"Keep that door shut!" "What is your case, Mr.----?" "It's slander, my lord--one butcher calling another a rogue; similar to the present case." "Does he justify?" "Oh no, my lord." It was now on the stroke of twelve. "I don't know at what time your lordship proposes to rise." "Renew your application by-and-by." ("_We won't go home till morning_!" from the mess-room.) "Keep that door shut! How many more witnesses have you got, Mr. Williams?" Mr. Williams, counting: "About--ten--eleven--" "And you, Mr. Jones?" "About the same number, my lord." It was twenty minutes to one. "I shall not sit any longer to oblige any one," said Sir Henry, closing his book with a bang. The noise woke the usher, and soon after the blare of trumpets announced that the court had risen, as some wag said, until the day after yesterday.] CHAPTER XXXVII. HOW I MET AN INCORRIGIBLE PUNSTER. As the Midland Circuit was perhaps my favourite, although I liked them all, there would necessarily be more to interest me there than on any other, and at our little quiet dinners, for which there was no special hour (it might be any time between eight o'clock in the evening or half-past one the next day), there were always pleasant conversations and amusing stories. With a large circle of acquaintances, I had learnt many things, sometimes to interest and sometimes to instruct. Although I never sat down to open a school of instruction, a man should not despise the humblest teaching, or he may be deficient in many things he should have a knowledge of. There was once an old fox-hunting squire whose ambition was to be known as a punster. There never was a more good-natured man or a more genial host, and he would tell you of as many tremendous runs he had had as Herne the hunter. After-dinner runs are always fine. The Squire loved to hunt foxes and make puns. We were sitting on a five-barred gate one evening in his paddocks, and while I was admiring the yearlings, which were of great beauty, I suddenly saw looking over his left shoulder the most beautiful head of a thoroughbred I ever beheld, with her nose quite close to his ear. "Halloa, my beauty!" said he. "What, _Saltfish_, let me see if I've a bit of sugar, eh, _Saltfish_?--sugar--is it?" His hand dived into the capacious pocket of his shooting-coat and brought out a piece of sugar, which he gave to the mare, and then affectionately rubbed her nose. "There, _Saltfish_--there you are; and now show us your heels." I knew by his mentioning the mare's name so often that there was a pun in it, so I waited without putting any question. After a while he said (for he could contain his joke no longer),-- "Judge, do you know why I call her _Saltfish_?" "Not the least idea," said I. "Ha!" he explained, with a prodigious stare that almost shot his blue globular eyes out of his head: "because she is such a capital mare for a _fast day_! Ha, ha!"