ndow where I was standing, a common
farm cart, drawn by a horse which was led by a labouring man. As I was
above the crowd on the first floor I could see there was a layer of
straw in the cart at the bottom, and above it, tumbled into a rough
heap, as though carelessly thrown in, a quantity of the same; and I
could see also from all the surrounding circumstances, especially the
pallid faces of the crowd, that there was something sad about it all.
The horse moved slowly along, at almost a snail's pace, while behind
walked a poor, sad couple with their heads bowed down, and each with
a hand on the tail-board of the cart. They were evidently overwhelmed
with grief.

Happily we have no such processions now; even Justice itself has been
humanized to some extent, and the law's cruel severity mitigated. The
cart contained the rude shell into which had been laid the body of
this poor man and woman's only son, _a youth of seventeen, hanged that
morning at Bedford Jail for setting fire to a stack of corn_!

He was now being conveyed to the village of Willshampstead, six miles
from Bedford, there to be laid in the little churchyard where in his
childhood he had played. He was the son of very respectable labouring
people of Willshampstead; had been misled into committing what was
more a boyish freak than a crime, and was hanged. That was all the
authorities could do for him, and they did it. This is the remotest
and the saddest reminiscence of my life, and the only sad one I mean
to relate, if I can avoid it.

But years afterwards, when I became a judge, this picture,
photographed on my mind as it was, gave me many a lesson which I
believe was turned to good account on the judicial bench. It was
mainly useful in impressing on my mind the great consideration of the
surrounding circumstances of every crime, the _degree_ of guilt in
the criminal, and the difference in the degrees of the same kind of
offence. About this I shall say something hereafter.

I remained at this school until I had acquired all the learning my
father thought necessary for my future position, as he intended it to
be, and much more than I thought necessary, unless I was to get my
living by teaching Latin and Greek.

In due course I was articled to my worthy uncle, the Clerk of the
Peace, and, had I possessed my present experience, should have known
that it was a diplomatic move of the most profound policy to enable
me, if anything happened to him, to succe