A NIGHT AT NOTTINGHAM.
Ever since the establishment of itinerant justices, now considerably
over seven hundred years, going circuit has been an interesting and
important ceremony, attended with great pomp and circumstance. I had
intended to give a sketch of my own drawing of this great function,
but an esteemed friend, who is a lover of the picturesque, has sent me
an interesting description of one of my own itineraries, and I insert
it with the more pleasure because I could not describe things from
his point of view, and even if I could, might lay myself open to the
charge of being egotistical.
"When Sir Henry Hawkins stepped into the train with his marshal, he
felt all the exuberance which a Judge usually experiences on going
circuit.
"Going circuit is a pleasant diversion, and may be a delightful
holiday when the weather is fine and cases few. I am not speaking of
those northern towns where hard labour is the portion of the judicial
personage from the time he opens the Commission to the moment when he
turns his back upon his prison-house, but of rural Assize towns like
Warwick and Bedford or Oakham, where the Judge takes his white gloves,
smiles at the grand jury, congratulates them on the state of the
calendar, and goes away to some nobleman's seat until such time as he
is due to open the Commission in some other circuit paradise where
crime does not enter.
"At Lincoln station on this present occasion there is a goodly crowd
outside and in, some well dressed and some slatternly, some bareheaded
out of respect to the Judge, and others of necessity, but all with a
look of profoundest awe.
"But as they wait the arrival of the train, all hearts are beating to
see the Judge. Alas for some of them! they will see him too soon and
too closely.
"Most conspicuous is the fat and dignified coachman in a powdered wig
and tam-o'-shanter cap, and the footman with the important calves.
Clustered along the platform, and pushing their noses between the
palisade fencing, seem gathered together all the little boys of
Lincoln--that is to say, those who do not live at the top of Steep
Hill; for on that sacred eminence, the Mount Zion of Lincolnshire, are
the _cloisters_ and the closes, where are situated the residences of
Canons, Archdeacons, and other ecclesiastical divinities. The top of
this mountain holds no communion with the bottom.
"On the platform--for the signal has been given that the judicial
train is entering the station--ranged in due order are the Sheriff of
Lincoln, in full robes, his chaplain in full canonicals, and a
great many other worthy dignities, which want of space prevents my
mentioning in detail. All are bareheaded, all motionless save those
bosoms which heave with the excitement of the occasion.
"Although the chaplain and the Sheriff hold their hats in their hands,
it is understood in a well-bred town like Lincoln there will be no
cheers, only a deep, respectful silence.
"And so, amid a hush of expectation and a wondering as to whether it's
_Orkins_, some saying one thing and some another, the train draws
slowly in; a respectful porter, selected for the occasion, opens the
door, and out leaps--Jack.
"Then bursts from the crowd a general murmur. 'There 'e is! See 'im,
Bill!' cries one. 'There's Orkins! See 'im? There 'e is; that's Orkins
behind that there long black devil!'
"He was wrong about the black devil, for it was the Sheriff's
Chaplain, who will preach the Assize Sermon next Sunday in the
Cathedral."
[A somewhat humorous scene once took place at Nottingham. An
indefatigable worker on circuit, Sir Henry seemed to have the
constitution of the Wandering Jew and the energy of radium. No doubt
he had much more patience than was necessary, for it kept him sitting
till the small hours of the morning, and jurors-in-waiting and
attendants were asleep in all directions. He was the only one wide
awake in court.
Even javelin-men fell asleep with their spears in their hands; the
marshal dozed in his chair, ushers leaned against the pillars which
supported the gallery, while witnesses rubbed their eyes and yawned as
they gave their evidence.
A case of trifling importance was proceeding with as steady a pace as
though an empire's fate, instead of a butcher's honour, were involved.
One butcher had slandered another butcher.
The art of advocacy was being exercised between an Irishman and a
Scotchman, which made the English language quite a hotch-potch of
equivocal words and a babel of sounds.
The slander was one that seemed to shake the very foundations of
butcherdom throughout the world--namely, an insinuation that the
plaintiff had sold Australian mutton for Scotch beef; on the face of
it an extraordinary allegation, although it had to find its way for
the interpretation of a jury as to its meaning. Amidst this costly
international wrangle the Judge kept his temper, occasionally cheering
the combatants by saying in an interrogative tone, "Yes?" and in the
meanwhile writing the following on a slip of paper which he handed to
a friend:--
"GREAT PRIZE COMPETITION FOR PATIENCE.
Hawkins First prize.
Job Honourable mention."
Much earlier in the evening an application had been made by way of
finding out how far the Judge "would go," as the man tests the wheels
of an express. Every wheel had a good ring. He was prepared for a long
run. Every case was to be struck out if the parties were not there.
After a while a feeling of compunction seemed to come over him.
"One moment," said he, after the case in hand had proceeded for an
hour or so. "This case seems as if it will occupy some time; it is the
last but three of the common jury cases, and--I mean to say--if the
gentlemen of the special jury like to go till--seven o'clock this
evening, they may do so, or they may amuse themselves by sitting in
court listening to this case."
There was a shuffling of feet and a murmur like that of bees.
"Gentlemen," he said, "do whatever will be most agreeable to
yourselves. I only wish to consider your comfort and convenience."
"A damned pretty convenience," said a special juryman, "to be kept
here all night!"
"Return punctually at seven, gentlemen, please; you are released till
then."
Any person who knows Nottingham and has to spend in that city two
weary hours, between 5 o'clock and 7 p.m., wandering up and down that
vast market-place, will understand the state of mind to which those
special jurymen were reduced when they indulged in audible curses.
There was, however, an element in this condition of things which his
lordship had not taken into consideration, and that was the _Bar_.
Several members were unnecessarily detained by this order of the
court. Their mess was at the George Hotel; at seven they must be in
court or within its precincts; at seven they dined. They chose the
precincts, and sending for their butler, ordered the mess to be
brought to the vacant Judge's room, the second Judge having gone away.
At seven the mess was provided, and those who were not engaged in
court sat down with a good appetite and a feeling of delightful
exultation.
Meanwhile his lordship proceeded with his work, while the temperature
was 84°. Juries wiped their faces, and javelin-men leaned on their
spears.
Now and then the sounds of revelry broke upon the ear as a door was
opened.
At ten his lordship rose for a few moments, and on proceeding along
the corridor towards his room for his cup of tea, several champagne
bottles stood boldly in line before his eyes. He also saw two pairs
of legs adorned with yellow stockings--legs of the Sheriff's footmen
waiting to attend his lordship's carriage some hours hence.
The scene recalled the scenes of other days, and the old times of the
Home Circuit came back. Should he adjourn and join the mess? No, no;
he must not give way. He had his tea, and went back to court. He
was not very well pleased 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.]