"Nay, sir, and if you looked at yourself in a looking-glass you would not be able to recognize a single feature you possessed, had you been battered about the face as the unfortunate man was. Why, the young policeman says in his evidence his nose was flattened, his, eyes were swollen black, blue, and red, his cheeks gashed and bloody! But it is enough: if that is a correct description, although a mild one, of the man as he appeared after the scene of the conflict, how can you expect the young constable to recognize such an individual months afterwards, or any of the witnesses, although to their dying day they would not forget the terrible disfigurement of the poor fellow whom you are supposed to be trying?" All this time there was everywhere painfully suppressed laughter, and even the jury, all of them Epsom men, and many of whom I knew well enough, were hardly able to contain themselves. His lordship, after summing up the case to the jury, looked down quietly to me, as I was sitting below him, and murmured,-- "Hawkins, you've got all Epsom with you!" "Yes," I answered, "but you have got the Quaker; he was the only one I was afraid of." "You have transformed him," said the Judge. In a few minutes the verdict showed the accuracy of his lordship's observation, for the jury returned a verdict of "Not guilty." I must say, however, that Parke did his utmost to obtain a conviction, but reason and good sense were too much for him. CHAPTER XIX. SAM WARREN, THE AUTHOR OF "TEN THOUSAND A YEAR." Amongst the illustrious men whom I have met, the name of Sam Warren deserves remembrance, for he was a genial, good-natured man, full of humour, and generally entertained a good opinion of everybody, including himself. He not only achieved distinction in his profession and became a Queen's Counsel, but wrote a book which attained a well-deserved popularity, and was entitled "Ten Thousand a Year." He was a member of the Northern Circuit, and I believe was as popular as his book. That he did not become a Judge, like several of his friends, was not Sam's fault, for no man went more into society, cultivated acquaintances of the best style, or had better qualifications for the honour than he. But although he did not achieve this distinction, he was made a little lower than that order, and became in due time a _Master in Lunacy_, a post, as it seemed from Sam's description, of the highest importance and no little fun.