Littledale, again, was an uncommonly kind and virtuous man, a good husband and a learned Judge; but he was afflicted with a wife whom he could not control.  She, on the contrary, controlled him, and left him no peace unless she had her will.  At times, however, she overdid her business.  Littledale had a butler who had been in the family many years, and with whom he would not have parted on any account.  He would sooner have parted with her ladyship.  One morning, however, this excellent butler came to Sir Joseph and said, with tears in his eyes,—­

“I beg your pardon, my lord—­”

“What’s the matter, James?”

“I’m very sorry, my lord,” said the butler, “but I wish to leave.”

“Wish to leave, James?  Why, what do you wish to leave for?  Haven’t you got a good situation?”

“Capital sitiwation, Sir Joseph, and you have always been a good kind master to me, Sir Joseph; but, O Sir Joseph, Sir Joseph!”

“What then, James, what then?  Why do you wish to leave?  Not going to get married, eh—­not surely going to get married?  O James, don’t do it!”

“Heaven forbid, Sir Joseph!”

“Eh, eh?  Well, then, what is it?  Speak out, James, and tell me all about it.  Tell me—­tell me as a friend!  If there is any trouble—­”

“Well, Sir Joseph, I could put up with anything from you, Sir Joseph, but I can’t get on with my lady!”

“My lady be—.  O James, what a sinner you make of me!  Is that all, James?  Then go down on your knees at once and thank God my lady is not your wife!”

It was a happy thought, and James stayed.

I don’t think I have mentioned a curious reason that a jury once gave for not finding a prisoner guilty, although he had been tried on a charge of a most terrible murder.  The evidence was irresistible to anybody but a jury, and the case was one of inexcusable brutality.  The man had been tried for the murder of his father and mother, and, as I said, the evidence was too clear to leave a doubt as to his guilt.

The jury retired to consider their verdict, and were away so long that the Judge sent for them and asked if there was any point upon which he could enlighten them.  They answered no, and thought they understood the case perfectly well.

After a great deal of further consideration they brought in a verdict of “Not Guilty.”

The Judge was angry at so outrageous a violation of their plain duty, and did what he ought not to have done—­namely, asked the reason they brought in such a verdict, when they knew the culprit was guilty and ought to have been hanged.

“That’s just it, my lord,” said the foreman of this distinguished body.  “I assure you we had no doubt about the prisoner’s guilt, but we thought there had been deaths enough in the family lately, and so gave him the benefit of the doubt!”

There was a young solicitor who had been entrusted with a defence in a case of murder.  It was his first case of importance, and he was, of course, enthusiastic in his devotion to his client’s interests.  Indeed, his enthusiasm rather overstepped his prudence.