As I was being led away Mrs. Hailstone said,—­

“Do exactly as he wishes; he is jealous of your talking to me, and leads any one away who does so to the other side of the garden.”

Having conducted me to the remotest spot he could find, he opened his huge jaws and released my hand, wagged his tail, and trotted off, much pleased with his performance.  He returned to his mistress and put his large paws on her arms—­a striking proof, I thought, of the dog’s sagacity.

There will be in this history some stories of my famous “Jack,” but as he belonged to me after I became a Judge, they are deferred until that period arrives.  The reminiscences of Jack are amongst my dearest and most pleasant recollections.

The changeful nature of popular clamour was never more manifested than on this visit.

The Claimant had been convicted and sentenced to penal servitude, but to deprive a man of his title and estate because he was a butcher’s son did not coincide with the wishes of a generous democracy, who lingered round the Sheffield court, where the fate of their sitting member was to be tried.  They believed in their member, and, not knowing on which side I was retained, when I went along the corridor into the court they “yah! yah’d!” at me with lungs that would have been strong enough to set their furnaces going or blow them out.

After the petition was tried, and I had been successful, they changed their minds and their language.  This same British public, which not long before had “yah! yah’d!” at me, now came forward with true British hoorays and bravos. “’Orkins for ever!” “Hooray for Orkins!” “Bravo, Orkins!” “Hooray! a ——­ hooray!  Hooray for Wagga Wagga!”

This last cry had reference to a village in Australia where the great Tichborne fraud had its origin; where the first advertisement of the dowager seeking her lost son was shown to the butcher in his own little shop, the son of the respectable butcher of Wapping.

The number of people who professed to believe in the Claimant long after he was sent to penal servitude was prodigious, although not one of them could have given a reason for his faith, or pointed to a particle of unimpeachable evidence to support his opinion.  It had never been anything other than feeling in the dark for what never existed.

CHAPTER XXX.

AN EXPERT IN HANDWRITING—­“DO YOU KNOW JOE BROWN?”

I always took great interest in the class of expert who professed to identify handwriting.  Experts of all classes give evidence only as to opinion; nevertheless, those who decide upon handwriting believe in their infallibility.  Cross-examination can never shake their confidence.  Some will pin their faith even to the crossing of a T, “the perpendicularity, my lord,” of a down-stroke, or the “obliquity” of an upstroke.

Mr. Nethercliffe, one of the greatest in his profession, and a thorough believer in all he said, had been often cross-examined by me, and we understood each other very well.  I sometimes indulged in a little chaff at his expense; indeed, I generally had a little “fling” at him when he was in the box.