and more particularly in court. He was a good natural punster, and endowed with a lively wit. The circuit was never dull when Platt was present; but there was one trait in his character as an advocate that judges always profess to disapprove of—he loved popular applause, and his singularly bold and curious mode of cross-examination sometimes brought him both rebuke and hearty laughter from the most austere of judges.

He dealt with a witness as though the witness was putty, moulding him into any grotesque form that suited his humour. No evidence could preserve its original shape after Platt had done with it. He had a coaxing manner, so much so that a witness would often be led to say what he never intended, and what afterwards he could not believe he had uttered.

Thesiger, who was his constant opponent, was sometimes irritated with Platt's manner, and on the occasion I am about to mention fairly lost his temper.

It was in an action for nuisance before Tindal, Chief Justice of the
Common Pleas, at Croydon Assizes.

Thesiger was for the plaintiff, who complained of a nuisance caused by the bad smells that emanated from a certain tank on the defendant's premises, and called a very respectable but ignorant labouring man to prove his case.

The witness gave a description of the tank, not picturesque, but doubtless true, and into this tank all kinds of refuse seem to have been thrown, so that the vilest of foul stenches were emitted.

Platt began his cross-examination of poor Hodge by asking him in his most coaxing manner to describe the character and nature of the various stenches. Had Hodge been scientific, or if he had had a little common sense, he would have simply answered "bad character and ill-nature;" but he improved on this simplicity, and said,—

"Some on 'em smells summat like paint."

This was quite sufficient for Platt.

"Come now," said he, "that's a very sensible answer. You are aware, as a man of undoubted intelligence, that there are various colours of paint. Had this smell any particular colour, think you?"

"Wall, I dunnow, sir."

"Don't answer hurriedly; take your time. We only want to get at the truth. Now, what colour do you say this smell belonged to?"

"Wall, I don't raightly know, sir."

"I see. But what do you say to yellow? Had it a yellow smell, think you?"

"Wall, sir, I doan't think ur wus yaller, nuther. No, sir, not quite yaller; I think it was moore of a blue like."

"A blue smell. We all know a blue smell when we see it."

Of course, I need not say the laughter was going on in peals, much to Platt's delight. Tindal was simply in an ecstasy, but did all he could to suppress his enjoyment of the scene.

Then Platt resumed,—

"You think it was more of a blue smell like? Now, let me ask you, there are many kinds of blue smells, from the smell of a Blue Peter, which is salt, to that of the sky, which depends upon the weather. Was it dark, or—"

"A kind of sky-blue, sir."

"More like your scarf?"

Up went Hodge's hand to see if he could feel the colour.

"Yes," said he, "that's more like—"

"Zummut like your scarf?"

"Yes, sir."

Then he was asked as to a variety of solids and liquids; and the man shook his head, intimating that he could go a deuce of a way, but that there were bounds even to human knowledge.

Then Platt questioned him on less abstruse topics, and to all of his questions he kept answering,—

"Yes, my lord."

"Were fish remnants," asked Platt, "sometimes thrown into this reservoir of filth, such as old cods' heads with goggle eyes?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Rari nantes in gurgite vasto?"

"Yes, my lord."

Thesiger could stand it no longer. He had been writhing while the court had been roaring with laughter, which all the ushers in the universe could not suppress.

"My lord, my lord, there must be some limit even to cross-examination by my friend. Does your lordship think it is fair to suggest a classical quotation to a respectable but illiterate labourer?"

Tindal, who could not keep his countenance—and no man who witnessed the scene could—said,—

"It all depends, Mr. Thesiger, whether this man understands Latin."
Whereupon Platt immediately turned to the witness and said,—

"Now, my man, attend: Rari nantes in gurgite vasto. You understand that, do you not?"

"Yes, my lord," answered the witness, stroking his chin.

Tindal, trying all he could to suppress his laughter, said:

"Mr. Thesiger, the witness says he understands the quotation, and as you have no evidence to the contrary, I do not see how I can help you." Of course, there was a renewal of the general laughter, but Thesiger, in his reply, turned it on Platt.

This was my first appearance on circuit, and my first lesson from a great advocate in the art of caricature.

* * * * *

No man at the Bar can forget the joy of his first brief—that wonderful oblong packet of white papers, tied with the mysterious pink tape, which his fourth share of the diminutive clerk brings him, marked with the important "I gua."

I speak not to stall-fed juniors who have not to wait till their merits are discovered, and who know that whosoever may watch and wait and hope or despair, they shall have enough. All blessings go with them; I never envied them their heritage. They are born to briefs as the sparks fly upwards. I tell my experience to those who will understand and appreciate every word I say—to men who have to make their way in the world by their own exertions, and live on their own labour or die of disappointment. There is one consolation even for the wretched waiters on solicitors' favours, and that is, that the men who have never had to work their way seldom rise to eminence or to any position but respectable mediocrity. They never knew hope, and will never know what it is to despair, or to nibble the short herbage of the common where poorer creatures browse.

A father never looked on his firstborn with more pleasure than a barrister on his first brief. If the Tower guns were announcing the birth of an heir to the Throne, he would not look up to ask, "What is that?"

It was the turning-point of my life, for had there been no first brief pretty soon, I should have thought my kind relations' predictions were about to be verified. But I should never have returned home; there was still the Stage left, on which I hoped to act my part.

Strange to say, my first brief, like almost everything in my life, had a little touch of humour in it.

I was instructed to defend a man at Hertford Sessions for stealing a wheelbarrow, and unfortunately the wheelbarrow was found on him; more unfortunate still—for I might have made a good speech on the subject of the animus furandi—the man not only told the policeman he stole it, but pleaded "Guilty" before the magistrates. I was therefore in the miserable condition of one doomed to failure, take what line I pleased. There was nothing to be said by way of defence, but I learnt a lesson never to be forgotten.

Being a little too conscientious, I told my client, the attorney, that in the circumstances I must return the brief, inasmuch as there was no