I thus avoided the technical form of question sane or insane, and obtained a verdict of guilty, but that the woman at the time was not answerable for her conduct, together with a strong recommendation to mercy.  This verdict, if not according to the strictest legal quibbling, was according to justice.

I was about to pronounce sentence in accordance with the law, which it was not possible for me to avoid, however much my mind was inclined to do so, when the pompous old High Sheriff, all importance and dignity, said,—­

“My lord, are you not going to put on the black cap?”

“No,” I answered, “I am not.  I do not intend the poor creature to be hanged, and I am not going to frighten her to death.”

Addressing her by name, I said, “Don’t pay any attention to what I am going to read.  No harm will be done to you.  I am sure you did not know in your great trouble and sorrow what you were doing, and I will take care to represent your case so that nothing will harm you in the way of punishment.”

I then mumbled over the words of the sentence of death, taking care that the poor woman did not hear them—­much, no doubt, to the chagrin of the High Sheriff and to the lowering of his high office and dignity.  Nothing so enhances a Sheriff’s dignity as the gallows.

[There was a great deal of unlooked-for appreciation of his merits, and from quarters where, had he been a hard Judge, one could never have expected it.

There was even the observation of the costermonger leaning over his barrow near the Assize Court when one morning Sir Henry was going in with little Jack.

“Gorblime, Jemmy! see ‘im?  The ole bloke’s been poachin’ agin.  See what he’s got?”

It was a brace of pheasants, and not going into court with his gun, but only his dog, it was taken for granted he had been out all night on an unlawful expedition.

Some one once asked Sir Henry what was the most wonderful verdict he ever obtained.

He answered:  “It depends upon circumstances.  Do you mean as to value?”

“And amount.”

“Well, then,” he said, “half a farthing.”

Some of the company were a little disconcerted.

“I’ll tell you,” said the Judge.  “There was in our Gracious Majesty’s reign a coinage of half a farthing.  It was soon discountenanced as useless, but while it was current as coin of the realm I had the honour of obtaining a verdict for that amount, and need not say, had it been paid in specie and preserved, it would in value more than equal at the present time any verdict the jury might have given in that case.”]

One of the most remarkable trials in which as a Judge I have presided was what was known as the Muswell Hill tragedy.  It was a brutal, commonplace affair, and with its sordid details might make a respectable society novel.  I should have liked Sherlock Holmes to have been in the case, because he would have saved me a great deal of sensational development, as well as much anxiety and observation.