you were doing, and I will take
care to represent your case so that nothing will harm you in the way
of punishment."

I then mumbled over the words of the sentence of death, taking care
that the poor woman did not hear them--much, no doubt, to the chagrin
of the High Sheriff and to the lowering of his high office and
dignity. Nothing so enhances a Sheriff's dignity as the gallows.

[There was a great deal of unlooked-for appreciation of his merits,
and from quarters where, had he been a hard Judge, one could never
have expected it.

There was even the observation of the costermonger leaning over his
barrow near the Assize Court when one morning Sir Henry was going in
with little Jack.

"Gorblime, Jemmy! see 'im? The ole bloke's been poachin' agin. See
what he's got?"

It was a brace of pheasants, and not going into court with his gun,
but only his dog, it was taken for granted he had been out all night
on an unlawful expedition.

Some one once asked Sir Henry what was the most wonderful verdict he
ever obtained.

He answered: "It depends upon circumstances. Do you mean as to value?"

"And amount."

"Well, then," he said, "_half a farthing_."

Some of the company were a little disconcerted.

"I'll tell you," said the Judge. "There was in our Gracious Majesty's
reign a coinage of _half a farthing_. It was soon discountenanced
as useless, but while it was current as coin of the realm I had the
honour of obtaining a verdict for that amount, and need not say, had
it been paid in _specie_ and preserved, it would in value more than
equal at the present time any verdict the jury might have given in
that case."]

One of the most remarkable trials in which as a Judge I have presided
was what was known as the Muswell Hill tragedy. It was a brutal,
commonplace affair, and with its sordid details might make a
respectable society novel. I should have liked Sherlock Holmes to
have been in the case, because he would have saved me a great deal of
sensational development, as well as much anxiety and observation.

Burglars are usually crafty and faithless to one another. They never
act alone--that is, the real professionals--and invariably, while in
danger of being convicted, betray one another. Such, at all events, is
my experience. Each fears the treachery of his companion in guilt, and
endeavours to be first in disclosing it. In the case I am now speaking
of, this experience was never more verified than in the attempt