PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 107.

September 8, 1894.

IS THE BAR A PROFITABLE PROFESSION?

(A Query to be answered during the Long Vacation.)

I am always reluctant to obtrude my personality upon the British Public. All the world know my address in the Temple, and so long as my learned friends who act as intermediaries between myself and the litigation-loving public bear me in mind, I require no further advertisement. However, I cannot close my eyes to Duty, and Duty points to the pages of a paper that may be aptly called the organ of the Bench, the Jury, and the Bar. I feel compelled to publish the following short story in the columns of that organ as a proof of the degeneracy of the profession to which I have the honour to belong. I shall be only too pleased if my Spartan-like conduct proves of benefit to my fellow-counsel. I write in their service, and without an eye—yes, I venture to say half an eye—to the main chance. My narrative will prove that ignorance, and, if I may be permitted to say so, unpardonable ignorance exists at the Law Courts. I have kept silent until the Long Vacation has commenced. My reason for this reticence is not difficult to discover. Had I taken the public into my confidence at an earlier date, it would be obvious that I might have suffered in professional status. Now that the Long Vacation has been reached, there is ample time for the process known as "living it down." But I will not anticipate.

I must confess that I was not a little pleased the other day to learn from my excellent clerk, Portington, that a representative of the firm of Clogs, Judas, and Friars, were anxious to see me on a matter of business.

"Have I had them as clients before?" I asked my worthy assistant.

"Oh, no, Sir," returned Portington. "You see, for the last five years you have only had——"

"Yes, yes," I interrupted, for my excellent clerk is sometimes inclined to become a trifle prosy. "I will see him at once. Is he in my room?"

"Well, no, Sir; as you said that Mr. Inkerton might use it for the soda-water cases, I thought it would be better to show him into Mr. Block's room. You see, Sir, it is tidier than your room; for since we have had the lawn-tennis nets——"

But here I again interrupted my worthy assistant, who, I am forced to admit, is sometimes a trifle discursive. I interrupted him, and, entering Block's room, made the acquaintance of my new client.

"I think, Sir," said my visitor, "that you are of opinion that there is no custom concerning the dismissal of office messengers?"

I never like to commit myself without referring to my books, so I was silent for a moment.

"At least," continued my client, "you have not heard of any?"

"Well, no," I returned; "so far as my experience goes, I have not come across the custom."

"That's quite enough for us, Sir. If you will swear that, we shall want nothing further."

Rather to my disgust my visitor suddenly placed a subpœna in my hand, and told me that the case would most likely be in the list on the following day. Annoyed at his brusqueness I told him I had been ready to accept him gratuitously as a client. I added that as I now found I was only in request as a witness I should require a guinea.

"Oh, of course," said my visitor, producing the cash. "We looked you out, and your name is in the Law List; and I see, too, you have painted it on the door of Mr. Block's chambers."

Disdaining to smile at what I considered to be rather a clumsy attempt at plaisanterie, I bowed, and rang the bell.

"Perhaps we had better have your private address, Sir," continued my visitor. "It would be safer, for then we could wire to you when it came on, and you would be sure to get our telegram."

"I am always here while the Courts are sitting." I returned, in a tone of hauteur; "so you must please wire to me here."

"Just as you like, Sir."

And a few minutes later my clerk saw my visitor safely off the premises. I admit that I was slightly annoyed at the term "wire." It is true that his firm's name had not appeared—at any rate, recently—in my fee-book, but that was no reason why he should suggest that I was constantly absent from my chambers. I really pitied Messrs. Clogs, Judas and Friars for having a clerk with so little tact, and such a small stock of experience.

On the following morning, when I was standing at the door of the Carey Street Robing Room, considering whether I should assume my forensic costume, or enter the Court as a layman, I was accosted by the same individual, who told me "that we were third on the list."

"So you will be wanted almost at once, Sir," said he.

"Well, I shall be able to come," I replied, "as, strange to say, I have no business before their Lordships to-day."

"Chiefly chamber practice, I suppose, Sir?"

"Quite so," I returned, looking him steadily in the face. "I mean to-day."

I will not tell a wearisome story of how I had to hang about the Court until the interval for luncheon, and longer. I will hurry to the point when I entered the witness-box. To my surprise and secret satisfaction there was quite a stir when my name was called out. The Silks in the front row smiled, and my colleagues the juniors tittered. Even his Lordship looked up with an expression of pleasant anticipation. I was duly sworn, and gave my name.

"Now, Sir," said the Counsel for our side, "tell me. How long have you known anything about office messengers?"

I considered for a moment. As a Member of the Bar (although I had not been asked for my profession—no doubt that was sufficiently well known) I desired to set an example. I wished to show what a witness should be. I desired to appear as a model worthy of close and universal imitation.

"I have seen office messengers in offices for many years—as long as I can remember."

I spoke with absolute gravity. To my astonishment there was a titter which grew into a roar of laughter; even his Lordship found it difficult to control his cachinnation.

"Yes," said the counsel, when he had partially recovered his gravity. "But, tell me, do you know any custom in connection with their dismissal?"

Again I considered the matter for a few seconds, and made a second reply.

"No; I am unaware of any special custom in connection with their dismissal."

This time there was no titter. My answer was received at once with the wildest merriment. The Judge laughed as much as anyone, and the Usher had to wipe his head with his handkerchief, so greatly moved was he by his sense of the ridiculous.

My Counsel sat down convulsed, and had to conceal his face behind his brief.

"I really don't think," gasped out the judge, "that this witness need be cross-examined."

And I was not. As I returned to my seat amidst