of a complimentary character with reference to the memory of the late Mr. Muck.
Dr. Lobb. “I think it will be unnecessary to produce the remainder of the correspondence between Mrs. Barber and her husband during their courtship, since Mrs. Barber so positively denies the authorship. Enough is done to lay a foundation for ulterior proceedings.”
The Court entirely and drily agreed with Dr. Lobb, who couldn’t be said to have taken much by the production of his letter. Mrs. Barber was not to be shaken in the account she had given during her examination in chief of the occurrence at Poldadek, and contrived to import into her later evidence so many particulars relating to the style and manner of the housekeeping at that Cornish mansion, that the two Misses Barber were positively sobbing with vexation: Mrs. Barber the while contemplating them from her elevated cushion with an air of tender sympathy—
Love watching madness, with unalterable mien.
At last, when Mrs. B., in an unguarded moment, having fallen into error as to Dr. Lobb’s meaning, disclosed to the Court that it was not Miss Harriet, but Miss Jane—oh! dear no, not Miss Hariet—who was in the habit of taking two pills every night in order to clear her complexion, even the learned civilian felt that the position was no longer tenable, and evacuated it, scarcely, as it seemed to me, with the honours of war. Mrs. Barber was evidently shocked at Dr. Lobb for having alluded to matters which surely should not be allowed to transpire beyond the inner regions of domestic life. Here were three distinct failures, but Dr. Lobb came up to time cheerfully for the fourth round, just as though he had not (I venture to borrow a phrase from the dialect of the P.R.) been so quietly “sent to dorse” on the three previous occasions. Mrs. Barber waited for him smiling—this time the Doctor advanced at once to the attack.
Dr. L. “Now, Mrs. Barber, about this blow which, as you allege, Mr. Barber struck you in the drawing-room at Cheltenham.”
Mrs. B. (Was lost in reflection for a few moments, and then, as her eye rested upon Mr. Barber, who was sitting behind Dr. Lobb, the tears began to trickle down her cheeks; she sighed, too, poor thing! so heavily!) “I never said so.”
Dr. L. “What! Madam, do you mean to tell me, and to tell the Jury, that you did not positively affirm here in this Court, but an hour ago, that your husband struck you on the arm in the drawing-room at Cheltenham with a bootjack?”
Mrs. B. (quite emptying her lungs). “A—h! Ah! I never said so.”
Dr. L. “Re-e-ally, Mrs. Barber, this is a little too much. I took your words down myself.”
Mrs. B. “Oh!” (with a slightly rocking movement). “Oh! Oh!”
Dr. L. “May I beg your Lordship to read the question and answer from your notes?”
The Court complied with the learned civilian’s request, but it turned out that he was incorrect in this particular—that Mrs. Barber had spoken of the dressing-room, not of the drawing-room, as the scene of this catastrophe. Dr. Lobb here incurred a very severe admonition from the Court, to the effect that he could not be too particular about the locus in quo—a good deal always turned upon the locus in quo—as Dr. Lobb ought to be well aware.
Mrs. Barber, upon this occasion, was clearly in the right, and Dr. Lobb as clearly in the wrong as to the locus in quo. Mrs. B., however, continued the rocking movement, which was so painful to witness, and appeared quite insensible to the compliments of the Court. I could not help fancying that Dr. Lobb was a little confused by this last blow, but he continued the persecution with unabashed front.
Mrs. B. (Still crooning.) “No! Oh, no! Don’t ask me any more about it; I said, it might have been the bootjack, but I was so stunned by Mr. Barber’s violence—and by the fall—that I didn’t see what he held in his hand.”
Dr. L. “That you didn’t see what he held in his hand? Now, Madam, will you tell the Jury—by virtue of your oath—was it not a tooth-brush Mr. Barber held in his hand at the time of the alleged assault? Were not you, in a fit of jealousy, endeavouring to prevent him from going out of doors? And is it not the true account of this transaction that Mr. Barber tried to keep you off with his right hand, and so, if at all, the toothbrush, not the bootjack, came into contact with your arm?”
Mrs. Barber wouldn’t swear it was the bootjack, but it couldn’t have been the tooth-brush—the blow was too heavy—and she bore on her person for too many days the marks of Mr. B’s. violence to render that possible. Ann Iron, her maid, had seen the contusion. She had not called in surgical assistance for fear the rumour of Mr. Barber’s ferocity should get abroad—for in those days she still loved him. All that she had done was to apply Goulard-water plentifully, and to pray for Mr. Barber at night. Indeed, when Mr. B. returned late at night, or rather early in the morning, from the Club, where he had lost all his money, he was very near renewing the attack upon her because he found her sitting up in bed crying, with her arm in a sling, singing a beautiful passage in one of Watt’s hymns, recommending resignation to wives in all the trials of domestic life, with the cheerful assurance that a day would come when ferocious husbands would meet with their deserts. It appeared that Mr. B. heard this pathetic wailing in his dressing-room, which adjoined their common sleeping apartment; and, as Mr. B. informed Dr. L., stormed into the bedroom—(she was sitting up in bed)—doing his hair with two large hair-brushes, and told her “to shut up that row”—for so this man of violence denominated the pious exercise in which his exemplary wife was engaged. Mrs. B. had simply folded her arms on her breast, and told him she was prepared for any extremity.
Mr. Barber’s face was a perfect study whilst this testimony was borne to his secret misdeeds. He half rose up—his mouth wide open—and glared at his former victim just as a tiger in the Zoological Gardens might glare at the fresh shoulder of mutton which he should have had