happiness. The cross-examination upon this point was a simple see-saw of Did you? and Did you not? which terminated entirely to the lady’s advantage. I must content myself with merely indicating the theories set up by the defence to rebut most of the charges, and how these were in turn demolished by Mrs. Barber, as—indeed, how could it be otherwise, when she and Truth were on one side, and Dr. Lobb on the other?
It was then falsely pretended that the “incident of the burnt nose,” at Folkestone, as described by the petitioner, was a pure fiction—that true it was that the bed in which Mrs. Barber was lying at Folkestone had been set on fire, but that the accident had entirely occurred through her own carelessness. The lady—this was Dr. L.’s infamous story—was in the habit of reading in bed, contrary to her husband’s warnings, and even commands. Worse even than this—these were the occasions she selected for the perusal of French novels—a class of literature upon which Mr. Barber had set his veto. On the night in question Mrs. B. was reading in bed, a work called “Mathilde, ou Mémoires d’une jeune femme”—she fell asleep with the candlestick on her pillow, and the bed had caught fire, as well as Mrs. B.’s handkerchief, which was partly over her face. Mr. Barber, providentially, just came in in time, and in all probability by so doing saved his wife’s life. He admitted that before he had gone out he had in a playful manner applied a little cold cream to Mrs. B.’s face—but simply because her complexion had been injured by the sea air, during the passage of the Channel. The lady soon disposed of this paltry fabrication. She had never read a French novel in her life, except “Télémaque,” a work upon which she doted from its spirited delineation of character, and variety of incident, and still more because it was the favourite reading of her dear governess, Miss Sophy Snap—now Mrs. Theobald Twist, resident with her husband in New Zealand. Mr. B.’s story was a pure invention. With regard to the distressing incident, known in this case as the “incident of the ankles,” Mrs. B., after she had so far recovered from her distress and indignation as to be able to speak to the point at all, admitted that Augustus had made a scene upon the platform at Folkestone—as well as on the previous night, when they had been coming out of the steamer, and sworn at her violently because—she could not say it—well, because, as he alleged, she had been slightly too indulgent to the spectators in the display of her ankles. But if such a thing had happened at all—how had it happened? When they were leaving Ostend, Augustus had insisted upon her wearing a crinoline of unusual size, and stitching under it two huge pockets filled with cigars, which he compelled her to smuggle on his account in fraud of Her Majesty’s revenue. Mrs. B. said that her usual habit was, in travelling, to discard the crinoline altogether—for she was well aware that ladies, with all the care and discretion they could exercise, could not upon all occasions guard against all contingencies when their dresses were extended according to the prevailing fashion. Dr. Lobb made just as little of these two points as of all that had gone before. When they had been disposed of—as described—he continued the cross-examination.
Dr. L. “Now Mrs. B., it results from all we have heard—from what took place at Cheltenham, at Brussels, at Folkestone, and elsewhere—that after leaving Folkestone you were living on the worst possible terms with your husband, who, as you tell us, had neglected you, sworn at you, insulted you, set fire to you, and beaten you. Is that so?”
What could the Doctor be driving at? I noticed just the slightest perceptible movement in Lamb’s brow.
Mrs. B. “No, sir—not upon the worst possible terms—that came afterwards.”
Dr. L. “That came afterwards. To what do you allude, Madam?”
Lobb had been so severely punished in his previous collisions with Mrs. Barber, that he had now quite lost his temper,-—a circumstance which placed him almost at the mercy of his antagonist. Mrs. Barber—but women are wonderful creatures!—had cooled down to the temperature of an iced sword-blade. The learned civilian had so far forgotten himself as to speak to the lady rudely, almost coarsely,—so that there was a universal desire felt in Court to kick him out of it. He was not prepared for the reply. Mrs. Barber deliberately rose from her seat, as pale as death, and advancing to the front of the pen in full sight of the Jury, said, in a quiet emphatic way,—
Mrs. B. “Because, sir, I had not yet been staying at Scarborough with my child while my husband was living at another Hotel in the same town with the lady whom he has selected to fill my place. That came afterwards!”
With these words, Mrs. Barber retired again to the back of the pen, and, resuming her seat, burst into tears, leaving Dr. Lobb to squabble with the Judge upon the propriety of expunging this answer from his notes, on the ground that it was only relevant to the first issue, which was uncontested. It was no use: the Court was in such a state of high moral elevation, that the only wonder was that Lobb was not summarily sent to Bridewell with hard labour for fourteen days at least. Poor wretch; he couldn’t afford to miss his point, as it is called in these regions, and so rushed on to further destruction, but with a kind of half apology.
Dr. L. “I had no intention, Mrs. Barber, I assure you, of reopening that sore. No one can more deeply regret than my learned friends and myself that most painful incident in Mr. Barber’s conduct; and I beg you to observe, that I have not put one question to you upon the subject, because I felt that you were fully entitled to—”
By the Court. “There, there, Dr. Lobb, you owed the lady an apology, and we’ll take it that it is made. Go on.”
Dr. L. (In a half-beaten way.) “Well, Mrs. Barber, after the incidents named, you were living at least on very bad terms with your husband?”
Mrs. B. (Making ineffectual attempts at tearful speech, at last got out with difficulty.) “Yes.”
Dr. L. “Now, Madam, will you be good