I bought the lease, and having no chequebook with me, made out the cheque on a slip of paper. I returned to London with the lease in my pocket. Edward Lawson then lived in Norfolk-street, Park-lane, and on his way home called on me at Upper Brooke-street. I told him of my purchase. He immediately wanted it for his boys, thinking it would be a capital place for them to come to from Eton. I couldn't resist him, so he gave me a cheque for just what I had paid in exchange for the lease. That's how Edward Lawson became possessed of one of the prettiest places along the river."
The Sitting-room, Aldford street.
From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.
When in town Mr. Williams has a house in Aldford-street, Park-lane. The apartments are very cosy—the sitting-room a particularly inviting little corner. A pen and ink drawing by Charles Matthews is near the door. It was done whilst Mr. Williams "waited," and bears the date, July 26, 1867. Here is a picture, too, of the late Colonel Burnaby. The pair were great friends, though Mr. Williams was counsel in the Colonel's action against General Owen Williams, which, happily for the old friendship existing between them, was never tried. There are numbers of photos here—a pair of watercolours, the one of George Payne and Admiral Rous, the other of Fred Archer and Lord Falmouth. Two "Vanity Fair" sketches—one is of Douglas Straight, the present judge at Allahabad, represented with a big cigar in his mouth, the other of the magistrate himself, with a huge cigar in his hand.
My day at Ramsgate with Mr. Williams was spent for the most part in hearing hitherto unpublished anecdotes of his schoolboy days, with the noting of one or two reminiscences of his later life, and a cross-examination on a highly interesting point, which we decided, as we sat together on the garden seat, had hitherto been forgotten, namely that of how it feels to be a magistrate.
Mr. Williams is of somewhat slight build, with an eye that looks one through and through. He has a marvellous memory for dates, a wonderful faculty for telling a story, and a delightful method of doing it. He is a large-hearted man, and revels in the happy title bestowed upon him of being "the poor man's magistrate." I have watched him in Court. He is down on wife-beaters, and kindly disposed to people charged with first offences, whom he will let off if he can. The way in which he measures out justice is distinctly characteristic. He weighs the position of the delinquents in the case of a summons, and though two people may be charged with the same offence, the fine is according to their pockets. This is to be commended. I heard him fine an old lady for selling adulterated milk. He called her "a wicked old woman," and she had to pay a sovereign and costs. She had only a small trade. The next case was a similar one, but the delinquent sold twice as much milk, and forty shillings was the judgment. A man was charged with begging. He said he only wanted to get his fare to Colchester to get work there. Decision: Why should the fellow to to prison? Magistrate gave him the
