Let me illustrate it by a trial which I heard.  Jones was the name of the prisoner.  His offence was that of picking pockets, entailing, of course, a punishment corresponding in severity with the barbarity of the times.  It was not a plea of “Guilty,” when perhaps a little more inquiry might have been necessary; it was a case in which the prisoner solemnly declared he was “Not Guilty,” and therefore had a right to be tried.

The accused having “held up his hand,” and the jury having solemnly sworn to hearken to the evidence, and “to well and truly try, and true deliverance make,” etc., the witness for the prosecution climbs into the box, which was like a pulpit, and before he has time to look round and see where the voice comes from, he is examined as follows by the prosecuting counsel:—­

“I think you were walking up Ludgate Hill on Thursday, 25th, about half-past two in the afternoon, and suddenly felt a tug at your pocket and missed your handkerchief, which the constable now produces.  Is that it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suppose you have nothing to ask him?” says the judge.  “Next witness.”

Constable stands up.

“Were you following the prosecutor on the occasion when he was robbed on Ludgate Hill? and did you see the prisoner put his hand into the prosecutor’s pocket and take this handkerchief out of it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Judge to prisoner:  “Nothing to say, I suppose?” Then to the jury:  “Gentlemen, I suppose you have no doubt?  I have none.”

Jury:  “Guilty, my lord,” as though to oblige his lordship.

Judge to prisoner:  “Jones, we have met before—­we shall not meet again for some time—­seven years’ transportation.  Next case.”

Time:  two minutes fifty-three seconds.

Perhaps this case was a high example of expedition, because it was not always that a learned counsel could put his questions so neatly; but it may be taken that these after-dinner trials did not occupy on the average more than four minutes each.

CHAPTER V.

MR. JUSTICE MAULE.

Of course, in those days there were judges of the utmost strictness as there are now, who insisted that the rules of evidence should be rigidly adhered to.  I may mention, one, whose abilities were of a remarkable order, and whose memory is still fresh in the minds of many of my contemporaries—­I mean Mr. Justice Maule.  His asthmatic cough was the most interesting and amusing cough I ever heard, especially when he was saying anything more than usually humorous, which was not infrequently.  He was a man of great wit, sound sense, and a curious humour such as I never heard in any other man.  He possessed, too, a particularly keen apprehension.  To those who had any real ability he was the most pleasant of Judges, but he had little love for mediocrities.  No man ever was endowed with a greater abhorrence of hypocrisy.  I learnt a great deal in watching him and noting his observations.  One day a very sad case was being tried.  It was that of a man for killing an infant, and it was proposed by the prosecution to call as a witness a little brother of the murdered child.