Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/289

276 pecuniary difficulties, from which he was only relieved by the interposition of his angelic wife. What return he made her we shall presently see. They came back to England viâ Folkestone.

Dr. D. “And now, Mrs. Barber, I must question you as to a very painful incident. Did anything occur at Folkestone, upon that occasion?”

Mrs. B. “O, sir! you must not ask me about that. I can’t tell—indeed I can’t. O, don’t ask me!”

This was the point known throughout the contention as “the incident of the ankles.” Poor Mrs. Barber, upon being farther pressed, made two or three spasmodic efforts to speak, but utterly broke down. You could just distinguish such words as “the babe,” “my child,” “O, cruel, cruel, cruel!” There was, indeed, scarcely a dry eye in Court, so truly pitiable were Mrs. Barber’s sobs, whilst Dr. Dodge, in a confidential way—which it is somewhat difficult to maintain in conversation with a deaf gentleman—endeavoured to explain to the old Judge that Mr. Barber had upon one occasion accused his amiable lady of having purposely exposed her feet and ankles to the bystanders on the railway platform at Folkestone. The three Judges, deeply affected, put their heads together for a moment, and finally an intimation was given from the Bench that it would be wiser not to push this distressing matter further.

Dr. Dodge passed on to the next point, with a sly cut at Dr. Lobb. Before putting the question, he turned in the direction of that gentleman, and said that for once he was sure “of having his learned friend” with him; whatever argument might have been raised as to the instances of sævitia hitherto adduced, there could not, as he apprehended, exist any doubt that deliberately to set fire to a lady’s nose was sævitia in the highest degree. Now, as Dr. Lobb had certainly stood in one of the front places when noses were served out, the observation was unpleasant. The “incident of the nose” at Folkestone was then discussed, Mrs. Barber relating the story with the simple pathos of truth and sincerity. Dr. Dodge, as he saw the Jury took the point, dwelt upon it for some time, characterising it, as I thought justly enough, as “arson perpetrated upon the person of a British subject,”—a crime so monstrous, that it was unknown to the British law. In the course of the rapid questioning and answers, Dr. Dodge managed to obtain a hearing for the arrangements of the ancient Romans with regard to parricide. Indeed, the learned civilian was working up a suggestion for tying up Mr. Barber in a potato sack in company with a viper, a fox, &c., and easing him into the navigable river Thames off Westminster Bridge. He was stopped, however, by Sir C. C. in the midst of a very beautiful burst of eloquence, just as he had got into his stride.

There was some discussion as to whether Mrs. Barber’s little pet dog, who had been—as she alleged—so inhumanly stewed and converted by Mr. B. into a salmi de Fido aux champignons, should be put upon the Judge’s notes; but, after a very critical wrangle indeed as to whether the larceny of the dog could, in any case, be brought home to Mr. B. (pretermitting the question as to Mr. B.’s property in the animal in his marital character, though, as Dr. Dodge suggested, it might turn out that the legal estate in Fido lay in Mrs. Barber’s trustees), it was finally ruled that the poor little animal’s ghost must howl unappeased on the banks of the sullen Styx. Dr. Dodge, having exhausted the resources of pathos, prolonged the contest for a few moments in a jocular tone, urging something about “No dog, no supper,” which I could not quite catch. But it came to nothing. A lesser instance of sævitia, or cruelty, was, that Mr. Barber, in the earlier days of her marriage, when Mr. Barber did occasionally accompany her in her walks, always refused to give her his arm, upon the unmanly and unfeeling plea that the lady’s crinoline bumped against his calves. The incident of the burning of the worked petticoats gave occasion to a lively discussion. It appeared that Mr. Barber had actually, upon one occasion, opened the press or closet or drawers in which Mrs. B. kept her under-raiment, and taken therefrom certain petticoats adorned with beautiful needle-work, which he burnt in her presence.

By the Court. “Why, Dr. Dodge, this is an attempt to murder. Eh—eh?”

Dr. D. “Not quite that, my Lud, with all deference; we don’t allege that Mrs. B. was actually wearing the petticoats at the time of the outrage.”

By the Court. “To be sure that makes a difference—but I see that in the charges a good deal turns upon these petticoats. What kind of petticoats were they, Mrs. Barber?”

''MrsMrs. [sic] B''. “They were trimmed with Holy Work, my Lord, about quarter of a yard deep.”

By the Court. (Writing.) “Trimmed with Holy Work. A sort of ecclesiastical vestment, eh? Is the Court to take it so?”

Poor Mrs. Barber here for the first time so far forgot her situation as to laugh outright. It did her no harm, however, with the assembly—for it showed what she must have been before her young spirits were weighed down by Mr. Barber’s systematic oppression and tyranny. The contrast helped her. She proceeded to explain to the old Judge, “that Holy Work had nothing to do with sacred observances—but was so called.”

Here a forward sort of middle-aged barrister struck in in a dogmatic way as amicus curiæ, but with a strong Scotch accent:

A. C. “It’s joost ca’d Ho-o-oly Wurrak, my Loard, because the wurrak is in ho-o-oles!”

Mrs. B. (playfully.) “Oh, dear, no;—oh, dear, no! Not quite that. Oh, dear, no” (the Scotch barrister looked ready for a fight, but the lady waved him into silence with a graceful movement of her right hand), “it is called Holy work, my Lord, because the pattern is cut in the shape of St. Catharine’s Wheels. You know, my Lord, those holes you gentlemen say that we ladies cut out that we may sew them up again.”

Here followed explanations in the most courteous tone, and with the most extreme vivacity between the lady and the Court. I hope I am not of a suspicious nature, but I could not help thinking that, from that moment, the fountain of justice did not flow so clearly as before in the breast of that ancient Judge. However, what matter? Here was one of the cases in which feeling and justice were co-incident? When this