"Eleven for _murder_! No, sir!" exclaimed the juror. "What, then?" "_Eleven for an acquittal_! You may depend upon it, sir, the other jurors had been 'got at.'" Lord Watson, dining with me one Grand Day at Gray's Inn, said he recollected a very stupid and a very rude Scottish Judge (which seems very remarkable) who scarcely ever listened to an advocate, and pooh-poohed everything that was said. One day a celebrated advocate was arguing before him, when, to express his contempt of what he was saying, the cantankerous old curmudgeon of a Judge pointed with one forefinger to one of his ears, and with the other to the opposite one. "You see this, Mr. ----?" "I do, my lord," said the advocate. "Well, it just goes in here and comes out there!" and his lordship smiled with the hilarity of a Judge who thinks he has actually said a good thing. The advocate looked and smiled not _likewise_, but a good deal more wise. Then the expression of his face changed to one of contempt. "I do not doubt it, my lord," said he. "What is there to prevent it?" The learned judge sat immovable, and looked--like a judicial--_wit_. I was now getting on so well in my profession that in the minds of many of the unsuccessful there was a natural feeling of disappointment. Why one man should succeed and a dozen fail has ever been an unsolved problem at the Bar, and ever will be. But the curious part of this natural law is that it manifests itself in the most unexpected manner. Coming one day from a County Court, where I had had a successful day, and humming a little tune, whom should I meet but my friend Morgan ----. He was a very pleasant man, what is called a _nice man_, of a quiet, religious turn of mind, and nobody was ever more painstaking to push himself along. He was a great stickler for a man's doing his duty, and was possessed with the idea that, getting on as I was, it was my duty to refuse to take a brief in the County Court. Coming up to me on the occasion I refer to, Morgan said, "What, _you_ here, Hawkins! I believe you'd take a brief before the devil in h----." I was quite taken aback for the moment by the use of such language. If he had not been so religious a man, perhaps I should not have felt it so much; as it was, I could hardly fetch my breath. When I recovered my equanimity I answered, "Yes, Morgan, I would, and should get one of my devils to hold it." He seemed appeased by my frank avowal, for he loved honesty almost as much as fees. CHAPTER XVII. APPOINTED QUEEN'S COUNSEL--A SERIOUS ILLNESS--SAM LEWIS. On January 10, 1859, the Lord Chancellor did me the honour of recommending my name to Her Most Gracious Majesty, and I was raised to the rank and dignity of a Queen's Counsel.