Counsel. Now then, sir, did you, or did you not, threaten to kill the plaintiff? Witness. I did — Counsel. That will do. The jury will notice the admission. Witness. But I have n't finished. I was about to say that I did — Counsel. Quite right to confess it. You may step down. Witness. Your honor, I insist upon my right to finish the sentence. Judge. Well! Witness. I did — not.
A leading barrister of New South Wales re cently perpetrated a delightful bull. " Gentlemen of the jury," he thundered, " the case for the Crown is a mere skeleton, — a mere skeleton, gen tlemen, for, as I shall presently show you, it has neither flesh, blood, nor bones in it." In the adjoining colony of Victoria, Sir Bryan O'Loghlen, M.P., who has a national right to indulge in this sort of thing, gravely told the Supreme Court that "a verbal agreement is not worth the paper it 's vfritten on." — Irish Law Times.
In a jury trial in a small town not many miles from civilization, the rural gantlemen into whose hands the fate of the plaintiff and defendant was placed were so stubbornly divided that they were some twenty-odd hours in reaching a verdict. As they left the court after having rendered their ver dict, one of them was asked by a friend what the trouble was. "Waal," he said, "six on 'em wanted to give the plaintiff $4,000, and six on 'em wanted to give him $3,000; so we split the difference, an' gave him $500." A certain suspect in a criminal trial before a justice whose acquaintance with Blackstone would seem to be limited, having clearly established his innocence of the charge against him by an alibi, the prosecuting attorney remarked to the court, — "I think, your honor, that this trial had bet ter stop right here. The alibi has been fully established." "I think so myself," replied his honor, with an approving nod; and then summoning the prose cuting attorney to his side, he said, in a stage-
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whisper which was only too audible throughout the court-room, " I say, what is the penalty for an alibi? " — Harper's Magazine.
NOTES. The curious question is raised in New York whether a writer of a book has a right to use his or her own name if that name chances, to be the same as that of an author of established reputation. Mrs. Mary J. Holmes, wife of a citizen of Ansonia, Conn., has written a society novel which Ogilvie of New York has offered to publish, but not until he is satisfied on the legal point involved as above. For, as everybody knows, there is a Mrs. Mary J. Holmes who has been writing novels for the last thirty-six years, and has made a great deal of money and some fame thereby. Dillingham, pub lisher of " Tempest and Sunshine " and a score or more novels besides, by the original Mary J., de clares that he will bring suit if " Ashes," the first novel of the new Mary J., is issued under her name. Lawyers give opinions both ways. There is no doubt that Mrs. Holmes No. 1 has a prop erty in her name as against a forger of it; but whether she has property in it as a trade-mark, or whether it is part of her copyright, like the title of a book, so that Mrs. Holmes No. 2 cannot use her own lawful name on her titlepage, is a question. But a slight variation ought to let her out of the difficulty. The author of "Tempest and Sun shine is Mary Jane; now, if the author of " Ashes" were Mary Josephine, would not that serve? — Springfield Republican. When he was a student Kenyon was very inti mate with Dunning and Home Tooke, both of whom were then keeping their terms. The trio used generally to dine together in vacation at a mean little eating-house near Chancery Lane. The splendor of their fare may be imagined from the fact that it cost them seven pence half-penny each. "As to Dunning and myself," Tooke would say, "we were generous, for we gave the girl who waited a penny apiece; but Kenyon, who always knew the value of money, sometimes rewarded her with a half-penny and sometimes with a promise." When he was called to the bar, his prospects did not improve. He was doomed to sit, term after
