As Berry and I Were Saying by Dornford Yates Page A

Punch and The Spectator . Those are reviews that matter, when all is said and done.”
    “Oh, I know,” said Daphne, “you mentioned This Publican just now. That was founded on a theory I know you hold – that a man who looks like another will be found to have the same nature.”
    “That, I have always maintained; and on very many occasions I’ve proved it true. I was taught it by a fellow of Jesus, who all his life had studied his fellow men. He was one of the founders of the OUDS, and Arthur Bourchier once told me that he was the finest amateur actor that he had ever known. To say he was of the old school is nothing at all. He might have stepped straight out of Dickens: face, manner, clothes – everything about him was forty years out of date. He was a survival of a forgotten time. Anyway, he taught me that theory, and I’ve always proved it true. Over and over again. You know a man called A. Ten years later, perhaps, you meet a man called B. And B resembles A very closely indeed. If you can watch B, you’ll find he has the same nature, the same characteristics, the same outlook. If A was a gambler, B will gamble, too. If A was very particular about his clothes, B will be very particular about his. If A had a violent temper, B will have one, too. And so on. If B reminds you of A, and is not exactly like him, his ways will resemble A’s in a lesser degree. I mean, if you didn’t trust A, you’d be wiser not to trust B. Thanks to John Morris – that was the old don’s name – ever since I was at Oxford I’ve studied my fellow men: but the six years I had of the law gave me a splendid chance of observation. Witnesses, jurymen, Judges, counsel – there was always someone to study, and so I was never dull. I mean, you can do in court what you cannot do in a restaurant or a club.”
    “Just as well,” said Berry, “you never had any briefs.”
    “I had to do something while waiting for my case to be reached.”
    “The big shot’s cases had to wait upon him.”
    “You are a beast,” said Jill.
    “He’s within his rights,” said I. “My practice was very slight. But, unless you were pushed or had a big chance and grasped it, the Bar was always a very steep ladder to climb. I once saw a man seize his chance.”
    That’s rare,” said Berry. “Who was it?”
    “It involves a story,” said I.
    Berry got to his feet and filled my glass.
    As he replenished his own–
    “Is that very touching gesture understood?”
    “Yes,” said I, “and here’s your very good health.”
    “Here’s yours,” said Berry. “And now we must have some more.”
    “You’ll both have gout,” said Daphne.
    “What the hell?” said her husband. “ Carry on.”
    “I was staying with the —s, near Ipswich, when I was sixteen. I was one of four boys in the house, and the weather was simply vile. After three days, Lady — was beside herself and I fancy she told Sir George that if he didn’t get us out, she’d go herself. And then he had a brain-wave. The Assizes at Ipswich were on, and he drove us in and put us in the Magistrates’ box. I think we all enjoyed it – I know I did. For the case was the Peasenhall murder, a cause célèbre of its day. A village girl had been murdered – Rose Harsent, by name, and the village blacksmith stood accused of the crime. A young man, called Ernest Wild, was counsel for the defence. Child as I was, I could see how well he did it. Henry Fielding Dickens led for the Crown. And the Judge was old ‘Long Lawrance’, as he was always called. Wild made his name in that case, and he never looked back. Years after, I was his junior: and I told him that I had been there. ‘Rot,’ says he. ‘You weren’t born.’ ‘I was: I remember you well.’ ‘What was the blacksmith like?’ ‘He was a great, big fellow, with a clipped black beard. And he never stopped stroking his beard the whole day long.’ ‘Good enough,’ says Wild. ‘You were there. But you shouldn’t have been.