e same time I can quite appreciate your desire to have your case
speedily disposed of; one does not like a thing of this sort hanging
over one's head. But now, for the sake of argument, prisoner, suppose
I were to try you to-day in the absence of that material witness, and
yet, contrary to your expectations, they were to find you guilty. What
then? Why, in the absence of that material witness, I should have to
sentence you to be hanged on Monday next. That would be a painful
ordeal for both of us.

"But now let us take the other alternative, and let us suppose that if
your trial had been put off, and the material witness, when called,
could prove something in your favour--this sometimes happens--and that
that something induced the jury to acquit you, what a sad thing that
would be! It would not signify to you, because you would have been
hanged, and would be dead!"

Here his lordship paused for a considerable time, unable to suppress
his emotion, but, having recovered himself, continued,--

"But you must consider what my feelings would be when I thought I had
hanged an innocent man!"

At the next assizes the man was brought up, the material witness
appeared; the prisoner was found guilty, and hanged.

The humane judge's feelings were therefore spared.

At the Old Bailey he was presiding during a sessions which was rather
light for the times, there being less than a score left for execution
under sentence of death. There were, in fact, only sixteen, most of
them for petty thefts.

His lordship, instead of reading the whole of the sixteen names,
omitted one, and read out only fifteen. He then politely, and with
exquisite precision and solemnity, exhorted them severally to prepare
for the awful doom that awaited them the following Monday, and
pronounced on each the sentence of death.

They left the dock.

After they were gone the jailer explained to his lordship that there
had been _sixteen_ prisoners capitally convicted, but that his
lordship had omitted the name of one of them, and he would like to
know what was to be done with him.

"What is the prisoner's name?" asked Graham.

"John Robins, my lord."

"Oh, bring John Robins back--by all means let John Robins step
forward. I am obliged to you."

The culprit was once more placed at the Bar, and Graham, addressing
him in his singularly courteous manner, said apologetically,--

"John Robins, I find I have accidentally omitted your name in my list
of pris