I again told him to go, and, disappointed at my not accepting things of greater value, he said,—­

“Sir, will a sack o’ taters be of any service to you?”

This sort of gratitude was not uncommon in those days.  I told the story to Mr. Justice Wightman, and he said,—­

“Oh, that’s nothing to what happened to the Common Serjeant of London.  He had sent to him once a Christmas hamper containing a hare, a brace and a half of pheasants, three ducks, and a couple of fowls, which he accepted.”

I sometimes won a jury over by a little good-natured banter, and often annoyed Chief Justice Campbell when I woke him up with laughter.  And yet he liked me, for although often annoyed, he was never really angry.  He used to crouch his head down over his two forearms and go to sleep, or pretend to, by way of showing it did not matter what I said to the jury.  I dare say it was disrespectful, but I could not help on these occasions quietly pointing across my shoulder at him with my thumb, and that was enough.  The jury roared, and Campbell looked up,—­

“What’s the joke, Mr. Hawkins?”

“Nothing, my lord; I was only saying I was quite sure your lordship would tell the jury exactly what I was saying.”

“Go on, Mr. Hawkins—­”

Then he turned to his clerk and said,—­

“I shall catch him one of these days.  Confine yourself to the issue, Mr. Hawkins.”

“If your lordship pleases,” said I, and went on.

The eccentricities of Judges would form a laughable chapter.  Some of them were overwhelmed with the importance of their position; none were ever modest enough to perceive their own small individuality amidst their judicial environments; and this thought reminds me of an occurrence at Liverpool Assizes, when Huddlestone and Manisty, the two Judges on circuit, dined as usual with the Lord Mayor.  The Queen’s health was proposed, of course, and Manisty, with his innate good breeding, stood up to drink it, whereupon his august brother Judge pulled him violently by his sleeve, saying, “Sit down, Manisty, you damned fool! we are the Queen!”

I was addressing a jury for the plaintiff in a breach of promise case, and as the defendant had not appeared in the witness-box, I inadvertently called attention to an elderly well-dressed gentleman in blue frock-coat and brass buttons—­a man, apparently, of good position.  The jury looked at him and then at one another as I said how shameful it was for a gentleman to brazen it out in the way the defendant did—­ashamed to go into the witness-box, but not ashamed to sit in court.

Here the gentleman rose in a great rage amidst the laughter of the audience, in which even the ushers and javelin-men joined, to say nothing of the Judge himself, and shouted with angry vociferation,—­

“Mr. Hawkins, I am not the defendant in this case, Sir ——­”

“I am very sorry for you,” I replied; “but no one said you were.”