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 Old-Time Eloquence. whisper added: "Why can't the damned old fool make up his mind?" "Mr. Best," the judge said with great dignity, "if you desire to curse the Court would it not be more deco rous to retire into the corridor?" "If your lordship pleases," Jack answered quietly, suiting the action to the word, and at once walking out of the court. Baron Martin said at dinner that night, "Mr. Best's going out of court was the most eloquent speech he ever made.1' Jack Best was once engaged in the defence of a prisoner before the Middlesex Court of Sessions. His well-known appearance and the knowledge of his eloquence made his defence a notable one. He closed his final speech with this exordium: "Gentlemen of the jury, my learned friend has addressed you with the dexterity of the thimble-rigger and the eloquence of the three-card-trick man. He has beguiled you in tones so mellow as to remind one of the bulbul, or eastern nightingale. But, gen tlemen, thank God these are the Middlesex Sessions, and not the Middlesex Shambles. Gentlemen, you all remember the three pious men of old, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who were put into the seven-times heated furnace by the wicked King Nebu chadnezzar." Here he bowed to the judge. "Gentlemen, what sustained them in their hour of need? The same thing as now sus tains my client in the even more dreadful ordeal that he is passing through,'' another bow to the judge, "namely, the conscious ness of his innocence." Was it any wonder that the jury acquitted the prisoner without leaving their seats? John Scott, afterwards Lord Eldon, was noted for his cutting eloquence, and for the sang froid with which he treated the judges. On one occasion a junior counsel, on their lordships giving judgment against his client, exclaimed that he was surprised at their decision. This was construed into a con tempt of court, and the young barrister was ordered to attend at the bar the next morn ing. Fearful of the consequences, he con

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sulted his friend John Scott, who told him to be perfectly at ease, for he would apologize for him in a way that would avert any un pleasant result. Accordingly, when the name of the delinquent was called, Scott rose and coolly addressed the judges. "I am very sorry, my lords," he said, "that my young friend has so far forgotten himself as to treat your lordships with disrespect; he is extremely penitent, and you will kindly ascribe his unintentional insult to his igno rance. You must see at once that it did originate in that. He said he was surprised at the decision of your lordships. Now, if he had not been ignorant of what takes place in this court every day—had he known you but half so long as I have done—he would not be surprised at anything you did." This is almost equal to the celebrated apology of Daniel O'Connell in the House of Commons. He had been lashing Benja min Disraeli, and in the heat of his harangue he declared that the "honorable member was not fit to wheel dung from a dung-hill." There were loud cries of "Apologize!" The speaker called on the witty Irishman to offer an apology to the angry member. O'Connell stuck his right hand in his breast and in slow, measured time said: "I declared that the honorable member was not fit to wheel dung from a dung-hill. I was wrong. He is fit!" Sergeant Kelly of the Irish bar in the early years of the nineteenth century, used to indulge in a picturesque eloquence racy of the soil, but unfortunately he would some times forget the line of argument and would always fall back on the word "therefore" which generally led his mind back to what he had intended saying. Sometimes, however, the effect was almost disastrous. One time he had been complimenting the jury, assur ing them that they were men of extraordin ary intelligence, and then branched off into a statement of his case. With a wave of his hand and a smile on his face he proceeded: "This is so clear a case, gentlemen, that I am convinced you felt it so the very moment I stated it. I should pay men of intelligence