Forgetting that possibly I had an unreasoning and ignorant jury to deal with, I thought they would at once see through so absurd a defence, and did not insult their common sense by summing up.  I merely said,—­

“Gentlemen, do you believe in the defence?”

They put their heads together, and kept in that position for some time, and at last, to my utter amazement, said,—­

“We do, my lord; we find the prisoner not guilty.”

It was a verdict for the prisoner and a lesson for me.

It was always my practice, founded on much calculation of the respective and relative merits and demerits of prisoners, to do what no other Judge that I am aware of ever did, which was to put convicted prisoners back until the whole calendar had been tried, then to bring them up and pass sentence after deliberate consideration of every case.  I thus had the opportunity of reading over my notes and forming an opinion as to whether there were any circumstances which I could take into consideration by way of mitigation, or, in the same manner, as to whether there were matters of aggravation, such as cruelty or deliberate, wilful malice.  The result of this plan on one occasion at Stafford Assizes, which I remember very well, was this.  Two men were convicted of bigamy.  The offence was the same in law as to both the prisoners.  The one was altogether, physically and morally, a brute, cruel and merciless.  The other man found guilty had been a bad husband to his wife before he went through the form of the second marriage; but as he had been already punished for his misconduct in that respect, I thought it fair that he should not be punished again for the same offence.  Such is my idea of the law of England, although I fear it is sometimes forgotten.  I therefore treated this man’s crime as one of a very mitigated character, no harm having been done to the second woman, and released him on his own recognizances to come up for judgment if he should be called upon.  I would not revisit upon him his past misdeeds.  The other man I sent into penal servitude for five years.

CHAPTER XXXII.

ON THE MIDLAND CIRCUIT.

“That’s Orkins hover there,” said a burly-looking sportsman as I arrived one day at Newmarket Heath—­“‘im a-torkin’ to Corlett.  See ’im?  Nice bernevolent old cove to look at, ain’t ’e?  Yus.  That didn’t stop ‘is guvin’ me five of his wery best, simply becorze by accident I mistook someb’dy else’s ’ouse and plate-chest for my own.  Sorter mistake which might ’appen a’most to henybody.  There ’e is; see ’im?  That’s Orkins!”

I need not say I was frequently spoken of in this complimentary manner by persons who had been introduced to me at the Bar.  I was once leading a little fox terrier with a string, because on several occasions he had given me the slip and caused me to be a little late in court.  I led him, therefore, in the leash until he knew his duty.