“John Horne Tooke’s opinion upon the subject of law was admirable. ‘Law,’ he said, ‘ought to be, not a luxury for the rich, but a remedy to be easily, cheaply, and speedily obtained by the poor.’ A person observed to him, ‘How excellent are the English laws, because they are impartial, and our courts of justice are open to all persons without distinction!’ ‘And so,’ said Tooke, ‘is the London Tavern to such as can afford to pay for their entertainment.’” Here we have an illustration of the imperfect manner in which a presentment in miniature conveys the sense of the speaker. It is by no means _multum in parvo_. Tooke laid down the principle which Brougham subsequently carried into effect, but which proved a virtual dead letter--the County Court machinery, which was to have brought home justice at a low rate to every man’s door, but which, in point of fact, has been, from beginning to end, nothing but a sham and a juggle. There is no story within my knowledge which indicates so clearly and amusingly one of the sources of corruption in the present branch of literature as the following:-- “A gentleman had purchased a jest-book, from which having selected a few tolerable stories, he related one of them, stating every circumstance as having actually happened to himself. His youngest son, a boy about nine years of age, who had occasionally got hold of the volume, sat with evident marks of impatience until his father had concluded, when he jumped up and bawled, ‘That’s in the book! that’s in the book!’” Now, of course it does not require much calculation to arrive at an idea of the peculiar susceptibility of jocular and anecdotal matter to arbitrary treatment at the hands of every comer. It is truly the poet’s _mutato nomine de te_. There are instances, again, where the text of a jest has a certain aspect of verisimilitude, yet where the peruser is apt on reflection, I think, to conclude that the cook has done his part. Let me illustrate this by a citation:-- “Two men, who had not seen one another for a great while, meeting by chance, one asked the other how he did. He replied, he was not very well, and had been married since he saw him: ‘That’s good news, indeed,’ said he. ‘Nay, not such good news, neither,’ replied the other; ‘for I married a shrew.’ ‘That was bad,’ said the friend. ‘Not so bad, neither; for I had two thousand pounds with her.’ ‘That’s well again,’ said the other. ‘Not so well, neither,’ said the man; ‘for I laid it out in sheep, and they all died of the rot.’ ‘That was hard, indeed,’ says his friend. ‘Not so hard,’ says the husband; ‘for I sold the skins for more than the sheep cost.’ ‘That made you amends,’ said the other. ‘Not so much amends, neither; for I laid out my money in a house, and it was burnt.’ ‘That was a great loss, indeed.’ ‘Nay, not so great a loss, neither; for my wife was burnt in it.’”