One of our servants was kind enough to make me a set of robes exactly like my lord’s, which I used to wear in the Court of Crown Cases Reserved and at high functions, such as the Queen’s Birthday or Chancellor’s breakfast.  In court I always appeared in mufti on ordinary occasions—­that is to say, I did not appear at all ostentatiously, like some men, but sat quietly on my lord’s robe close to his chair.

I well remember one occasion while we were at Hereford, a very pompous and extremely proper town, as all cathedral cities are; my lord and I were robed for the reception of the High Sheriff (as he is called) and his chaplain, who were presently coming with the great carriage to take us to be churched before we charged the grand jury.

Hereford is a very stately place, and enjoys a very high opinion of its own importance in the world.  It is almost too respectable to admit of the least frivolity in any circumstances.  You always seemed to be going to church at Hereford, or just coming out—­the latter was nicest—­so that there was, in my time, a sedateness only to be equalled by the hardness of a Brazil nut, which would ruin even my teeth to crack.  I don’t know if that is a proper way in which to describe a solid Herefordian; but if so, judge of the High Sheriff’s surprise, as well as that of the chaplain, when I walked by the side of my lord into our drawing-room!  I never saw a clergyman look so glum!  We were both in robes, as I observed, and my lord was so pleased with my appearance that he held me up for the two dignitaries to admire.  But Hereford does not admire other people; they confine their admirations within their own precincts.

On our way from the station to our lodgings, I ought to have said, both these gentlemen were full of praises.  Who would not admire a Judge’s companion?

Although Sheriff and chaplain were highly proper, the former could not restrain a hearty laugh, while the latter tightened his lips with a reproving smile.  But then the chaplain, with a proper reverence for the State function, afterwards looked very straight down his nose, and, hemming a little, ventured to say,—­

“My lord, are you really going to take the little dog to divine service in the cathedral?”

My lord looked quite astonished at the question, and then put his face down to me and pretended to whisper and then to listen.  Afterwards he said,—­

“No.  Jack says not to-day; he doesn’t like long sermons.”

The chaplain would much rather I had gone to church than have heard such a reprimand.

But this is not quite the end of my reminiscence.  I heard on the best authority that the sermon of the chaplain on that morning was the shortest he had ever preached as an Assize discourse, and my lord attributed it entirely to my supposed observation on that subject, so that my presence, at all events, was useful.