. But here I was, launched on that wide sea in which I was "to
sink or swim," and, as I preferred the latter, I struck out with a
resolute breast-stroke, and, as I have said, never failed to keep my
head above water. It was some satisfaction to know that, if the judges
were so learned, there was yet more learning to come; much yet to come
down from, the old table-land of the Common Law, and much more from
the inexhaustible fountain of Parliament.

The Quarter Sessions Court was the arena of my first eight years of
professional life. I watched and waited with unwearied attention,
never without hope, but often on the very verge of despair, of
ever making any progress which would justify my choosing it as a
profession. My greatest delight, perhaps, was the obtaining an
acquittal of some one whose guilt nobody could doubt. All the struggle
of those times was the fight for the "one three six," and the hardest
effort of my life was the most valuable, because it gave me the key
which opened the door to many depositories of unexplored wealth.

There were many men who outlived their life, and others who never
lived their lives at all; many men who did nothing, and many more who
would almost have given their lives to do something.

There was, however, one man of those days whom I cannot here pass
over, as he remained my companion and friend to his life's end, and
will be remembered by me with affection and reverence to the end of my
own. It was old Bob Grimston, whom I first met at the benefit of "the
Spider," one of the famous prize-fighters of the time. The Hon.
Bob Grimston was known in the sporting world as one of its most
enthusiastic supporters, and acknowledged as one of the best men in
saddle or at the wicket. But Bob was not only a sportsman--he was a
gentleman of the finest feeling you could meet, and the keenest sense
of honour.

Having thus spoken of some of the eminent men of my early days, I
would like to mention a little incident that occurred before I had
fairly settled down to practise, or formed any serious intention as to
the course I should pursue--that is to say, whether I should remain a
sessions man like Woollet, or become a master of Saxon like old Peter
Ryland, a sportsman like Bob Grimston, or a cosmopolitan like Rodwell,
so as to comprehend all that came in my way. I chose the latter, for
the simple reason that in principle I loved what in these days would
be called "the open door," and received all