an easy and lucrative branch, which seemed to be added to,
rather than have grown out of, our profession; but whatever was its
connection, it was a prolific branch, hanging down with such good
fruit that it required no tempter to make you taste it.
Railway, Government, and Municipal authorities were everywhere taking
land for public improvements, and where they were, as a rule, my
friend Horace Lloyd and myself were engaged in friendly rivalry as to
the amount to be paid.