You appeared just now to answer certain
questions of my learned friend's as to the effect likely
to be produced on Mr. Grampus's health of mind
by the joyous barking of a little dog kept by
his neighbour, my excellent client. Now, Mr.
Brogg, as you have given your opinion upon this
subject in an ex cathedrâ manner, and, in fact, as
one of the initiated, I would fain take the liberty
of asking you whether you are in the habit of
painting pictures yourself?

WITNESS. Yes—that is, to some extent. I
have painted—I should say I have begun—several
pictures.

SCREW. Mr. Brogg, are you an artist?

WITNESS. Not exactly a professional artist,
but I am acquainted——

SCREW. Not a professional artist. Exactly.
Are you in any other way so engaged
professionally, as to be able to speak authoritatively in
this matter?

WITNESS. I am engaged in the study of the—
of the law, to some extent.

SCREW. Oh, indeed. He! he! quite one of us.
But, sir, you will allow me to say that your
studies of the law, however slight or profound
they may have been, can scarcely enable you to
pronounce an opinion in such a case as the
present. The fanciful—nay, almost playful—pursuit
of the art of painting needs not that silence,
that seclusion, that, I may almost say, awe-struck
solitude which are needed for the carrying out of
the majestic study of the law of England! No,
sir. The two cases are not parallel, and I should
have thought that, as a barrister——

WITNESS. I am not a barrister—not called
yet——

SCREW. Oh, indeed, not a barrister—then you
must allow me to say, Mr. Brogg, that in that
position, even had this been a case of law-study
and its hindrances, it would have been premature,
if not presumptuous, in you to have
expressed your opinion thus publicly. As it is—as
it is—but let that pass. Have you, perchance,
any other claim to be heard in a case of this sort?

WITNESS. I have been more engaged, I believe,
in the study of literature than either that of law,
or the art of painting. As one engaged in literary
pursuits—as, in short, an author—I can
testify to the necessity of quiet for the prosecution
of literary labour, and as art and letters are
sisters, I suppose that, to a considerable extent
at any rate, what applies to one, applies also to
the other.

SCREW, Stop a bit, stop a bit, Mr. Brogg. I
was not aware that we had an author here. This
is an unexpected honour. May I venture to ask
in what direction your studies have been directed
—what have been your principal works?

WITNESS. I have written a great many things.
It would almost puzzle me where to begin.

SCREW. But are these all published? It is
curious, but at this moment I do not remember
the name—would you kindly refresh my memory
by mentioning some one or two of your published
works?

WITNESS. Oh, they are not published.

SCREW. Not published! And do you mean to
tell me, sir, that you come here—that you come
into court—that you appear before this
extraordinarily intelligent jury in the capacity of an
author, and one who is to give an opinion as an
author, and that you are unable to point to a
single published work bearing your name? Upon
my word, Mr. Brogg, this seems to me to be a
case bordering almost upon contempt of court.
The boldness—and I might use a harsher word—
of my learned friend seems to be contagious, and
to affect even the very witnesses who appear on
his side. Upon my word, sir, you must allow me
to say that your appearance here this day has
been altogether a false proceeding. You have
come forward to give evidence in a case without,
as far as I can see, having the very slightest
claim to be heard. We have this day learned a
great deal of what you are not—we have heard
that you are not an artist, not a barrister, not an
author. But we have heard nothing of what you
are; and I would strongly recommend you, the
next time you have to make your appearance in a
technical case of this sort, to be quite sure that
you know in what capacity you are appearing,
lest you do as much harm to the cause which you
desire to serve, as you have done this day to that
of the plaintiff in this cause.

At this point, Mr. Codger, the counsel for the
plaintiff, interposed, submitting that the remarks
of the defendant's counsel were irrelevant. This
caused a great deal of talking and browbeating,
and mutual appeals to the "better feeling of
learned friends," in the course of which the ill-
used but distinguished subject of this memoir
was allowed to descend from his unenviable
eminence and to go whither he listed. Mr.
Brogg left the court at once, and made his
way, no doubt, to Poets' Corner. As to the
trial, it went on as trials of this sort do. There
was a great deal of what is called "chaff," and a
great deal of laughter. The dog was brought
into court, in order that the jury might test
the quality of its bark for themselves, but the
animal declining to give vent to any sound whatever,
its introduction appeared to be something of
a failure, till a facetious barrister, getting a furtive
hold of its tail, caused it to utter such a volley
of excruciating howls as caused the court once
more to be convulsed with laughter, and gave a
"leg up" to the plaintiff's cause. Finally, and
after a long day had been consumed in the
investigation of a case which the judge pronounced
both trivial and vexatious, a verdict was given
for the defendant, who went out of court triumphant;
the dog giving vent to such a volley of
barks, that the foreman of the jury whispered to
a friend that he thought they ought to go back
and give the verdict the other way.

Mr. Grampus remarked quite quietly to those
who stood about him that he had made up his
mind, and should take the case into Chancery.

Mr. Grampus, however, did not eventually
pursue this course. Perhaps he thought that