THE CHEQUERED LIFE OF A SERJEANT-AT-LAW.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume I, Issue 11, 12 September 1861, Page 6 (Supplement)

THE CHEQUERED LIFE OF A SERJEANT-AT-LAW.

(From the Nottingham Atheiicßum, Monthly Magazine.) When my professional duties called me to B'rraingham, i was sitting at my hotel after dinner moodily sipping my wine, in a lonely spirit (for there is nothing so lonesome as being in a large populous town where you know nobody, and nobody cares for you), when the landlord entered tne private room in which I was sitting, and, after apologising for his intrusion, said, “ There is a young fellow down stairs in the bar wishes to see you ; he does not know your name, but asked if any legal gentleman were staying in my house during the assize, and begged of me to introduce him, if such was the case. The fact is, sir,” continued mine host, “ he is a clever man, who has seen better days, and now obtains a little money by singing and reciting in various public-house bars; he doubtless wishes to amuse you and benefit himself pecuniarily as well, and if you are not otherwise engaged you will find him excellent company.” “ Quite a godsend,” 1 thought to myself, as I immediately requested the landlord to ask the stranger upstairs, and invited him to return himijif. and bring another bottle of his old port. He presently returned, bringing a young' man, pale and haggard, whose apparel savoured of the shabby-genteel, without the slightest pretensions to linen of any sort; no one could look in his face without observing that intellect was not one of his wants, though its “ devil-may-care” expression, together with his attire, suggested that he had not applied that intellect to the best advantage. He entered on his business at once—- “ iSir, ’ said he, “ 1 am destitute ; in fact, in plain English, ‘ hard up.’ I wish to give imitations of celebrated barristers on the Home Circuit; if I cause you amusement, you may pay me for it, and if I don’t you can order me to withdraw.” I liked his bluntness, and, falling in with bis humour, told him to give me an immediate specimen of his powers. He did commence, and for two hours I and the landlord listened in rapt attention ; his imitations were magnificent, his voice was a rich basso, and as he went from pathetic to gay in an imaginary breach of promise case, in which he introduced imitations of the most celebrated pleaders of the day, I felt he was in possession of talents which ought to make him a great man. From the “ bar ’ he went to the “stage,” imitating the leading actors and actresses admirably. 1 invited him to supper, during which he surprised mo with the diversity of his information ; his knowledge seemed universal, and he spoke of the private aliairs of many public men as if he was in their confidence. 1 tried to obtain some knowledge of his past life, but upon this point, at least, he was totally silent. After supper he sang comic songs, with a comicality which sent the landlord into convulsions, but when the small hours of the morning warned us of the time for departure his dejection returned, and in reply to my question whether I should see him again before my departure he said he did not know, he was a rolling stone, a poor devil whose future prospects were a blank ; ho thanked me earnestly and gratefully for the two sovereigns which i placed in his hand, and bade me good night, 1 had looked upon this circumstance as a remembrance of the past, when, four years afterwards, 1 entered a music saloon at Liverpool to while away an hour, and as 1 entered a singer on the stage was treating the audience to the comic performance of “ Tippctiwitchet.” The voice and manner were familiar ; the comic .singer was my quondam acquaintance of a nighty 1 sent my card to him behind the scenes, and in a few minutes out he came, and knew me directly. “ I should have known you anywhere,” said he, rs he shook hands, “ you must sup with me to-night, when 1 will tell you my history for the last four ■"ears ■ I’m ‘ going cn again’ to sing Another a >ng. I and (ben i’ve done for the night.” When 1 e had , 1 left the stage, amid a furore of applause, we went } to another part of the premises, and ordered supper. “ Well,” said 1, alter some ordinary conversation, “how much do you get for tins job?” “ Get ? why I’m the proprietor, and get what I T TYtioU T n?no a r»f VttU ; i OiAiJ tilsil A v* w»*vr master ; I’ve nearly lost ail 1 started with, which ■ was not much, and fear I shall have to leave ! Liverpool in a hurry.” During, supper he to d me h's career between my seeing him m Birmingham ; j and the present time. Ha had been a local

preacher, and was doing prosperously, but hi* reckless habits would not permit him to stick to anything long. During this ministry the eldest daughter of a tallow-chandler, and the daughter of a rich baker, members of his congregation, fell in love with him, and worked him as many slippers braces, and smoking caps as would stock a bazaar • while, however, the two ladies were anxiously waiting for a proposal, our hero quietly walked off with an old sweetheart, and threw aside his white clerical tie in disgust. Eighteen months after this found him again in Birmingham, very poor, and trying to gain a livelihood by teaching bad writers to write well in six lessons. He had a little room in a low neighbourhood, the walls of which were covered with “ specimens of my hand-writing” before and after six lessons. After this he gained a living more in the “ strolling vagrant line” than in anything else, until the possession of a little ready money brought him the proprietorship of the music saloon in Liverpool. A short time after I left him on this second occasion I heard of him leaving Liverpool, as he said, “ in a hurry,” deeply regretted by a large number of creditors. I next heard of him being in Nottingham, getting a subsistence by reading the newspapers to the company who attended the “ Sir Isaac Newton” pub-lic-house, in Glasshouse-street. About this time, 1839, Serjeant Wiide, afterwards Lord Truro, contested Newark (until this time considered a close borough in the possession of the Duke of Newcastle) against the Tory candidate, Mr. Thesi- * ger, afterwards Sir Frederick Thesiger, Attorney-. General, Lord High Chancellor, and now Lord Chelmsford. Our hero won the election for Wilde in this way : —Much excitement existed throughout the country regarding the slave trade ; and, as a means of bringing unpopularity on the Conservative candidate, he got a band of blackguards blacked and chained, himself included, to march through the town illustrating the horrors of slavery, calling attention to the cruelty of the candidate who would tolerate such a state* of things. This and other dodges, invented by my acquaintance, won Wilde's election by a majority of nine, he having been defeated in 1832 by Gladstone and Handley, by a majority of seventy-four. Seijeant Wilde, after the election, gave him fifty pounds, which was spent in riotous dissipation. But our friend was never to look back from this point. Sergeant Wilde, who had observed the genius of his election dodger, promised to aid him on ono condition ; that he should study for the bar, and ' enter himself in the Temple. 'lhe offer was accepted ; the paper reader, the Shakespearian reciter, the comic singer, the saloon comedian, the man-about-town, the election dodger, became a barrister, his patron paying all his fees until he obtained his first brief. H e commenced to defend pickpockets at the Old Bailey, and such was the acuteness of his mind that he could detect a flaw in the evidence sooner than men better versed in the law. He thus obtained the acquittal of more thieves than any criminal lawyer of the age ; his cross-examinations were terrible, be could frighten a witness until he scarcely knew or cared what he said. I saw him but once again during this part of his career, it was at Nottingham, in the assize court, during the trial of a young woman for child murder; when the counsel for the prisoner rose, I gazed upon the unmistakeable herd and face of the ci-devant local preacher. In a few leading questions he elicited from an unwilling witness the fact that an uncle of the prisoner had died in a lunatic asylum, that her father was confined in ono for two years, and eventually obtained a verdict of “ not guilty,” on the ground of temporary insanity. 1 saw by the black patch on the top of his wig that he was now a serjeant-at-law. His power as an advocate was known to be such that he was often retained, and received his fees, for cases in which he never appeared at all, and was never intended to appear, the fees being paid for the purpose of keeping him out of the way of the the other side. From this time until his death his income averaged ten thousand a year, but his extravagance kept him always in debt; he had a house in town, sumptuously furnished, and another which he built himself at Kensington, and used to drive tandem to and fro, at the rate of fourteen miles an hour. On Friday morning, in the year 185 G, the learned seijeant was taken ill through exhaustion while pleading in the court of assize at , and being removed, died at his residence about three weeks afterwards. He had already been engaged by Mr. Smith, of Birmingham, for the defence of Palmer, at the Old Bailey, on the charge of murdering Cooke, but in consequence of his death the brief was given to Seijeant Shee. I merely give these few facts as illustrative of the genius of a man who lacked principle and stability. I think he is buried at Kensal Green Cemetery, and that Baron Martin paid his funeral' expenses. I know that a benefit took place at the Haymaiket 1 heal re, in behalf of his widow. He • was a Whig of course, and his name was Charles Wilkins.