In the result the prisoner was indicted on the charge of attempting to murder the warder. The defence was that, as murder in the circumstances was impossible, _the attempt could not be established_, and on the authority of a case (which has, however, since been overruled) I felt bound to direct an acquittal; and I confess _I was not sorry_ to come to that conclusion, for it would have been a sad thing had the prisoner been convicted of an offence committed in a moment of such great and not unnatural excitement, and one for which penal servitude must have been awarded. The poor fellow had suffered enough without additional punishment. I can conceive nothing more keen than the torture of returning to his cell to grieve for the little friend which could never come to him again. CHAPTER XLIV. THE LAST OF LORD CAMPBELL--WINE AND WATER--SIR THOMAS WILDE. Life, alas! must have its sad stories as well as its mirthful. I have told few of the former, not because they have not been present to my mind, but because I think it useless to perpetuate them by narration. But for its occasional gleams of humour, life would indeed be dull, and ever eclipsed by the shadow of sorrow. One of the stories the Chief Baron told me is as indelibly fixed on my memory as it was on his. Lord Campbell had been so long and so prominently before the country that his death would be a theme of conversation in the world of literature, science, law, and fashion. But it was not his death that impressed me; it was the incidents that immediately attended it. "His lordship"--thus was the event related--"had been entertaining a party at dinner, and amongst them was his brother-in-law, Colonel Scarlett. In its incidents the dinner had been as lively and agreeable as those events in social and refined life usually are. Scarlett had an important engagement with Campbell in the city on the following Monday, this being Saturday night. As he rose to go Scarlett wished his host good-night with a hearty shake-hands. "'Good-night--good-night; we shall meet again on Monday.'" Alas! Campbell died that night suddenly, and by a singular interposition of Providence, Scarlett died suddenly the next day, Sunday. They met no more in this world. * * * * * In the course of my life I have suffered, like many others, from nameless afflictions--nameless because they do not exist. No one can localize this strange infirmity or realize it. You only know you have a sensation of depression. In every other respect I was perfectly well, yet I thought it was necessary to see a doctor. So it was, if I wished to be ill. Being in this unhappy condition, I consulted Sir James Paget, then in the zenith of his fame. It did not take him very long to test me. I think he did it with a smile, for I felt a good deal better after it. "Just tell me," said he, "do you ever drink any water?"