s with as
much delight as children might evince in the Zoological Gardens at
a performance of insane monkeys. But their amusement was suddenly
arrested. St. Peter appeared at the gate, flourishing his keys. It was
two o'clock.

What a strange sensation it was, mounting those dock stairs! More loudly
than my experiences below, it said--"You are a prisoner." The court was
densely crowded, and as I emerged into it, the sea of faces, suddenly
caught _en masse_, seemed cold and alien. The feeling was only
momentary, but I fancy it resembled the weird thrill that must have
swept through the ancient captive as he entered the Roman arena from his
dark lair, and confronted the vague host of indifferent faces that were
to watch his fight for life.

I resumed my address to the jury at two o'clock, and concluded it at
four. A considerable portion of that time was spent in altercations with
the judge, of which I have already given some striking specimens. Let me
now give another. It excited great laughter in court, and I confess the
situation was so comic that I could scarcely preserve my own gravity.
After quoting a number of "blasphemous" passages from the writings of
Professor Clifford, Lord Amberley, Matthew Arnold, the author of "The
Evolution of Christianity," Swinburne, Byron and Shelley, I proceeded
thus: "Now, gentlemen, I have given you a few illustrations of permitted
blasphemy in expensive books, and I will now trouble you with a few
instances of permitted blasphemy in cheap publications, which are
unmolested because they call themselves Christian, and because those
who conduct them are patronised by ecclesiastical dignitaries." Here
I produced a copy of the _War Cry_, in which I had marked a piece of
idiotic "blasphemy." Judge North scented mischief, and gestured to the
officer behind me. But that functionary was too deeply interested in the
case to make much haste, and, not wishing to be frustrated, I read
as rapidly as I could. Before he could arrest me I had finished the
extract. My auditors were all convulsed with laughter, except the judge,
who was convulsed with rage. As soon as he could articulate he addressed
me as follows:

Mr. Justice North: Now, Foote, I am going to put a stop to this.
I will not allow any more of these illustrations of what you
call permitted blasphemy in cheap publications. I decline to
have any more of them put before me.

Mr. Foote: My Lord, I will use them