ean his skull.

_J. N_. His--my brains, you mean!

_St_. No, my lord; for he said that you--that he--hadn't any brains.

_Mr. H_. Did you find any documents or papers on him when he was
arrested?

_St_. Yes; he had a bundle of papers with him.

_Mr. H_. Like this? (_showing a number of_ "_Commonweal_")

_St_. Yes.

_J. F_. (_Aside_: Two quires that I couldn't sell, damn it!)

_Mr. H_. We put this paper in, my lord. Your lordship will notice the
vileness of the incendiarism contained in it. I specially draw your
attention to this article by one Bax, who as you will see, is familiar
with the use of dynamite to a fearful extent. (J. N. _reads, muttering_
"_Curse of Civilisation_.") Gentlemen of the Jury that is our case.

_J. N_. (_looking up from_ "_Commonweal_"). Prisoner at the bar, what
have you to say? Do you call witnesses?

_J. F_. Yes, I call witnesses, but I haven't much to say. I am accused
of obstruction, but I shan't argue that point, as I know that I should do
myself no good by proving that I had not obstructed. I am accused of
being a Socialist and a revolutionist. Well, if you, my lord, and you,
gentlemen of the Jury, and the classes to which you belong, knew what
Socialism means--and I fear you take some pains not to--you would also
know what the condition of things is now, and how necessary revolution
is. So if it is a crime to be a Socialist and a revolutionist, I have
committed that crime; but the charge against me is that I am a criminal
fool, which I am not. And my witnesses will show you, gentlemen of the
Jury, that the evidence brought against me is a mass of lies of the
silliest concoction. That is, they will show it you if you are sensible
men and understand your position as jurymen, which I almost fear you do
not. Well, it will not be the first time that the judge has usurped the
function of the jury, and I would go to prison cheerfully enough if I
could hope it would be the last.

[_He pauses as if to listen. Confused noises and the sound of the_
"_Marseillaise_" _a long way off_. (_Aside_: What is it, I wonder?--No;
it's nothing.)

_J. N_. Prisoner, what is the matter with you? You seem to be
intoxicated; and indeed I hope you are, for nothing else could excuse the
brutality of your language.

_J. F_. Oh, don't put yourself out, my lord. You've got the whip-hand
of me, you know. I thought I heard an echo; that's all. Well, I will
say no more, but call