By dint of perseverance and persuasion he obtained a promise from a juror-in-waiting that if he should be on the jury he would consent to no other verdict than manslaughter, which would be a tremendous triumph for the young solicitor.

The case was a very strong one for wilful murder.  The friendly juror-in-waiting took his seat in the box.  Everything went well except the evidence, and the solicitor’s heart almost failed for fear his man should give way.  The jury for a long time were unable to agree.

Now the young solicitor felt it was his faithful juror who was standing out.

“All agreed but one, my lord.”

“Go back to your room,” said the Judge; which they did, and after another long absence returned with a verdict of “Manslaughter.”

Jubilant with his success, the young solicitor met his juryman, congratulated him on his firmness, and thanked him for his exertions.

“How did you manage it, my good friend—­how did you manage?  It was a wonderful verdict—­wonderful!”

“Oh,” said he, “I was determined not to budge.  I never budge.  Conscience is ever my guide.”

“I suppose there were eleven to one against you?”

“Eleven to one!  A tough job, sir—­a tough job.”

“Eleven for wilful murder, eh?” said the jubilant young man.  “Dear me, what a narrow squeak!”

“Eleven for murder!  No, sir!” exclaimed the juror.

“What, then?”

“Eleven for an acquittal!  You may depend upon it, sir, the other jurors had been ‘got at.’”

Lord Watson, dining with me one Grand Day at Gray’s Inn, said he recollected a very stupid and a very rude Scottish Judge (which seems very remarkable) who scarcely ever listened to an advocate, and pooh-poohed everything that was said.

One day a celebrated advocate was arguing before him, when, to express his contempt of what he was saying, the cantankerous old curmudgeon of a Judge pointed with one forefinger to one of his ears, and with the other to the opposite one.

“You see this, Mr. ——?”

“I do, my lord,” said the advocate.

“Well, it just goes in here and comes out there!” and his lordship smiled with the hilarity of a Judge who thinks he has actually said a good thing.

The advocate looked and smiled not likewise, but a good deal more wise.  Then the expression of his face changed to one of contempt.

“I do not doubt it, my lord,” said he.  “What is there to prevent it?”

The learned judge sat immovable, and looked—­like a judicial—­wit.

I was now getting on so well in my profession that in the minds of many of the unsuccessful there was a natural feeling of disappointment.  Why one man should succeed and a dozen fail has ever been an unsolved problem at the Bar, and ever will be.  But the curious part of this natural law is that it manifests itself in the most unexpected manner.