The want of distinction was illustrated to me, when a boy, about 1820, by the report of a trial which I shall never forget: boys read newspapers more keenly than men. Every now and then a bench of country magistrates rather astonishes the town populations, accustomed to rub their brains[341] against one another. Such a story as the following would, { 197} in our day, bring down grave remarks from above: but I write of the olden (or Eldon[342]) time, when nothing but conviction in a court of record would displace a magistrate. In that day the third-class amalgamator of distinct things was often on the bench of quarter-sessions.
An attorney was charged with having been out at night poaching. A clear _alibi_ was established; and perjury had certainly been committed. The whole gave reason to suspect that some ill-willers thought the bench disliked the attorney so much that any conviction was certain on any evidence. The bench did dislike the attorney: but not to the extent of thinking he could snare any partridges in the fields while he was asleep in bed, except the dream-partridges which are not always protected by the dream-laws. So the chairman said, "Mr. ----, you are discharged; but you should consider this one of the most fortunate days of your life." The attorney indignantly remonstrated, but the magistrate was right; for he said, "Mr. ----, you have frequently been employed to defend poachers: have you been careful to impress upon them the enormity of their practices?" It appeared in a wrangling conversation that the magistrates saw little moral difference between poaching and being a poacher's professional defender without lecturing him on his wickedness: but they admitted with reluctance, that there was a legal distinction; and the brain of N^3 could no further go. This is nearly fifty years ago; and Westernism was not quite extinct. If the present lords of the hills and the valleys want to shine, let them publish a true history of their own order. I am just old enough to remember some of the last of the squires and parsons who protested against teaching the poor to read and write. They now write books for the working classes, give them lectures, and the like. There is now no class, as a class, more highly educated, broadly educated, and deeply educated, { 198} than those who were, in old times, best described as partridge-popping squireens. I have myself, when a boy, heard Old Booby speaking with pride of Young Booby as having too high a spirit to be confined to books: and I suspected that his dislike to teaching the poor arose in fact from a feeling that they would, if taught a little, pass his heir.