is. So that it is almost a test of worthlessness that the multitudes
approve. Baron Bramwell, in discharging a prisoner at the Old Bailey,
made what he thought some appropriate observations, which were followed
by a storm of applause in the crowded court. The learned judge, with
that caustic humour which distinguishes him, looked up and said, "Bless
me! I'm afraid I must have said something very foolish." An amusing
scene occurred outside a barrister's lodgings during the Northampton
Assizes. Two painters decorating the exterior of the lodgings were
overheard as follows:--"Seen the judge, Bill?" "Ah, I see him. Cheery
old swine!" "See the sheriff too?" "Yes, I see him too. I reckon he
got that place through interest. Been to church; they tell me the judge
preached 'em a long sarmon. Pomp and 'umbug I call that!" This was no
doubt genuine criticism, but it was without knowledge. These men were
probably voters for Bradlaugh, and the judge and the sheriff were to them
the embodiment of a hateful aristocracy. These painters little knew how
much the judge would like to be let off even listening to the sermon, and
how the sheriff had resorted to every dodge to escape from his onerous
and thankless office.

It is recorded in the Life of Lord Houghton that Prince Leopold, being
recommended to read Plutarch for Grecian lore, got the British Plutarch
by mistake, and laid down the Life of Sir Christopher Wren in great
indignation, exclaiming there was hardly anything about Greece in it.

I am sure, too, that in order to understand the work of another we must
have something more than knowledge; we must have some sympathy with the
work. I do not mean that we must necessarily praise the execution of it;
but we must be in such a frame of mind that the success of the work would
give us pleasure. I am sure someone says somewhere that a man whose
first emotion upon seeing anything good is to undervalue it will never do